Change the Prophecy

by slythreign

Summary:

“Being courageous is something you have to make the conscious choice to do and do you know what, Regulus? Making that decision is never going to be easy. But we do it because you could have the best plan, the best ideas and the best of intentions but if you never have the courage to put them into action then it doesn’t mean anything.” James pauses, meeting Regulus’ gaze. “You have to make it all mean something.”

In 1978, four boys infiltrate the Death Eaters and by doing so, change the course of history.

Notes:

I’m really excited about this one, I hope you enjoy!!

Chapter 1: Chapter One (a moment in time)

Summer is drawing to a close. James Potter can feel it in the chill in the air, can tell by the way the dim evening light casts shadows on the planes of Regulus’ face when only a few short weeks ago his features had been bathed in warm sunlight. He looks pale in this light, washed out. It unsettles James.

“What are you thinking about?” James murmurs as he turns to look at Regulus properly from where they’re lying in the grass at the bottom of his garden. It’s secluded here, a copse of trees hiding them from the view of the house. Peaceful too, the small river that runs through James’ garden is loudest in this spot, the ebb and flow of the water a steady, comforting sound.

Regulus doesn’t turn to face him, his gaze fixed upon the darkening sky above them. James knows what he’s looking for, the stars are just starting to become visible, tiny pinpricks in a rose coloured sky.

When he doesn’t respond, James lifts himself up to rest on an elbow so he can better look at Regulus. This seems to get his attention because Regulus’ brow furrows as he turns to face James, his gaze troubled.

“Things are going to be different this year.” He admits.

“In what way?” James asks quietly, brushing an errant curl off of Regulus’ forehead, he softens under James’ touch, blowing out an unsteady breath before closing his eyes.

“Last year the war felt so far away but now we’re about to go into our final year and I’m running out of time.”

Regulus has visited James nearly every week of the summer holidays since he was eleven, barring one week in the summer after their fifth year at Hogwarts. In those early years, he’d been dragged along by his twin, Sirius, James’ best friend from the day that they were both sorted into Gryffindor, though he soon started coming of his own accord. Things were simple back then, they would play quidditch, drink fresh lemonade, and lay in the grass, much like they are now, soaking up the sun. It didn’t matter that Regulus was a Slytherin or that as time went on, he started to keep questionable company, all that mattered at that moment in time was that Regulus was Sirius’ brother and James’ friend.

Things had naturally grown more complicated as they got older.

Regulus and Sirius Black are two halves of one whole, as similar as they are dissimilar, as complicated as they are uncomplicated. James remembers what they were like when he met them on the Hogwarts Express for the first time six years ago, before they were divided by familial expectations, placed in different houses and pitted against one another. They were just two boys, excited for their next adventure. They weren’t to know it would be their last one together, the catalyst that would set them on different paths.

Their visits are different now, have been ever since Regulus didn’t turn up the one time he really needed to and Sirius came to stay at the Potters indefinitely.

Their relationship had been tense up until that point, Sirius openly rejecting the vitriol their parents spewed about blood purity and Regulus choosing to remain indifferent to it. Sirius disliked Regulus for not standing up to them, Regulus disliked Sirius for complicating things but they still loved one another.

Until Sirius had arrived on the Potter’s doorstep one warm summer evening, bloody and beaten, tortured by the same parents who were meant to protect him. Regulus was due to show up the next day but he never came. James still isn’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to or because he was forbidden to. Regardless, that decision changed things between the brothers, a chasm opening up that couldn’t be filled and that neither were willing to bridge.

A lot has changed since then and at the same time, not much at all. James’ parents couldn’t stand the thought of Regulus being stuck in that house and encouraged James to keep extending the summer invitations, more than willing to open their home up to him too. James, who was fiercely loyal to Sirius, wasn’t keen on spending time with the twin who had all but abandoned him but he did as his parents told him to and to his surprise, Regulus kept coming. Although he never took the Potters up on their offer.

“You think they’ll let me go?” He’d laughed when James had asked him but it lacked humour and warmth. “In their eyes, I’m the last heir to the House of Black, they’d rather kill me then let me leave.” Regulus shook his head, grey eyes defeated. “I have to wait this out, James, things will be different when I’m eighteen.”

Only things weren’t different because now they were on the precipice of war, one side hellbent on keeping magical blood pure and the other refusing to allow such oppression. It’s no secret that Regulus’ parents would do everything in their power to make sure their son was on the wrong side of it.

James finds himself at a loss on how to respond to Regulus feeling like he’s out of time because he’s right, he nearly is. Any day now he’ll need to make a decision and neither of them have been able to come up with a way for him to escape his fate that doesn’t include him running away and inevitably being killed for it. James needs Regulus to make the right choice but he doesn’t have a clue how he’ll go about doing it.

“We’ll think of something. You’re just going to have to be brave, Regulus.”

“It’s not in my nature.” He responds wryly, tapping the silver snake ring that adorns his index finger, a ring that he shares with his two Slytherin best friends.

“You were brave the minute you decided to stick it out in that house rather than running and paying the price.”

Regulus shakes his head. “Bravery would have been leaving the same time Sirius did.”

James doesn’t miss the admiration and longing in his voice when he talks about his brother, he thinks the only two people who refuse to hear it are Regulus and Sirius themselves.

It’s quiet for a moment, neither of them saying what they’re both thinking, that they know what the Blacks would have done if both brothers had left at the same time. They’d have killed Sirius, the more vocal and antagonistic of the two, and dragged Regulus back just to prove a point rather than be disgraced by both of their sons.

“Bravery isn’t always about taking action, you know. Sometimes it’s brave to wait something out, especially when you know what’s at stake,” James says, looking at the darkening sky above them more intently now, the stars are brighter and he finds Sirius’ constellation with a practised ease, drawing comfort from it. “But Regulus, that was then and this is now. The time is coming to make that decision.”

“I know.” Regulus says and he sounds tired.

“Being courageous is something you have to make the conscious choice to do and do you know what, Regulus? Making that decision is never going to be easy. But we do it because you could have the best plan, the best ideas and the best of intentions but if you never have the courage to put them into action then it doesn’t mean anything.” James pauses, meeting Regulus’ gaze. “You have to make it all mean something.”

Something that James said seems to resonate with Regulus because he appears deep in thought for a short while after that. James takes the opportunity to drink him in, those dark curls, his clever grey eyes and the sharp line of his jaw, it’s a sight James will never tire of.

He’s missed this, in the short week that they’ve been apart, he’s missed being able to stop and take the time to appreciate every one of Regulus’ features, to try and commit him to memory. He lifts a hand to Regulus’ chin, tilting his head so that they’re facing one another, so that their eyes can meet. Regulus’ grey eyes are clever and perceptive in a way that suggests he’s always one step ahead of you, that he can see right through you. Looking into Regulus’ eyes is like having every single one of your thoughts, feelings and deepest desires reflected back at you and it scares James as much as it thrills him.

Regulus allows James to manhandle him good-naturedly, rolling his eyes with a smile on his face as James lets go of his chin to trace his face. Regulus’ good looks are considerably more aristocratic than his brothers, his features sharper in every aspect, his jaw, his cheekbones (with an even sharper tongue to match, James would know, he’s often on the receiving end of it). Whereas Sirius is roguishly handsome (not that James would ever admit that to his face, he spends enough time hogging the mirror in the morning as it is), Regulus looks like someone that people would’ve fought over to paint during the renaissance. Someone whose face would’ve been immortalised in soft tones and striking lines before being hung in a fine art museum.

Eventually Regulus has had enough, almost like he can hear James’ thoughts out loud and is exasperated by them. He bats James’ hand away with a huff but he’s still smiling as he does so.

“You’re going to be insufferable as head boy.” The change in topic is a surprise but not an unwelcome one, the tension that had been hanging between them dissolving almost immediately.

James grins. “I can’t wait to abuse my power.”

“You better use that power to get Barty and Evan out of trouble when they inevitably land themselves in it.”

Regulus has been friends with Evan and Barty longer than he’s known James. The three of them are as thick as thieves and though you would never think that the three of them would go together, they fit surprisingly well.

“How are Barty and Evan?”

Regulus pulls a face and James can’t help but laugh. “Sorry, that was a stupid question when I already know the answer. Let me guess, they’ve terrorised you all summer?”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Regulus mutters but he seems pleased that James has asked about them.

Although he doesn’t have much to do with them aside from the occasional interaction because of Regulus, James likes the two of them well enough. If you’d have asked him that three years ago though, it would’ve been a different story and James would have probably cursed their names.

Barty Crouch Junior and Evan Rosier for a long time, had been the Slytherin poster boys for trouble and not the good kind. The Rosiers, much like the Blacks, have been staunch believers in blood supremacy for a very long time and in recent years, have become some of Voldemort’s most loyal supporters. Although Regulus and Evan have never openly supported their parent’s beliefs, their surname and lineage is enough to cast doubt in most people’s minds.

Barty’s circumstances however, were vastly different to that of his friends. Barty’s dad, his namesake, has held an influential position in the Ministry of Magic ever since James can remember and he knows through Regulus, and gossip from people in their year, that Barty and his dad are practically estranged. Bartemius senior, at every opportunity, has condemned Voldemort and his Death Eaters and it seems that Barty, hellbent on spiting his dad the only way he knew how, started spending more time with the sons and daughters of the families that were the strongest supporters of the Dark Lord to piss off his dad.

It took a long time for James to make any progress when it came to Regulus (and subsequently Barty and Evan). Although Regulus and Evan had never directly supported Voldemort they hadn’t exactly shut the rumours surrounding their involvement down either. Barty, who wasn’t particularly interested in Voldemort and was more interested in pissing off his dad, eventually stopped adding fuel to the fire when his feud with his dad came to a head and Barty moved out and started staying with the Rosiers.

Things had quietened down after that but James couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let it go. He’d eventually snapped at Regulus one evening in the astronomy tower, telling him that his apathy was nearly as bad as him directly supporting Voldemort and had walked away when Regulus had tried to argue with him. They didn’t speak for weeks after that, until James started to see a change in Regulus, in his friends.

First, there was a disapproving remark from Evan when someone commented on Mary Macdonald’s blood status. Then James overheard Barty arguing that Lily Evans was one of the best witches in their year, and betting five galleons that she’d smash her O.W.Ls (this was high praise from Barty considering he’d tell anyone who’d listen that his results would be some of the best Hogwarts had ever seen, annoyingly enough, he was right). James was then pleased to hear that Regulus had jinxed Avery after he heard how he was talking about some of their classmates. They were discreet in their defiance but it was a start.

The most trouble Barty and Evan get into these days is going out of their way to piss off the Gryffindors yet the general consensus is that they’ll be Death Eaters before the year is out. James is waiting for them to prove everyone wrong because he has no doubt that when Regulus finds a way to escape the future his parents have mapped out for him, Evan and Barty will follow suit, they just need a plan that’s infallible. He wishes Sirius would have a little more faith in Regulus so they could discuss this together, Sirius can put a plan together like no other.

“Sirius will be back soon.” James says gently, it’s an offer or a warning, whichever one Regulus decides it will be tonight.

Regulus stretches, not reacting to the mention of his brother’s name. “I better head home then.”

James tries to hide his disappointment. “Not going to say goodbye to mum?”

Regulus shakes his head, pushing himself up so he’s resting on his elbows. When he faces James again, he looks apologetic. “Tell her and Monty it was nice to see them.”

James leans down, cupping Regulus’ face and catching his mouth with his own. “Will do.” James murmurs against his lips. He savours the contact for a moment before pulling away, standing up and holding a hand out to Regulus, who for the second time this evening, bats it away.

Regulus takes his time getting up, stretching and showing off a pale slither of his waist as he does so. James watches as it disappears under his shirt before pulling him in for another kiss, this one much deeper. He brings one hand down to his hip, pushing Regulus’ top to one side so he can stroke the exposed skin there. This is James’ favourite part, exchanging kisses that whisper all the things they don’t want to, ‘goodbye’ and ‘I’ll see you soon’ and ‘until then, remember this, remember me’.

They break apart at the sound of Sirius’ voice in the distance, calling for James.

“Maybe give it a minute.” Regulus says amused as he surveys him. He starts to tidy James up the best he can, fixing his hair (impossible), his shirt (too late, it’s white and covered in grass stains) and then his glasses (pointless, they never seem to stay in place). “There, he won’t suspect a thing.”

James smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The fact that Sirius is in the dark when it comes to this, to them makes James feel uneasy. He feels like he’s betraying Sirius every time he asks about his brother and James doesn’t tell him. Every time he contemplates telling Sirius he feels like he’s betraying Regulus. He wishes Sirius would suspect that there’s something between them so the decision could be taken out of his hands. It would make things so much easier.

—

Barty has spent his last three summers with the Rosiers at their countryside manor. The Rosier estate is vast with grounds that sprawl for miles, formal gardens with topiary hedges and an extravagant maze. It’s a bit stuffy for Barty’s taste, he’s never been one for excessive displays of wealth but it’s the closest thing he has to a home these days.

If he’s honest with himself, home is wherever Evan is.

He’s sat on Evan’s balcony, legs hooked through the palisades with a can of beer beside him, watching the sun set in the horizon when his friend finds him. Barty had chosen this spot purposefully, because he knows Evan would look for him here and he wanted to be found.

“Crouch,” Evan says warmly, lowering himself down beside Barty, knocking their shoulders together. “Thought I’d find you here.”

“You got a smoke?” Barty says, offering his can of beer to Evan. He takes it with a quiet, ‘cheers’ as he swings his legs so that they’re dangling beside Barty’s, checking the pockets of his jeans until he finds a crumpled box. He hands it to Barty who takes it gratefully, lighting up and immediately taking a long drag.

“What you doing out here?” Evan asks, gazing down at the grounds he’ll one day inherit with a dispassionate look. Like Barty, Evan doesn’t care much for the Rosier estate, he’s often told Barty how he’d rather buy a flat somewhere by the sea and spend his time there. He’ll probably give this place to his twin sister, Pandora, when the time comes.

Barty blows out a mouth full of smoke and hands Evan back his cigarettes, letting their hands brush against one another as he does so. “Waiting for you to find me.”

Evan huffs out a laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He turns to smile at Barty, the last few rays of the setting sun catching his blonde hair and setting it on fire.

“And why did you want me to find you?”

Barty knows that this is probably the last summer they’ll sit on the balcony like this and mourns the loss of it already. They’ll both be eighteen soon, Evan the heir apparent to the Rosier fortune and Barty forever the disgraced, outcast son with no choice but to make his own way in the world. He doesn’t know what the future holds for them, he doesn’t care, as long as it means they’re together.

He lets his gaze drop to Evan’s lips. “So I could kiss you?” Barty murmurs, stubbing the cigarette out on the ground next to them, he’ll come back to that later, he has more important things to focus on at this particular moment in time.

“You going to say it means nothing again?” Comes Evan’s response, playful, with a sharp edge to it.

Barty sighs, rolling his eyes. “If you only came out here to be annoying then piss off, if you couldn’t tell, I’m trying to enjoy the view.”

“You hate the view.” Evan says mildly, closing the distance between them. Barty feels their arms brush together from the close proximity, feels the way Evan is leaning towards him, bridging the gap between them and tries his hardest to not look smug. He knows he’s failed when Evan tuts, rolling his eyes in amused exasperation. 

“Don’t pull that face, it looks awful on you.”

“Liar.” Barty murmurs, grabbing Evan by the chin. They stay like that for a minute, savouring the moment, the calm before the storm and then Barty is dragging his thumb down Evan’s bottom lip, watching the way Evan’s eyes become lidded and the breath punches out of him.

He doesn’t know who initiates it, only that they’re suddenly kissing, all teeth and tongue and Barty’s debating pushing Evan down against the floor and biting a trail down his neck when they’re rudely interrupted.

“Can you two stop that? Honestly, the things I have to see in my own home!” Pandora Rosier exclaims as she pushes open the french doors with one hand and pulls a chair from her brother’s bedroom out with the other. Barty groans, pulling away from Evan to pick up the closest thing he can find, his balled up hoodie, which he throws at her. She catches it, unperturbed, throwing it back at his head before sitting down and looking at them expectantly.

“Pandora, can you go away?” Barty says, chucking his hoodie to one side, distracted by the way Evan’s looking at him, like he’s starving, like Barty’s the only one that can fix that.

“We were kind of in the middle of something.” Evan adds though he doesn’t take his eyes off Barty.

“Mum and dad told me to tell you both that the Dark Lord has called a meeting at nine, they want you both there.”

That snaps them out of it, Evan tenses as he turns to face his sister, Barty throwing his head back as he groans. They both know what this means, it’s something they’ve both been trying to outrun all summer. A tattoo that neither of them wants but one that they’re both cursed to bear.

“What are we going to do?” Barty asks, as he unhooks his legs from where they were dangling over the ledge, turning to give Pandora all of his attention. Evan does the same and for a moment the three of them just look at one another, clueless and in so far over their heads that they don’t know how they’ll ever get out of this mess.

“Regulus told us to do whatever we could to delay it,” Evan says tentatively, he seems to sense that Barty is going to object because he turns to him, looking resigned, “I know, I know. We’ve been doing it all summer but we’re going to have to do it one last time. Regulus told us he’d have a plan by the time we get back to Hogwarts.”

“Evan, we’re fucked and it’s time we all start accepting it.”

Pandora shakes her head at Barty’s words, she’s looking at Evan’s bare arm, the patch of skin that in time, the dark mark will undoubtedly occupy. “I don’t think you’re fucked. I don’t think any of us are just yet, I have a feeling…” she trails off, meeting her brother’s eyes. They share something unspoken between them, Evan relaxing at whatever he sees in her face.

Twins, in the magical world, are considered to be inherently more powerful and sometimes, even gifted, Pandora and Evan certainly are. Pandora often gets feelings and visions about things that might happen, things that could happen. They’re not foolproof but she’s never led them astray so far, if Evan trusts her judgement, Barty will do the same.

“Okay,” Barty says blowing out a breath, “So we try and buy ourselves more time?”

Evan nods, leaning around Pandora to look at the clock visible on his wall even from where they’re sitting on the balcony, “Fuck, I need to shower,” he turns to Barty, “Meet you downstairs in twenty?”

“Course,” Barty says as they both stand up, Evan picking up the beer can that had been left forgotten between them and tipping his head back to drink the dregs. Barty picks his hoodie up, throwing it over his shoulder and tucks his half-smoked cigarette behind his ear as he goes to follow Evan inside but Pandora holds out a hand to stop him.

“I can’t believe Regulus and James got their shit together before you two did.”

“What?” Barty asks and he can’t help the irritation that creeps into his tone, he doesn’t have time for this. “Why are you bringing them into this?”

Pandora looks at him like he’s stupid. “You can’t be serious.” She lets out an exasperated laugh when he doesn’t saying anything. “Wow, you actually are that clueless.”

Barty grits his teeth and goes to push past her but Pandora grabs his wrist, her nails digging in as she pulls him closer. When she speaks, her voice is low and vicious.

“I catch you with your tongue down my brother’s throat, not for the first time, might I add and you try and act like there isn’t something more going on between the two of you.”

Barty sends her a flat look, tugging his wrist free. “Just like the rest of the people I’ve slept with, Pandora, it meant nothing and Evan knows that.”

She looks at him and doesn’t bother to hide the disappointment on her face. “He deserves better than you.”

Barty laughs, as he walks away but it sounds hollow, even to him. He knows that, of course he does. How could he not?

—

James expected their first week back at Hogwarts to be slow and easy. He expected it to consist of warm evenings sat by the lake with his friends, late nights laughing in their dorm room and to be busy planning their annual welcome back party for what would be their last time.

What James didn’t expect, but probably should have seen coming, was the open hostility between the different houses, the distrust between people who were once friends and the fear that was palpable the minute they stepped foot on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. It seems that not even Hogwarts, which was once a sanctuary from the conflict, was safe from the war.

The four of them had stood there, James, Sirius, Remus and Peter, shoulder to shoulder, lost for words and grappling with the realisation that they’d been so incredibly naive. Foolishly they’d hoped that the war would wait for them to finish their last year at Hogwarts before it got its claws into them, instead the threat of it had been there all along, a game of cat and mouse that they were doomed to lose.

They’d been waiting for Lily, Marlene and Mary when Regulus had walked past them, his expression indifferent but there was arrogance in the way he held himself, in the tilt of his chin and the cool, calculated look in his eyes. As always, Barty and Evan flanked him, the former laughing at something that the latter had said. The pair of them were carefree and flippant, a stark difference to the tense atmosphere on the platform. James found it disconcerting, it was like all the progress they’d made had been undone, like they were back to playing the roles they’d portrayed three years ago when they’d been seen as the haughty heirs, the Slytherin poster boys.

The trio were quick to join Pandora and Dorcas who were waiting by the entrance to one of the carriages. Dorcas was the only one who paid them any mind, only briefly glancing over at them in the hopes of catching a glimpse of her girlfriend, Marlene. She had turned her back on them when she realised she wasn’t there yet, turning to bow her head to whisper something to Regulus.

James had watched them board the train and had heard the hushed, intimidated whispers that followed them. What was Regulus playing at? His excitement at being back had been quickly dampened by an uneasy sense of foreboding.

He’d been right to feel that way, it had been a premonition of all the bad things that were to come.

“I’m going to kill him.” Sirius says, eyes wild as he paces the length of their doom room.

It’s their first day back and already the rumours are rampant about which students over the summer were graced with personal visits from Voldemort.

Peter sighs from where he’s lying on his bed, head hanging over the edge. He looks fed up, James isn’t surprised, Sirius has been at this for the past thirty minutes. “Sirius you don’t even know if he’s done anything yet!”

“No, I know him. This is exactly the sort of stunt he’d pull!” Sirius exclaims, stopping to point a finger at James. “You were the last person to speak to him, did he say anything to you?”

James sends him an incredulous look but wisely chooses not to mention that in this room, he’s the only one that’s spoken to his brother recently. “Don’t you think I might have mentioned it sooner if I knew your brother was exchanging pleasantries with Voldemort?” He was confused by the news too if he’s honest, doesn’t understand why Regulus is involved or what his rationale was but he’s waiting for a chance to ask him in private. There has to be a reason, there always is with Regulus.

James sighs, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. “You’re jumping the gun a bit, mate. If he was there, maybe he didn’t have a choice?”

Sirius looks at him with pity in his eyes, like James is defending someone irredeemable, maybe because Regulus is in his eyes. “You always get a choice, James, and my brother constantly picks the wrong one. It took me a long time to realise that.“

James turns away from him, disappointed that this is what is left of the Black brothers, doubt and bitterness and years and years worth of hard feelings. He wants so badly to fix them, doesn’t know the first place to start.

He seeks out Remus, who is watching the scene unfold from where he’s sat on the window seat, a worn book forgotten on his lap. Their eyes meet and Remus, as always, seems to understand what his friends need.

“Sirius,” Remus cuts in gently, putting his book to one side, he makes his way over to Sirius. “We don’t know for sure that Regulus was there, why don’t we let James speak to him first? Find out all the facts before we let you go find him and start shouting your head off. You two are a fucking nightmare when you get going.” He’s smiling and not even trying to hide it as he steers Sirius towards his bed. He’s not wrong, James has watched Sirius and Regulus clash enough over the years to know that they’ll fight like cats and dogs when given half the chance.

“Dorcas was the one who told Marlene about Regulus meeting with You-Know-Who,” Peter interjects matter-of-factly, “She wouldn’t lie about something like that.”

Remus sends him a pained look as if to say ‘you’re really not helping’ before turning back to Sirius, kneeling beside him at the foot of his bed. “Look, there’s nothing we can do right now. It’s Saturday tomorrow, let James go and find him and then you’ll finally have your answer and then we’ll figure it out, together.”

Sirius doesn’t say anything for a long moment, staring at his hands, at the silver ring of his constellation that sits on his little finger. He twists it, almost like he’s about to take it off before he sighs, leaving it where it is and raising his face to look at Remus instead.

“You’re right, you’re always right.”

Remus huffs out a laugh, pushing himself to his feet. “Remember that next time when I try and tell you something you don’t want to hear.”

“Now that, that matters sorted…temporarily, what are we going to do?” Peter asks, he’s sat up now, brow creased as he looks at them all. “About the war?”

It’s silent for a moment, the four of them sharing blank looks. They’d spoken at length about the war, about Dumbledore and the Order but never really contemplated what came after that.

Sirius is the one who eventually speaks. “Well, we’ll join the Order, help Dumbledore stop Voldemort.”

Peter doesn’t seem to be satisfied with that answer, his mouth an unhappy line. “And then?”

Sirius sends him a puzzled look. “What do you mean, and then?”

“Well what comes after that? When we join, how will we actually help stop You-Know-Who?”

James listens as Remus and Peter go back and forth, Sirius occasionally chipping in as he flicks through one of the motorbike magazines Marlene had given him on the train, debating what kind of missions they’ll be sent on in the Order, what information they’ll be privy to and what Dumbledore will need from each of them. It’s not the first time he’s realised how uncertain their future is, how unclear it all is but it’s the first time the gravity of the situation hits him. This is his life, the lives of his friends that are on the line and they haven’t got a plan that goes beyond joining the Order and working for Dumbledore. James looks at his friends with a sense of dread, the realisation that in a year’s time, all of this could be gone.

Maybe Regulus isn’t the only one that needs a plan.

—

“We’re running out of time.” Evan says from where he’s sat by the fireplace in their dorm room, he sounds frustrated, Regulus knows how he feels.

“Correction, we’ve run out of time,” Barty interjects from beside Evan. When he turns to face Regulus, who is pacing behind them, the light from the fire only catches half of his face leaving the rest in darkness. “Come on then, what’s your brilliant plan? How are we surviving this year?”

Regulus stops pacing. “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Regulus, don’t take this to heart but a lot of the time I don’t like what you have to say.”

“Barty, really? Is now the time?“

“Come on Ev-”

“Both of you shut up.” Regulus says coming to sit on the edge of the table in front of them, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin on his interlocked fingers. They’re both paying attention now, eyeing him warily.

Regulus takes a deep breath in before blowing it out, scrubbing his face with his hands like he can physically scrub his irritation away. “I’ve thought about all the ways we could do this, all the ways we could try and get out of it, what we could say, what we could do, where we could go.” He pauses, dropping his head in his hands. He’s tired, the kind of tired that goes beyond getting a good nights sleep. “And then I spoke to James and he said something that stuck with me.”

Barty tilts his head in interest at the mention of James, Evan on the other hand looks resigned, like he’s been expecting this.

“Okay, so you’re going to join Sirius at the Potters right? They’ll keep you safe there.” There’s no anger in Evan’s tone, no disappointment, instead he seems to have anticipated this outcome, prepared himself for it. “Barty and I can go on the run, if I start withdrawing a little each month from-“

Regulus is quick to interrupt him. “My parents would kill me if I went to the Potters seeing as they’ve already promised me to the Dark Lord and if you disappeared what would happen to Pandora? Even if you brought her with you, they’d find someone else that you cared about and would torture them until you came back. It’s not an option and even if it was, it’s one I wouldn’t consider,” Regulus lifts his head to look at Evan, his gaze unwavering in its intensity. “I’m never going to leave you behind.”

It’s true, Regulus cares about James, loves Sirius despite their history and knows Effie and Monty would make him feel at home in their house and for all those reasons, he could never lead the Dark Lord to their door. The main reason though, is Regulus’ loyalty first and foremost will always be to Barty, to Evan. They’ve been there for him when no one else was, stood by him through everything. He would never leave them behind, not willingly. It’s why he did what he could to protect them, to give them more time.

He meets Evan’s eyes first, then Barty’s, as he rolls up the sleeve of his left arm, he doesn’t regret it, not when he did it for them. “I managed to buy you both until the end of the year.” Regulus says watching as their eyes fall to his forearm where the dark mark is stark against his pale skin.

Evan physically recoils from it, eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise but Barty leans forward, like he wants to touch it, like he can’t quite believe it’s real. His hand hovers, mere centimetres from Regulus’ arm before he pulls it away, shaking his head. Barty turns to look at Evan, tension evident in his shoulders, in his face, in his jaw.

Evan doesn’t look at him though, he’s pale and he can’t take his eyes off of Regulus’ arm. “What have you done?” He asks quietly.

Barty doesn’t give Regulus a chance to answer. “Regulus, you haven’t bought us more time. By deciding to do that, without talking to us first, you’ve damned us to the exact same fate.” Barty’s voice is cold but his eyes are even colder. He stands, getting in Regulus’ space and forcing him to look up at him from where he’s still sat on the table. Regulus knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Barty’s anger, has been many times in the past and refuses to let it deter him now. “Thanks to you, we’re both going to have to get permanently branded by him now!”

“I get it, you’re angry-“

“Angry, Reg? I’m furious! Furious that you didn’t talk to us first! Furious because we’re meant to be a team. Furious that you thought you getting that mark meant we wouldn’t have to. Did you really think we’d just leave you to get on with it?”

“He was asking questions, Barty, about why we were avoiding it. I told him that Dumbledore was becoming suspicious, that by marking so many of us now he might be putting us on the Order’s radar later on. As a gesture of good will, I told him I’d take it now and that by marking me, he was marking all of us.” Regulus tugs his sleeve down, hiding the mark from sight. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I haven’t had a chance, this only happened last night.”

“He was at yours? Last night?” Evan asks, unlike Barty, there’s no anger in his tone, only grim resignation.

“He’s going to be staying there from now on. Wants to use it as his base of operations.”

Evan covers his face. “Fuck.” Comes his muttered reply.

“You’re not the type of person to do something without a reason so go on,” Barty says, moving away from Regulus to place a hand on Evan’s shoulder. Evan lifts his head out of his hands and leans into the touch, pulling Barty back down beside him. “Fill us in, what’s the plan genius?”

“James told me that when I made my choice, I had to make it mean something.” He pauses, looking at them. They annoy him most of the time, there’s not a day that goes by where they don’t get on his last nerve but he will always protect them, fight their corner, whatever they need from him, he’ll give them and they needed this, to be given back their ability to make a choice. Regulus will always make the worst choices if it means that they actually get one.

“Talking of James, have you told him yet?” When Regulus doesn’t respond Barty starts laughing, loud in the quiet room.

James.

Regulus trusts him. Wants James to trust him back. He would never admit it but he cares about James’ opinion and hates the fact that he might hate him for this. Regardless, he deserves to know and Regulus will tell him.

“I will soon. But I wanted to tell you both first.”

That catches Barty’s interest. “So you do actually have a plan?”

Regulus nods. “James told me to make my choice mean something, so I’m going to.” He taps the place on his arm where the dark mark sits beneath his sleeve. “This means that the Dark Lord has the capacity to trust me and I’m going to earn that trust and when the time comes, I’m going to make him regret it.”

Barty’s face breaks out into a grin. The ghost of a smile appears on Evan’s face, his eyes are bright. “You’re going to double cross him?”

“I’m going to double cross him.”

Barty nods in approval. “Well Ev, it seems like we won’t be running away after all.”

“I’m not expecting you to do this with me,” Regulus says and he doesn’t. The whole point of this was to give them a choice, to put the power back in their hands when time and time again it had been taken from them. If they come up with something in the next year that guarantees their safety and their freedom, Regulus will watch them go, secure in the knowledge that he helped keep them safe.

“But we’re going to.” Comes Barty’s response, no hesitation, only unwavering support.

Evan laughs, throwing one arm around Barty and pulling Regulus in with the other. “It’s a fucking crazy plan. I’m in.”

They stay there for a moment, together and stronger for it and Regulus finds solace in the fact that these two people will never, ever let him down.

“You really think that we can do this? Take him down?” Evan asks as they pull away from one another. There’s no doubt in his voice, only a quiet wonder.

“Take away the arrogance, the self-imposed title and the fact that the majority of his power derives from having a large following and what is he?” Regulus asks.

Barty sends him a knowing smile. “A man. He’s just a man.”

Regulus huffs out a laugh. ”And when the time comes, he’ll die like one.”

Chapter 2: Chapter Two (cards on the table)

Notes:

Found out today that every year on the 23rd of August, the sun (James) meets up with Regulus (the star) so happy Jegulus day x

Regulus Black is a difficult person to find when he doesn’t want to be found.

James has checked the library, the courtyard, the quidditch pitch, all the places he’d usually haunt on a Saturday morning but for whatever reason, Regulus is choosing to steer clear of them today.

That leaves one last place.

“Why do you have to make so much noise?” Peter whines, pulling his pillow over his head as James barges back into their room. “I can always tell it’s you, you’re so heavy footed.”

“Sorry,” James murmurs, not meaning it one bit. He makes a beeline for his trunk, opening it and immediately dumping half of his belongings on the floor. He digs through the rest of the contents of the trunk until his fingers make contact with a silky material folded carefully at the very bottom. “I needed to pick something up.”

James’ cloak feels like it’s woven from starlight, smooth and supple, the magic entwined between each individual thread buzzing underneath his fingertips. He tucks it under one arm, casting a quick charm to half-heartedly tidy up the mess he’d made. He bids Pete goodbye but doesn’t get a response.

It’s early so the corridors are mostly quiet, bar the occasional student on their way to the Great Hall. James smiles at them, thanks them when they congratulate him on being made head boy and waits until there’s no one else around to throw on the cloak. The trip to the Slytherin common room is much quicker when no one else can see you.

James knows which corridor he’s looking for but isn’t quite sure which bit of the bare stretch of stone wall conceals the entryway to the dungeon. The location of the Slytherin common room is a closely guarded secret, unlike the other houses who occasionally open up their living quarters to their friends, legend has it that an outsider hasn’t entered the Slytherin common room for seven centuries. James loves a challenge.

He hovers for a moment, hoping that someone will come along soon. He only has to wait five minutes before a harried fourth year is returning from breakfast, very clearly in a rush. She mutters the password underneath her breath before darting inside, not bothering to check if anyone is around to hear her. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have seen James, only a heartbeat behind her.

The Slytherin common room is beautiful in the first light of morning. It catches James off guard for a moment as he spins to take the room in, the only person other than the Slytherins who have seen this place in all its glory.

Everything is cast in an emerald glow, the bottom of the lake visible from the numerous windows scattered around the room, the movement of the water casting ever changing patterns on the floor.

When James lifts his head, his feels his breath catch in his throat. The edges of the high ceiling are gilded in gold and at the centre of it is a mural, several painted panels, all woven together to tell a thousand different stories in paint.

Shaking his head in disbelief, James struggles to temper his smile. No wonder the Slytherins are such pretentious bastards, he thinks he’d have a chip on his shoulder too if he got to wake up to this view every morning.

He loves Gryffindor tower, wouldn’t change a single thing about it. It’s intimate and reminds him of home and he’ll miss it desperately once this year is up but he’s glad he got to see this. Pleased that just for a moment, he gets to be part of Regulus’ world, that he’s able to collect another piece of him here amongst the shelves of books and grandiose tapestries.

With one last lingering look, James makes his way down the marble steps that presumably lead to the boys dormitories. There are two sets of steps, on opposite sides of the room and he’d seen which direction the fourth year had headed in so knows that he’s on the right track.

The corridor is quiet, a couple of the doors are open and James can hear laughter and soft voices trickling out. It surprises him, how ordinary it all feels for a moment, how ordinary the Slytherins are proving to be. James forgets sometimes, that they’re more than just the house closely associated with Voldemort. That they’re not all going to be future Death Eaters. He feels the shame, hot and unpleasant in his stomach.

He makes his way to the very end of the hall and round a small bend to presumably, where the seventh years are. James knows that since their fifth year, the Slytherin boys have been split into two rooms, one holding three students and the other only two. It’s a perk of the vast and seemingly endless space in the dungeons, and had probably been funded by the previous generations of Malfoys, Blacks and Rosiers and all those other old families, James thinks wryly.

He’s fairly certain that inside one of these rooms is Regulus but the problem is he’s not sure which one. James curses Sirius for taking the map this morning. The selfish git.

Both doors are closed and so James waits, hardly daring to breathe in case he misses the slightest sound that will point him in the right direction, but the occupants of both rooms remain quiet.

So James decides to take matters into his own hands.

Without pause, he pulls the cloak aside ever so slightly to boot the wall to his left. The door closest to James opens in response, revealing a scowling Avery standing in the dimly lit doorway. James quickly moves to press his back against the stone brickwork, in case Avery decides to venture further than the threshold of his room.

Avery pauses for a moment, scanning the corridor, his gaze skipping over James. He mutters a string of profanities under his breath, sending the room opposite his a dark look as he disappears with a slam of his door.

Well that solves things then, doesn’t it?

James waits to make sure that Avery isn’t going to make another appearance before he pulls off the cloak, not wanting to frighten the life out of anyone. He pushes open the ornate door to his right, relieved to find it unlocked and walks into the spacious room.

Barty is the first one to notice him, peering at him blearily from his bed, not seeming the least bit concerned at the intrusion. “Potter, really? Couldn’t it have waited an hour?”

“No, not really.” James says, tone frosty.

Evan isn’t as cordial as Barty. He throws a pillow at him, it misses James and bounces harmlessly to the floor. “If you’re going to kick off can you at least shut the door first? Severus is in the room opposite ours and he’s the biggest fucking gossip going.”

James does as he’s told and shuts the door before turning to face Regulus, who is sat at the furthest end of the room in an overstuffed armchair. He’s watching the flames pick up in the fireplace, a cup of what looks like black coffee on the oak table beside him. He’s not paying any of them the slightest bit of attention.

“Reg, what is going on?”

“I’d like to know too.” Evan mutters, sitting up in bed, his blonde hair untidy and his face still creased with sleep.

“Late night?” James asks sharply. It annoys him, that whilst everyone has been worried about this trio and the supposed threat that they pose, these two seemingly couldn’t care less.

Barty shifts so that he’s resting on his elbows, dark hair as artfully messy as always. He stifles a yawn. “Potter, can you cut the attitude for just a second? One, you’re in our room, uninvited by the way. Two, how did you get in here? I’d probably be pissed off if I wasn’t so impressed.”

“Invisibility cloak.” Evan replies, nodding towards the balled up material in James’ hands.

That seems to wake Barty up, he makes an excited gesture at James miming that he should throw the cloak to him. James sends him a look back as if to say ‘are you mad’.

Barty shrugs in defeat and Evan snorts at him, “Nice try, idiot. As if he’d let you look at it, he knows the minute that it’s in your hands he’ll probably never see it again.”

“Can you two give us a minute?” Regulus’ voice is quiet but instantly commands the attention of everyone in the room. They all turn to look at him, despite the fact that he still has his back to them.

“Oh for fucks sake.” Barty whines, he grabs his quilt glowering at James as he does so. “Evan, pick up your pillow, we’re being kicked out of our own room.”

Evan sighs. “Relegated to the common room it is.”

The pair of them head out, still in their t-shirts and joggers, Barty wrapped in his duvet and Evan with his pillow tucked under his arm.

Barty leaves without a backwards glance but Evan hovers.

When he doesn’t hear the door click shut, Regulus turns to look at his friend, a wordless exchange flashing as quick as lightning between them. Whatever conclusion they come to satisfies Evan, who ducks his head with a pleased smile. This earns him a theatrical eye roll from Regulus, who dismisses him with a wave of his hand. This time Evan listens to him.

“I have a feeling I know what all of this is about.” Regulus sighs. He gestures to the sofa next to him. “Come sit with me.”

James does so warily, coming to sit on the velvet sofa next to Regulus’ armchair. It’s surprisingly comfortable, littered with numerous cushions but he can’t relax, he’s anxious and it’s making him fidgety.

“Reg, what’s going on? We’ve only been back for five minutes and people are saying all sorts of things.”

“It’s complicated. Just promise me you’ll hear me out? Wait until I’ve explained everything before you give me hell for it.”

Oh fuck, James thinks faintly but he nods and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, all his attention focused on Regulus in front of him.

“There’s something that I need to do and it’s going to change everything but James,” Regulus holds his gaze, his own unwavering in its intensity. “It will not change me, I won’t let it.”

He pauses for a minute, breaking their eye contact to look heavenward before the words tumble from him, in a rush and all at once.

“I took the dark mark.”

James is on his feet in an instant, the blood roaring in his ears. “You did what?”

Regulus angles his chin up at him defiantly. “You heard me. You told me there was no point having a plan if I wasn’t brave enough to put it into action, so I did. And that meant taking the dark mark.”

James starts laughing, he knows he sounds hysterical but he can’t stop, the noise spilling from him, sounding strangled and strange.

“Don’t use my words against me. When I said those things to you it was meant to give you courage to do the right thing, not to push you into your parent’s arms. Fuck, they must be thrilled, they finally did it. Finally got their perfect Death Eater son.” He shakes his head, ignoring the fury on Regulus’ face, his narrowed eyes and pursed mouth. James feels like he’s choking. “I would say that Sirius is going to be disappointed in you but I think he expected this from you more than I did.”

Regulus is on his feet now too, crowding against James. His grey eyes are blazing, hands fisted at his side, like he doesn’t trust himself not to grab at him. “Did you not listen to a word I just said? I said I have a plan and to put it into motion I had to do this but this is not going to change me, James. It’s just a means to an end.”

James uses their close proximity to grab at Regulus’ left arm, roughly pushing up the sleeve of his jumper. Regulus tries to pull away but it’s too late, the soft wool of his sleeve is half way up to his elbow, revealing the black ink beneath. He drops Regulus’ arm just as quickly as he grabbed it. Bile rising thick and fast in the back of his throat as he points a shaky finger at the tattoo staining Regulus’ forearm.

“No plan is worth that.”

Upon hearing those words, the fight seems to leave Regulus in a rush. He pulls down his sleeve, head bowed as he takes a step back, putting distance between them. “You told me you’d hear me out.”

“Okay. Talk to me. Help me understand why you’ve done this.” He thinks back to Barty and Evan earlier, both in t-shirts, arms visible and bare. “Do Barty and Evan know?”

“Of course they do. They were the first people I told.” Regulus sits back down, this time on the sofa, gesturing for James to do the same. They sit next to one another, thighs pressed together and although there’s no real space between their bodies, it feels like there’s miles and miles stretching between them.

“I first thought about it when I realised I couldn’t run away or join the Order. Unlike Sirius, I knew if I left it wouldn’t go unpunished, I knew that someone I cared about would suffer the consequences if I disappeared. It’s the same for Evan and Barty. We could’ve ran, could’ve brought everyone we loved with us but they’d still have found some other way to hurt us. Running was never an option.” Regulus presses his fingers to his temples, like he’s trying to stave off a headache. “This summer was all abut buying time, if not for me then at least for Barty and Evan but the Dark Lord was getting impatient.”

“He backed you into a corner.” James guesses.

“Yes.” Regulus confirms, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “But what he didn’t know was that I was doing the exact same thing to him. I told him that by marking students in close proximity to Dumbledore, he risked putting us on the Order’s radar and that it could result in him losing the element of surprise later on.” He shakes his head wryly. “He wasn’t completely sold on the idea at first and I didn’t want him to think that it was a cop out, that I was trying to get out of it and risk angering him. I wanted him to start trusting me so I told him that I’d be honoured to take the dark mark now, that I could be discreet about it, more so than some of my peers.“

“And now none of the students will have to take the mark until they leave Hogwarts.” James breathes. It was stupid of Regulus, not to mention incredibly dangerous but he can see the brilliance in it, the quick thinking it must have taken him to outmanoeuvre Voldemort at his own game.

Regulus nods. “I knew going into that meeting that I had to do whatever I could to buy Barty and Evan more time but also to limit my competition.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke about wanting Voldemort to trust me and it’s true but not for the reasons you might think. I want him to trust me so that he tells me information that others aren’t privy to. I want him to trust me to the point that he wants me sitting beside him at meetings, advising him. I want him to trust me so that when he looks at me, he sees a valuable asset that he needs to keep close to him. And so when the time comes, he won’t even anticipate the knife at his back. He’ll be so focused on the threat from those outside of his inner circle that he won’t see the danger that sits directly beside him.”

James feels his mouth part in surprise, his eyes involuntarily widening behind his glasses. “You’re going to betray him?”

Regulus smiles and there’s a small victory there, like he can feel James’ anger draining away, can hear the interest in his voice and see the fascination dawning on his face.

“I didn’t have many options, James, but I did what I could with the cards I was dealt.”

It takes James a minute to process everything that Regulus has just told him. It takes a few more for him to realise that from the way Regulus was talking, his plan was a solitary one, full of ‘I’ and not ‘we’.

“And where do I fit into all of this?”

Regulus’ smile falters.

“I don’t do I? You haven’t even taken the time to consider me. How I might feel about this. I had to come and find you! Would you have even told me if I hadn’t sought you out?”

Regulus shakes his head, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Of course I was going to tell you.”

The anger is back, James’ heart pounding in his chest like a drum. “So where does this leave us then? Or were you hiding out in here, trying to pluck up the courage to end things between us because you don’t respect me enough to tell me what the hell is going on with you!”

“I wasn’t plucking up the courage to end things between us.” Regulus says sharply, parroting James’ words straight back at him, curling his fingers into mocking air quotes. “But I have every intention of letting you go if that’s what you want.”

James can’t believe this, how long it had taken to break down Regulus’ defences, how quickly he’d put them all back up again. “What I want? Reg, for once, what do you want?”

“I want to survive this war. I want to win it.”

James doesn’t bother to hide his disappointment. “Is that all?”

Regulus swallows, his throat bobbing. “And I want you.”

“So you’re asking me to wait?”

“No,” Regulus looks tired. He always does these days. “I’m just asking you to understand. You don’t have to stay, you don’t have to wait. I made a decision without telling you first and you have every right to be mad, I don’t blame you. But I need you to know why I did it. I need you to understand.” He looks up at James and there’s genuine sorrow in his eyes. Regulus looks like a man who knows that something precious is slipping through his fingers and that holding on tighter won’t make a difference if it’s already gone. “I don’t care if I’m the villain in everyone else’s story but I do care if I’m the villain in yours.”

James tries to breathe, tries to respond but it feels like there’s something lodged deep in his chest. In the silence of the room, Regulus moves towards the fireplace, his back to James.

He’s angry.

He’s disappointed.

He wants to scream at the unfairness of it all.

He wants to sink to his knees and cry.

He wants to travel back in time and stop Regulus from doing this.

He wants to travel back in time and tell Regulus that it’s okay, he understands.

And he does understand.

He wishes he didn’t, but he does.

This could go so, so wrong in so many different ways. Regulus could die following Voldemort’s orders, lifeless on a battlefield, his name and reputation forever tied to the Death Eaters. He could say the wrong thing, make a mistake that would inevitably lead back to him and be punished for his deceit. But James believes that if given half the chance, Regulus really could change the world.

The worst part is, he knows that Regulus is about to become one of the villains, at least to everyone else. And now James is cursed with the knowledge that he’s not, not really.

James thinks to back to that evening in his garden, Regulus lying beside him in the half-light, telling him that being brave isn’t in his nature. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

It’s not the future he wanted for Regulus, for them but it’s the one that they can choose to have or lose entirely.

James has made his choice, the one he knew deep down he’d always make.

“Fuck you for thinking I’d ever give up on you that easy.”

Regulus looks over his shoulder and lifts a brow in question. He’s tense, even though he’s trying to feign indifference, James can tell. He knows him, every version of him, inside out. He won’t lose this, he can’t.

“You’re not doing it alone.”

Regulus isn’t expecting that, his face goes slack, mouth parting open in surprise. The expression is wiped clean as quick as it was there but James saw it, can see it still, in his clever grey eyes.

“James, you can’t,” He seems to anticipate James wanting to speak because he holds a hand up, stopping him in his tracks. “No I won’t have it. I won’t.” He says sharply, his mouth an unhappy line. “You have too much to lose.”

James steps forward, until they’re stood shoulder to shoulder, by the fireplace. The flames are just embers now, dying in the grate, yet they both stare at them, rather than face the other.

“What did Evan and Barty decide, when you told them?”

Regulus closes his eyes, pained. “Don’t bring them into this, James. You know it’s different for them. For us.”

“It’s no different for me than it is for them, Regulus.”

Regulus finally turns to look at him, his eyes somber. “We both know that’s not true. People expect this of us. They’d never expect this from you.”

“Well I’ll have to make sure I convince them then.” It sounds weak, even to his own ears.

“And what about Sirius? Remus, Peter, Lily, Marlene and Mary? They’ll hate you for this, James.”

James hesitates. The thought of his friends feeling that way about him ties his stomach in knots but he knows that they’d understand once he explains everything. They might even want to be part of this somehow, work with them behind the scenes. He knows they’d help in any way that they could. “I’ll be making the world a better place, for them. They’ll understand when I tell them. I know they will.”

Regulus shakes his head, remorseful. “No one can know, James. It’ll never work if for whatever reason someone lets it slip.”

“They wouldn’t-“

“James, he’ll tortue them.” Regulus’ tone is blunt, matter-of-fact. James flinches at the cold brutality of it. “If he even suspects that there’s a connection there, that you hold even the slightest bit of affection for them he will go after them and you won’t be able to protect them without blowing the whole thing up.”

“What about Sirius? Just Sirius.” James pleads, he can hear how desperate it sounds, even to him. He feels awful, doesn’t want to keep any of his friends in the dark but can’t bear the thought of his best friend thinking the worst of him. James loves Sirius, he needs him and he knows Sirius needs him too.

“Sirius can’t know,” Regulus says quietly. “James, I’m banking on the distance between us to get me a place with the Death Eaters. If Sirius starts acting differently towards me, they’ll get suspicious and we can’t afford to have any loose ends.” He looks down at his hand and twists the constellation ring on his little finger absentmindedly. “Besides, I want to protect Sirius, James. I don’t want him caught up in all of this. One of us had to get out and I’m glad it was him. I’m not dragging him back into this.” There’s no room for argument there. Regulus’ tone is final.

James knows why. If Sirius knew the truth, there’s no way he’d let his brother face this alone. Sirius would want to protect him, the same way Regulus wants to keep him safe.

He doesn’t know what to do. Regardless of what decision he comes to, he’s going to lose one of them.

“Why are you telling me all of this then? If you didn’t want me to be involved and it’s too dangerous for anyone else to know what you’re planning to do, why are you putting me at risk?”

“Because there’s a good chance that I’ll die doing this, James. And I didn’t want to die a lie.” It’s a painfully honest statement. One said with no hesitation and no fear. James comes to the sickening realisation that Regulus wants to survive this war but he doesn’t think he will. That he’s made peace with that.

James pulls Regulus towards him, wrapping his arms round his shoulders and burying his face in the crook of his neck. Regulus is surprised, James can tell by the way he freezes. It takes him a minute to embrace him back and when he does, his grip is tight.

James holds him, breathes him in and lets the tears fall. Regulus doesn’t comment on them, just draws back so he can wipe them away.

It takes James a moment to speak, his voice thick with preemptive grief at the thought of losing him. “I won’t let you, Reg. I’ll be there and I’ll do whatever I can to get us out.”

This time it’s Regulus who pulls them together with a quiet resignation. He cups the back of James’ head and whispers in his ear, sweet nothings and gentle reassurances. James doesn’t know how long they stay like that, only that he doesn’t want to be the first one to pull away.

He has to eventually because there’s something he has to say, something Regulus has to agree to, if he’s going to do this.

“My parents have to know, Regulus. And I want to write a letter, for them to give to Sirius, if anything happens to me. To us.”

Regulus looks at him, really looks at him. Those shrewd eyes of his trace every inch of James’ face, monitor his every blink, his every breath. If Regulus is looking for a flicker of doubt, James knows that he won’t find any. Eventually Regulus seems to realise that because he nods, a short, sharp movement. “You have to get their blessing, James. You have your condition and that’s mine. If they forbid you from doing this, you won’t be part of it.”

“All right,” James says, he lifts a hand to cup Regulus’ face. “It’s going to be okay.”

Regulus doesn’t look convinced. “I hope so.”

James feels drained. A small part of him wants to stay here, with Regulus but mostly he wants to return to Gryffindor tower and soak up every second he can with his friends.

He knows they’ll understand, when the time comes to tell them. They’ll be angry with him and he knows that, won’t begrudge them that, or beg for their forgiveness before they’re ready to give him it.

But they will forgive him.

Eventually.

James doesn’t doubt the depth of love that they share or the bond that exists between them and that’s how he knows that they’ll be okay. These things just take time and after his nightmare with the Death Eaters is over, they’ll have all the time in the world to figure things out.

He’s dreading having to lie to Sirius when he inevitably asks about his brother, knows that he won’t believe whatever crap comes out of James’ mouth. Despite that, James remains resolute in his decision to do this. Only yesterday he’d been worried about his future, the future of his friends. He’d felt useless, didn’t feel like he’d be able to help but now he does. Now he’s part of something that might make a difference. Something that might change the world.

They part ways with a promise to meet tomorrow evening, all four of them. Regulus and James, Barty and Evan, soon to be a team.

James manages to make his way through the common room undetected despite the fact that it’s starting to get busy.

He locates Barty and Evan easily enough. They’re on the biggest sofa tucked away in a corner of the room, Evan and Barty in the middle, Pandora sat next to her brother and Dorcas painting her nails with her socked feet in Barty’s lap.

The four of them are under Barty’s quilt, apart from Dorcas who is half in and half out. Barty is lying on Evan’s pillow, squished between Evan’s shoulder and the back of the settee, face soft with sleep. James lets his gaze drift to Evan and he’s never seen his face look so soft before. He’s laughing at something Pandora said but he only has eyes for Barty.

No one pays them any mind, a few people stop to chat but the minute it’s the four of them again, they’re wrapped up in their own bubble. He sees a little of Sirius, of Remus, of Pete in them. James is hit with the sudden realisation that like the marauders, they’ve built something special together too.

Evan looks up suddenly and without warning, like he can feel a pair of eyes on him. He seems to find the spot where James is standing automatically, even in the crowded room. His brow furrows in confusion at whatever he sees. It unnerves James and he turns to leave, careful to not knock into anyone as he does so.

“Hey, Barty.” James can hear Evan murmur gently as he spots Adelaide Greengrass, a girl in their year, leaving and makes a move to follow her out. “I have a feeling we’ve got our room back.”

—

It’s a slow Sunday afternoon, the last of summer’s warmth hanging in the air, the sky clear and the sun bright.

Evan sits in the courtyard and watches the world go by.

“What are you thinking about?” Pandora asks, her voice soft. She’s lying across the stone bench, eyes closed and feet dangling over the edge furthest away from Evan. Her long blonde hair is loose today, strands of it floating in the gentle breeze.

Evan laughs quietly. “That if you take up anymore space, I may as well sit on the floor.”

She lifts an arm over her head as if to hit him but seems to think better of it, letting her arm drop so her fingers can graze the blades of grass beneath them.

“Something’s going on with you, Barty and Regulus.” It’s a keen observation, would surprise him if it came from anyone else but Pandora has always been perceptive. If he’s honest with himself, he was almost expecting an inquisition from her at some point.

It’s mostly quiet out here, a few students dotted about on the other benches or congregating in small groups on the grass, no one close enough to hear yet Evan still hesitates.

“Mm. So I’m right then.” Pandora says idly, opening an eye to peer up at him. “You just don’t want to tell me…or you can’t tell me?”

He rolls his eyes at her but really she’s hit the nail on the head with both of those observations. He doesn’t want to tell her because he doesn’t want to put her in danger but that isn’t what’s stopping him from doing so. He can’t tell her because he promised Regulus he’d let him speak to her first which means for now, his hands are tied.

Evan mimes zipping his lips as tilts his head backwards, letting the sun warm his face. “As soon as I can, you know I will.”

“You better.” She says with an air of finality and that’s it, that’s all that needs to be said. She knows that now isn’t the right time to discuss this and she’ll wait until it is. Evan loves his sister because everything really is that simple with her.

He lazily surveys the grounds, spotting Barty in the distance, easily identifiable by his dark hair sticking up every which way like it always does. He’s leaning against a tree, idly kicking his Doc Martens against the bark and talking to a girl. Evan squints but he can’t work out who it is as all he can see is a head of bright blonde hair.

Barty leans in close to say something to her, looking artfully dishevelled with his white creased top and dark ripped jeans. Evan feels a coil of want twist low in his stomach.

Pandora sensing his distraction, follows his gaze and sighs. “You know I love him like a brother, Ev, but he’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“And why’s that?” Evan asks absentmindedly, watching as Barty tucks a strand of the girl’s hair behind her ear. Go away. Evan thinks, pissed off and full of jealousy. Come here.

“Don’t act oblivious. We both know you’re smarter than that.”

“Leave it out, Pandora. Let me have some fun.”

Pandora sits up, her gaze suddenly serious. “Is it just fun? Because the last thing I want to see is you hurt.”

Evan lets his gaze drift back to Barty, finds him already looking at him. Barty’s demeanour changes the moment their eyes meet, a slow smile spreading across his face. He says something to the girl and without a backwards glance to her, starts making his way over to Evan. He crooks two fingers at him, beckoning him over.

“It’s just fun.” Evan is up in an instant, squeezing Pandora’s shoulder goodbye. “Thanks for looking out for me though.”

“You shouldn’t give in to him so easily, you know.” Pandora says, there’s a reprimand in there somewhere but Evan can’t bring himself to care. He’s more interested in watching the way Barty’s t-shirt rides up as he stretches, arms above his head. Swallows at the flash of pale skin, stark against a dark waistband.

“Can’t help it,” He says cheerfully. “I’m mad about him.”

Evan jogs over, meeting Barty halfway. He knocks their shoulders together in greeting. “Hey.”

Barty doesn’t pay him any mind, he’s looking back at Pandora, his brow furrowed. She’s not even looking at them, instead she’s settled back on the bench, making the most of the room Evan left behind.

Evan bumps his shoulder again, confused. This seems to snap Barty out of it because he blinks looking a little disorientated before he recovers, sending Evan a languid smile. “Our room should be free, you coming?”

“Obviously.” Evan replies. “Hey, who was that you was with?”

Barty doesn’t bother to hide his smirk. “You jealous, Rosier?”

“Yes. I’m the jealous type.” Evan looks at him sideways, sends him a lazy grin. “I’ll show you just how much in a minute.”

They laugh more than they talk as they amble through the stone walkway, Barty’s face aglow as he recounts a story he’d heard about one of the fifth years at breakfast. He keeps checking that Evan is looking at him, that he has his full attention. Evan feels a burst of warmth in his chest every time he catches him doing it.

Who cares what their lives will look like in a year when right now is so beautiful? He doesn’t want to let a single moment pass him by, Evan wants to take it all in.

Things will change, probably for the worst but right now, Evan is as content as he can be with a war looming over his head. He has his sister, his friends, he has Barty. He is so lucky, so incredibly fortunate to have what he has. Never will he take those things for granted when at any moment, they could be taken away from him.

War and conflict, Evan knows, are recurring plot points in the long book of human history, familiar characters that never seem to exit the stage. There have already been so many wars, and he's certain that there will be many more, long after he's gone. What they don’t tell you, however, is that through it all, there is still humanity, friendship and love.

Despite everything that’s happening, Evan tries his hardest to find those things, to hold onto them.

As they reach their door, laughing and eager, Evan takes solace in the fact that this moment right now is untouched by the chaos of the world around them. Soon they’ll have to put their plan into motion but this moment is just for them and Evan wants to savour it. He barely waits for their door to click shut before he has Barty up against it.

They’re pressed together, not a hair’s breadth of space between them and Evan uses this to his advantage. They’re so close that Evan barely has to lean in to press a kiss to the nape of Barty’s neck, the spot behind his ear that drives him crazy. This earns him a slow exhalation and he smiles against his neck at the sound, purposefully catches Barty’s earlobe between his teeth just so he can hear the sharp intake of breath he knows that Barty will make.

Evan pulls back, lets his gaze rove over Barty’s face. He takes in those bright eyes, the small smattering of freckles across his nose, only visible when you’re pressed against him like this and that mouth, wet and parted and waiting.

Their lips meet, a chaste press at first and then Barty is deepening the kiss almost immediately. Evan loses himself to the feeling of it.

A brush of tongue, a scrape of teeth, a sharp exhale and Evan is home.

When Evan finally pulls away, it’s so he can yank at Barty’s jeans. He pulls the button loose, deft fingers finding the zipper and tugging, all while he watches the way Barty’s head rolls back against the door with a dull thunk.

Evan looks up at him through his lashes, slowly dropping to one knee, then both of them. Barty doesn’t even bother to muffle the groan that escapes his lips at the sight of Evan kneeling before him. He drags a hand through Evan’s hair and pulls. There’s a sense of urgency there, in that action, an inkling of desperation, of need.

Barty wants him.

Barty needs him.

Evan smiles up at him, an edge of triumph to it.

This is where I want you, under my hands, with my mouth all over you. You’re mine.

—

It’s getting late, the evening drawing in. Barty sits in the common room and watches the setting sun slowly slip away, leaving the visible depths of the lake a dusky emerald green.

Classes start tomorrow and Barty couldn’t care less. Hogwarts has never felt as unimportant to him as it does in this moment. He used to love this school, the sanctuary it provided him from his nightmarish home life but now everything feels pointless. How can he focus on being a student when what he really needs to be is a solider?

Barty tips his head back, letting it rest on the sofa, his eyes drifting shut. Maybe he needs a distraction, something to preoccupy him.

He wants a cigarette. Wants to lose himself in the smell of the smoke and the repetitive inhale and exhale of each drag.

He wants to find Regulus and argue with him over a stupid topic that Barty doesn’t really care about and one that Regulus cares about too much. Wants to push every single one of his buttons and take comfort in the certainty that nothing Barty could do would ever push him away or make him leave.

He wants Evan. Wants to taste his mouth and touch every inch of him, until all thoughts of the war are pushed out of his mind.

He wants and wants and wants and it nearly tears him in two. Maybe because he’s used to not getting the things that he wants. Maybe because he’s used to having nothing and being nothing.

Barty doesn’t have a home, doesn’t have a future, doesn’t really have a family, except the one that he’s made for himself. Evan and Regulus, Pandora and Dorcas, he’s their family and they’re his. There’s nothing Barty wouldn’t do for them.

That’s why he needs to put all his time and energy into the war, into their plan. It has to succeed. They have to survive and come out stronger and Barty will do everything in his power to ensure that, that happens.

They make a good team, the three of them. Regulus is a force to be reckoned with and Barty trusts him with his life, he knows Evan does too. But it’s always been Barty and Evan, Evan and Barty, two halves of one whole.

He’d go to war for Regulus but he’d kill for Evan.

He loves Regulus with everything he has but Evan is his, in a way nothing ever has been before. It used to eat away at him, that Regulus was always drifting out of their orbit, just out of reach. That maybe, unintentionally, the force of what they had together, was pushing him away.

It turned out, however, that Regulus wasn’t drifting because of them. Instead, gravity had been pulling him towards James.

It had been easy to trust James with Regulus, easy to accept that whilst Regulus was still theirs, he was also James’ now too.

Barty doesn’t think he could ever trust anyone with Evan. He’s selfish when it comes to him. Greedy. Barty can never get enough of him.

And if this is all Evan wants to give him, he’ll take it. After all, Barty has nothing to offer him, no title, no inheritance, no ancestral home, only himself. Who would want that?

So he tries to keep himself busy with other people but Evan is always on his mind.

He’s pissed off when he kisses a boy from Ravenclaw and the way he sighs his name is all wrong. Grows frustrated when he doesn’t kiss the spot behind his ear or leave marks high on his neck the way that Evan does.

He hooks up with a girl from Slytherin and the minute they’re done, he wants to go and find Evan. Wants to share a cigarette with him and pin him down and kiss him until Evan is moaning his name.

Barty thinks of Evan earlier, on his knees in their room and the noises he’d made and his train of thought is derailed. Fuck.

There’s the feeling of the sofa dipping, a warm body pressing against him. He recognises Dorcas’ perfume, the tickle of her braids as she tucks her head under his chin and wraps an arm around his middle.

“Hey, you.” He says, engulfing her in a hug and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Where have you been?”

“In Gryffindor tower with my better half. I was trying to drop Potter in it by bringing up Regulus every chance I could get. How none of his friends have guessed they’re hooking up I’ll never know. He spent half the evening bright red, at one point he was the same colour as the upholstery.”

Barty smiles, it’s hard not to when you’re around Dorcas. “That’s my girl.”

She tilts her head to look up at him, her gaze fixing on a specific spot on his jaw, visible from where she’s laying on him. She laughs.

“Oh, Crouch, you are shameless.” Dorcas says, tapping two fingers against the bruise forming on the underside of his jaw. “Who gave you that?”

Barty tries, and fails, to not sound smug. “Evan.”

“Of course he did.”

Barty groans, tightening his grip on her and burying his face in her dark braids. “Are you going to lecture me like Pandora did?”

“No. Evan can make his own decisions, he doesn’t need me defending his virtue or his honour.” She snorts. “What’s left of it after you’ve had your way with him anyway.”

“What about my virtue? My honour?”

Dorcas raises an eyebrow. “Did you ever have any to begin with?”

Barty laughs. “You’re lucky you’re my favourite friend at the moment.” He pulls them down so they’re lying on the sofa, Dorcas on his chest.

“At the moment. Charming. Glad to know my position is so secure.” Despite the sarcasm in her voice, she follows him down willingly, nestling in.

Barty watches as Dorcas begins to idly play with the silver rings stacked on her fingers and feels a warmth build in his chest. She’s comforting him, in her own way. She’d seen him alone, sensed his misery and gave him the physical comfort and the steady presence that he’d needed, no judgement and no questions asked. She’s a good friend and an even better person, the best of them really. Barty loves her and can’t bear the thought of something happening to her when everything inevitably goes to shit.

If there’s anyone capable of looking after themselves, it’s Dorcas. She’s powerful, with a strong moral compass. She’s not a follower, in fact she’s the sort of person that people follow. But Barty wants to protect her, protect Marlene and what they have together, do whatever he can to keep them out of arm’s reach of this war.

Barty knows that he shouldn’t say anything, knows that Regulus wants to tell Dorcas and Pandora in his own time but he feels like he has to warn her, of what’s to come. “Things are going to get really difficult soon.”

“Things have been difficult for a very long time, Barty.” Dorcas says noncommittally.

“I know. But there’s going to come a time where you’re going to have to make a choice. I know you care about us, I’d never doubt that, Dorcas. But if it’s between us and Marlene, I’m asking you to pick Marlene.”

She pulls away from him, her expression guarded. “Why do I have to pick one? Why can’t I have both?”

Barty shifts too, so they’re both sat up, facing one another. There’s distance between them now, palpable and heavy in the air between them. “It’s not that simple. At the end of the day, Dorcas, it’s your decision.” He grabs her hand, holds it tightly. She lets him. “But I want you to be happy and I know you will be, with Marlene.”

Safe too. He doesn’t mention that part through. He’ll leave that revelation to Regulus.

Dorcas searches his face, there’s worry in her eyes. “Please don’t do something stupid.”

Barty smiles. “Too late.”

—

The Great Hall is quiet at this time of the morning, which is why Regulus likes getting here early. It’s peaceful, gives him a minute to think before the chaos of the day hits him. Well it usually is, today seems to be an exception.

“What are the three of you up to?” Dorcas says as she sits beside him. Her voice is sharp, her elbow even sharper as it makes contact with his ribs. Regulus tries to hide his wince, he pauses pouring his coffee and tries to imperceptibly shift away from her. She scoots along the bench with him.

Regulus sighs, bringing his half empty mug to his lips. “Good morning, Dorcas.”

“Don’t you good morning me.” Dorcas snatches his mug away from him, pushing it down the table, out of reach. “What is going on with Barty? I know you’re involved somehow.”

Regulus scrunches his brow, confused. All of them have been a bit all over the place since they’ve been back. They’re bound to be with the whispers that follow them everywhere they go but he’s been distracted, too busy with James to pick up on a difference in Barty. He vows to check in with him, ashamed that he hasn’t done so already.

A new mug appears at his elbow, he fills this one to the brim, he has a feeling he’ll need it. “What do you mean?”

“He was off last night. Not himself.” She sends him a pointed look. “I found him sat in the common room and he started going on at me about how soon I’ll have to make a choice and how he thinks I should pick Marlene. When I told him not to do anything stupid, he told me it was too late. Disappeared to go and smoke with Evan after that, the whole thing was weird.”

Regulus carefully schools his face, refusing to give anything away. He internally curses Barty and his loose tongue. “We’re in the middle of a war, Dorcas. Maybe he’s worried about you. Wants to make sure you don’t forget what’s really important.”

“No, don’t be vague. You know something. Why haven’t you told me? Or Pandora?”

Regulus feels the dark mark like a brand on his arm. “It’s…difficult.”

Dorcas huffs out a laugh but it’s cold and humourless. “Funnily enough, Barty said the same thing.” She’s quiet for a moment, staring down at the table. When she speaks there’s concern in her tone and something else too, fear. “I’ve heard what everyone’s been saying, Regulus. About the three of you. I know what you all went through over the summer, what your families put you through. Please don’t shut me out. I want to help.”

Regulus can’t speak for a moment, his throat tight with all the things he wants to say and all the things he can’t reveal just yet. He has every intention of telling Dorcas and Pandora but not right now. It’s selfish but he doesn’t want to lose them. Doesn’t want to lose the sense of normality that their friendship brings him. He knows that Barty is right, Dorcas needs to pick Marlene and Regulus is certain that she will but it won’t make her decision any easier to accept.

He’s saved by Pandora appearing in a flurry of robes and blonde hair, taking the empty spot at his right. “Good morning you two.” She picks up a piece of toast and begins to butter it, oblivious to the way Regulus and Dorcas are looking at one another.

Dorcas raises her eyebrows at Regulus ever so slightly, sending him one last lingering look, as if to say this conversation is far from over before peering round Pandora. “Where’s Barty and Evan?”

Pandora begins to butter her toast more aggressively. “Whispering away in a corner of the common room like no one else exists, as per usual. Merlin, I love them both so much but the pair of them are driving me mad at the minute.”

Dorcas’ answering smile is soft and a touch amused. She leans round Regulus to squeeze Pandora’s shoulder. “They’ll figure it out. Just go easy on them, yeah? I think this is something that they need to work out, just the two of them.”

Regulus privately agrees with Dorcas but he understands where Pandora’s coming from. She loves them, Evan her brother by blood and Barty her brother by choice. She’s worried and he gets it. The pair of them worry him too.

Dorcas and Pandora’s attention is pulled away by the arrival of their roommate Adelaide Greengrass, the three of them drifting off into their own conversation. Regulus tunes them out and sips his coffee. His gaze fixed on the little group clustered together in the middle of the Gryffindor table.

Regulus watches as James laughs at something that Lily Evans had said, his dark hair endearingly messy and his glasses crooked on his nose. He looks brighter this morning, surrounded by his friends.

Regulus watches as the conversation continues without James, the latter becoming lost in thought. Whatever he’s thinking about has his brow creasing, his smile fading. Regulus looks away quickly, like he’s to blame, like subconsciously his attention has troubled James. It wouldn’t surprise him, if the force of his gaze alone brought James more misery. It certainly did yesterday.

A dark head of hair beside James distracts Regulus, it’s longer than his, more wavy than curly. Regulus wonder if he grew his hair out if he’d look more like his twin or if it would only emphasise the differences between them even more.

Almost as if he can feel the weight of his brothers’ gaze, Sirius looks up. Although his face is blank, wiped clean of any emotion, Sirius’ eyes betray him. Regulus has to look away from what he finds there because those grey eyes, so similar to his, are full of loathing.

Regulus knows that soon, when the truth comes out, his brother will look at him with eyes full of something so much worse.

—

James once again, finds himself in Regulus’ room, sat beside him on the sofa. They’re waiting for Evan and Barty, have been for a little while now. It’s dark in here, the only source of light the burning fireplace and the candles that are scattered around the room. James can feel his eyes drifting shut, he rests against Regulus’ shoulder and yawns.

It’s been a tough day.

As James had expected, Sirius hadn’t believed him when he’d told him that his brother was fine. It had been difficult, trying to reassure him whilst simultaneously attempting to pull the wool over his eyes. Sirius had sensed that James wasn’t telling him the whole story almost immediately and had began to question him, trying to catch him in a lie.

They’d gone back and forth with one another, neither of them willing to give in. Eventually they reached a stalemate of blatantly ignoring each other. Things had been icy between them ever since, only becoming more hostile when James had donned the cloak earlier this evening.

“Where are you going?” Sirius had asked suspiciously, watching as James stuffed the map in his pocket. He’d only taken it at Regulus’ request, he didn’t want James to be tied to them just yet.

“To get some fresh air.”

Peter snorted. “If you’re going to lie, James, at least try and make it convincing.”

James had sent him a look of betrayal to which Peter had held up his hands and shrugged. “Just being honest.”

Remus, who was playing Wizard’s Chess with Pete on the floor, used this distraction to his advantage bringing the game to a swift end. It was rare that anyone beat Peter. Well, James thought, serves him right.

“You’re going to see him, aren’t you?” Although Sirius had phrased it as a question, the frustrated expression on his face said that he already knew the answer.

James pretended like he hadn’t heard him. “I’ll see you later.”

It was awful, seeing the betrayal flash across Sirius’ face. James hated it, hated it so much that he’d stood on the staircase for a moment, looking back at their door anxiously. It kills him that this divide between them is only going to get worse with time.

It’s strange then, to go from the hurt and upset of Gryffindor tower to the warmth and budding camaraderie of the Slytherin dungeons.

Evan is the first to arrive back and when he catches sight of James he beams. “Welcome to the dark side, mate.” He says, kicking the door shut without a backwards glance, jumping into the armchair beside James and leaning towards him, arm outstretched.

James huffs out a laugh, clapping his hand against Evan’s proffered one. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Glad we’ll have you to keep Regulus in check.” Evan says as he shifts to lay diagonally across the chair, neck resting on one arm and legs dangling over the other. “I had a feeling you’d want to help us out.”

Although James knew that Regulus had told his friends about his decision, he was expecting a thousand questions from them, potentially some distrust and maybe even some unpleasantness. What he wasn’t expecting however, was the friendliness, to be treated like he was one of their own.

The corner of Regulus’ lip curls in amusement. “Evan thought you’d pull something like this. His intuition is pretty spot on.”

James turns to face Evan, hopes he’s not overstepping with what he’s about to say. “Weirdly enough, I can believe that. I swear you saw me under the cloak yesterday.”

Evan shifts so that his hands are behind his head and his legs are crossed, one over the other. He tilts his head in acknowledgement, like James has solved something that’s been bothering him. “It was strange. I couldn’t see you but I could feel that you were there.”

“Is that normal? I’ve never known it to happen before.” James says carefully, not wanting to disturb the newfound peace that they’re working to build here. He needn’t have worried because as soon as he starts speaking, Evan bursts out laughing.

“It’s far from normal. Probably a twin thing.” He snorts, shaking his head. “Pandora gets visions and I get the ability to sense if someone’s under an invisibility cloak. As if that’s ever going to come in handy, you’re the only person who owns one.”

James is just about to tell Evan the story his dad had told him about the Deathly Hallows and the concept of cheating death but he’s interrupted by the sound of raised voices in the corridor. Barty’s arrival is then heralded by him loudly telling someone to fuck off.

Barty storms in soon after, slamming the door shut behind him and locking it. He makes his way over to his bed, chucking his bag on the floor before he joins them, clapping James on the shoulder in greeting.

Upon finding nowhere to sit, Barty shoves Evan’s legs off the arm of his chair, making himself comfortable in the newly vacated space.

James watches as Evan scowls and rearranges himself, now sitting up and decidably unhappy about it. Regulus, beside him, sighs. He rolls his eyes at James, exasperated, like this is a common occurrence.

“I was comfortable lying like that!”

“Yeah exactly, you was.” Barty resorts.

Evan pulls a face at him but moves over to give him more space. “What was going on out there?”

Barty points to Regulus. “Well, to kick things off your brother called me a number of expletives in front of half the Slytherin common room. He has a surprisingly colourful vocabulary when he gets going.”

Evan gapes at him. “You let him in?”

In response, Barty pretends to look around the room, as if Sirius is miraculously going to appear, before sending Evan a look like he’s stupid. “Obviously not! I didn’t know he was there. He must’ve been hanging around by the entrance, Snape was coming out as I was about to head in so the door was open. Everyone could hear the shit he was spewing.”

James winces. “Sorry, that might be my fault.”

“You told him you were coming here?”

“Um, no?” James says sheepishly. “Well, I didn’t tell him that I wasn’t.”

“Let him jump to whatever conclusions he wants, we’ll make it work in our favour.” Barty says. “Anyway, once Snape heard Sirius mouthing off about how he knows James is in here, he followed me back and wouldn’t stop firing twenty fucking questions at me.”

This is already proving to be more difficult than James thought it would, Sirius showing up is a surprise but one he should’ve really seen coming. Taking the map would’ve confirmed to Sirius that James was somewhere he didn’t want to be found, Sirius hit the nail on the head by coming here.

Regulus seems to be following a similar train of thought to James. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs. “Sirius is going to be a bigger problem than I thought he would be. I shouldn’t have underestimated him.”

The four of them fall silent, exchanging uneasy glances. They all know what topic is going to come next.

Barty, naturally, is the one who brings it up. “Talking of your friends, James, we need to work out how you’re going to distance yourself from them.”

Evan nods, sending James an apologetic look as he does so. “It’s got to be believable, James. Everyone will expect this of Regulus but no one is going to think you’re capable of this.”

“Love makes people stupid.” Barty comments idly, he holds his hands up when the three of them send him affronted looks.

“Not apologising because it’s true.” He shrugs. “Look, we have an ace up our sleeve here. People are interested in your friendship,” He emphasises that last word, exchanging a smirk with Evan. “When we find the right moment to confirm it’s a bit more serious than that, the reaction that everyone expects Sirius to have about his best friend shacking up with his evil, horrible brother,” Regulus snorts at that. “Will explain the very public bust up you’re about to have with your friends, James. We don’t even have to confirm anything, we’ll let the gossip mill do that for us. Everyone is going to spend so much time jumping to their own conclusions that we won’t have to come up with our own.”

It’s insightful, what Barty has proposed, in a way that surprises James. It shouldn’t shock him really, especially with the company he keeps but it’s easy to forget with the reputation he’s built.

“You’re smarter than most people give you credit for.” James comments and when he looks at Barty, it’s in a new light.

Barty’s answering smile is smug. “Twelve outstanding OWLs, remember?”

“Okay, so we let people talk about Sirius’ outburst and don’t correct them when they start to suspect that there’s something going on between you two.” Evan points a finger first to Regulus and then to James. “You two need to be convincing, especially you, James. People need to believe that you’d follow Regulus all the way to the Dark Lord’s doorstep.”

“It’s a decent start,” Regulus agrees, he tentatively turns to James. “Is that okay with you?”

Not really. For the next year, his friends will question his character and his morals. For an indefinite amount of time, people are going to think the worst of James and he has to let them.

It’s quiet for a moment, everyone looking at James expectantly. “Yes.” He finally says.

Evan rubs his neck, he doesn’t look happy with what he’s about to say. “That brings us to Pandora and Dorcas.”

“It’s going to be tough for Dorcas,” James admits. “Marlene complicates things.”

When Barty speaks, it’s mainly directed at Evan. “I think we should limit their involvement as much as we can.”

“Why?” James asks sharply, narrowing his eyes. “Because they’re girls?”

“No, you idiot. Dorcas is one of the toughest people I know and Pandora one of the smartest. I just know how hard it’s going to be for Evan if Pandora gets involved.”

James deflates a bit at that. It wouldn’t surprise him if Barty’s interjection was partly due to his own reluctance at their involvement. He forgets sometimes that they’re the only family Barty has.

“We’ll give them a choice,” Regulus says, shooting James an apologetic look because it’s a choice they couldn’t afford to give his own group of friends. “Tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better.” Evan agrees.

“Regulus has probably already told you but I’m going to speak to my parents, let them know what’s going on. I couldn’t bear the thought of them thinking they hadn’t raised me right.”

Neither Barty nor Evan seem surprised by that. “We can’t relate to that but I get it.” Barty says gesturing between the three Slytherin boys. “If mine cared about me, I’d want them to know too.”

James hesitates. He thought that this might help repair Barty’s relationship with his family, if they knew what he was doing, what he was trying to achieve. “You aren’t going to tell them?”

Barty wrinkles his nose in clear disdain. “My dad is a prick. Let him think I joined the Death Eaters just to spite him, that’s what everyone else will think.”

“And your mum?” James asks gently.

“My mum will always take my dad’s side. Whether he’s right or wrong.” Although his tone is resigned, Barty sounds torn up about that.

“It’ll be easier for Evan and I.” Regulus admits. His role was set in stone for him before he was born, as was Evan’s. “It’ll be expected of us. Pandora will have more leeway, like Narcissa did.” James knows that he says this to appease not only Evan, but himself too.

The four of them look at one another, taking a moment to process the enormity of the situation that awaits them. Today marks the start of what will be a huge undertaking, at least a year in the making, probably longer.

Evan seems to have had enough of the terse atmosphere because he elbows Barty, smiles up at him. “Time to start playing our parts. You ready to stir things up a bit?”

“Definitely, we’re born troublemakers.”

“Mischief-makers sounds better.”

“I quite like the sound of rabble-rousers actually.” Barty’s lip twitches. He’s trying to stifle a smile but it’s written all over his face, in the quirk of his brow, in the way his eyes shine.

It works, the atmosphere in the room considerably lighter, so much so that Regulus laughs, a joyful, bright sound. James could listen to it all day. “All right, we get it!”

“I can’t wait to start behaving like the asshole everyone already thinks I am.” Barty says, he’s smiling openly now. “I have a long list of people I’ve been wanting to curse.”

James spins in his seat to send Barty a disapproving look which he purposefully misinterprets.

“You’re right, James, I can do so much worse to them than that.”

James turns to Regulus for help but he’s on his feet, moving over to his trunk to dig through it. The three of them have a quidditch meeting about this year’s team and what positions will be open for try-outs soon and so they begin to disperse across the room. James is dreading having to go back to his dorm so he stays where he is.

“You want to stay here for a bit? Wait till Sirius calms down?” Evan asks as he starts to gather his gear. Barty next to him has climbed up on his bed, James can’t see him behind the half-drawn curtain but he can see the random crap he’s sweeping off in his pursuit to find something.

“Yeah probably for the best at the moment, you don’t mind do you?”

“Nah, of course we don’t.” Barty says, pausing in his search to stick his head round the curtains to look at James.

Regulus rolls his eyes but looks pleased.

It doesn’t take the three of them long to get themselves together. Regulus unsurprisingly is the first one by the door, sending James a soft look as he heads out. He’s closely followed by Barty who is telling him a story, gesturing wildly with his hands. Regulus watches him, eyes bright and amused as he disappears from sight.

“I think it’s brave, James.” Evan says quietly. He’s standing by the door, his hand reaching out to catch the door before it shuts. For a minute he just stands there, then seems to change his mind and lets go, the door shutting with a definitive click.

“I’m sorry. About Sirius. About Remus. About Peter.”

James presses his lips together, thinking of those that Evan mentioned and those he didn’t. Lily. Marlene. Mary. He dreads what they’ll think of him. Even if it isn’t real.

“When the time comes, they’ll understand why I did it.”

Evan smiles and it’s sad. “You’re right, they will. Doesn’t make it any easier now though does it?”

No, James thinks as he watches Evan go. It doesn’t.

Notes:

Reg and James (but mostly James): carrying the entirety of the plot on their shoulders atm
Barty and Evan’s contribution to the story so far: being horny, specifically for each other

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 3: Chapter Three (bone of contention)

Notes:

Thank you for all your lovely comments on the last one, I hope you enjoy <3

One year ago, August the 31st 1976

The Potters, unlike most old pureblood families, only have one estate, a charming manor house located deep in the English countryside. When most of the old, established families began to buy townhouses in the big cities, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter decided not to follow them. It wasn’t a case of money, the Potters were wealthy, abundantly so, but they had no interest in flaunting it. They’d turned this house into a home and had no need for another one.

Regulus secretly loves the Potter estate. It’s his favourite out of all of the wizarding houses he’s visited. The manor house is made of dark red brick, the exterior walls covered in climbing vines and seasonal flowers. Although the fragrant smell of the colourful blooms hangs heavy in the air, it’s the smell of cooking that wafts from the open windows that Regulus most associates with the Potter household.

Gravel crunches under Regulus’ feet as he makes his way to the front door. He’s just raising his hand to rap the golden lion head knocker when Effie opens the door, she must have heard him coming. She’s wearing a flour stained apron with her long hair in an untidy bun atop her head. It’s a familiar sight, one that Regulus has grown accustomed to over the years.

“Hi, Effie.”

“Regulus.” She says warmly, she’s pleased to see him, it’s written all over her face. She lifts a hand to touch his arm but then seems to think better of it, realising that there’s remnants of dough covering her hands.

Regulus reaches out anyway, catching her hand in his own and giving it a gentle squeeze. He owes her, in this lifetime and the next, for what she’s done for Sirius, for bringing James into this world.

Effie smiles at him affectionately, squeezing his hand back. She ushers Regulus in. “Come in, sweetheart. James is just in the shower, he’ll be down soon.”

Regulus’ stomach dips in anticipation. James has been on his mind a lot recently. More than he probably should be. Their friendship is difficult to define and recently, the lines have become blurred. Their connection to Sirius was what brought them together but now the bond they share is something else entirely, something that’s just theirs.

It’s been a few weeks since they started spending time together, just the two of them but they’ve been some of the best weeks of Regulus’ life. James can be brash and annoying but in the little moments, when it’s just the two of them, he’s also charming and compassionate and inherently good.

Regulus likes him. He can’t help it. He’s like a moth to a flame, drawn to James.

He’s always pretended to be annoyed by James’ presence, most of the time he actually is, but there’s something about James Potter that captivates Regulus and he thinks that there’s something in him that James wants too.

It feels inevitable, this, them.

The smell of bread fills the entryway, only gets stronger when they reach the kitchen. There’s a rolling pin hazardously hanging half off the edge of the counter and there’s bowls and cutlery everywhere, a plate of freshly baked blueberry muffins on a plate by the window. This is also why Regulus loves it here, it feels lived in, like a real home.

Effie offers him a seat and a damp cloth for his hands, before immediately beginning to bustle around the cluttered kitchen. She grabs two of the muffins and puts them on their own plates before gathering everything she needs to brew a pot of coffee.

Regulus initially does not take the proffered chair and instead tries to give her a hand but she only laughs, grabbing him by the shoulders and steering him to his seat before taking her own.

“Are those muffins I can smell? Merlin, they smell unreal.” There’s the sound of socked feet padding down the hallway and then Sirius is peering round the door. His smile falters at the sight of Regulus, sat opposite Effie at the kitchen table.

It’s only been a handful of weeks since they last lived under the same roof but it feels like a lifetime.

Regulus can’t recall a time where he’s ever heard Sirius sound so carefree. He sounds happy. Genuinely happy.

Regulus sends Effie a sideways glance, a quick flick of the eyes. Thank you he thinks, willing her to understand, thank you for taking him in, thank you for letting him be part of this family. Effie seems to decipher everything that Regulus is trying to say because her eyes soften and her mouth quirks up ever so slightly in response.

“Reg.” Sirius says warily and just like that his guard is back up. Regulus knows that any minute now he’ll turn around and leave, internally curses because that’s the last thing he wants. One more year and he’ll be able to leave that house, only one more year and he’ll be able to have his brother back.

“Sirius.” Regulus’ voice is hoarse. The atmosphere in the kitchen is awkward, stilted. He grapples desperately, trying to find something to say, trying to keep Sirius there a little longer.

Is that a moon pendant you’re wearing round your neck?

That leather jacket suits you so much better than those stuffy old suits and robes our parents forced you to wear.

Please don’t go yet.

I’ve missed you.

I miss you.

Instead what comes out is- “I like your hair, you’ve grown it out.”

There’s the ghost of disappointment on Sirius’ face, for a fleeting moment, like he was waiting to hear something else from his brother instead. Sorry Sirius, Regulus thinks, you know you’ve always been the braver one out of us two.

“And you’ve cut yours.”

“Dorcas did it for me.” It’s a calculated response, Regulus could have just said ‘thanks’ and that would’ve been the end of that but Dorcas is a safe topic, Sirius loves Dorcas.

Sirius blows out a breath. “Dorcas did a good job.” Regulus knows he’s losing him, can tell by the way Sirius has imperceptibly shifted away from the door. He ruefully accepts that for the foreseeable, this is all there will be between them, things they’re too afraid to say out loud and a relationship that they no longer know how to navigate.

But Sirius is not a coward and so he turns at the last minute, like he can’t bear for that to be the last thing they say to one another. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ll go and get James.”

Despite Sirius’ body language, his clear desire to leave, he hovers for a moment, waiting for a response.

“I’ll keep coming, as long as you’ll have me.” Regulus says, although the words are meant for Effie, he smiles at Sirius, small and tentative.

“Thank you, Sirius.” Effie says gently as Sirius disappears down the corridor, a thousand emotions at war with one another on his face.

“There will always be a place for you here, Regulus.” Effie says and her gaze is sincere. Regulus knows that she means that, that she’ll always make sure there’s a place here for him, if he wants it.

The atmosphere is softer in the kitchen after that and Regulus lets his guard slip, just for today. He laughs when Effie tells him a story about James as a child, openly and unabashedly. When Monty comes in from his workshop and ruffles Regulus’ hair, Regulus allows it, leans into it.

He understands why Sirius wants to be here, it’s the reason he comes back week after week, so that he can get a glimpse of what it’s like to be part of a normal, healthy family.

Monty smiles at him, clearly pleased, as he pushes his glasses up. It’s such a familiar gesture, reminds Regulus so much of James that his chest aches. He’s quick to disappear, but not before stealing a muffin, laughing as Effie whacks him with her tea towel. Regulus watches them and lets the ghost of a smile tug at his lips. How deeply they care for one another, how safe and secure they are in their love. He could only dream of a love like theirs.

James breezes in shortly after, a sight for sore eyes. His hair is wet, curling round his neck and his ears from the humidity. He’s wearing one of his quidditch tops, the words Potter emblazoned on the back in gold.

He gestures for Regulus to follow him as he grabs a muffin, presses a kiss to his mum’s cheek and heads towards the back door, so like his father in his mannerisms. “Thanks mum, I’ll be stealing him now!”

Regulus watches him go, hopelessly fond. He feels Effie’s eyes on him and tilts his head to meet her gaze. She’s smiling, a secretive, satisfied smile. When Regulus sends her a puzzled look, she just taps the side of her nose and winks.

“It was nice to see you, Effie.” Regulus says as he stands up, gathering their plates and empty mugs to take them over to the sink.

She moves towards him, her face softening. She cups his cheeks between her hands, rubs them lovingly with her thumbs. “You too, sweetheart, you too. Remember what I said.”

Just for a second, Regulus leans in to the contact, lets himself feel the all consuming comfort of a mother’s love.

When he carefully pulls away, there’s hope shining bright in Effie’s eyes. He thinks there may be hope mirrored in his too.

James has already disappeared by the time Regulus leaves the kitchen. He finds him sat against a tree, deftly splitting his muffin in two with his fingers.

“You look cute with your hair wet.” Regulus comments, coming to sit beside him, there’s a slither of space between them. Regulus tries his hardest not to cross it.

“Oh come on, you could’ve said sexy.” James grins, trying to hand Regulus one half of his muffin. Regulus shakes his head in response to which James shrugs, stuffing the entirety of it in his mouth. After a large swallow, James speaks. “Go on, tell me I look sexy.”

“James, you look so sexy.” Regulus deadpans but James laughs, delighted that he’s playing along.

“Regulus Black thinks I’m sexy. Fuck, I think all of my dreams just came true at once.”

It’s a miracle that Regulus doesn’t roll his eyes. “I can’t believe I come to see you willingly.”

James rests his chin on the palm of his hand, smiles at Regulus. “You love it really.”

“I do love it here.” Regulus says softly, taking in the entirety of the garden. The rosarium that Effie grew entirely by hand, no magic involved. The wooden furniture set that Monty built for Effie’s birthday last year, charmed to stay cool in the summer and warm in the winter. James’ quidditch posts, an eyesore in the beautiful garden but a homely one. Sirius’ beater bat, leaning hazardously against one of the posts, a reminder that he’s here, that this is his home. “The gardens in Grimmauld place are cold, they lack character, this…it feels like home.”

When Regulus turns to face him, James’ face is incredibly soft. He lifts a hand to cup Regulus’ chin, leans in, eyes wide and full of wonder.

And then James Potter kisses him. Gentle at first, a sweet press of the lips but then he’s sliding his hand from Regulus’ chin to his hair, fingers burying into his curls and kissing him properly, with everything he has.

When James pulls away, his face is stricken. “Shit. Regulus, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.“ He makes a move to pull away, fingers attempting to untangle themselves from where they’re caught in dark curls but Regulus reaches out a hand to stop him. James stills under his touch, watches as Regulus slides his hand over James’, holds it there.

“Do it again.” The words are out of Regulus’ mouth before he has a chance to think about them, he sounds breathless, desperate.

So James does.

It’s the start of them.

It’s the beginning of everything.

—

Present day, Autumn term 1977

Regulus sits and waits for the inevitable sound of a knock at the door. He wonders whether it will sound like knuckles against wood or the resounding clatter of the gallows trapdoor beneath him swinging open.

Telling Pandora and Dorcas is going to be harder than he anticipated. It almost feels like walking into court, when you know you’re going to hear a guilty verdict.

It’s quiet in their room, a combination of nerves and anticipation, Regulus thinks. He lets his gaze drop to Barty and Evan, who are sat on the rug playing cards, whispering fervently to one another.

After his conversation with Dorcas in the Great Hall, Regulus understands what she was trying to tell him, about Barty. He’s volatile, struggling to tolerate anyone’s presence at the minute, even Evan’s and that worries Regulus. He’d tried to talk to him about it but Barty was quick to shrug it off, more interested in chasing the next distraction than discussing his feelings.

Evan on the other hand, is the antithesis to Barty. He’s calm and collected, taken to his role with an ease that surprises Regulus. It’s almost like having a concrete plan has given him meaning and direction.

They all turn at the sound of a rap at the door.

Regulus is the first to move. He opens the door, revealing Pandora and Dorcas. The latter is twisting the silver snake pendant round her neck, something Dorcas does to bring her comfort or ease her anxiety. It’s identical to the ring that the boys share, identical to the bracelet that circles Pandora’s wrist.

They’d gotten them last year, an ode to their house, Slytherin and to their home, Hogwarts. Something to tie them all together when the time came for them to go their separate ways. Regulus tries not to think about how the events of this next hour could rip away the attachment they feel for one another before they even have a chance to leave Hogwarts.

They follow him in, know to keep quiet until the door is shut. The minute the lock clicks in place, Dorcas speaks, her voice wavering. “What’s going on?”

“Hey, come sit with us.” Evan is still sat on the floor, beside Barty, the cards lay forgotten between them, scattered on the rug. He holds out a hand and his voice is gentle.

Regulus joins them, settles back into the armchair and waits.

At the sound of her brother’s voice, Pandora moves to sit on the sofa, in the spot closest to Regulus, her gaze watchful. Dorcas hesitates but follows her. The two sit with their thighs pressed together and hands clasped between them.

“I’m going to explain everything, I promise. But before I do, I want you to know that I’m sorry and what I’m about to show you doesn’t mean what you think it does. Be patient with me please, you both have an important decision to make and I want you to have all the information you’ll need to make an informed one.”

Dorcas nods, an abrupt, shaky motion. Pandora beside her freezes, her eyes dropping to his covered arm. When she lifts her gaze, her eyes are full of betrayal. She knows. Of course she does.

Regulus slowly lifts the sleeve of his robes, revealing black ink and dark magic, gauging their faces as he does so. The colour drains from Dorcas’ face, she rears back in her seat, letting go of Pandora’s hand to bring both of hers to cover her mouth.

That he was prepared for.

What he wasn’t expecting was for Pandora to surge forward and grab his wrist with an iron grip. Her fingers are only inches away from the Dark Mark when her face goes blank but her eyes are wide and terrified, caught in the throes of a vision.

Evan is up and at her side in an instant, gripping her shoulder to ground her. This seems to jolt Dorcas out of her shock and into action because she begins stroking her hair, murmuring soft reassurances in her ear.

Sometimes Pandora talks through her visions, can describe the scene and point out things of importance but sometimes Pandora’s visions are like this, silent and frightening.

Regulus kneels before her, grabs a spare piece of parchment and a quill off of the table, careful not to dislodge her grip on his arm. It’s important that she stays in contact with whatever sparked the vision and sees it through until the end. They’d pulled her out of one early before and missed out on key information, it’s not a mistake Regulus will make again.

He gently unclenches her fingers and places the quill in her hand. Instantly she starts drawing without looking at the paper, her eyes still cast forward, unseeing. Harsh, dark lines form on the page and Regulus watches as they transform into a scene of a field, ordinary, startlingly so but for some reason it has the hairs raising on Regulus’ arm.

As quickly as it started, it stops. Pandora slumps forward, dropping the quill and letting go of Regulus’ wrist. She murmurs something, unintelligible at first. Barty shifts forward from where he was sitting on his haunches to catch her. He pulls her against him, wipes the sweaty hair off her brow and lets her catch her breath against his shoulder.

They wait for her to speak again, Regulus watching the way Pandora repeats the same set of words, again and again under her breath, like a mantra. He can’t figure out whether she’s trying to memorise it or if it’s an attempt to make sense of something that initially seems to be indecipherable.

“Only when the false is true, shall fire betray what darkness knew.” When Pandora finally speaks, her voice trembling, Regulus realises that both of his guesses had been correct. She wanted to remember the exact wording because she couldn’t make sense of it right now but knew it might become important later on.

Regulus understands her reasoning, what she’s told them makes no sense, in context to the drawing. It’s a sentiment they all seem to share as they trade puzzled looks, trying to make sense of her words, how they relate to the field she’s drawn. Regulus gently extracts the parchment from her lap and places it on the floor between them, picking up the dropped quill to write Pandora’s words in the space above the drawing. The five of them lean forward, their eyes fixed on the unassuming ink in front of them.

”Only when the false is true,” Barty mutters underneath his breath, “fire…something to do with fire in that field?”

Dorcas frowns. “Could the first line mean deception? The second points towards betrayal but who? And what?”

Evan ignores their theorising, instead he tries a different approach. “What could you feel, Pandora? Whilst you were in the vision?” He asks gently, his brow furrowing as he tilts his head trying to find something notable about the drawing.

“Death.” Pandora says, she sounds worn down, stripped bare. “That field was tarnished by death.” She turns to look at Regulus. “By getting that mark, you’ve set a chain of events into action.”

“Is it Regulus?” Evan asks, voice strained. “Who dies? If seeing the mark set it into motion, it must be something to do with him. Like Dorcas said, if the first line is about deceit and the second about betrayal, then it could be about him double crossing Voldemort.”

Four pairs of eyes fix upon Regulus. Barty and Evan already knew his intentions but this is new information for Dorcas and Pandora, his plan to betray the Dark Lord. Either way, he doesn’t pay them any mind, he knows that he might not come out of this alive, the thought doesn’t bother him, nor does the potential confirmation of a vision.

Pandora shakes her head, she’s still leaning against Barty, not strong enough to sit on her own just yet. “Not necessarily. It could be Regulus or it could be someone else entirely. But whoever’s death it is, it’s important. It changes things, shifts the tide of the war.”

“Is that a good thing? Or a bad thing?” Dorcas asks, leaning forward to grip her hand.

Pandora takes it, holds it gratefully. “It’s both.” She says frowning, confused. She doesn’t understand what she sees anymore than they do, sometimes it can take weeks to interpret a vision and sometimes they never figure it out.

“Does anyone recognise this field?” Barty interjects, his traces the ink with a lone finger, tapping the centre of it.

None of them do, they pass the picture between them just in case, take a moment to absorb every detail but its location remains a mystery.

When it’s Regulus’ turn to hold the drawing he frowns. There’s no blood, no body, no charred grass indicating a fire had burnt bright there. Whatever Pandora had sensed there, had already happened by the time she saw that field but he understands what she means. Looking at it unsettles him, holding it makes his stomach clench.

Regulus puts the drawing on the table and helps Pandora stand so that she can sit back on the sofa. Evan situates himself on the arm closest to her whilst Barty stays on the floor, staring off into the distance absentmindedly.

“I think you owe us an explanation.” Dorcas says quietly.

And so Regulus tells them. He spares no detail, delves into every intricate aspect of the plan, tells them of James’ involvement and then he gives them a choice.

“I’m telling you all of this because you deserve to know and because I want to give you a choice.” He looks at Pandora, whose eyes are fierce, determined. Regulus knows what her answer will be. He turns to Dorcas and she meets his gaze, her eyes glassy. He knows what her answer will be too.

“You can be part of this or you can walk away. Whatever you decide to do, we’ll accept it and won’t judge you for it. But I want you to know that I’m sorry, for putting you in this position, for bringing you into this. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“I’m in.” Pandora seems to sense that Evan is going to intervene because she spins to face him, her expression heated. “No, Evan. You need me. Tonight has proved that, don’t you think?” She turns to Regulus, to Barty, daring one of them to challenge her.

Barty says nothing, so Regulus does. “It’s your choice, Pandora, but let me propose something first.” She doesn’t looked pleased but motions for him to continue. “We do need you, you’re right but do you know who would also want to use you?”

“The Dark Lord.” Barty says, resigned. It had been something the three of them had discussed the first night Regulus had told them about the mark on his forearm.

“We don’t know when you’ll have a vision or in front of who. Could you imagine that power falling into his hands?”

Pandora sighs, defeated. “So what are you suggesting?”

“Publicly side with us this year but when the time comes for the four of us to move into Grimmauld place, stay with your family, at their estate so we’ll still be able to meet with you. Help the Order however you can but be discreet about it.”

Pandora idly twists a lock of her hair round her finger as she takes a moment to think. Eventually, she nods, “Okay.” She rolls her eyes but the gesture itself is affectionate. “I hate it when you talk sense.”

With that matter resolved, Regulus casts his eyes on the one person in the room who he’s certain he’s about to lose, even if it’s just temporarily.

“Dorcas?” Regulus asks quietly.

She sits, head down, hands clasped in her lap. She lifts her head, her gaze flicking to Barty. The two of them stare at one another for a moment before Dorcas nods, more to herself than anyone else.

“This is such a shit position to be in. I don’t want to lose any of you.”

Evan leans round Pandora to squeeze Dorcas’ shoulder. She leans into the contact. Takes a deep breath in.

“I’m going to stay with Marlene. Stir up drama to make the divide between us more believable. If I’m with the Gryffindors, I’ll be able to help keep James’ place here secure too.”

Barty’s smile is small but pleased. He stands, pulling Dorcas into his arms and kisses her cheek. “The right choice is never the easy one.”

She laughs but it’s short lived, the noise breaking off into a sob. “That explains why it hurts so much.”

Regulus motions for Barty to take a step back so he can gather Dorcas in his arms. He presses a kiss to her forehead and listens to the quiet sound of her tears. “Please don’t die.” She murmurs, holding onto him like a lifeline.

He laughs, hugs her tighter. “I’ll try not to, no promises though.”

Dorcas buries her face into the crook of his neck. “I love you, Reg.”

The laughter dies on Regulus’ face. His next words come out choked. “I love you too. Always.”

She pulls away, the mascara and eyeliner around her eyes is smudged. “After all of that, I think I need a drink.”

“Hear, hear.” Barty says, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “I’ve got just the thing for us.” He steers her towards his trunk and the pair of them emerge triumphant with a bottle of vodka, making plans to go to their usual spot.

The minute the bottle appears in Barty’s hand, Pandora is quick to follow them. “Count me in. That vision ruined my entire day.”

Evan laughs. “More than the tattoo on Regulus’ arm?”

Pandora smiles, a soft one reserved just for Regulus. It’s a look that reassures him that they’re okay, that their friendship will survive this. “That’s a close second.”

She turns to leave but hesitates by the door. “Are you two coming?”

Regulus shakes his head, they need this, a chance to unwind and forget what just happened, what’s going to happen. They don’t need him there, he’s a constant reminder of what they’re about to endure. Pandora turns to Evan who hesitates and holds up a finger, as if to say give me a minute.

“I’ll be out in a bit. Under the quidditch stands right?”

She nods, turning on her heel to follow Barty and Dorcas out. The pair of them watch her go.

When Evan speaks, his voice is quiet but determined. “We won’t let anything happen to you, Regulus. You know that, right?”

Regulus quirks an eyebrow at Evan in surprise, motions for him to carry on.

“Pandora’s vision. It’s not concrete and although you getting that mark might have set you on that course, it doesn’t mean it’s set in stone. Barty and I will do everything we can to stop it from ever happening. James too.”

Regulus softens. He leans forward and lays a firm but gentle hand on Evan’s shoulder. “I know, Ev. I’ve got your back too, I hope you know that.”

Evan grins as he reaches up to lay his hand on top of Regulus’. “I know.”

“Go join the others, have some fun. It might be the last chance we get for a while.”

Evan turns to the closed door and hesitates. “We’re the lucky ones, all things considered.” He says sombrely, all the previous joy wiped clean from his face.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Pandora’s gift. I can’t imagine what it’s like, knowing that the people you love could be in danger and most of the time, you’re helpless to stop it.”

The silence stretches between them for a moment, eventually Regulus bridges it. “Do you think it’s better to be ignorant?”

He watches Evan’s face carefully, makes note of the way he smiles. “Well I guess when my time comes, I’d rather not know.”

Regulus can’t help but think of Pandora’s vision, how he’ll know the minute he steps foot in that field that his time is up. “Yeah.” Regulus says, finally. “Maybe it is more of a burden than a gift.”

He watches Evan leave, and what Regulus doesn’t say, is that he knows what it’s like to have a gift that’s a burden.

When Walburga Black had found out she was expecting twins, she’d been overjoyed. Regulus’ parents were certain that their pure Black blood would result in powerful children, their magic enhanced by the duality of their birth.

They were right. Sirius was powerful.

From a young age, Sirius’ magic reared its head whenever he felt a particularly big emotion. A child’s tantrum would result in a destroyed room. A fit of tears would result in a flood of magic, too much magic for such a small body.

Not only was he the first born son but his power was the first to present itself. It made perfect sense that Sirius would be made the heir because Walburga and Orion had thought that Regulus had been skipped over.

They were wrong about that.

Regulus was seven when he realised he could talk to snakes.

It had startled him, when Bellatrix had handed him a little grass snake she’d found in the garden and no one had heard her demanding to be put back where she came from but him.

Regulus was careful not to react to the snake, thanking Bellatrix as he took her. He’d taken her straight out to the garden and smiled as he released her. “There you go little one, enjoy your freedom.”

The snake had turned to him, a seemingly affronted look on its face. Regulus didn’t know snakes were even capable of making that expression. “Little one? Coming from you!” She’d made it halfway through the grass before she’d turned back to him. “Thank you. For setting me free.”

Regulus’ smile had grown wider on his face. “I don’t think you’d have made a very good pet anyway. I think you’d be quite the nag.”

She’d harrumphed but it had sounded amused.

He didn’t tell anyone about the interaction in the garden, even though he’d found it incredibly exciting. Regulus had waited until that evening to barge into Sirius’ room and flop on his bed beside him. Regulus knew what people thought of Parselmouths but the only person’s opinion that mattered to him was his brother’s.

“How cool would it have been if we could’ve talked to that snake Bellatrix found?”

Sirius pulled a face. “I don’t know. Nothing good ever came from being a Parselmouth.”

Regulus’ heart thudded in his chest. “I think it’s more about the person than the gift.”

Sirius scrunched his nose and turned back to the magazine he was flicking through. “I think they’re all evil, Reg.”

Regulus felt his stomach tie itself into knots. Evil? If telling Sirius meant that his brother thought he was evil, he vowed never to let Sirius find out.

“Hey, why’d you bring that up anyway?”

Regulus stared up at the ceiling, was he evil? “No reason.”

As the ability was considered to be inherently dark, Regulus had no interest in his parents finding out about it. No interest in taking Sirius’ title off of him. Not that it mattered much, he’d ended up with it anyway.

No one knew to this day, not even Evan or Barty.

Regulus stands in his empty dorm room and for the first time in a long time, doesn’t want to be alone. The room is unwelcoming, the candles around him burning low and the fire guttering in the grate. It’s like his friends took all the life and light with them when they left.

And so he decides to find some of that life, some of that light somewhere else, with someone else. Regulus heads to the astronomy tower and knows that if James has the map, he’ll find him soon.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Regulus is staring up at the sky, watching the way the last of the violet bleeds into a royal indigo, when he hears footsteps on the stairs. Regulus smiles to himself at the sound of the familiar tread.

“How did it go?” James asks as he hugs him from behind. He wraps his arms round Regulus, hold him tightly and presses a kiss to his temple. Regulus savours the contact.

“As expected. Dorcas will be safe with the Gryffindors, Pandora will be staying with us.”

James presses another kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, lifts a hand to loosen Regulus’ collar, so he can leave a particularly insistent kiss there. “They’ll look after her and we’ll look after Pandora.” He murmurs. “And we’ll all look after each other.”

“Mm.” Regulus says noncommittally, more focused on the way James’ breath fans against his neck. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Soon there’ll be no turning back.”

In answer, James grabs Regulus by the hip, turns him round so they’re facing one another, still in each other’s space, still in one another’s orbit. He smiles. “I’m ready. I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Are you sure? Not having any doubts?” Regulus asks, leaning forward, closing the distance between them.

James pushes Regulus against the bannister, braces one arm against it to hold them upright and threads the other in Regulus’ hair. “Yeah, I’m sure. Never been more certain about something before.” His eyes soften. “About someone.”

Regulus surges forward. He pulls James in with a cupped hand to the back of his neck and wraps the other arm round his waist, leaving no room between the two of them.

James cups his head and kisses him, wild and with reckless abandon.

Regulus kisses him back, puts all his heart and soul into it, the good and the bad, everything that makes him, him.

The kiss is messy, a little bit all over the place, just like them.

“Fucking hell, go on you two!” They break apart at the sound of Barty’s voice, James leaning around Regulus to peer down at the courtyard down below.

Regulus follows suit, twisting in his arms to get a better look at his friends.

Barty stands there, grinning up at them, one arm around Dorcas and the other around Evan. Pandora beams at them from the circle of Dorcas’ arms. They must have been cutting through the courtyard on their way back from the Quidditch pitch when Barty had spotted them.

Barty’s grin widens when they peer down at him. He raises his voice, even louder. “Is that the head boy I can see? Out and about at this time of night!”

James grins against Regulus’ neck, laughs in his ear.

“He’s making an awful lot of noise for someone who doesn’t have an invisibility cloak. We can make a run for it but they have about thirty seconds before someone comes to investigate the source of all that noise.”

“That’s Barty for you. Always living life on the edge. You get used to it and eventually you get used to him.”

“I think I’m already starting to.”

Regulus, in this moment, is happy. He looks down at his four friends below, feels the way that James is pressed to his side and thinks about the small moments, like this one. The ones that you have no influence over, no control, the ones that happen spontaneously and are all the more beautiful for it.

He wishes he could capture this moment and live in it forever.

—

Things are changing and Evan adapts.

He feels relatively at peace, with everything that’s going on. It had been difficult at first, when they hadn’t had a plan but now Evan feels settled, he almost feels ready. Evan has a part to play and he’ll make sure it’s a success. He won’t let anything jeopardise this.

Pandora’s vision the other night had solidified that for him.

Death hadn’t really been on the forefront of his mind up until that point. Of course Evan knew that it was a possibility, that one of them, perhaps all of them, wouldn’t make it. The fear, however, that he’d felt in his gut, at the thought of losing Regulus, it had given him a drive, a purpose he didn’t know he had in him.

He’d told Regulus that he’d do everything in his power to stop those events from unfolding and he meant that.

The changing circumstances have been hard on his friends. Dorcas has hardly left her room since seeing Regulus’ arm. Barty has been strange, distant. Pandora has thrown herself into finding that field, so that they can avoid it at all costs.

Regulus, unsurprisingly seems to be unperturbed by everything, he puts up a good front. Evan knows that’s not true though. He can tell by the tension in Regulus’ shoulders, the way he automatically seeks out Sirius at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, for comfort or as a reminder to do what must be done, Evan isn’t sure.

Evan is just leaving the Great Hall when he spots Barty across the corridor. He hadn’t come to breakfast, Evan’s not sure where he’s been as Barty was already gone when he’d woken up.

“Hey, Crouch.” Evan says, jogging to catch up with him. “You busy?”

Barty lifts his head, he looks tired. The skin under his eyes is dark, his face sallow. “Why are you asking?” It’s short, sharper than usual but Evan doesn’t take offence. Barty may come across as carefree but he worries, a lot. Not about things like grades or his reputation but about his friends, his family. Evan understands, Pandora’s vision is heavy on his mind too.

“Do you want to spar?”

That catches Barty’s attention.

They’d jokingly discussed it the other night over a bottle of vodka. It had become a bit of a tradition for them, lying on the grass of the quidditch pitch and sharing a bottle of something strong between the four of them. Regulus used to join them but now he’s more likely to be found tucked away somewhere private and hidden with James.

Despite the joking nature of their discussion, Evan thinks it’s a good idea. They’ll be living under the same roof as a group of dangerous individuals soon, put into situations that could mean life or death, it’s smart to be prepared.

Barty’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You were being serious about that?”

“Course, I want to be prepared.” He scans Barty’s face. “Don’t you?”

Barty shrugs and leans back against the wall. He runs a hand through his already dishevelled hair and Evan tracks the movement greedily. “It’s not a bad idea. In less than a year, we’ll be soldiers in this war.”

Evan smiles, huffs out a laugh. “We already are.”

“I don’t think I am. Don’t know if I ever will be.” Barty says, his brow furrowing in frustration.

Evan studies him, taking in every detail. It’s true, but not for the reasons Barty assumes. Of course, he’s no soldier. Barty doesn’t conform; he leads. Evan exhales, certainty settling deep within his chest. “No, you’re right. You’re something else entirely.”

Barty sends him a questioning look but Evan turns away, starts to head towards the stairs. “Come on. Let’s go find an old disused room somewhere.”

They make it all the way to the seventh floor, most of the rooms they’d examined hadn’t been suitable, too cramped or full of junk that would take too long to organise and rearrange.

Evan is just about to give up, suggest that Barty uses his Saturday to catch up on some sleep instead when Barty grabs his arm, pulling him to a stop.

“Ev, look at that.” Barty says, his voice full of wonder.

In front of them is a door, consisting of varnished brown wood and an antique bronze handle, unremarkable really, apart from the fact that it hadn’t been there a minute ago.

They share a look, full of curiousity and excitement, before they both push the door open at the same time.

The room is huge. On one side is a beautiful stained glass window stretching from the ceiling to the floor, casting a kaleidoscope of colours on the surrounding walls every time the light catches it. Beneath it lies several plush sofas, arranged to face one another with decorative rugs placed in the middle.

The opposite side of the room lacks such extravagant furnishings, instead focusing more on utilising its space. Practise dummies stand in an orderly line against the wall whilst sparring mats litter the floor. Affixed to the wall are an array of practise knives, daggers, swords and weapons that Evan has never seen before, couldn’t even begin to name.

“What is this place?” Evan asks, spinning on his heel to take it all in.

Barty joins him in the centre of the room and grins. The tiredness on his face is gone, replaced by unbridled joy.

“Evan, I think we just found the Room of Requirement.”

“The what now?”

“I didn’t think it was actually real. Regulus and I were obsessed with finding it in our third year. It’s a room that only appears to those in need.” Barty shakes his head in disbelief. “Clearly we never really needed it until now.”

Evan walks towards the sparring area, touches everything with a reverent hand. “It’s like Hogwarts approves, of what we’re doing, of what we’re trying to achieve.”

He turns to look at Barty, who is still standing in the middle of the room, finds that Barty is already looking at him. There’s something gentle in his gaze, something vulnerable.

Evan wants more from him, for them. He doesn’t know how to ask for it.

“Yeah.” Barty says finally, letting the moment pass them by, neither of them brave enough to acknowledge it. “Well, let’s make the most of it then.”

They discuss what weapon to use, what rules to establish before they begin. Evan wants to use a dagger, thinks it’s the most practical weapon to keep on them at all times. Barty agrees but argues that they should also be able to use magic because it’s unlikely that in a physical altercation, their opponent will fight fair.

And so they begin.

They’re evenly matched, the pair of them. It makes for an interesting fight.

Every time one of them inches close to victory, the other will retaliate with a move that puts them on a level playing field once again.

That is, until Evan physically overpowers Barty. He finally manages to pin him down, their faces inches apart, both breathing heavy.

He watches the way Barty swallows and tips his head back in defeat. Evan leans forward, eyes drawn to the slick sweat on Barty’s brow, the way his lips part.

And then Barty has his wand out.

Evan flies through the air, landing on his back, the air knocked out of him. Barty lifts himself up off the floor and walks over to Evan slowly, like a predator stalking its prey. He straddles Evan, holds him down.

Evan may have brute force but Barty is analytical and strategic.

The roles are reversed now, Barty holding Evan down, his arm across his throat, his knees bracketing his hips. Evan meets his gaze, knows his own is hot and lidded and lifts his hips, trying to meet Barty’s.

For the second time, Barty pulls away. He leans back on his haunches, face blank.

“What was that about?” Evan demands, lifting himself up on his elbows, still on the floor. “Twice you had the opportunity to kiss me. You pulled away both times, why?”

“I’m not in the mood, Evan.”

“You, not in the mood? Has hell frozen over?” Evan says lightly but it falls flat. Barty’s never rejected him before and it stings, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

Barty’s tone is suddenly cold, his eyes even colder. “You’re not irresistible you know.”

“What? Where is this coming from?” Evan doesn’t like the look in his eyes, it’s spiteful, there’s an intention to hurt there. He tries to buck Barty off of him but Barty digs his heels in, holds him down.

Barty leans in close, whispers in his ear. “You’re too easy, Evan. It’s no fun when you’re constantly throwing yourself at me.”

Evan recoils. “Go fuck yourself.”

“No need, not when there’s plenty of people who would jump at the chance.”

Evan pushes him off, comes to his feet in a rush. He’s breathing heavy, staring at Barty like he’s never seen him before. “You’re a real piece of shit, Crouch. Just like your dad.”

Evan leaves, without a backwards glance at Barty. As soon as the door slams shut, Barty presses a shaking hand to his mouth and tries to swallow his nausea.

Evan Rosier is a distraction. One Barty can’t afford to indulge in.

—

Barty and Evan haven’t spoken much, since the incident in the Room of Requirement. Things between them have been stilted and awkward for weeks now.

Barty gets it. He was a dick and Evan’s waiting for an apology but what he doesn’t understand is that Barty can’t give him one.

What they have is complicated, always has been. More than friends, not quite lovers. Fiercely loyal to one another in some ways and undoubtedly unfaithful in others. It scares Barty, more than he’d care to admit. No one gets under his skin like Evan Rosier does.

And right now, he can’t lose himself in the chaos that Evan unleashes every time he looks at him for a little too long, every time his touch lingers longer than it should. He can’t afford to. Barty is all over the place and he feels like he’s losing more and more of himself as the days go by. He’s barely holding it together as it is.

He can’t let himself have this, can’t let himself have Evan. There are bigger, more important things to focus on, people he needs to protect and he can’t do that when Evan is constantly on his mind.

What Evan doesn’t understand is that although this may be nothing more than sex with no strings attached to him, it’s getting dangerously close to obsession for Barty.

He’s on his bed, eyes closed and arms crossed underneath his head when the door opens with a bang. Barty opens one eye, surveys Evan standing by the door and closes it again.

“Barty.” Evan’s tone is insistent.

Barty opens his eyes with a disgruntled huff and sends Evan a cool look. “What have I done now?”

“Do you want to start by explaining what’s going on with you?” Evan says, coming to sit on the edge of Barty’s bed. “You’re lashing out, pushing everyone away. This isn’t you.” His voice softens. “Let me help.”

Barty sits up, feels the guilt wash over him. He’s been so unfair to him, these past few weeks and here he is, still showing up for him, always the bigger, better person. “Ev, I’m stressed. We all have a lot going on. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing half the time, I’m sorry.”

Evan reaches out, but something catches his eye, he lets his hand drop between them. “How’d you get that mark on your neck?”

The bruise is old, from nearly two weeks ago, a useless attempt to try and get Evan out of his head. It hadn’t worked.

Barty furrows his brow, sends him a bemused smile. “Last time I checked it was none of your business.”

Evan laughs but the look on his face is unpleasant. “None of my business? Are you kidding me?”

Barty watches as a nerve jumps in Evan’s jaw. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, lets Evan work through whatever he wants to say.

“If this thing between us is going to carry on, I want it to just be me and you. No one else.”

Barty can feel his heart in his chest, can hear the rush of blood in his ears. You idiot, he thinks desperately, don’t you understand? I can’t. I’m in too deep already, any deeper and I’ll drown and I’ll drag you down with me.

He sighs, rubs a hand over his face. “I can’t give you that.”

Barty sees the anger rise on Evan’s face, the thinly veiled hurt. “So you’d risk losing this? What we have, for what? A cheap, easy fuck whenever you fancy it?”

“Isn’t that what you are?” Barty regrets it the minute the words leave his mouth. Evan flinches, like Barty’s response had caused him physical pain.

Evan’s eyes are wet and when he swallows, his throat bobs. “I hate you. I really fucking hate you.” He says, he sounds like he means it.

I’m sorry. Barty thinks to himself as he watches Evan go. But this is for the best. For both of us.

—

It’s late, the common room mostly deserted when James returns from his meeting with Lily. They walk through the portrait hole, arm in arm, Lily bright and animated despite the late hour.

She’s telling him a story about Mary, and Lily really is at her most beautiful when she’s talking about someone she loves. She absolutely lights up when she talks about her girlfriend, her eyes glittering like stars, her smile radiant. Lily’s beauty is so much more than skin deep, it’s in her soul, in the way that she carries herself, the values she holds. James is constantly in awe of her.

It had taken them awhile to get here, to have this level of friendship but James is so pleased that they got here eventually. He really does think he has a friend for life in Lily.

“You going to bed?” She asks, unhooking their arms so she can flop down on the sofa closest to the window, the one that’s tucked away in the corner of the room and offers the most privacy.

James shakes his head and motions for her to move her legs so he can sit beside her. “No, not yet.”

Lily hooks her knees under her chin and looks at him, her eyes full of understanding. “You don’t want to go up to the common room and see Sirius.”

He smiles ruefully, rubs his eyes behind his glasses. “That obvious, huh?”

Lily shrugs, tucks a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “It’s something to do with Regulus, isn’t it?”

James quickly scans the room, making sure that no one heard what she just said before sending her a startled look. “Lily, I’m not even going to try and deny it because I think you have a scary sixth sense when it comes to your friends.”

She winks at him but behind her playful facade, there’s genuine concern there.

“He doesn’t know, does he? About how much you care for his brother?” Her voice is so soft, so incredibly gentle that James worries that he’s going to crack, that the truth is going to pour out of him like water from a shattered vase.

It takes him a minute to speak and when he does, his voice wavers. “No, he doesn’t.”

Understanding dawns in Lily’s eyes. “You love him?”

James throws caution to the wind and nods.

Lily lets out an audible breath. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” James says weakly. She reaches for his hand and he lets her, takes comfort in it.

Lily knocks their shoulders together and squeezes his hand. “He’s hot in a brooding way, I guess.”

James laughs. “Yeah, he is.”

She turns to him and there is a quiet authority of someone who understands more than most in her gaze. "You should tell him." She smiles and it’s gentle but there’s a resounding certainty in the curve of her mouth, too. "Sirius, I mean. If you care this much about Regulus, then there must be something good in him, something Sirius deserves to see, too."

He turns to look at her, properly. The lack of judgement in her face, the warmth that pours out of her. He admires the freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks, her bright green eyes that are always slightly crinkled at the sides from how much she smiles. She really is the best of them.

“Lily, we’re friends right?”

She nods, without hesitation, grips his hand between both of hers. “Of course, why’d you ask?”

James sends a quick apology to Regulus, for slightly bending the rules but he needs someone to know, someone to remember who he really is. He can’t have Lily think that he’d stoop this low without reason to.

“You know me, right? The type of person that I am?”

Lily wrinkles her nose, confused. “After seven years, I’d hope so.” She sends him a mischievous look. “Though you were really annoying for five of them.”

He rolls his eyes, good-naturedly but his tone is serious when he speaks. “Will you try and remember that please? When things get really tough.”

There’s an imperceivable shift as Lily realises that they’re having a more serious conversation than she first realised.

“James,” She says slowly. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, I’m okay. Just promise me you’ll remember.”

Lily is about to reply, her mouth parting round her next words when the sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupts them. They both turn to see Sirius standing there, he looks worn down and it makes James’ heart ache.

“I thought I could hear you.” Sirius sends Lily a half-smile. “Can I borrow James please?”

“Course. Night you two.” Lily says, giving James’ hand one last squeeze before she lets go. James mourns the loss of contact and comfort immediately.

‘Tell him’ Lily mouths as she heads up the stairs, ‘about Regulus’. She waits for him to nod in understanding, a slight tilt of his head as to not tip off Sirius before she blows him a kiss, disappearing down the hallway.

Sirius sits down beside James. If James shifted slightly to the left, they’d be touching yet the distance between them feels vast and endless.

“What’s going on with us, James?” Sirius sends him an unhappy look, shifts ever so slightly to the right, tries to bridge the gap between them. “I miss us.”

“I know.” James says quietly. “Me too.” And he means it but he can’t let it change what needs to be done.

Everyone has slowly filtered out of the common room, leaving them alone in the big, empty room. It’s the first time they’ve spoken properly since the night of Sirius’ outburst outside the Slytherin dungeons. When James had returned to their room later that evening, Sirius had asked him if he’d been with Regulus. James had told him that he hadn’t, that he really had gone to get some fresh air and clear his head but they’d both known that, that was a lie. That untruth was what caused this rift between the two of them, one that James has to let grow even bigger.

“I know what the problem is, why things have been so off between us.” Sirius runs a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. Regulus does the same thing when he’s worried about something.

Sirius’ next words are pained. “James, whatever this thing is that you have going on with Regulus, it has to stop.”

James closes his eyes, shakes his head. “No, Sirius. He deserves a chance, just like you did.”

Sirius’ smile is bitter and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I earned that chance, James. What has he done to deserve your time? Your friendship?”

James knows what he has to do. He hates himself for it.

“He has more than my friendship.”

“What?” Sirius has never sounded so cold when speaking to James. He feels the way Sirius stiffens beside him, the tension that lines his body. James doesn’t dare look up at him, can’t bear to meet his eyes, worried what he’ll find there.

“Sirius, Regulus and I…we’re together.”

Notes:

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 4: Chapter Four (beginning of the end)

Sirius starts laughing, a horrible noise, loud and fractured with disbelief.

“You’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

James says nothing.

“James?” There’s desperation in Sirius’ voice. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Nearly seven years of friendship, about to come crashing down in a matter of minutes. James hates this. A part of him wants to play it off as a joke, another part of him wants to get down on his knees and beg for Sirius’ forgiveness. James does neither of those things, he stays where he is, tries to reconcile with the fact that the truth had to come out sooner rather than later and he wants Sirius to hear it from him. He owes him that at least. James lifts his head, watches the despair that floods Sirius’ face at his silence, the sick realisation that’s dawning in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Sirius.”

They sit there, staring wordlessly at one another, for the first time in the entirety of their friendship, neither of them know what to say to the other.

Finally Sirius speaks. “You wouldn’t…James, you wouldn’t do this. This isn’t you.”

James takes in a shaky breath. I wish this wasn’t me, he thinks, but for a little while, this is who I’m going to have to be, the type of person who hurts their best friend, the type of person who lies and disappoints those closest to him. I’m sorry, Sirius. You deserve better than this. All of you do.

He doesn’t deny it, instead he leans forwards, wishes with everything in him that he could tell Sirius the truth but instead he settles for this. “And now you know, why I can’t give up on him.”

Sirius stands, begins pacing frantically, his fists clenched at his sides. Betrayal and disbelief quickly turning to anger. “Merlin this is so like him. He’s done this to spite me.”

At those words, James’ blood runs cold. “What?”

“This! Getting with you! He wants to take something important away from me just to prove that he can.” Sirius spins on his heel and when he faces James, there’s a mad look in his eyes. “James, you need to end it with him. I mean it, right now.”

If only Sirius knew how prepared Regulus had been to let James go.

James swallows, shakes his head. “No.”

“He’s got his claws into you, fucked with your head.” Sirius clutches his temples with shaking hands, breathes raggedly through his mouth. “I should have never let you be alone with him, I know how manipulative he can be-”

“Sirius, Regulus didn’t use the imperius cure on me, he didn’t coerce me or manipulate me.” James reaches forward, he isn’t sure why, doesn’t know whether he does it to try and comfort Sirius or to comfort himself. “I cared about him long before he cared about me.”

Sirius recoils from him. “Don’t say his fucking name in front of me.” He tilts his head back, like he’s looking up at the stars, the ones that his family are named after, like he can find all the answers he’s seeking there. When he speaks his voice is ragged. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Sirius, I’m as much to blame as he is.”

“Trust me, I know. And I am so fucking angry at you but you’re not like him, James. You’re good. Too good. You always try to see the best in everyone, even Regulus.” Sirius’ eyes are pleading, he’s giving him a way out, even now, even after this. It breaks James’ heart. “You’ve made a mistake but you can make this right.”

“I’m not abandoning him.” James closes his eyes, tries to prepare himself for what he’s about to say next, what will undoubtedly be the final nail in the coffin of their friendship. “Not like you did.”

Sirius is in his face in an instant, pulling him up by the collar of his shirt, enraged. James watches as Sirius lifts his fist, draws it back, they both watch the way it shakes, the way it eventually falls.

“This is exactly what I mean. He’s got into your head. The James I know, the James I love, would never say something like that because it’s not true and you know it.” Sirius shakes his head. “You were the one who taught me that.”

Sirius is right, of course. James would never say that, because he doesn’t believe it for one second. Sirius has never given up on Regulus, no matter how much he denies it, even when caring about him was at his own detriment.

When Sirius left it was because he finally put himself first. James was the one who told him that, over and over again, until he believed it. When Sirius left and never looked back, never answered a single owl from them, it was because James had told him that he was never going to get closure from his family, that he had to create it for himself.

Regulus was never part of that equation, however.

This whole time, Sirius has been desperately waiting for Regulus to do the right thing. It’s why he let Regulus come to the Potters week after week, never challenged James or his parents on it. Sirius wanted Regulus there because he really did believe it would make a difference.

And it did.

It made all the difference in the world but Sirius can’t know that yet because Evan and Barty told James that he has to sell this, he has to make it believable. So he continues to drag all that bitter history up, forces those poisonous words out of his mouth.

“He needs someone, Sirius. Like you needed me.”

Sirius’ eyes are incredibly sad and full of pity. He’s still gripping James’ collar like if he lets go, he really has lost him. “You can’t change him, James. If that’s what you think you’re doing by staying with him. People change themselves, the only person capable of saving Regulus is Regulus.”

“You’re right, we can’t change people. But we can believe in them, Sirius, we can love them.”

If only you knew, Sirius. Regulus doesn’t need to change, James thinks, his heart squeezing in his chest. But he does need someone to believe he’s good, that he’s capable of doing good. I don’t think he’ll get out of this alive otherwise.

James thinks of his current situation, how one day he won’t be remembered solely for the choices he’s about to make but the outcome he reached by doing so. It’s the only comfort he has in all of this. “My mum used to say something to me, when I messed up, when I wanted to be better.” He traces Sirius’ face with his eyes, commits every inch of him to memory, urges him to understand the secret message in his words. “We can be what we do, not just what we did.”

Slowly, Sirius lets him go, pulls away and puts distance between them. It feels like the beginning of the end. “I’m pretty sure Effie wouldn’t want her words to be used to justify the actions of a Death Eater. He’s going to take the dark mark, James. If what you’re saying is true and the choices we’re going to make shape us just as much as the ones we made in the past, what does it say about Regulus that he’s going to make the wrong choice, again?”

James stays silent, watches the way Sirius’ mouth goes slack, the way the colour drains from his face. “Are you stupid enough to believe you can stop him or are you really that blinded by him? Will you still think there’s something decent and good in there once he’s permanently branded by Voldemort?”

Again, James says nothing. There’s nothing he can say, what’s he supposed to do, tell Sirius that it’s too late for that? That Regulus already has and James has stuck beside him, not for the reasons that Sirius thinks, not that any of that matters anyway?

“James, please go.” When James doesn’t move, Sirius raises his voice, doesn’t try to hide the way it shakes. “I mean it, James. Go, before I do something I regret.”

And so James leaves, heart heavy and full of misery. He wants to look back at his best friend but he knows he can’t, it’ll be the undoing of him. It’s only when the portrait hole shuts behind him that he finally lets the unshed tears fall.

In the common room, Sirius sweeps books, a chess board and numerous sheets of parchment off of the table closest to him in a fit of rage. He feels the angry spark of his magic buzzing under his skin and so he lets it go, watching the way the fire in the grate rises exponentially, the flames licking the walls of the chimney. The clock on the wall begins to chime, over and over again and the lights begin to flash, on and off, blazingly bright then so dark that the room becomes dim.

He watches the chaos unfolding around him for a moment and battles against the urge to lose himself in it.

Just as quickly as it started, Sirius throws out an arm and it stops.

He drops to his knees in the middle of the room and watches the flames turn to nothing in the fireplace, leaving only ash and acrid smoke behind.

—

Regulus bolts up in bed, torn from sleep and immediately unsettled. He hadn’t been dreaming, no noise had woken him but he can feel his magic, calling to him, warning him of danger close by.

He waits for a minute, is just about to settle down again after sensing no immediate threat when he hears the sound of a quiet knock at the door. He peers into the darkness of the room, waits for his eyes to adjust and checks Barty and Evan’s beds, finds them there, asleep.

Quietly he slips out of bed. He’s certain that no one who wanted to harm them would knock but he grabs his wand just in case, holds it out in front of him as he unlocks the door.

James is stood there, looking so incredibly small and lost that Regulus’ wand hand falters. With his free hand he pulls him inside, casts a silencing charm around them so as not to wake his friends and then chucks his wand on his bed behind him so that he can grab James by the shoulders.

“James? What’s wrong?” Despite the fact that his voice is calm and level, Regulus is on high alert. This must have been what had woken him, the feeling that something had happened to James.

“It’s Sirius. He knows.”

Regulus stills, tries to imperceptibly check James for any sign of a physical altercation. He doesn’t think Sirius would pull something like that but Regulus has an inherent distrust of people and so he has to be certain. James’ clothes aren’t mussed, his hair is no untidier than usual and Regulus can’t find any rapidly forming bruises. Good, Sirius will live to see another day.

“Fuck.” Regulus says softly. He looks at James, the red eyes, the downturned mouth, the devastation written all over his face. “I take it, it didn’t go well?”

“This is your brother we’re talking about.” James says, inching closer. Regulus can tell he’s desperate for comfort and physical contact and so he relents, despite the agitation deep in his bones. It’s nothing to do with James, or his presence, more so the fact that his magic is still pulled tight under his skin, like an elastic band ready to snap at any moment. It’s probably an echo of Sirius’ frustration, Regulus realises. He recognises the feel of it, how Grimmauld Place used to feel after one of Sirius’ outbursts, the atmosphere charged and electric, the way the air feels before a thunderstorm. Despite all of that, Regulus pulls him in, feels the way James relaxes against him and tries to push the answering call of his own magic down, down, down.

“I’m sorry. I know how difficult that must have been for you.” James burrows his head further into Regulus’ shoulder, his glasses digging in but Regulus doesn’t say anything, just lifts a hesitant hand to card through his hair.

Regulus doesn’t know how to comfort him, doesn’t know how to be the reassuring presence that Sirius always has been for James. He suddenly feels like he’s fifteen again and irrevocably inadequate to his brother when it comes to his parents but most importantly, when it comes to James.

“It had to be done.” James suddenly pulls away, begins toeing out of his shoes and chucking them under Regulus’ bed. “Do you think he’ll forgive me? He was so…” He trails off, waves a hand in the air in a so-so gesture.

“Angry? Furious? Murderous?” Regulus suggests as he watches confused as James begins to pull off his socks, his trousers and his shirt and tie. He roughly folds them and chucks them on top of Regulus’ trunk at the foot of his bed, leaving him in only his boxers.

James huffs out a laugh. “At you, maybe. No, he was disappointed in me.” He pauses on his way to Regulus’ wardrobe, tries to recover but his fingers shake as they brush against one of the old, soft tees hanging up. “I think it was worse, the disappointment. I could deal with his anger, it would’ve made it easier but the way he looked at me, it’ll stay with me for a long time, I think.”

James pulls on Regulus’ shirt and it warms Regulus a little, that he didn’t feel the need to ask, that he knew it was okay to take. As far as James is concerned, he can take whatever he wants from Regulus, all of it is his anyway.

“He’ll forgive you.” Regulus says gently, coming to sit on the edge of his bed, he knows as he says it that it’s true. “Sirius is stubborn but he’ll see sense, he always will when it comes to you.”

“And you, Reg?” James asks, coming to sit beside Regulus on his bed. “Do you think he’ll forgive you?”

Regulus tilts his head as he contemplates that question. He’d like to think that his brother would forgive him, in time. He thinks he will when the truth comes out about Regulus’ real motivations for joining the Death Eaters. There’s one thing he doesn’t think Sirius will ever forgive however, and that’s Regulus taking James away from him. Regulus has done something unforgivable, taken the one thing Sirius had claimed as his, James was his best friend, his family, his brother, the one he chose, not the one he was forced to share a face and a last name with.

Eventually, he shrugs. “Maybe.” He nudges James with his elbow in a bid to change the topic. “Have you claimed my room as yours for the night then?”

James sends him an affronted look. “You basically got me into this mess, the least you can do is give me a place to stay tonight.”

Regulus pulls a face at him as he pulls back the covers, and settles in, holding a corner up in an invitation for James to get inside. “Don’t you dare put this on me. You were the one who made the first move, remember? Make sure you tell Sirius that, when all of this is over and the pair of you are back on speaking terms. He might want to kill me a tiny bit less after hearing that.”

James snorts as he climbs in beside him. He pulls the curtains shut around them, enveloping them in darkness. “No thanks, I already took one for the team by telling him about us.”

“It was a necessary evil. You wanted to be part of this suicide mission anyway, so you’ll get no sympathy from me.” Despite his sardonic tone, Regulus pulls James against him, presses a kiss to his forehead. “But you still need to talk to your parents about all of this, James.”

James is quiet for a moment, idly tracing patterns on Regulus’ bare arm, the one free of any ink. Regulus wishes his finger would leave a trail of ink behind, he knows that whatever mindless thing he’s drawing would be exponentially more important to Regulus than the tattoo on his other arm.

“And if my parents say no?”

It’s difficult because there’s a part of Regulus that hopes they will say no, so that James is kept faraway from the evil that’s taken up residence in Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. There is however, a part of him that selfishly wants James next to him, where he can keep him safe. Those two sides of him have been at war with one another these past couple of weeks with no winner in sight.

“Then you tell Sirius we’re done, that I got the dark mark tattooed on me and you’re going to have nothing more to do with me. You’ll beg for his forgiveness, tell him you weren’t thinking straight. You’ll join the Order and you’ll do your best to stay out of trouble and when this war comes to an end, maybe you can put in a good word to Sirius for me.”

James’ reply is instantaneous, he barely lets Regulus finish before he speaks. “They’re going to say yes, Regulus. I know it.”

Curiosity gets the better of him. “What makes you say that?”

When he speaks, James’ voice is full of conviction. “Because they’ll understand how important this is. How important getting you out of there whole and alive is to me.” James lifts his head from where it’s resting on Regulus’ shoulder to look up at him. “You’re the only person I’d do this for, you know.”

A ghost of a smile flickers on Regulus’ face at that confession. It’s interesting to Regulus, that despite how different the four of them are, how closely their motivations match up. They all want to do this for the people they care about.

For a long time Regulus doesn’t say anything, just listens to the quiet sound of James’ breathing, the steady rise and fall of it. Eventually he grabs his wand from where it’s tangled in the blankets and removes the silencing spell. “Get some sleep, James.” He murmurs. “You’ll need it. Tomorrow is going to be difficult.”

It takes James a little while to settle, he’s unhappy, the events of today catching up with him. When he eventually succumbs to sleep, he spends most of the night tossing and turning, his brow creased.

Regulus doesn’t take his own advice. Instead, he sits up against the headboard, until the sun begins to rise, deep in thought.

—

James wakes to an empty bed and Barty Crouch Jr leaning over him.

“What the hell!?” He splutters, squinting up at a blurry Barty with bleary eyes.

Barty leans against the bedpost closest to James, an indecent look on his face. “Good morning to you too, Potter. Did you get lost on your way to Gryffindor tower last night? Slipped and fell into Regulus’ bed?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. “Bit rude of you not to say hello, unless you were preoccupied doing something else...”

James forces down the urge to strangle him. “When I got here you were passed out drooling all over your pillow, would’ve been a bit difficult to exchange pleasantries with you like that.” James says as he grabs his glasses’ off of Regulus’ bedside cabinet.

“Probably dreaming of you.” Barty says cheerfully. “And all of the things I’d do to you if you’d just give me half a chance.”

Evan scowls from where he’s carelessly stuffing textbooks into his bag. “He’s not joking either.” James is surprised by the heat in his voice. He watches Barty grin and stick out his tongue in response but it lacks their usual playfulness.

Regulus appears in the doorway of the bathroom, his shirt half buttoned and his tie hanging round his neck. “Morning.” He says as if there’s nothing out of the ordinary occurring in their room this morning. He joins James on the bed, elbowing Barty out of the way so he can pull on his shoes. Barty huffs at Regulus’ clear dismissal and turns towards Evan’s bed, as if he’s going to sit there. At the last minute he seems to change his mind, perching on the edge of his own trunk instead.

Barty and Evan are clearly waiting for an explanation, when they don’t get one, the pair of them exchange confused looks. Regulus ignores them, finishes lacing up his shoes and then straightens to deftly tie his tie. Only when he’s done does he finally look up and speak. “Sirius knows about James and I. It’s time to set things in motion.”

The confusion on Evan’s face evaporates, concern replacing it immediately. He sends James a sympathetic look. “You okay? Bet that was dreadful.”

“Slight underestimation there.” James comments dryly, he doesn’t have any clothes on him apart from what he was wearing last night so he begins to pull them on, ignoring the wolf whistle from Barty when he pulls off Regulus’ top to replace it with his own.

“Okay, so James is officially one of us now?” Evan asks.

Regulus nods, seemingly unperturbed by the topic of conversation and subsequently, the repercussions that they’re about to face. “Yes, which means we need to prepare ourselves for the backlash we’re going to get from his friends. They’re not going to like it and we need to make it clear that he’s with us and that, that isn’t changing anytime soon.”

“Do you think Sirius will come looking for a fight?” Barty says, he doesn’t seem overly bothered if that’s the case.

James ducks his head and tries to ignore the way his stomach ties itself in knots at the mention of his best friend.

Regulus grabs his wand, tucking it into his robes. “If it’s me he’s looking for?” He smiles. “Most definitely.”

Barty hums thoughtfully. “James, first chance you get, you need to get rid of that map.”

James scrunches his nose, pretends he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “What map?”

With a long-suffering sigh, Barty rests his chin on the heel of his hand. “The misfit’s map? The one with the stupid names? You know, the one that you and your friends use to spy on us and the rest of the student population?”

At this revelation, James sends Regulus a betrayed look. He only gets an unconcerned shrug in return.

“To be fair to Regulus,” Evan says, his eyes bright with amusement at their exchange. “He only told us recently, when he thought it was necessary for us to know about it.”

Regulus nods in agreement. “Sirius being able to see where we are at all times isn’t exactly a good thing and it’s not like he’s going to hand it over to you for safe-keeping anytime soon.” He pauses, thinks for a moment. “You need Filch to confiscate it.”

That earns Regulus an immediate sound of disapproval from Barty. “No, they’ll just break into his office and steal it back. Why not hide it in the Room of Requirement? They’ll never find it in there.”

It’s not a terrible idea but James hates the thought of their map, a labour of love, being forever lost to time. “It’s true. I didn’t know it existed until you told me, Barty, so they won’t know where to look for it.” James frowns. “It seems a shame though, for all that work to go to waste. I’d rather it ended up in Filch’s office and some kids ten years from now find it and make good use of it.”

Regulus rolls his eyes at that, he’s never understood James’ penchant for mischief. “I don’t care what happens to it, we just need it gone.”

After a brief pause, Regulus speaks again, his voice somber. “I’m expecting Sirius to confront me at some point today but it’s likely we’ll all be targets. If any of the Gryffindors stop you, start to argue with you, argue back with them, loudly and preferably in front of a crowd but if at any point it looks like it’s going to get physical, you don’t engage.” Regulus sends a warning look to Barty and Evan. “We need to sell it, in case word gets back to Voldemort but we don’t take things too far.”

When Barty speaks, it’s the most serious James has ever heard him. “Got it.”

Evan comes to his feet, is quickly followed by Barty. “Shall we head to breakfast then? Show our faces and get the big reveal over and done with?”

Regulus turns to James, leaving the decision in his hands. James smiles at that little show of consideration before tugging at his creased shirt. “I’ll join you in a bit, just got to go and get changed first.”

There’s concern in Regulus’ gaze but he doesn’t argue with James.

The four of them leave the room and make their way to the common room. James hadn’t had time to grab his invisibility cloak last night so he decides to own it. He walks through the Slytherin common room, bold as brass, as if he owns the place, ignoring the startled looks and dumbfounded stares that he receives.

Oh to hell with it.

He throws an arm over Regulus’ shoulder and ignores the way the room erupts into frantic whispers.

Let them talk, he thinks as Evan sends him an approving look and Barty a wicked grin that’s all teeth.

Regulus, however, shoots him a displeased look, a quick scrunch of the nose and a slight furrow of the brow. He’s never been one for being the centre of attention. He allows it though, doesn’t shrug it off. He’s a Black after all, they know how and when to put on a show.

Pandora drifts to their side as they’re leaving, elbowing Evan out the way so she can get closer to James. She ignores the scowl her brother sends her way, looping her arm through James’.

“Morning, James.” She says brightly, her eyes quickly become mischievous. “How did you find Regulus’ bed? Comfortable I assume, since you spent all night there.”

There’s the sound of muffled laughter behind them and James turns to shoot Barty and Evan, the two most likely culprits, a dirty look. “Did you tell her? When did you even have the chance?”

Pandora laughs and squeezes his arm. “No, they didn’t but you’re wearing creased clothes and no one saw you walk in this morning, anyone with eyes can put two and two together.”

Soon, they have to part ways, a trail of whispers following James all the way to his room in Gryffindor tower, which is thankfully empty.

When James eventually makes it to the Great Hall, he feels an anxious pit form in his stomach. It’s busy, more so than usual, all four of the house tables are nearly full.

He searches the Slytherin table and finds Regulus straightaway.

Regulus Black usually likes to fade into the background but not today. He sits, back perfectly straight, his chin resting atop his clasped hands and his face the picture of haughty arrogance. Regulus’ eyes are fixed on something, someone, across the room.

James follows his gaze and finds Sirius.

Sirius looks furious, the anger practically coming off him in waves. Between his enclosed hands sits a mug which he’s squeezing tightly, probably pretending it’s his brother’s neck.

James’ entrance seems to catch Remus’ attention, which in turn results in a chain reaction. Remus looking at the door means that Sirius turns too, losing Sirius’ attention means that Regulus is now looking at him as well.

Time seems to freeze as numerous pairs of eyes focus on him.

He tries to ignore them as he walks slowly over to the Slytherin table, sitting at the empty space on Regulus’ right. Instantly, the room breaks out into loud, harried whispers and pointed looks.

Barty leans round Regulus to send him a pleased smile, slow and smug. Evan, who is sat opposite Barty with his back to the rest of the room, turns on the bench, letting his gaze flit between their table and the Gryffindor table, a spectator waiting for the show to start.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

Regulus tilts his head as he takes in the sight of James sitting beside him, a victorious smile growing on his face. He looks straight ahead at the Gryffindor table and lifts his glass in a mocking toast directed at Sirius across the room.

Sirius is up in a heartbeat, fists clenched and eyes murderous. Remus seems to anticipate this because he moves at the same time Sirius does, trying to get him to sit. Eventually, he settles but he doesn’t take his eyes off of Regulus, his gaze dark and foreboding.

This doesn’t unnerve Regulus, who begins to pour coffee into his mug, looking uncharacteristically cheerful but it does worry James.

James avoids looking at Remus and Peter entirely, he can’t bare to see the betrayal that will most certainly be written all over their faces but he does manage to look at Lily, who is sat beside Remus. She sends him a searching look but despite her confusion, her eyes are kind. It eases something in James’ chest, to know that maybe she’ll take note of their conversation last night.

Dorcas, however, who is sat beside her, looks incredibly sad.

He looks away, ashamed.

Pandora leans across the table to squeeze James’ hand. There’s no pity in her eyes, she knows that James chose this and there’s no turning back now. He needs to see this through.

Deep down, he knows that too. It doesn’t make the reality of the situation any easier though.

—

Marlene is the first to approach James.

This doesn’t surprise James in the slightest. Marlene McKinnon is bold and brash and straight to the point, she wouldn’t waste time waiting for someone to come and tell them her side of the story when she could just demand it from them herself.

And that’s exactly what she does.

James is cutting through the courtyard, on his way to meet Evan and Barty for a smoke behind the greenhouses when he hears Marlene calling his name.

He turns and sees her rapidly advancing towards him, her blonde hair windswept and her cheeks flushed from the cold.

“Potter!” She says, thoroughly disgruntled. “Are you deaf as well as blind? I’ve been calling your name for the past five minutes!”

“I think you might be exaggerating.” James says mildly. “I only heard you call my name twice.”

He’s expecting a fight, what he isn’t expecting is Marlene’s face to soften. She huffs. “Two times too many. Don’t make me run after you ever again.”

“Duly noted.” James replies, trying to temper his smile. “What’s up?”

Marlene laughs, her eyebrows almost shooting into her hairline at that question. “What’s up? Oh, you know what’s up. So, come on, it’s time to fill me in on what the hell’s going on.”

James opens his mouth to answer her but he’s interrupted by the arrival of Sirius, Remus and Peter, most likely led here by that stupid map. Maybe Regulus and Barty were right, it has got to go.

“James.” Remus says holding up his hands, a calm and careful gesture, always the glue that holds them together. “We’re not here to fight. We need to talk, all of us.”

James nods but the anxious feeling in his chest peaks, reaching new heights. This is starting to feel like an ambush.

“Really, James? Regulus?” Peter scrunches his nose but he’s quickly silenced by a jab in the ribs from Remus.

Sirius takes this opportunity to step forward and he looks so worn down, so defeated that James wants to reach out, has to stop himself from doing so.

“Why him, James? Out of everyone, why my brother?”

Marlene looks between the four of them, her mouth an unhappy line. She reaches out, places a comforting hand on James’ shoulder. “James, what I think they’re trying to say is, we’re all really fucking confused right now and we need to hear your side of the story so we can start to understand.” She lowers her voice, her next words are clearly meant just for him. “I get it, you know, to a certain extent. I love Dorcas and she might not be my best friend’s sibling but she is a Slytherin and people didn’t like that at first, it took some people a long time to accept that.”

James wants to tell her that it’s not really the fact that Regulus is a Slytherin that’s the problem, more that it’s Regulus himself that’s the issue but he’s interrupted by another unexpected arrival.

The space beside James is empty one minute and occupied by Regulus the next and what started off as a civilised conversation, quickly descends into chaos.

“Off.” He says sharply, he stares at Marlene’s hand, the grip she has on James’ shoulder, like it’s offending him.

“What?” Marlene asks, surprise colouring her tone at his abrupt arrival. She quickly recovers, her face settling into an impressive scowl, one that Regulus easily matches.

Regulus steps into her space. “You heard me. Get off of him.”

Before Marlene can respond, her face outraged, Sirius surges forward, grabbing his brother by the back of his robes and forcing him to the ground.

When Regulus pushes himself up and lifts his head to face Sirius, his face is blank, wiped clean of any emotion. The minute that the two brothers face one another, it’s like only the two of them exist. They don’t have eyes for anyone else. “What was that for?”

“I can’t fucking believe you. Out of everyone in this school you had to go for him, didn’t you? My best friend.”

Regulus smiles at the anger on Sirius’ face. It’s a strained smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes but James doesn’t think that Sirius is in the right frame of mind to pick apart Regulus’ mannerisms. He’s too pissed off to see past Regulus’ mask to see that the look on his brother’s face is insincere.

“Are you angry that people keep picking me over you? First, our parents and now James, who will it be next, I wonder?”

When it comes to his brother, Regulus may not be the best at hiding his emotions but he knows how to wield his words as a weapon. His face doesn’t need to be convincing when he knows how to make his words sting.

Remus’ face pales at that, he tries to reach out a hand to pull Sirius back but he shrugs him off. When reigning Sirius in doesn’t work, Remus looks at James, begging him to intervene.

James moves forward, prepared to pull the two of them apart if he has to but Marlene tugs him back with a shake of her head, wordlessly telling him not to intervene just yet. She probably thinks letting the brothers hash it out is a good thing but James knows it’ll only end one way, the same way it always does, in disaster.

Slowly, Sirius inches closer to his brother, who is still knelt on the floor. “Say that again. Let’s see how brave you really are.”

Regulus smile turns wry. “At least I’m not enough of a coward to send someone flying when they’ve got their back to you.”

The look that Sirius sends his brother is one of disgust. “What have you become? Aren’t you ashamed?”

Regulus says nothing and now it’s Sirius’ turn to smile.

“Our parents favouring you is nothing to be proud of, Regulus. They’re monsters. Do you know why you’re the heir to that rotten legacy and not me? Because they could see a bit of themselves in you. They knew that you were a monster too, even back then, all those years ago.”

“The only thing I was, Sirius, was a child.” Regulus says coldly. He stands, coming to his full height and James’ heart hammers in his chest at the ice in his eyes.

Sirius’ smile is mocking. “And what are you now, Regulus? Because from where I’m standing, you’re all grown up and accountable for your own actions.” He lowers his voice into a parody of a whisper. “And when you get that tattoo, I think you might turn out to be even worse than them.”

Marlene grips James’ arm in warning, sensing that things are quickly going to go south.

“That’s enough.” James says, a sharp warning in his voice. He gently taps Marlene’s hand, the one that’s hooked around his arm, so that she’ll let go. As soon as he’s free, he slowly moves over to Sirius and Regulus, who ignore him, continuing to glare at one another.

“I said that’s enough!” James motions for Remus to steer Sirius away. Remus is soon joined by Peter, who is glancing nervously between the two brothers, worry etched into the crease of his brow.

James then tries his best to pull Regulus in the opposite direction, towards the greenhouses, where he knows Barty and Evan will be waiting. “Now isn’t the time to have this conversation. Please, let’s just leave it here before anyone does something they regret.”

At first, it seems to work. Regulus and Sirius break apart, allowing themselves to be pulled away in opposite directions, although they don’t break eye contact.

It seems that the worst of it is over, that is until Sirius’ speaks, his words stopping Regulus in his tracks.

“And when it comes to James choosing you, Regulus? It’s a decision he’ll come to regret. You will never deserve him. Nothing you do will ever be enough to earn the privilege of him loving you and he will realise that. When he comes to his senses, he’ll realise how rotten you really are.”

Time seems to go still for a moment, Regulus breaking free of the grip James had on his arm. Before anyone can intervene, Regulus has Sirius by the collar of his shirt, slamming him into the wall behind him so hard that Sirius’ head makes a horrible sound as it collides with the brickwork.

“Fucking hell.” Marlene says, her expression horrified as she scrambles over to Sirius. She’s the first to react, pushing Regulus off of him and keeping him away from Sirius with a hard stare and an outstretched arm. This seems to spur Remus into action because he grabs Sirius, checking him over with gentle hands, shielding him with his own body in the process.

“You aren’t doing a very good job of proving Sirius wrong.” Marlene says quietly. Over the years, she’s heard numerous stories and fond anecdotes about the Slytherins from Dorcas and has always seen them in a slightly different light to the rest of her friends. She doesn’t let this cloud her judgement, however. Her loyalty will always be to her friends first.

Marlene’s words seem to strike a chord in Regulus, who turns on his heel, all composure lost.

Sirius only laughs and continues to laugh as his brother walks away.

—

The weeks pass and soon December is upon them.

It’s a month that Evan usually looks forward to. Every year the Slytherins throw a Christmas party before the holidays and Evan is always involved in the planning. It’s arguably Evan’s favourite party of the year. And then there’s Christmas itself, last year, Evan had spent it at his parent’s cabin in the French mountains with his friends, his favourite Christmas yet.

This year, there is none of that to look forward to. He expects that he’ll spend most of his Christmas break with Regulus, Barty and his parents at Grimmauld Place, surrounded by the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters.

To make matters worse, November had been a difficult month. Evan had, had to deal with the backlash of James joining them, Regulus’ bad moods, Barty’s erratic behaviour and Pandora’s incessant search of that mysterious field. He’s had no reprieve and he’s tired.

So by the time the Slytherin party rolls around, Evan is burnt out. He doesn’t want to drink, doesn’t want to dance and he finds that his positive attitude from a couple of months ago is long gone.

Evan searches the room for his sister, finds her at the drinks table making people random concoctions that Evan knows from previous experience, not to drink.

Pandora looks ethereal, silver eyeshadow round her bright eyes, tiny bits of glitter catching the light like flecks of stardust in her hair. He loves seeing her happy and he’s glad she’s having fun, she deserves it.

Regulus and James are close by. Regulus, surprisingly, looks like he’s having fun too. He’s sat on the table where Pandora is mixing up the drinks, nursing a cup of something green that emits sparks with a beaming James tucked beside him.

He’s definitely drunk, Evan thinks wryly, if the way he’s mooning over Regulus is anything to go by. Although Regulus is trying his hardest not to, he looks decidedly pleased by James’ attention.

James has become a solid addition to their group, in the short time he’s been with them. There are many qualities that James possesses that Evan admires, he’s funny and adventurous and never takes himself too seriously but if you asked Evan what his favourite thing about James is, he’d have to say it’s how he softens Regulus. That alone is worth the aggravation that they’ve dealt with from the Gryffindors.

Evan is moving through the room, on the hunt for another drink, when he sees Dorcas tucked away in a corner, sat with Adelaide Greengrass. The pair of them look beautiful, Dorcas in a slinky emerald top and Adelaide wearing what Evan suspects is the matching skirt.

Evan misses Dorcas. They still meet with her in the Room of Requirement from time to time, a place where they can’t be overheard and they can let the act drop for a brief moment but it’s not the same. He wants to go over to her like he usually would, pull her to her feet and bring her to the makeshift dance floor but he can’t.

At least she has Adelaide.

Evan had, had a thing with Adelaide, back when they were in their fifth year, before he worked out that there was only one person he wanted to hook up with. Despite their failed history, he’s incredibly fond of her and is glad that Dorcas still has her.

Later, when he finds himself on the dance floor, he’s pleased to find Adelaide there. The minute she spots him, she pushes her way through the crowd to meet him. They spend the next few songs swinging each other about wildly and laughing breathlessly at one another.

After a couple of drinks, Evan is in a decidedly better mood. He’s desperate for another drink and is just making his way over to the table that Pandora has deserted when Barty sidles up next to him. He smirks at Evan, looking the most at ease Evan has seen him in a long time. Barty starts mixing random spirits together with no real finesse or direction before handing Evan the cup.

Evan takes it, tries to ignore the way Barty’s fingers linger against his own.

“Hey, want to bet on something?” Barty asks, knocking their shoulders together.

“What sort of bet?” Evan asks shortly. He purposefully avoids looking at Barty, knows the sight of his hair mussed with sweat and those bright eyes will be the undoing of him.

“How long do you reckon it’ll take me to pull someone in here? I bet five minutes. What do you think?”

“I think you’re going to do whatever the fuck you want, Barty. You usually do.” Evan retorts, handing him back the drink he’d made him. Instantly, Evan realises his mistake, watches the way it sloshes over his fingers from the force of his handover. Barty takes the cup with one hand and grabs Evan’s with the other. Evan watches the way Barty brings his fingers to his mouth, takes them in, one by one and licks the alcohol off of them.

Evan feels the breath rush out of him, can’t take his eyes off the lewd sight of Barty’s cheeks hollowing as they suck at each digit. Barty winks before pulling away, downing half the drink as he goes.

It takes him a minute to recover. He stares at the dance floor, automatically seeking out Barty, a bad habit he can’t shake.

His stomach dips as he finds him, sees who he’s dancing with.

Adelaide is exactly where Evan left her, except she’s no longer alone. Evan watches as Barty wraps an around her, drawing her closer. He wastes no time in kissing her and when he does, it’s slow and sensual, one hand in her hair and the other at her hip, pulling her against him. She melts into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Evan feels like he’s on fire, his mouth inexplicably dry.

It’s easier, when he doesn’t see what Barty gets up to with other people. It’s easier, to forgot that Barty does this with whoever he wants, whenever he wants until he has to watch it happen right in front of him.

Barty is a prick.

Evan hates him. It’s a familiar feeling these days, when it comes to Barty, he swings from desire to hate so often that the two emotions are constantly bleeding into one another, the line between them growing more indistinct with each day that passes.

Barty opens his eyes and meets Evan’s gaze. He spends the duration of the kiss looking at Evan with heated eyes and when he eventually pulls away, one corner of his mouth curls into a grin over Adelaide’s shoulder.

Evan can’t look away, he’s so fucking angry and so wildly turned on that he can’t think straight.

He can’t stay in here. If he stays here, he’ll do something he’ll regret.

Evan squares his jaw and forces himself to grab a bottle off the table behind him. He pulls the lid off with his teeth, drinking half the contents of the bottle in one long swig as he pushes his way through the crowd to make his way outside.

He’s pissed off as he comes to a stop at the steps out by the greenhouses. If he’d stayed in there one minute longer, he thinks he might have gone over to Barty and punched him square in his face. The worst part is, that in the next breath Evan knows that he would’ve wiped the blood off his lips and kissed him immediately afterwards.

Evan groans and tips his head back, staring at the stars. He finds Regulus easily enough, almost a habit by now but he finds that the familiar sight doesn’t calm him like it usually does.

“Why are you out here instead of in there?” James asks, appearing from behind him, cigarette in hand. He seems like he’s sobered up as he offers one to Evan who takes it gladly, letting James light it for him with a cupped hand to protect it from the winter breeze.

Evan shrugs. He tries to look unbothered but he can tell by James’ wince that he fails. “Barty’s in there kissing anything that moves.”

“He wants to be careful,” James says mildly. “Because if he carries this on, one day he’ll wake up and realise he’s lost you.”

Evan smiles bitterly, fiddling with the peeling label of the beer bottle in his hand before taking a swig.

“I don’t think there’s anything he could do that would push me away, I’m mental about him, James.”

Evan leans back against the steps, ignoring the way they dig into his back. He can see James looking at him out the corner of his eye.

“It’s much easier with you and Reg.” Evan says eventually.

James raises his eyebrows ruefully at that and Evan laughs.

“No, I know he can be an absolute arse sometimes. I meant that you have it easy in the sense that Reg is all for you, he’s never going to look anywhere else because he’s got everything he wants. He wouldn’t dare jeopardise what he has with you.” Evan sighs. “And neither would you, you’ve put your whole life on pause for him. Went against everything you believe in just because you love him.”

“You do realise, Evan, that you deserve that too, right? To be loved the same way you love?”

To be loved the same way you love.

Time seems to stop for a minute.

Love.

Is that what this is?

Evan thinks back to the first time that Barty had kissed him. He’d known in that moment, that it was always going to be him, that there wasn’t room for anyone else. There probably never would be.

It’s you, he’d thought when Barty had pulled back and stared at him with eyes full of wonder, it’s always going to be you, because no one else makes sense.

Was that love?

He thinks, maybe it was.

Maybe, all of it had been love from the very start.

Evan had known that he’d wanted more from Barty, he just wasn’t sure what more actually was.

Now he knows.

For the first time in a long time, things start to make sense.

“Yeah.” He says finally. “It just took me a long time to realise it.”

—

Barty watches Evan leave and is instantly filled with regret.

He can’t get the look on Evan’s face out of his head. The anger, the hatred, the longing that he’d seen there.

He excuses himself, mumbles a shit excuse to Adelaide so that he can make a beeline for the door, intent on following Evan and apologising, for fucking things up, again.

Barty is halfway down the corridor, his heart in his throat at the realisation that this time, he might have taken things too far when he’s stopped by the sound of Regulus’ voice behind him.

“What the fuck was that?”

Barty turns on his heel, cursing Regulus. Now isn’t the time.

He closes his eyes, leans against the wall behind him and wills for Regulus to say his piece and then fuck off. “I wanted to make him jealous.”

When Barty opens his eyes and meets Regulus’ gaze, there’s fire burning bright there. “Evan is jealous! But do you know what Evan also is?” Barty opens his mouth to answer but Regulus keeps on talking, not giving Barty a moment to speak. “Fed up, Barty.”

Barty closes his mouth and tries to swallow past the lump in his throat.

Regulus moves closer, to lean beside him, and says very quietly. “You’re losing him.”

“I don’t want to.” Barty replies, all bravado wiped clean off his face.

“Then sort it out. If you can’t do right by Evan then do the right thing and end things with him because in seven months we’re going to be part of something very fucking dangerous and we can’t afford to be a fractured mess. I didn’t want to get involved in this, Barty, but we’re meant to be a team and we can’t afford for you to fuck this up. I won’t let this be the reason we all end up dead.”

Regulus looks at him expectantly as he waits for an answer but Barty stays silent. Regulus shakes his head in disappointment, pushing off of the wall to head back to the common room.

“This is your dad getting in your head.” Regulus calls over his shoulder.

Barty freezes, fingers digging into the wooden bannister behind him until his knuckles turn white. “What did you say?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out as cold as it does but he can feel his anger building, rising to new heights at the mention of his father.

“You heard me. You’re letting him win, Barty. I thought you were better than that.” Regulus walks away without another word, leaving Barty stood there with the weight of his father’s overbearing expectations on his shoulders. And the reminder that he’s failed every single one of them.

Barty storms over and pulls Regulus by his shoulder, crowding him against the wall so that they’re face to face. There’s no surprise in Regulus’ face as Barty shoves him, in fact he looks like he anticipated this.

“This is my life. He doesn’t control me anymore!”

“Then stop letting him. For years, he led you to believe that you’re nothing, that you deserve nothing. I know that’s not true, so does Pandora, so does Dorcas and so does Evan. The only person who hasn’t figured that out yet is you. You can’t fathom the thought of someone caring about you like that but Evan does. He would, if you’d let him.“ Regulus smiles, razor-sharp. “Stop being such a coward.”

The feeling of being outmanoeuvred in a game he didn’t even know he was playing is a familiar one to Barty. He forgets sometimes, that Regulus knows how to get people exactly where he wants them, knows what buttons to press to get the most opportune outcome. Barty can’t hate him for it, not when a part of him is certain that he does it for their own good.

He looks at Regulus at a loss for words. Regulus only tilts his head in the direction of the common room. “Go on.” He says, “You’ve wasted enough time, don’t you think?”

He’s right. He has.

Barty heads for the common room, pushes his way through the crowd with a desperation he didn’t think he was capable of, hoping that Evan will be sat in their room.

He’s not.

It takes a minute, for Barty to work out where Evan is, somewhere private, somewhere he won’t be disturbed, somewhere he won’t expect Barty to follow him.

So Barty heads for the Room of Requirement.

He stands in the corridor, peering hopelessly at the space on the wall where the door should be.

Nothing’s there.

Please, he thinks desperately, I know he’s in there. Please let me see him. I need to make this right.

Slowly, hesitantly, like the room isn’t quite sold on Barty’s reason for being here yet, the edge of the door begins to materialise.

So Barty lets all those hidden thoughts, those pushed down feelings, unravel, like a knot finally pulled free.

I care about him. He cares about me. I think that’s why nothing made sense up until now, because there was a part of me missing and Evan’s got it. He’s always carried that part of me with him. And I need it back but only so I can give it to him properly. He deserves to know that he has that part of me because I think he gave me a bit of him a long time ago, I was just too stupid to see it for what it was.

‘And what was it?’ The room seems to ask.

Barty’s expression is pained. “Love.” He says out loud.

The handle is the last part of the door to appear. The minute that it’s corporal, Barty has it in his hand, twisting it open.

The room is different, the sparring area is gone, replaced by a four poster bed, designed with comfort in mind. The room had anticipated that Evan needed a place to stay and it had done everything it could to make it comfortable. Evan sits atop it, watching the door warily.

“Barty.” He says, he sounds tired, resigned. “Why are you here?”

“I needed to see you.” Barty says, feeling out of place standing by the door. He makes a move towards Evan, watches the way Evan tracks the movement.

“You know, the whole point of me coming here was to get away from you.”

Barty swallows. “I know, Ev, and I’m sorry. I’ve been so fucking stupid.”

This peaks Evan’s interest. “You’re right, you have. You’ve also been the world’s biggest arsehole.” His expression softens, only slightly. “What made you come to that realisation then?”

“Surprisingly, it was Regulus.”

“I don’t know why you’re surprised by that. Regulus is always ten steps ahead of everyone else. Sometimes, I think Regulus knows us better than we know ourselves.“

Barty scrunches his nose. “That’s…weirdly insightful?”

“Well, I’ve been the only insightful one out of us two recently. ”

“That was a jab about us, wasn’t it?”

The corner of Evan’s mouth twitches. “Well if the shoe fits…”

“I didn’t know you wanted more…from me. You could have communicated it better, you know.”

Evan sighs, looks heavenward. “Would it have made a difference?”

“It would’ve made all the difference in the world.”

Evan’s gaze snaps to him, realisation dawning on his face. “You’re not just here to apologise, are you?”

Barty smiles. “No, I’m not.” He closes the space between them, settling at the edge of the bed.

“This year has been so bloody difficult, and I’m sorry, for letting it come between us. It felt like everything was shifting, like I had no control over anything anymore. But one thing never changed. You. I don’t know how or why, but by some stroke of luck, you came into my life and never left. And I didn’t want to mess that up. I told myself that if this was all I got to have, I could live with that. Because losing even a part of you felt safer than risking everything. And because I’m a mess, because I say the wrong things and hurt the people I care about, I couldn’t tell you how I felt. So I did what I always do. I made the same mistakes, over and over again.”

Barty inches closer, reaches out a hand. And, by some miracle, Evan takes it.

“But I love you,” Barty breathes. “And I’m not scared anymore.”

There are stars in Evan’s eyes, entire constellations, hidden in the deep blue. A little bit of the magic that makes up Evan Rosier. Barty doesn’t think he’s ever seen them before, but he sees them now. And he can’t look away. He doesn’t want to.

“You’re going to say the wrong thing sometimes.” Evan’s voice is steady, unwavering. “You’re going to hurt people when you don’t mean to. You’re going to make mistakes, and then you’ll probably make the same ones again. But do you know what, Barty?”

Evan’s gaze is gentle, softer than Barty has ever seen it.

“I’ll still love you anyway.”

Barty feels like he’s flying, he feels like he’s falling.

“I love you.” He says and now that those words are finally out there, hovering between them, he wants to fill the space between them with countless more.

All night, they whisper it, back and forth. Between kisses, between sighs, between moans.

Barty doesn’t think he’ll get tired of saying it, doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing those words fall from Evan’s lips. He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life saying it, now he knows what it feels like.

—

James is surprised, when he’s called in to see Dumbledore, but not particularly worried.

He assumes it’s about the party he attended last night, the one that, as head boy, he should’ve really shut down.

He sits outside the headmaster’s office, a little nervous but mostly impatient. The train will be leaving soon. He wants to get this out of the way so he can start to prepare what he’s going to say to his mum and dad when he sees them.

Eventually, there’s a rumble behind him. James turns and watches as the staircase begins to rise and he quickly rushes to step onto it.

When James opens the door to Professor Dumbledore’s office, the first inkling that anything is wrong is the fact that Professor McGonagall is stood slightly behind the headmaster, who is sat at his desk.

“Ah, James.” Dumbledore says noncommittally, he gestures for him to sit, his face giving nothing away.

It unnerves James, the lack of expression on his face, the guarded eyes that watch his every move from behind unassuming half-moon spectacles.

James sits and if he wasn’t nervous before, he is now. He takes in the numerous paintings and artefacts that he’s seen a thousand times before, in a bid to escape that sharp stare and the awkward silence that’s befallen the room.

When James finally looks back at the desk, hellbent on breaking the silence himself, he finds that Dumbledore is still watching him, a small smile gracing his lips. Professor McGonagall’s face remains blank, her gaze watchful.

“Um, Professor? You wanted to see me?”

Dumbledore nods, interlocks his fingers and continues to watch James, his expression unreadable. “Yes, James. I did.”

He leans back in his chair. “Are you still planning to join the Order, once you leave Hogwarts?”

Shit.

James swallows, rubs a nervous hand over his jaw. “I’m not sure. Maybe? I haven’t really made up my mind yet, you see…” He trails off at the expression on Dumbledore’s face, it’s like the man can see right through him. James suddenly feels very small and completely out of his depth.

“Would your change of heart have anything to do with Mr Black, by any chance?”

James sends Professor McGonagall a startled look. He waits for her to say something, anything but she only purses her lips and remains silent. Why is she here if she isn’t going to say anything?

“Do you mean Sirius?” James says, trying to buy himself more time. It’s fruitless however because Dumbledore shakes his head, displeased at James’ answer.

“No. We both know which Mr Black that I refer to.”

“Regulus.” James says, his mouth dry.

Dumbledore nods, not once has he taken his eyes off James and so James tries his hardest to sit still, to not fidget or give anything away.

“You care for him a great deal, don’t you?”

It’s the easiest answer he’s given so far. James nods, without hesitation, seeing no point in denying it.

At that, Dumbledore finally stares off into the distance, his eyes incredibly grave. “I cared about someone on the wrong side too, James. It never ends well.”

“Sir, with all due respect, it’s hard to define the right side and the wrong side. I think it’s all a matter of perspective.”

Something hardens in Dumbledore’s eyes. “Oh?”

James flounders for a minute, trying to put it into words. “Right and wrong, it can be difficult to navigate, I don’t think we’ll always get it right but I think what matters is that we keep trying. The right choice for us might be the wrong choice for someone else.”

“Our choices show who we really are, James. Mr Black has made certain choices that have dictated the side that he is on and I am well aware of them, as are you.”

He knows about the dark mark.

Fuck. James is certain that Dumbledore knows, what else could he possibly be referring to?

James sits up a little straighter, levels his gaze, tries to ignore the way his palms are sweating. “I don’t know what choice you’re referring to, sir.”

The room lapses back into heavy silence as Dumbledore assesses James with cold, clever eyes. He knows he’s lying.

“Merry Christmas, Mr Potter.” He says eventually. “You best be on your way, the train will be leaving soon.”

“Merry Christmas.” James says, trying to get up slowly, when every part of him is screaming at him to get out of that office as quickly as possible. He nods first at Dumbledore, and then at Professor McGonagall. He wonders if Dumbledore had brought her in just to try and unnerve him. If so, it worked, he’s never known her to be so quiet.

Once the door is shut firmly behind him, Albus turns to Minerva, his face considerably colder than it had been a moment ago.

“I don’t trust Regulus Black or his friends. The four of them are up to something.”

He turns back to the door with shrewd eyes, as if he can still see the guilt on James Potter’s face through it. “We must find out what it is that they’re up to.”

Notes:

Had to pay homage to the iconic rosekiller tiktok edits that use the party scenes from skam, I eat them up every single time

Chapter 5: Chapter Five (family, lost and found)

Notes:

Hi, I’m so sorry for the wait with this one, I can confirm that the ao3 authors curse is very real and it did claim me as its victim haha. It’s taken me a little while to get back in the swing of writing so if you’re still here - thank you so much for reading, getting back into this fic has felt a lot like coming home so I’m very excited to be back <3

The rhythmic clatter of the Hogwarts Express is comforting in its familiarity. As the train pulls away from the platform, James finally allows himself to let out the unsteady breath he’d been holding as he’d raced through the school and its grounds. He’d only just made it, his anxiety carrying him all the way from the headmasters office to the nearly empty platform.

As the train begins to pick up speed, James moves with purpose, until he comes to a stop outside the final carriage at the very back of the train. The most private compartment was nestled at the back, slightly larger than the others and a greater distance from its neighbouring compartments because of it.

The sound of chatter and holiday cheer fades as James closes the door behind him, the steady hum of noise swallowed by the quiet tension in the compartment.

James leans against the door he had just shut and can instantly feel the unsettling change of pressure that comes with a freshly cast silencing spell. He’s glad that someone had, had the foresight to cast it because in his panic, he’s certain he would have forgotten to do so. The magic itself is familiar, it caresses him with a gentleness at odds with the sharp intensity of its caster. James’ gaze rests on the person responsible. A few rays of winter sunlight spill through the window, bathing Regulus in its glow. The sharp lines of his face are drawn into stark contrast by the pale light which makes his grey eyes appear almost silver.

Beautiful. As beautiful as starlight.

The world seems to blur at the edges, shadows softening, his heartbeat slowing. Until all that remains is the quiet gravity between them. No words were spoken, but the comfort Regulus brought James was immediate.

To anyone else, Regulus would’ve appeared calm and unperturbed but James notes the way the tension around his eyes and mouth softens at James’ arrival, it’s clear he was worried by his absence and has found comfort in his return too.

Beside Regulus, Pandora sits cross-legged, absentmindedly twirling a strand of her long hair. She’s not bothering to hide the pleased glances she keeps directing at her brother and Barty, who are sitting closer than usual. The pair are pressed arm to arm, thigh to thigh, not an inch of space between them. Barty’s foot brushes against Evan’s as he shifts at James’ arrival, and James watches as an answering smile flashes across Evan’s face at the movement, fleeting but warm.

The pair of them had walked into the dorm this morning after breakfast, which they’d suspiciously missed, after being gone all night. It was clear that wherever they’d been, something had changed between them, that the sharp tension that had previously existed between them was gone, replaced with something softer. Upon their entrance, Regulus had offered them a smile that flickered with approval, but reserved a longer, knowing gaze for Barty. “About bloody time.” He’d said eventually, but there had been no real bite behind his words.

James, unlike Regulus, who didn’t care for the finer details, had every intention of grilling them about last night, right up until Dumbledore had intervened by requesting his presence. Now, however, he’s content to let them have this moment to themselves. He wants them to enjoy it before reality catches up with them in London.

They were friends now, all of them. A strange, unexpected mix, but one that surprisingly worked and a bond that James was sure would continue to grow. And that made what James was about to say even harder. They were his friends and he was theirs, he wanted to help them confront every challenge that came their way head on. However, for the next few weeks, they’d be on different paths and it would be a while before they could reconvene meaning that this would be something he’d have to spring on them before leaving them to deal with it.

Quietly, he sits next to Regulus, settling in the space that Pandora has made for him. Regulus sensing his worry, places a gentle hand on his knee, James looks down at it and sighs, tired and worn down by not only the events of this morning, but also the events of the past few months.

“He knows.”

For a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the train, the silence stretching on. Regulus tenses beside him, the hand he’d placed on his knee curling into a fist before he forces himself to relax. It’s a rare show of emotion from him but one he quickly forces down. Regulus squeezes James’ knee in acknowledgement of what he’d just told them before removing his hand to flip the page of the book that up until now, James hadn’t realised had been lying open in his lap.

Both Barty and Evan had been watching Regulus closely, waiting for an explanation and now that it’s clear they weren’t going to get one, the pair of them turn to James instead.

“Who knows what?” Evan asks, pulling his arm from where it had been resting against Barty’s shoulders to scrub a hand through his short blonde hair. Barty doesn’t acknowledge the loss of contact, he’s already put two and two together, James can tell by the way his eyebrows draw together suddenly.

Regulus answers without lifting his gaze, still staring at the same page he’d turned to a moment ago, his gaze seemingly fixed on a certain line of text. “James is talking about Dumbledore. He called him into his office this morning.”

“Shit, Regulus.” Evan sent James a harried look. “You think he knows about the…” He trails off, checking the corridor outside their carriage with wary eyes. Upon seeing that no one else was about, he taps two fingers against the inside of his forearm.

From beside him comes the sound of a soft exhale. James turns to Pandora whose lips are still parted, a question hanging there, but one she doesn’t voice. James wonders if she had known this would happen or whether she’d anticipated it, Pandora isn’t just gifted but also incredibly smart. James wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already considered the possibility of this happening, knowing that Dumbledore would involve himself eventually.

Turning back to Evan, James nods in confirmation, the grim expression on Evan’s face matching his own. “He didn’t explicitly say it but he might as well have.” He can’t help the way his gaze drifts to Regulus’ forearm, hadn’t even realised he’d been staring at it until Regulus shoots him a dour look.

Barty’s face twists into something unreadable before he lets out a low laugh, resting back in his seat. Evan shifts instinctively with him, subconsciously mirroring the movement. “Did he directly come out with it?” Before James can answer, Barty tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he answers his own question. “No, that’s not his style. Did he threaten you?”

James shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so but he made it clear that he was keeping an eye on us. The whole thing was weird.” He scrunches his face. “He brought in Professor McGonagall too, but she didn’t say anything.”

“He probably did that to unnerve you.” Evan says with a shrug. “No offence, James, but he probably views you as the weakest link and was trying to use it to his advantage.”

It makes sense but James still bristles anyway. Evan holds up his hands apologetically. “I just meant that you didn’t hang around us until recently, and you’re a Gryffindor.” At the mention of his house, Evan scrunches his noise in good humour, teasing without malice, the corners of his mouth twitching into an unspoken grin.

Barty, always the first one to disregard an authority figure, simply shrugs. “He’s just grasping at straws, how could he know? And what’s he going to do anyway?”

The answering look Pandora sends him is as severe as it is reproachful. “He’s probably the only wizard You Know Who is frightened of, don’t underestimate him.”

Regulus remains silent, seemingly lost in thought. He’s abandoned his book, which now rests shut, save for a single finger wedged between its pages, an improvised bookmark. Now that the book wasn’t open in his lap, if James squints he can just make out the title on the spine, ‘Magick Moste Evile’.

The conversation continues without them as Regulus stares out the window, at the countryside rushing by, but James knows him well enough to note the tension beneath his carefully composed exterior. Finally, he turns his head, looking up at James. His curls, artfully messy and much longer than he usually allows them to get, frame his face. James feels his stomach dip as he drinks in his features, the soft curve of his mouth, the straight nose, the way his dark hair curls around his ears. At James’ lingering gaze, Regulus’ eyebrows draw together, a thoughtful line forming in the space between them.

Eventually, Regulus speaks. Within the carriage, his words carry an undisputed weight, and so silence settles between them as everyone stops to listen. “Pandora’s right but in a few months time, there will be nothing that Dumbledore will be able to do, we’ll be out of his care, no longer his students.”

Pandora doesn’t seem appeased by that. “But what about now? If he catches you with that on your arm, Regulus, Dumbledore will make sure that there’s a cell in Azkaban with your name on it.”

“So, it’s simple,” Regulus says, “I don’t get caught.” Despite his words, there’s no trace of haughtiness in his tone, no arrogance present.

Barty grins at him anyway which in turn leads to Evan whacking him in the arm for encouraging Regulus. This results in a fierce debate breaking out between Barty, Evan and Pandora about Dumbledore and all the ways he could make their life difficult upon their return.

Regulus, unsurprisingly, remains quiet. James can tell he’s losing interest in the conversation by the way his eyes drift to the window again, in a few moments, he’ll be completely lost in his own thoughts. Before that can happen, James nudges him, wanting the full weight of his attention before he loses it for the next two weeks.

Clever grey eyes flick to him almost immediately and stay there. It warms James, that he’s one of the only people capable of holding his attention. Almost as if sensing how on edge James is, Regulus inches closer, so their legs are pressed together and tilts his head in invitation for James to rest his head on his shoulder.

Within seconds, he’s folding into him, breathing him in. He’s grateful to Regulus, for allowing this. James knows that he’s not one for public displays of affection, whether that’s his personal preference, a habit picked up from sneaking around with James or something instilled in him by his parents, James isn’t quite sure. Either way, he’s grateful that their friends don’t mention it.

As Regulus begins to settle back into his book, James lifts his head to look up at him. “Be careful.” He murmurs, tucking an errant curl behind his ear.

Regulus holds his gaze. Those words seem to unlock something within him because slowly, Regulus reaches up for James’s hand, the one still cupping his face. He squeezes it just for a moment before letting go, his eyes full of something fierce.

When James turns to look at the open book in Regulus’ lap, he spies the line of text that had held Regulus’ attention earlier, ‘the wickedest of magical inventions’. He shifts uncomfortably at the implications of that line.

Regulus follows James’ gaze, a complicated look crossing his face. He tucks the book away, out of sight and James tries not to dwell on what Regulus was reading about and why.

—

Being home was strange.

Although it looked like home, smelt like home, it didn’t feel like home.

Sirius, for the duration of the holidays, hardly left his room and when he did, it was only to speak with James’ parents in hushed tones that turned to strained silence the minute James walked into the room.

James knew his parents were concerned about the rift between the two boys, that they were waiting for him to come to them but every time he stood on the threshold of the living room, his courage failed him. He loved his parents, more than anything. They had given him the most amazing life, had supported every decision he’d made, picked him up every time he fell.

James was terrified of letting them down.

In those quiet moments, when he watches his parents laugh, watches how easily they love and are loved in return, he finds his mind wandering to what Evan had said to him in passing sat on the steps the night before Christmas break. ‘You’ve put your whole life on pause for him. Went against everything you believe in just because you love him’. Would he be letting them down, if they knew he was doing it for love? He’s certain that if they were in his position, they would do the same, make the same choices too. He can’t help but think about what he’d said to Sirius during that fateful, final conversation too, ‘We can’t change people. But we can believe in them, Sirius, we can love them’.

And isn’t that what it all comes down to, love?

James watches as the late afternoon sun spills warm golden light across the living room, and there, sat in a sliver of sunlight at the dining table, were his parents. Poring over bills, sat so close that they’re almost touching, in their own little world, a world of their making.

He had tried to rehearse his words, weeks ago, days ago, even this morning but nothing had stuck. However, it was the sight of his parents quietly hunched over the table sorting through bills, that anchored something in James. There was nothing grand about it, just the mundane rituals of everyday life, but there was a softness there, in doing it with the person you love. James wanted that with Regulus. He wanted it so deeply, so fiercely, that it lit something within him, something that helped him find the words that up until now, had been lost to him.

In the end, it was love that reshaped the landscape of his courage.

James clears his throat and moves towards the sofa, settling down amongst the pillows. He can feel his parent’s eyes on him, patient but inquisitive. Sirius had left to visit Remus only a few hours earlier, the house is empty and will be until later this evening but James still casts a silencing spell, tries to ignore the weighted look his parents share as the spell settles around them.

“I need to talk to you both and I need you to listen, please.” James pauses, can feel the tension beginning to build between them, uneasy in the knowledge that what he has to tell them will not diffuse it. “You’re not going to like what I’m going to say but please, just hear me out.”

Monty, to his credit, does not say anything despite the concern that was now rolling off him in waves, almost tangible. James watches as he shifts the weight of his gaze to his mum, worry etched into the lines of his face, lines earned through a life of smiling, a life full of laughter that he’d shared with his wife.

Effie, did not return her husband’s look. Instead, she sets down the cup that she’d been holding with deliberate care, her eyes remaining fixed on her son, her face tender, as she nods for him to continue.

“I’m in love with Regulus. I have been for a long time. I’m sure Sirius has already told you, in fact, I’m sure you probably knew before I did.” At that comment, Effie lifts her mug to her lips in a poor attempt to hide her growing smile. James finds himself helplessly grinning back at her but it quickly dies on his face as he begins to speak again. “Regulus…he’s not exactly who you think he is. He’s not what Sirius thinks he is either. He’s good, he’s kind and so unbelievably smart.” James feels the way his expression shifts, how his face softens, a tension he didn’t know was there, draining from him. He knows his parents pick up on it too, can tell by the way his dad shoots him a crooked smile, can tell by the way his mum tucks her clasped hands under her chin and lets out a relieved little sigh, like she’d been waiting for this moment. He pauses, tries to find the word that best describes Reg. Patiently, his parents wait for him to find it. Eventually, he settles on one word, the one word he’s sure Regulus would never choose for himself, one that, ironically, fits him best. “He’s brave.” James lets out an unsteady breath. “And he’s going to do something that might change everything, really change everything. Not just the war but the way we live after it too. And if I stand back and let him do this alone, I’d never forgive myself. He needs someone…he needs me. I don’t think he’ll make it out alive if I’m not there to anchor him,” he swallows, “and I don’t think I’d survive it, if I let him go.”

The atmosphere of the room shifts with the gravity of the conversation. Silence stretches between them, finally James breaks it. “Regulus is going to take him down, from the inside.” No one asks who James is referring to. They already know.

The response is instant. Monty’s chair screeches as he rises out of it, the sharp sound cutting through the room. "Absolutely not," he says, his voice hard, his dark eyes burning. "You are not throwing yourself into that madness. It’s reckless-“

James expected this but he’s still surprised by the way his stomach drops at his dad’s reaction. He comes to his feet too, tries to meet his dad head-on. "It’s necessary.”

Effie has yet to speak, still sitting at the table. Her head bowed, fingers pressed together, mouth resting lightly atop them, as if trying to steady herself.

"You are not an Auror, James, not yet." Monty continues, pacing now. He pushes his glasses up atop his salt and pepper hair and presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, the lines around them pulled taunt. When his hands finally drop to his sides, his gaze, fixed on James, remains pained. "You have no training for this. You're a fighter, but this isn't your war to fight."

"It is," James insists, stepping forward. "It is my war. I won’t sit back while good people die, not if there’s something I could be doing to change that. Regulus is risking everything. If he’s discovered-"

"And what do you think will happen to you, if you are discovered?" Monty’s eyes hold a quiet challenge, but beneath it, something softer flickers, his next words come out sounding like a plea. “James, you can’t do this.”

Euphemia Potter holds up a hand, silencing her husband. She finally rises, standing beside her other half and placing a steadying hand on his arm. "James…". Though softer than Monty’s, her voice holds just as much resolve. "We cannot lose you."

James closes his eyes for a moment, exhaling sharply. "You won't. But I have to do this."

James feels the weight of his parents’ fear pressing into him, thick as the tension that clings to the room. Silence stretches as Monty refuses to meet his eyes, his jaw locked, his stance rigid with quiet defiance. But Effie…Effie watches James with sharp, searching eyes. And then, slowly, agonisingly slowly, she speaks, her tone calm, receptive to whatever James says next. “Tell me why.”

"Because if I don’t, Mum, more people will die. And I won’t-" He hesitates, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "I won’t sit back and wait for it to be someone I love."

Her lips part slightly, and he knows he’s struck something deep within her.

Monty seems to find his voice again, cutting in with a voice like steel. "That’s our job, James. Not yours." His voice falters. “You’re just a boy. Our boy.”

James clenches his teeth, he refuses to budge on this. "I’m not letting Regulus walk into this alone."

"As much as it pains me to say this, James, Regulus has lived his whole life around them. You haven’t. You don’t understand their world the way he does. Merlin, if he goes through with this, that understanding may be the only thing that keeps that poor boy alive."

"I understand enough," James says, his voice quieter now, but no less firm. "I understand that if I do nothing, I’ll spend every day wondering if I could have changed something."

Silence.

Effie sits back down slowly, folding her hands in her lap, her gaze distant. "This will destroy us if something happens to you.” The words were soft, but they held a quiet devastation that James had never heard from her before, after today, he hopes he never has to hear it again.

James walks towards her, kneeling before her chair. He looks up into her eyes, pleading without shame. "I know," he whispers, "but if I don’t do this, I won’t be the son you raised."

Her breath hitches and a tremor seems to pass over her.

"You and dad taught me to stand tall when the world demands I kneel. You taught me that fear is never a reason to stop fighting for what you believe in." His throat was tight, his heart hammering painfully in his chest with every word that tumbled from his lips. "You taught me to be good, Mum. And I can’t be good if I walk away now."

Effie closes her eyes. Her hands tremble slightly where they rest on her lap. And then, after what felt like an eternity, she exhales deeply and opens them again.

"Tell me everything. Tell me the plan. If I’m to let you go, I need to know you’re coming back."

James meets her gaze unflinchingly, wills her to see the deep conviction there, despite the emotion that was swelling painfully within him. "I promise, Mum. I promise I’ll come back."

Monty turns away, rubbing a hand over his brow, grief carving itself into every line of his pale face. But Effie had made her choice, she leant down so that her face was level with her son’s, cradling his face between her hands. “You are my baby,” she says fiercely, "and you will come back to me." A mother’s fierce command wrapped in quiet desperation.

She gathers her son in her arms, presses a dozen kisses to his forehead, his cheeks, then finally, to the crown of his head. ”My wonderful, brave boy.”

Victory, James thinks miserably as he looks at his dad over his mum’s shoulder. Monty’s eyes shine with unshed tears at his stares at James in his wife’s arms, but at what cost?

—

Christmas at Grimmauld Place was proving to be just as awful as Barty had predicted it would be. There is no joy in this house, just an ominous cold that seems to envelop every room, surprising considering the place is brimming with firelight. Candles flicker on every table, fighting against the gloom and flames crackle in every fireplace, to try and chase away the chill. Barty’s certain, however, that the cold is not entirely the fault of the build of the old, ancestral home. He thinks it’s more likely to have been brought on by the threat of Voldemort’s presence. Regardless of whether he’s actually here, his shadow never leaves, not even on Christmas Day.

Regulus sits in the corner of his room, back rigid, posture perfect, as he sits at his desk. His gaze drifts to the window sometimes, soft and somewhere faraway. Barty’s not sure if his best friend is pining or plotting, maybe both, knowing him.

Evan is beside him on Regulus’ bed, lounging gracefully against the pillows, his arms above his head, hands tucked underneath him. Barty watches him, the soft flutter of his closed eyelids, the gentle sweep of blonde lashes against smooth skin. There’s the beginning of a smile on Evan’s face, he looks untroubled, content, despite their circumstances. Barty wishes he could follow him, to that quiet, peaceful place that Evan’s mind often drifts off to.

The room is quiet, has been for a while now. The silence feels suffocating, an itch that cannot be scratched. Barty longs to be still, to sink into the moment like Evan can, but his mind, sharp and unyielding, claws for distraction. Anything to outrun the quiet and the dread it brings.

Barty rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to drink in the sight of Evan beside him. The shift stirs Evan, who cracks one eye open, lazy and curious. The moment he sees Barty watching him, both eyes open, alert now, focused. Something in his gaze sharpens, as if Barty’s attention summons his own.

Evan sits up slowly, reaches out and brushes his thumb beneath Barty’s eyes. The gesture is tender, familiar. He traces the dark smudges that Barty knows line his eyes, like he can erase them, like sleep might return if he just touches them gently enough. His eyes flutter shut at the touch, instinctive and unguarded. The warmth of Evan’s thumb against his skin is gentle, deliberate, something to ground him, something to calm him. For a fleeting moment, the noise in his mind dims.

When he opens his eyes, Evan is watching him, he doesn’t move his hand, doesn’t rush the moment. Instead, he lets it stretch, lets it settle between them. Eventually, Barty pulls away, because the longer Evan stares at him like that, the more that vulnerable, unnamed emotion builds in his chest. Luckily, Evan knows him, understands that it is not a dismissal. He nods towards the window seat beside the bed, reaching underneath him to pull a pack of smokes out of his back pocket. They’re crumpled but Evan shakes them like they’re something enticing, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Barty rolls his eyes, fighting the smile that’s growing on his face. He rolls off the bed with a groan, watches appreciatively as Evan does the same, stretching out those long, lean limbs. The burn low in his stomach is a familiar feeling but one that Barty never tires of.

The pair of them settle, side by side, as Evan leans forward to open the window. A cold breeze blows in but Barty likes it, the smell of fresh air and festive cooking drifting in from the street.

With a sigh, Barty leans out of the window, chasing the smell of homely cooking and stares at the stillness of London on Christmas Day. The streets are empty, however, the windows around them flicker with warmth, adorned with twinkling lights. Houses that are probably filled with families and friends enjoying not only the festivities, but one another’s company too. Jealously blooms deep within him at the sight. Barty wonders what people would think, if they could peer into the windows of Grimmauld Place, whether its chill, its brooding silence, might seep through the glass and betray the frost that clung not just to the windows but to the very soul of the house. He wonders if they’d pity those stuck inside its walls.

He casts a brief glance to the house’s heir, whose eyes remain locked on the now-open window, indifferent to his friends who are stood beside it. Walburga will call them for an ornate dinner soon, Regulus had informed them this morning, coached them on what to expect from the eight course meal that the elves in the kitchen had been preparing since yesterday. Voldemort will be there, he’d warned them, sitting at the head of the table, those lifeless eyes on them for the entirety of the drawn out dinner.

His train of thought is interrupted by Evan, leaning over the large desk where Reg is sat to pick up something. There’s an anxious energy surrounding him and Barty picks up on it immediately.

“Here,” Evan says eventually, “this is for you.”

He places a box in Barty’s hand. It’s heavy, ornate but not ostentatious and carved beautifully. Barty has no clue what could be waiting for him inside. He lifts his head, catches the way Evan is watching him, a soft little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He nods towards the box, encouraging Barty to open it. Gently, Barty lifts off the lid, revealing a blood red velvet lining that houses two beautiful daggers, a matching set, twins to one another. The blades are sharp and catch his attention immediately, dangerous in their beauty, but it’s the hilts that steal his breath. At their centre is an engraved rose, surrounded by thorns and intertwined in silver filigree: the Rosier family crest.

Barty understands why Evan has gifted them to him. They’re something for him to keep close when the weapons hidden away in the Room of Requirement are no longer an option but the engraved crest is an intimate touch.

Barty stares and stares. He has no words. His fingers hover above the daggers before he picks one up, thumb tracing the curve of the rose reverently. When he finds his voice, he turns back to Evan. “I don’t have a family crest anymore.” He says, voice low and raw.

“Well,” Evan replies, meeting his eyes, his gaze unwavering. “You’ve got mine now.”

For once, Barty has no clever retort. He attempts a smirk, but it wavers, then vanishes entirely. In its place, he gives a slow, deliberate nod. He understands the weight of this gift and everything it signifies.

‘You and me’ he thinks, ‘me and you’.

The words slip out, quiet and fragile. “Thanks, Ev.” But beneath them is something heavier, something deeper than simple gratitude.

He can feel Regulus’ gaze on him and turns towards him. His friend, noticing his attention, doesn’t smile, he rarely does, not these days. Still, his eyes are tender, a quiet fondness there.

They’d promised no gifts, the three of them but here he is, holding something that signifies he’s building a new family. One that doesn’t love him conditionally. One that won’t abandon him like his own flesh and blood.

As Evan settles on the window seat, lighting a new cigarette, Barty reaches inside the box, picking up one of the daggers. He turns it over in his palm, thumb skimming over the rose engraving before pocketing it. The other he offers to Evan.

“This one’s yours, if I have one then you should have the other.”

Evan takes it like one might take a vow. The silence between them grows warmer, softer, laced with all the things left unsaid. There is no need for declarations, they've said enough, without having to say much at all.

Barty feels his face drop as he looks over at Regulus again, sitting alone, looking at them both with something unreadable on his face. A pang of guilt settles in his chest. Although he knows Regulus does not begrudge them their happiness, he never has and Barty is certain he never will, there’s still an ache deep in his stomach and so he tries to bring him back into the fold. “You’re unusually quiet, Reg. You okay?”

Regulus looks off into the distance. “I used to think we had to earn softness.” His eyes are on the window again and just for a flash, Barty swears he sees his lip tug upwards but it’s gone by the time he blinks. “Like it was something reserved for people who didn’t grow up like we did.”

“And now?” Barty turns to Evan whose expression is open, genuinely curious as to what Regulus has to say.

“Now I think it finds you anyway, if you let it.” Regulus lets out a breath. “I’m glad you both let it find you.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, shifting out of his chair, that same book from the train tucked under his arm. Barty hadn’t noticed he’d been holding it. He tilts his head, tries to read the spine but Regulus has already moved, placing the book in the trunk at his bed and murmuring what sounds like a locking spell. It’s dark magic, Barty can tell by the way the oxygen seems to thin in the room, as the spell coils around the trunk and locks it tight. Barty blinks. Where on earth had he learnt that?

“We should start getting ready.” Regulus says. In typical Regulus fashion, he doesn’t acknowledge the spell he’s just cast. Instead, he moves towards his wardrobe, seemingly more interested in digging out some robes, awful, formal looking things and holding them up. “You both better get changed,” he narrows his eyes at Evan’s jeans and Barty’s steel capped boots, “what you’re wearing now isn’t exactly suitable Christmas dinner attire.”

Evan snorts, muttering the phrase ‘suitable Christmas dinner attire’ under his breath with amused disbelief. Barty watches as he laughs to himself, head hanging out the window, a cigarette precariously balanced between his lips, as he gives Regulus the middle finger. The fading sun, which had been hidden behind the heavy cloudscape, peeks through. A small ray catches his face, his hair, burnishing him in shades of gold.

Regulus huffs in frustration or amusement, Barty’s not sure, and turns his back on them both. Evan shifts to face Barty, he’s grinning, eyes creasing from the force of it, joyous, despite what awaits them downstairs. Barty returns his smile.

“Merry Christmas, Crouch.”

“Merry Christmas, Ev.”

Outside, the sun begins its slow descent, spilling the last of its light into Regulus’ room. It lingers on the walls, clings to Evan, still sitting perched on the window seat, then slips away. The wind shifts, and with it, everything else seems to follow.

Somewhere, a timer turns. Sand spills fast towards the fathomless bottom. Even if someone were to reach for it, to try and catch the grains of sand to buy themselves more time, it would not stop the inevitable.

What is carved into the heavens cannot be unmade by earthly hands.

Not even by those who possess magic.

Chapter 6: Chapter Six (lionheart)

Regulus stands alone in the corridor, spine straight, hands clasped behind his back. He waits by the dining room door, listening to the indistinct voices inside. If Regulus listens closely he can just make out Nagini’s quiet hissing amongst the frantic whispers. An argument had broken out only a moment ago, Lucius Malfoy’s terse tone rising above the others. He ignores it however, he has heard the man making the same weak argument for days now, he’s bored of hearing it. Instead, for the duration of the time he’s been stood here, he has focused on the snake’s commentary. She is not pleased with the occupants of the room and has voiced her disdain several times, despite the fact that there is no one in the room who can understand her. Regulus wonders whether those inside have given up trying to hide things from the snake, Voldemort often leaves her here to be his eyes and ears whilst he is away and they must know she will report back to him the moment he returns.

The Dark Lord is due back any moment now. He knows this because he has been watching the hands of the grandfather clock at the end of the dimly lit hallway. They are only a few slow, deliberate ticks from reaching the eight o’clock mark, their set meeting time.

Regulus has been waiting here, in this exact spot, for almost an hour. His presence had been requested at Grimmauld Place earlier this evening. It had been easy, slipping away from Hogwarts, all he’d had to do was use one of the secret passageways Voldemort had previously introduced him to for occasions such as this. Back at the castle, Barty and Evan are covering for him whilst he’s gone, so that Regulus could be here to greet the Dark Lord upon his return.

The clock strikes eight. Each low chime lands like a warning, the sound foreboding in the empty corridor. Still, Regulus does not move. He continues to wait, ignoring the sound of his father’s raised voice behind him, does not flinch when his mother responds by raising her own, louder, full of unchecked rage.

He finds strength in the stillness. It is a weapon in itself, being still, not drawing attention to yourself. No one knows your next move. He has learned this from watching the older, more seasoned Death Eaters. He has learned it most of all from watching the Dark Lord.

Inside, the argument rages on. Clearly they are trying to do as much damage control as they can. It seems to reach a crescendo, Bellatrix shouting something obscene at Lucius, just as the air around him thickens. Magic, ancient and dark begins to prickle against his skin. His heart stutters once, then steadies. The Dark Lord is near.

Regulus does not flinch, he does not falter. Instead, he keeps his expression purposefully blank as Voldemort approaches the door beside him.

Regulus, for the umpteenth time tonight, checks his mental walls. They are strong, just as secure as the first time he’d checked them. He leaves no room for them to be intercepted. However, he did not want the Dark Lord to be suspicious. The man regularly visits his followers thoughts. So, Regulus had ensured that false memories were planted in place of the real ones, it is difficult work, maintaining two streams of consciousness but he has had plenty of practise this past year. Now, he is able to keep up with them both, his true thoughts and feelings hidden below the surface of the false ones.

It is then he appears, moving like a spirit, almost floating above the ground, his bare feet silent on the polished wooden floor. Regulus is careful to lift his head but to not meet his eyes, respectful, showing neither arrogance nor fear. He dips his head low, back remaining straight as one knee sinks to the ground with deliberate, practised grace.

“My Lord.” He says, his voice is strong, it does not quiver or break despite who is he talking to. “It’s an honour to be here for your return. Welcome back.”

“Regulus.” At the sound of his voice, the room beside them falls into fearful silence. The Dark Lord pays them no mind, however, instead he moves closer to Regulus, still kneeling before him. With a bruising grip, Voldemort cups his chin with cold fingers, tilting it upwards, coaxing his gaze to meet his own. A strand of dark hair falls across Regulus’ brow but he does not brush it away, does not blink as grey eyes unflinchingly meet red.

The door beside them opens, only a slither of firelight escaping the narrow gap. No sound drifts from the room as Nagini slips through, she slides around her master only once in greeting before she circles Regulus.

‘The little heir,’ she hisses, her voice full of amusement, ‘he does not smell like the others, there is no fear.’

Voldemort smiles, a small flicker, there and gone again. His gaze does not waver from Regulus’, he does not even blink. ‘What does he smell like then, Nagini?’ He murmurs, replying in Parseltongue, the hissing ancient and sharp, at odds with his inquisitive tone.

She twists around Regulus, slides up his bent knee until she is inches from his face. He does not turn to look at her, still keeping eye contact with her master.

Finally, she responds. ‘Power. I like this one.’ She slips off Regulus, returns to her Dark Lord, ‘I like him more than his parents.’

Voldemort laughs, cold and detached. ‘That is not a difficult feat.’

Regulus does not acknowledge their conversation. He allows himself to remain pinned in place by those sharp, searching eyes. He has been very careful, these past few months, to not show any understanding to their private conversations. Voldemort is more likely to confide in Nagini than he is with any of his Death Eaters, it is imperative that he does not know that Regulus understands every single word shared between them. He has learnt so much already, it is what first tipped Regulus off to his secret, to the answers he’d found in the book he’d been carrying with him these past few months. He hopes to learn even more once he is living here full time.

Whatever Voldemort was searching for in Regulus’ eyes, he seems to have found it. He steps back, towards the dining room, Nagini moving with him. “Rise, dear Regulus, we have much to discuss.”

“Of course, My Lord. Thank you.” He lifts himself up onto steady feet, calm and assured as he walks towards the door, holding it open for the man and his snake.

The room is silent, unnervingly so. Regulus ensures his face remains blank as he surveys those in attendance, his mother and father are sat near the head of the table but hurry to stand upon their lord’s arrival. He registers the others only in passing, their presence blurring into insignificance. Instead, Regulus’ attention narrows in on the two who matter, the two who up until now, Voldemort has closely aligned himself with, they stand between him and the spot that he covets, the position that he wants. Lucius Malfoy sits with a practised grace, long limbs crossed, his blonde hair unbound and perfect, not a strand out of place. It’s his face that gives him away, however, so pale that he appears almost white in this light. Beside him sits his cousin, recognisable by her head of dark curly hair and her wild eyes. She grins at Regulus, all of her teeth on show. Regulus ignores them both. He walks into the room with purpose, a few steps behind Voldemort, shoulders squared, chin lifted. Eyes flick towards him, unsurprising, really - he’s the easier target, after all. Still, his gaze remains fixed ahead, unbothered by the attention.

Voldemort, too, ignores them all. The man moves towards the head of the table, throwing Lucius a scathing look when the man rises, stumbling to try and pull out his chair for him. Lucius cowers, falling back into his seat. There are a few snickers which quickly die as the Dark Lord surveys the room and the people in it. His gaze is piercing, unwavering as it passes down the length of the long table, the weight of his scrutiny a tangible force pressing down on the room and its occupants.

The gathered Death Eaters sit in silence, shadows stretching long in the glow of the candlelight, waiting for the man to speak. Regulus drifts to his father’s side and meets his mother’s gaze from across the table. There is a question there, in her grey eyes and one he is able to answer as he sits and tilts his head towards her in an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement. Something burns brighter in her eyes at the sight of Regulus, she sits back in her seat, gripping the arms of the chair, a queen on her throne.

The only sound in the room is the crackle of the rising flames in the fireplace and the sound of Nagini sliding the length of the table, her tongue undoubtedly tasting the fear in the room. Finally, Voldemort brings a hand down on the wood, a loud noise that has several Death Eaters reeling back in their seats. Regulus centres himself and does not flinch, merely lowers his head and waits for the reckoning to begin.

When the silence stretches on, almost becoming unbearable, Bellatrix leans forward, the quick rise and fall of her chest betraying her nerves. “My Lord-“ Bellatrix begins, to her credit, her voice does not waver despite his show of temper.

Voldemort holds up a hand to silence her. Regulus watches as he beckons to Nagini, who slides back up the table, up the length of his pale arm to rest on his shoulders. The snake hisses, a warning sound. Finally the man rises, he paces the length of the long table, his eyes full of fire as they sweep the room. A predator watching his prey.

“I have been gone a handful of days. In my absence, one of you sent Rookwood to complete a task, that has subsequently threatened his position in the Ministry. Now, I must ask myself why one of my followers, who believe themselves worthy enough to sit at this table with me, would do such a thing.”

No one looks up, no one admits to the blunder. Regulus had known it was a plan doomed to fail when his mother had informed him of Lucius’ decision to send the man in his stead. It explains the man’s grovelling and the anxious wringing of his hands beneath the table. What should have been a simple mission, to retrieve something from within the Ministry had resulted in Rookwood’s cover being blown. He is now on the run but the worst part is that Voldemort still does not possess what he had asked for.

"The Ministry believe they have the upper hand," Voldemort muses, he comes to a stop beside Lucius, whose fingers curl nervously against the armrest of his chair. "They believe they have found our weakness and now they will comb through every department and will try to remove our advantage."

A scoff from one of the masked figures at the other end of the table. "They are fools," Macnair mutters, recognisable by his deep rasp, “we’re everywhere and unlike some of us,” he sends a sharp, pointed glare in Lucius’ direction, “we know not to jeopardise our positions.”

"Fools," Voldemort echoes, voice languid, "with growing confidence. Confidence leads to recklessness as we all know." His red eyes shift, slow and calculated, towards Lucius once more.

“I’m sorry, My Lord.” Lucius says, voice low, reverent with an undercurrent of fear. “I accept responsibility for the oversight. Rookwood believed himself capable of this task but I should have gone. Allow me to make amends, I will see this mistake is corrected, personally-”

Regulus interrupts him. “My Lord, if I may speak?”

Lucius freezes, eyes lifting slowly to Regulus sat across from him. Voldemort looks between the two of them with a growing amusement. “Yes, Regulus, you may.”

"They know that we’re searching for something," his voice is steady, he knows that he commands the attention of the room. He does his best to use it to his advantage, he does not falter. "We cannot strike now, we must wait. Rookwood’s failure was expected and we can use that to our advantage by lulling them into a false sense of security.” He pauses, feels the way his father stiffens beside him at his brazenness, pushes forward anyway. “Now, we have the opportunity to shape the fallout, not suffer it.”

For a moment, Voldemort does not saying anything, and then he laughs, a cold, unnerving sound. "You expected Rookwood’s failure?"

Regulus ensures that his features remain carefully composed, betraying nothing. "He was reckless," he says smoothly. "Impatient. He struck without securing the right advantage. Now the Order anticipate that we will try again, which is why we must wait."

Voldemort’s lips curl slightly, it is not a pleasant expression. Nagini, sensing his displeasure, hisses, her dark eyes flashing. "You knew he would fail and yet you did not intervene?"

The words ring throughout the room. There is the threat of punishment hidden within them. Around him, several Death Eaters shift, as if sensing the weight of the moment, the invisible sword now hanging over Regulus’ neck.

Regulus tilts his head slightly and does his best to choose his next words carefully. A misstep now could mean that all of this was for nothing and he will not let that happen. "It would have been wasted effort. Rookwood does not listen when he believes himself above instruction.” There is a clear dig at Lucius there, too. Regulus makes sure the other man knows it by sending him a cool look. “And if I had, I would have been guilty of his same mistake, acting too soon. I will not compromise my position, or your plans."

A pause. A slow, lingering silence where Regulus feels the watchful eyes of the Death Eaters on him. Waiting for their lord to punish him for speaking out of turn, for admitting to his own inaction.

Voldemort leans forward slightly, where he is still stood beside a rigid Lucius. The Dark Lord broaches the gap between his chair and Bellatrix’s, the latter who seems to appraise Regulus in a new light, beneath the madness, there is approval in those wild eyes.

"You understand restraint," he murmurs, “despite your age.”

Regulus inclines his head, an acknowledgment, not an agreement. From beside him comes a breathless exhale, a sound of relief from his father.

"What would you do now, Regulus?" There is something darkly curious in that question, Regulus knows his next words matter, maybe even more than the last question he had answered. Despite the importance of treading carefully, Regulus does not hesitate, he has been planning this from the moment he knew Rookwood had been exposed. He meets his mother’s gaze, from where she is sat on the other side of Bellatrix, there is pride shining there.

"They know now that they have something that we want, we cannot risk sending one of our own in to collect it lest we lose another connection within the Ministry.” He shrugs. “I would watch and wait, when the time comes, we use one of their own,” he does not falter, his voice does not waver, “then we kill them. No ties, no trail, no fallback on you, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord’s red eyes seem to glow with satisfaction. "You think strategically."

"It’s the only way to win."

A flicker of something like approval, maybe even interest, crosses Voldemort’s face like a shadow. The briefest acknowledgment that, for all his youth, the Dark Lord did not think Regulus Black was foolish.

The room seems to relax as Voldemort returns to his seat, his anger towards Lucius forgotten for the time being. His gaze remains fixed on Regulus. "You may prove useful," he steeples his fingers under his chin, eyes appraising.

Regulus allows a small smile to grace his face, just enough to seem pleased, just enough to play the game. "That," he says carefully, "is my intention."

Voldemort sends Lucius a sharp look, a promise of violent retribution for his mistake. “Regulus will rectify your misjudgement, he will bring me the object I require.”

Regulus inclines his head, accepting the task. As the Dark Lord’s attention shifts to the others, Regulus exhales, a quick sharp breath through his nose. He ignores the lingering look his father sends him from beside him, ignores the fury on Lucius’ face as he tries to catch his eye. Instead, he focuses on the fact that perhaps, for the first time, he has stepped into the Dark Lord’s inner circle.

Not truly trusted and certainly not safe. But closer. And right now, closer was where he needed to be.

—

“Again, Barty.” Regulus says through gritted teeth. He’s resting heavily against a chair, body slumped against it with his knees still on the floor, the strength ebbed from his body as he waits for Barty to cast the curse again.

Their dorm is cloaked in half-light, the watery green glow of the lake providing little reprieve from the darkness. Almost as if the words Barty had just uttered have sucked any lingering light out of the room.

Evan stands near the fireplace, on the other side of their dorm, almost as if by physically removing himself from what they’re trying to attempt can help him distance himself from this. The dying firelight catches the edge of his profile, enough that Barty can see the warning look he sends his way. There is fear in his eyes, as well as disapproval.

Something had changed within Regulus, after last night’s meeting. Barty can see it in him now, a resolve that he did not possess before the meeting. With each passing day drawing them nearer to their departure from Hogwarts, with every minute ticking down like a silent countdown, Regulus had made it clear that he intended to use every moment he could to prepare himself, to be ready for what awaited them. He had warned them what had happened to Lucius Malfoy in the aftermath of that meeting in the Black family dining room last night, the consequences he’d faced for disappointing the Dark Lord.

So, Barty swallows, pushing past Evan’s disappointment and casts the spell again. “Crucio.”

Regulus’ lips are bloodless from where they are pressed tightly together, his eyes fill with unshed tears but he refuses to cry out. Barty hears the way his teeth are grinding together and he worries they’ll break from the force Regulus is exerting on them. The curse falters.

Regulus turns furious eyes on him. “I said again, Barty.”

“Reg-“ Evan tries to gently intercede but Regulus holds up a shaking hand to quieten him, scowling when he sees the tremor in his hand. He fists it to his side, stands on unsteady legs and with fire in his eyes, turns to Barty.

“Again.”

Barty inhales slowly, deliberately, it does not stop his hand from shaking as he casts. He watches the way Regulus falls to his knees once more, his jaw locked and his nostrils flared. The decent down to the floor is painful, Regulus falls on all fours, hands fisted, sweat beading on his forehead. Somehow, despite the nausea building deep in his stomach at the sight of his friend writhing on the floor, this time, Barty manages to hold the curse.

It starts slowly. Regulus comes to rest on one knee, face blanched of all colour. Then, after a pregnant pause, Barty watches in disbelief as Regulus slowly pushes himself onto both his knees and stays there, eyes defiant. A muscle feathers in his jaw, clenched with unnatural force, but he does not scream, does not cry out.

“Holy fuck.” Evan murmurs, his gaze flitting from Barty’s wand to Regulus kneeling before them.

The moment is broken by the sound of a sharp crack, sudden and brittle, and Barty’s wand falls from his hand.

“Reg, fuck, are you okay-“

With an unnaturally pale hand, knuckles blanched white from clenching with brute force, Regulus slowly brings his fingers to his mouth. He parts his lips to expose a crack in one of his lower molars. Regulus prods the area angrily, as if disappointed by the fragility of his own body. Evan is by his side in an instant, grasping his wand. He gently cusps Regulus’ jaw, ignoring the way Regulus hisses at the movement.

It is an easy fix and a quick one but the sound, the sharp resounding crack, replays in Barty’s head long after it’s been healed.

Regulus doesn’t say much, in the aftermath, only lets out a shaky breath and says, “I’ll need to work on that.”

“This is too much, Regulus.” Evan’s voice is thin with worry. He reaches out to touch his friend’s shoulder but is pushed away. The Black heir tries to stand, gripping the chair still beside him, it takes all his strength to lever himself onto it.

Barty hates to disagree with him, hates that they’ll argue about this later but he meets Regulus’ eyes and nods. “It’s necessary.” He chews his lip, turns to face Evan and the betrayal on his face. “We’ll face worse at Grimmauld Place, Ev.”

Worry shadows Evan’s face, his features tight with unease. Despite Regulus pushing him away, he refuses to move from his side, a protective presence. “Then we make sure we don’t disappoint him.”

They all know who he refers to in that moment.

“Voldemort has given me my first order and it’s not an easy one.” Regulus fists his hands on his knees, tries to hide the way they still shake. “I need to be prepared in case I fail.”

Barty kneels before him, places his hands over Regulus’ own shaking ones, tries to steady them. “What has he asked you to do?”

Regulus’ gaze drifts off into the distance, Barty watches as that stone, cold mask falls into place once more. “Rookwood failed retrieving something from the Department of Mysteries. It was meant to be Lucius’ task but seeing as Rookwood already worked in the department, I think they thought he would have a better chance of securing it.”

Barty snorts but there is little humour in the sound. “Clearly not seeing as you told us he’s on the run and Lucius ended up in a pool of his own piss in your dining room last night. So, what, is it your job to get it now?”

Regulus’ answering smile is grim. “Yes, I need to be the one to get it and I need your help.”

“Why do you need to get it?” Evan asks, voice low and wary. His brow furrows as his gaze shifts back to Barty, then down to their joined hands. The contrast is striking, Barty’s hands are broad and tan whereas Regulus’ are pale and lithe, his smaller fingers disappearing beneath Barty’s own larger ones. The gesture is not romantic and there’s no jealousy in Evan’s expression as he surveys them. Barty knows that Evan is concerned because Regulus has allowed himself to be trapped. He does not allow anyone to hold him down like this, the only exception being James. Evan was perceptive enough to know that this was the trade in Regulus’ game of give and take. A rare concession and a quiet signal that he was forgoing his freedom, a piece of his comfort, because he was about to ask something of them that neither of them would want to hear.

“Because I think it has something to do with defeating Voldemort. It’s something he wants so badly, something he refuses to give up on. It’s integral to him winning this war or him losing it, I’m sure of it. Either way, I need to know what it is before he gets his hands on it.”

The air around them is charged, Barty knows that any minute now, Regulus is going to drop the bomb. Barty does his best to speed the process along, he does not like being left in the dark. “How can we help?”

“I need to intercept someone in the Ministry.” He sends Barty a hopeful look. The implication is clear.

Evan answers for him, his voice full of unbridled rage. “No. No way.” He storms in front of Regulus, sending him a scathing look. “You are not bringing his dad into this.”

“I wouldn’t be involving his dad…technically.”

“Regulus,“ Evan’s tone is full of warning. “What are you thinking of doing?”

Regulus ignores him, instead turning back to Barty. “I know you hate him. I wouldn’t ask this of you unless it was necessary, Barty.”

Barty tries to breathe through his panic but finds he can’t get enough air in his lungs. Almost as if there is an invisible hand around his throat constricting his airways. “What is it you need help with?”

“I need to get into the Ministry disguised as someone no one would ever suspect. Your dad hates us,” his voice softens, but he does not apologise for his next choice of words, “he hates you. If Bartemius Crouch Senior starts poking around the Department of Mysteries, now that it is being guarded so closely, no one will ever think to suspect that he’s been compromised.” He squeezes Barty’s hands that are still resting atop his own. “I need your help collecting some of his hair, I need you to teach me his mannerisms and when the time comes,” he pauses, “I need you to distract him, keep him away from the Ministry so that I can get in and out without him showing up.”

Evan’s laughter is wrought with disbelief. He moves towards Barty, places a warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. Evan’s grip is right, not meant to hurt but to ground him, it’s his way of telling Barty that he’s here, he’s with him and he’ll fight his corner. He does not look at Regulus when he speaks, Barty can feel the way his gaze is fixed on him. “This will never work! Reg, you’re crazy if you think you can pull this off.”

Barty sits in silence for a moment, he does not pull away from Regulus’ firm grip on his hands nor from the comforting weight of Evan’s hand on his shoulder. Instead, he squeezes Reg’s hand back and closes his eyes.

“Okay,” he says eventually, his voice is steady but his soul is anything but, “tell me what I need to do.”

—

Time is a thief, Evan thinks to himself as he writes another note on a scrap of parchment. A stack of them are spread out on the floor in front of him, some contain random thoughts, others hold little secrets and some of them detail memories collected in a castle over a period of seven years. Pandora looks over his shoulder and laughs at what he’s just written, tucking her chin on the sharp jut of his collarbone. She wraps her small arms around him and he closes his eyes, takes a moment to breathe in the lavender smell of her. It’s just them tonight, just like it had been the first day they’d arrived at Hogwarts. It feels right, that they’re ending this journey the same way they’d started it, together.

She’s the best part of him and he isn’t mad about it.

Pandora joins him as he hides his stack of notes under loose floorboards, behind portraits, even going as far to tuck them inside dusty, old library books that look like they haven’t been touched in years. It had been her idea, a little piece of them both to leave behind. One day, he hopes someone might find them and understand how it felt to be here, on the cusp of war, yet still finding time to laugh and to love.

By the time they’re finished, it’s late. Evan and Pandora spend the remainder of their last night in the castle walking through it together. They move without haste, letting memory guide their feet. For the last time in what he’s sure will be a very long time, he doesn’t carry a wand. He doesn’t need to. Hogwarts has known him since he was five foot tall and drowning in his robes, Hogwarts has protected them both for seven simultaneously long and short years and now it’s time to say goodbye.

Every turn is familiar but tonight, they take a little longer to appreciate each one.

They don’t speak as they pass by the library again, one final time, their fingertips grazing the cool stone. The moon spills silver over the desks inside. If Evan blinks past the moonlight, imagines a warm summers day instead, he can almost see Dorcas sat there, curled up with a book that she’s probably read already, watching Marlene across the room. If he tries hard enough, despite the fact she’s stood next to him, their pinkies entwined, he can see Pandora sat on the floor, head on Dorcas’ shoulder. If he closes his eyes, he can nearly hear her humming something haunting and beautiful as she reads from the dusty tome on her lap.

Almost as if she can follow the thread of his silence, unravelling it without him having to voice it, Pandora turns to him with a wistful smile. “It feels like I spent half my time here in there.” Her gaze drifts to the same spot Evan had been looking at, it’s like she’s looking through his memory, seeing herself as she once was, soft with youth, troubled by her gift, even then. “I always wanted to understand the world better, understand me better.”

Evan wraps an arm around her shoulders and tugs her closer to him. To many, she seemed strange, distant and unreachable, like she belonged to a different world entirely but Evan knows the truth. He’s always known and that truth binds him to her with a fierce loyalty. Pandora is brilliant, kind and selfless, burdened by a gift that she can’t share with most people. She sees things that no one around her can comprehend, not even him, yet she still chooses kindness, always. Though the world kept its distance, she never returned the favour and it’s for that reason that he feels the need to shield her from them. He presses a kiss to her brow and tries his best to lighten the mood in the only way he knows how. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to hear that I spent half my time here trying to avoid it.”

Pandora laughs. “No, Evan, that doesn’t surprise me at all.” She nudges him gently, choosing to leave that version of herself behind. They continue to wander through the castle and with each new step they unlock long forgotten memories. Some they discuss, sharing laughter and inside jokes, others they relive quietly.

They walk on, slowing as they reach the edge of the courtyard. Evan smiles as they pass the bench where he’d caught Regulus staring at James with unusually soft eyes for the first time and had put two and two together. He drifts towards the alcove where Barty had kissed him for the first time, lets his hand graze the worn stone as he relives the memory. Pandora watches from a distance, lets him say goodbye on his own.

Hogwarts holds onto these memories, even years later, refusing to lose them to time. He hopes they’ll live on here, long after they’re all gone.

They climb the Astronomy Tower last. Not for the stars, though they are breathtaking tonight. Instead, they take in the view that stretches before them. It’s a clear night, not a cloud in the sky, like Hogwarts was determined to give them the best send off possible. The pair of them lean on the barricade, elbows resting on the worn flaking paint. They listen to the wind as it sings through the turrets and Evan leans forward into the open air, the wind rushing up to meet him. He feels the way it ruffles his hair and stretches out his arms, grinning. The world feels bigger from here, the open sky, the endless stretch of land, the mountains that rise toward the stars in the distance.

From this height, he can see the grounds in their entirety, the Black Lake and in the darkness, the dim, otherworldly green glow of their common room beneath it. The sight of that familiar light warms him.

“You any closer to figuring out your vision?” He asks, his gaze still fixed on the common room where he knows Barty and his friends wait for them.

Pandora is quiet for a moment. He doesn’t press her for an answer. Instead, Evan shifts to better face her, leaning back on his elbows rather than leaning on them, his back now against the railing. From this angle, he can see the way her lips are pressed together, she looks like she might cry.

“No. I feel so…” she trails off, the wind around them picks up, tugging a few strands of her white blonde hair free from its braid. She doesn’t tuck them behind her ears, instead her gaze remains fixed on the horizon where the mountains meet the night sky. Eventually she turns to face him too. “Useless. I feel useless.”

Their eyes lock and for a moment, he loses himself tracing his own familiar features in her heart shaped face. “You’re far from useless, Dora.” He stares over his shoulder at the stars above them, the way their soft light breaks through the endless darkness. A comforting sight, he hopes it’s a premonition for things to come. “Without you, we’d be in deeper shit than we already are.”

She doesn’t laugh but she doesn’t argue with him either. When he lifts a brow, daring her to suggest otherwise, Pandora tries to bite her lip to suppress her smile but the corners of her mouth betray her.

“I thought we’d have more time.” Evan says eventually, a little bit of truth to match her own. It’s a stupid thing to say really considering they’ve spent their whole lives together, in one another’s pockets. It’s difficult for him to explain, this want, this need for more time to be ordinary, more time to be just Evan. After tomorrow, he’ll be pretending to be someone else entirely and he realises he isn’t quite ready to let this version of him go just yet.

He feels her looking at him, feels the way her hand settles on his over the bannister, a warm, grounding presence. “We had all the time we needed. It’s why we both know we’re ready, to do what needs to be done.” There’s an all-knowing glint in her eyes. “You’ll still be you and the people who matter will know that.”

He looks back at her, really looks at her. When had she grown up? It seems to have happened all at once, right before his eyes. She wasn’t the little girl who used to chase him around the forest by their estate, begging to be part of his and Regulus’ childhood games. She wasn’t the girl who used to patch him up after every reckless duel, her hands steady despite the blood and her scolding kept to a minimum even though he knew that she really wanted to cuss him out for being so stupid. She was something else now, someone he was proud of, fiercely and without hesitation. But if he closes his eyes, he can still see her, frozen in time at eleven years old. She’s standing on the Hogwarts Express, the first to step onto the train but her arm is outstretched, as if sensing his hesitation, offering him a hand, never leaving him behind.

If Evan is being truthful with himself, he thinks she’s always been the braver one out of the two of them, in all the ways that really matter. Moving forward, he vows he will be brave too, so she doesn’t have to shoulder that burden on her own anymore.

They lapse into a comfortable silence, on the horizon, Evan can see the first few rays of sunrise. Pandora nudges him with her shoulder. “I have something to tell you.”

He tilts his head, eyes still on the sun. “What?” When she doesn’t say anything, he casts a sideways glance, trying to read her expression without turning his face.

She smiles, a secretive little thing. “Well, I had another vision.” She breathes in the early morning air, shutting her eyes against the rising sun. When she opens them again, her face is alight with joy. “And you’re happy. Whatever happens in the future, whatever happens with this awful war, you’re happy.” Any lingering sadness between them is gone. “That’s all I needed to know,” She says softly, “to get through this.”

“And what about you? Are you happy?”

Pandora rests her head on his shoulder, he can’t see her smile but he can hear it. “Yes. Of course I am. If you are, how could I not be?”

They stand in silence, arms linked. Evan watches the sun rise over Hogwarts for what could be minutes or hours, knowing that this is the last time he’ll see it as a student. Today, they leave Hogwarts for the last time. In a few days, he’ll wear darker robes, cast even darker magic and fight for things that he doesn’t believe in. He’ll do all of those things because it’s the only way they have any chance of dismantling something so much bigger than them.

But right now, he’s just Evan, standing next to his sister and they’re going to be happy, no matter what happens next.

Pandora moves first, fingers brushing everything and anything in reach, memorising it all. She stops by the stairs, waits for him.

Evan in this moment, is just a boy, a boy who has haunted these hallways for seven years. This is where he grew up, where he found Barty, where he built a family of his own. He’s grateful for this castle, for the memories he’s made here and the bonds he’s forged. He’ll take all of them with him, won’t let Grimmauld Place erase the boy that Hogwarts built.

Then he turns and together, they leave it all behind, taking the things that matter most with them.

—

Leaving Hogwarts breaks something within James that he does not think can be fixed again. In the grand scheme of things, it hadn’t felt very important those final weeks, that last day, not when the threat of Grimmauld Place loomed over his head. A little piece of him that loves Hogwarts like a second home wishes that he’d appreciated the last few months more. He knows he wasn’t able to because something integral was missing, his friends. He selfishly wishes that he’d been able to finish his journey with the people he’d started it with. James loves Regulus, he cares deeply for Evan, Barty and Pandora but he wishes, though he knows it could never have happened that way, that he’d spent his final days with all of the people that he loved and cared for, all of them together.

He relays this sentiment to his mum as he packs up his childhood room. Effie stands in the doorway of James’s bedroom, her fingers curled tightly around something small in her palm. She listens as she watches him pack, her eyes sorrowful, James can tell that she hates watching him do it.

The walls of his childhood room, once a haven of warmth, now feel suffocating with the weight of what lay ahead. This was not his home anymore, would not be for perhaps a very long time. James isn’t really sure what to bring, other than himself, he finds that he doesn’t care what he throws in his bag, sticking to only the essentials. He’d rather most of his stuff remained here, a reminder for his parents that he’d be coming back, than strip the room bare.

"James," Effie eventually says, voice soft as if she cannot bear to break their companionable silence with anything louder than a whisper.

He turns, noting the way she’s standing, stiff, quiet, too still for the woman who was usually always moving. It breaks his heart to see her like this, lost as she hovers in the doorway, her eyes lined from exhaustion and her hands still clasped, holding something between them like a lifeline. She steps forward, reaching for his hand, and places a simple silver chain into his palm. The pendant attached was small, a worn star charm, nothing remarkable but the magic inside it sets James’ pulse roaring.

"You will wear this," she tells him, her hands not shaking, a quiet anchor for his trembling ones nestled between them. Anxiety courses through him as he recognises the spell sealed within. He frowns, turning it over in his hands. "Mum, I—"

"It’s your way out," she cuts him off, gentle but firm. "If…” she inhales, forcing herself to be steady, to try and find that calm that has grounded her so far, "If something happens. If it all goes wrong. If you and Regulus need to run, you hold this and say ‘home.’ Do you promise me you’ll do that?”

James’ breath hitches in his throat. He can’t believe that she’s gone to all this trouble, he should’ve expected it, there was no bottom when it came to her love, it was an ocean without a floor, a sky without an end, but it surprises him all the same. His touch is ghostlike as he hovers his hand over the pendant. "A Portkey," he murmurs.

"Yes," she whispers, something in her eyes hardens, her face full of resolve. “Do you promise me you’ll do that, James?”

Silence stretches between them. James swallows hard, looking down at the small charm. "I told you I’d come back.”

"And I believe you," Efiie steps closer, raising a hand to his cheek. "But I couldn’t let you go without making sure."

James closes his eyes briefly, leaning into the warmth of her hand but frightened to meet her gaze. He doesn’t want her to see the fear there. With a sharp exhale he looks down at the star one last time, not very subtle from his mum, he thinks with a bit of humour. He fastens the chain around his neck. "I’ll use it if I need to, I promise.”

Effie studies him for a long moment before pulling him into a fierce embrace. "You and Regulus," she murmurs against his shoulder, she stands tall whilst he kneels and he realises with a start that they’ve traded places. He’d been the one to offer her comfort when he’d told her his fate all those months ago, now she steadies him. "Both of you. If one of you needs it, the other goes too."

James holds onto her tightly, feeling the weight of everything unspoken between them. He knows, deep down, that if it comes down to dying for the cause or running, she would want them both to choose the later.

"I know, Mum," he whispers. "I know."

And when they finally pull apart, James sees the way her eyes shine with unshed tears, but she does not cry, does not let them fall. She merely nods, steadies herself, and lets him go.

—

Gravel crunches under Regulus’ feet as he makes his way to the Potter’s front door. He’s made this journey a dozen times before but there’s an ache in his chest as he raps the golden lion head knocker for what might be the final time. He’s here to take James away and although he’ll make sure James returns, one way or another, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to follow him back here. Whilst he waits for someone to open the door, he does his best to commit every detail to memory.

A sliver of light slices through the doorway. Effie stands there, her face grave and so tired. She looks at him for a long moment, as if she can memorise him by doing so and then her eyes fill with tears.

“Oh, Regulus.” She gathers him in her arms, taking him by surprise. He does not hesitate, however, to return her embrace, he holds her just as tightly as she holds him.

“Hi, Effie.”

Her voice breaks as she cups the back of his head, drawing him impossibly closer. “I wanted so much more for you.”

Those words splinter something deep inside him. “I’m so sorry.” He says, he doesn’t cry, doesn’t think he’s capable of it but he wants to. He feels drained, empty. The dark magic he’s been dabbling in for the past year has taken so much from him, he doesn’t know how much more he has left to give.

Effie pulls away, only enough to let him in. He steps through the door and wishes he didn’t have to walk out of it again. She leads him into the living room where through the entryway, Regulus can see James on the sofa with his dad, they’re sat pressed together, murmuring to one another. A private conversation not meant for anyone else to hear. Regulus pauses, hovers at the threshold, not wanting to interrupt this moment between them. Almost as if James can sense his presence, he lifts his gaze, something warm sparking there at the sight of Regulus.

He claps a hand on his dad’s shoulder and meets the older man’s gaze. James stands, reaching out a hand to help his dad up. “It’s time.”

Monty takes it, grips it tightly. James is the first to let go.

They all watch as James moves across the room, picking up a backpack that Regulus had not noticed was by the doorway. He sends his mum a soft smile as he reaches for Regulus who is still stood beside her.

Regulus looks at him, then back to Monty, who is standing across the room, alone. He looks lost, adrift without his son by his side.

Something fractures in his chest at the sight. “I’ll look after him, I promise.” It’s important to Regulus, that they both know this.

"We know you’ll look after him," Effie says, she moves towards her husband, takes one of his hands in both of hers, holds it tight.

Regulus swallows past the lump in his throat. How could they ever forgive him for this? For taking James away from them? "I won’t let anything happen to him."

Effie’s gaze softens, but it’s Monty who leans forward, reaching for him. He places a steady hand on Regulus’ shoulder. "James is our boy," Monty says with quiet conviction, those kind eyes pained. "But if you think for one second that your life is worth less than his, you’re mistaken."

Regulus stiffens, caught off guard.

"I want him safe," Monty continues. "But not at your expense. You are our boy now too. You both come home.” He pulls both Regulus and James towards him, whispers, “That is the only acceptable outcome."

Regulus’ breath comes out uneven. He isn’t sure what to do with the weight of those words. He knows deep down he won’t be coming back and as much as he wants this house to be his home, it never will be.

"Dad means that, you better listen to him." James murmurs beside him. Regulus glances up over Monty’s shoulder at him and the way James is looking at him makes his pulse stutter. Warm, steady, far too knowing. The way James always looks at him, with trust, with something protective beneath it. They pull away at the same time, Effie coming to hug them both now too.

"We’re both getting out of this." James says, quieter now, a promise to his parents or to Regulus, he isn’t sure.

Regulus looks at him, the conviction in his face, the fire in his eyes, in his heart, and something inside him gives way.

"I know." The words barely above a whisper.

A lie.

—

They land with a sharp crack, the air around them shifting to make way for them as Regulus and James apparate onto the damp cobblestone street.

The world steadies around them, the wind dying down almost instantly, fading into a gentle breeze and then disappearing entirely. For a moment, neither of them speak, their gazes fixed on Grimmauld Place in front of them. The house is silent, but it’s not empty, they both know what horrors lie within.

James sighs from beside him, his hands twitching at his sides, restless or nervous, Regulus isn’t sure. He stares up at the windows, finding his bedroom with a practised ease, the place that had once been his prison, that would now be his prison again.

James, sensing Regulus’ unease, shifts, stepping closer. Just enough for their hands to brush. His presence the only warmth against the chill.

A second crack splits the air behind them and Barty and Evan emerge from the night. They settle quietly beside them, the four a united front against the house in front of them.

"It feels different this time," Evan murmurs, breaking the quiet. He frowns, folds his arms tightly against his chest. The windows remain dark despite the noise, no light escapes them. "I don’t like it."

"You’re not supposed to like it," Barty mutters, his voice low and sharp. "This place is full of Death Eaters and home to, oh, I don’t know…the Dark Lord? You think they’re going to roll out the welcome mat and greet you with a patronus?"

Regulus doesn’t say anything, he tunes out the bickering that ensues between them, as it always does. He knows there’s no real heat in Barry’s words or in Evan’s scowl, this is normal for them and right now, teasing one another probably makes this whole situation feel easier than it actually is.

James, still beside him, does not intervene either. Only shifts closer, close enough now that their shoulders brush, grounding him.

"It’ll be worse inside," Regulus says finally, voice lifeless. He works hard to keep his voice flat, allows no emotion to creep in. Barty, who had been in the middle of saying something sarcastic to Evan, quietens immediately.

None of them question him, they know he speaks the truth.

A gust of wind curls through the alley behind them, lifting the edges of their cloaks. The house stands, patient and waiting, its very walls seem to hum with the weight of the dark magic inside.

"Are we doing this?" James asks, his voice quiet but certain. Always brave, even now.

Regulus turns to him. The dying light catches the amber in James’ eyes, turns them molten gold.

He huffs out a laugh. "We’re doing this." He does not allow for any hesitation in his tone or in his posture as he steels himself for what’s to come. He allows his gaze to flick to the sky, to his brother’s constellation, only once, before he fixes his gaze back on his ancestral home. He is Regulus Black, heir to a mighty, powerful bloodline. He has the support of two of his closest friends, both powerful in their own right. He has a prophet on his side, guiding him and beside him stands the man brave enough to face this with him. He will not hesitate. He will not fail.

Barty steps forward first, almost as if he can sense Regulus’ inner turmoil. He is always the first to act, it’s in his very nature. The three of them watch as Barty’s fingers brush against the ornate doorknob. He turns to face them, his lips twitching with the beginning of a sharp, dangerous smile. A familiar expression when it comes to Barty and one that does not look out of place on his face.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Barty rolls his neck, a carefree, unbothered gesture, before he twists the doorknob. It takes a moment for the house to recognise his blood status and his identity, a rule introduced by Regulus’ ancestors but enforced by the Dark Lord inside. The door swings open. “Let’s go and say hi.”

Notes:

Excited for the plot to start unfolding now that they’re at Grimmauld!!

Thank you for reading <3

Chapter 7: Chapter Seven (the box, the book and the bond)

The room is cold. Not the kind of chill that bites at your skin, but one that gets under it, setting you on edge. Evan braces his forearms against the table, trying to ignore the goosebumps rising like a warning on his bare arms. It’s not the absence of warmth in the room that unsettles him, it’s the absence of hope.

The source of that cold presence that envelops them all is a Dementor hovering behind him, guarding the door. It is silent and unmoving as it seems to watch them all from empty sockets. Evan knows they can’t see, that they are blind but he still feels a prickling sensation creep down his spine, as though they’re tracking his every move. He wonders if the Ministry has noticed that some of their Dementors are missing, that they’ve been recruited by the Dark Lord or whether they’re ignorant to the loss, just as they’ve been ignorant to Voldemort’s rise to power. A mistake that might doom them all.

The thought comes uninvited, as they often do in the presence of a Dementor. Their darkness creeps into the edges of his mind like smoke through a cracked window. He clenches his jaw, willing it away, trying to stop it before it can take root. But no matter how hard Evan tries to ignore it, it looms in his periphery, its presence warping the air. With the Dementor there, no one’s getting in. More importantly, no one’s getting out.

Evan attempts to focus on anything other than his own somber thoughts, he eyes the clock, tracking the hand as it inches towards ten. It’s late. Despite the evening drawing in, the curtains remain open, allowing moonlight to spill in and fill the room with a strange, ghostly light. Atop the long table, silver candelabras stand at measured intervals, their flames guttering low. Shadows dance across the walls, not just from the dying candles, but from something darker. Something sat at the head of the table. The Dark Lord’s presence seems to consume the light itself, swallowing warmth and colour until the room feels starved of both.

He sits, indifferent to those sat around him, speaking in low tones to Nagini, her coils draped languidly beside him on the table. His followers line the sides, heads bowed, eyes lowered, not in respect, but in fear.

Evan, however, can’t help the way his gaze drifts. He’s tired, he’d been patrolling early hours this morning and him and Barty are scheduled to go out again early tomorrow. Letting his gaze wander is the only thing keeping him awake right now, well, that and the suffocating presence of the Dementor stationed behind him.

He sits beside Barty, their knees nearly touching beneath the table. It’s the only thing capable of grounding Evan, helping him fight the dark thoughts that linger at the edges of his mind. Barty’s fingers drum a silent, relentless rhythm against his thigh, a familiar tic that Evan recognises instantly. It’s Barty’s way of centring himself, keeping himself sharp and present in the moment.

A shiver runs through Evan, an involuntary shudder that he tries to suppress the moment he feels it happening. He clamps down on it quickly, praying it goes unnoticed. The man at the head of the table doesn’t tolerate weakness and Evan can’t afford to be seen as anything less than imperturbable.

But of course Barty picks up on it, probably from the way their legs are pressed together. He pauses his drumming to slide his hand over to Evan’s leg, the motion untraceable thanks to the ornate table cloth draped over the antique wood. Barty squeezes and Evan lets his legs fall open slightly so Barty’s hand can shift higher. It works, the cold forgotten as Evan focuses on the heavy warmth of Barty’s hand on his thigh.

Across from them, Regulus leans back in his chair, the one closest to Voldemort. He sits with the practised ease of someone who knows their place, knows that they belong. Evan watches him closely, wonders how he manages to look so calm and level-headed with the Dementor in his eyeline. Unlike the others, who keep their gazes fixed on the floor or the flickering candlelight, Regulus doesn’t look away. He watches the Dark Lord and Nagini with those sharp, grey eyes. There’s something in the way he does it, as if he’s seeing more than he should, understanding something the rest of them can’t. He must feel Evan’s stare, because he turns, just slightly. Not enough to break the moment, but enough to let Evan know he’s been noticed. It’s strange, seeing Regulus like this, cold and detached. He plays the part so well that it’s almost unnerving trying to find a hint of the friend Evan knows is hidden somewhere beneath that mask.

James, on the other hand, sitting next to Regulus, is visibly uncomfortable. The two of them sit close, their shoulders brushing, seemingly more for James’ benefit than Regulus’. There’s a quiet intimacy between them, but it doesn’t soften the steel in Regulus’ posture or warm the ice in those grey eyes.

It’s been difficult for James, they’ve only been here a few days but it’s taken a toll on him. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks pale and drawn in the dim light. It could be the strain of projecting two streams of consciousness, Evan knows how taxing that is. But he suspects it’s something deeper. Regulus had been insistent that it wasn’t enough to shield their thoughts. They needed decoys, false trails, convincing distractions to keep the Dark Lord from sensing the silence from their shields. A blank mind was as suspicious as an unprotected one. Then again, it might be the Dementor stationed behind them, or the dark wizard seated just feet away that carves that unhappy line across James’ mouth.

The Dark Lord had been wary of his presence at first and rightfully so. But Regulus seems to hold more sway than Evan ever imagined possible. Somehow, James has been welcomed not only by the Black family, but by Voldemort himself. It defies logic and yet, here he sits, tolerated, accepted, as if Regulus’s word alone is enough to bend the rules. As if Regulus’ word is enough to earn him a seat so close to the man during their meetings.

At the head of the table, the Dark Lord hisses one last remark to Nagini before rising, that unnerving crimson gaze of his sweeping the room. They wait for him to speak but he doesn’t, a tactic surely meant to unnerve them, as if the whole ordeal isn’t unnerving enough on its own.

Eventually, Orion Black speaks, his voice even and deliberate. He inclines his head with a respectful bow, angled precisely towards the Dark Lord. “My Lord,” he says and his voice doesn’t waver, even when those inhuman eyes land on him. He sounds so much like Regulus in that moment that it takes everything in Evan not to pull a face. “Shall we discuss Regulus’ plan to infiltrate the Ministry so that we can guarantee its success?“

Regulus stills, flicking a cool glance over to his father, sat a few seats down from him. Evan knows he’s spoken with the Dark Lord several times over the past few days about the mission entrusted to him. His father, it seems, remains oblivious. Whether through ignorance or design, Evan isn’t sure.

The Dark Lord does not respond immediately. His gaze flicks to James, then to Barty, then finally settles on Evan. Under that watchful gaze, Evan straightens, resisting the urge to shrink beneath it.

“No.” the Dark Lord murmurs, it’s clear he’s annoyed by the question but he doesn’t show it, the Black family fund his every move, he cannot risk losing their patronage this early on. “I trust Regulus.”

Regulus absorbs the moment seamlessly, dipping his head in acknowledgement, quick to smooth over his father’s misstep. “Thank you, my Lord. I won’t disappoint you.”

The Dark Lord’s lips curl into something that is not quite a smile. “No, I’m quite certain you won’t.”

There’s a pause. This time, no one dares break it. Evan’s gaze drifts to Nagini, who is coiled at the head of the table and is surprised to find her already watching him. He hopes it’s not out of distrust but rather curiosity. Either way, it’s unnerving but Evan does his best to seem unbothered by her attention. Instead, he places the entirety of his focus on Voldemort as he begins to enquire about the raids that Regulus and James had led yesterday at Diagon Alley.

No one had been injured, thankfully, but Regulus had made sure it had been a success, had left no room for the Dark Lord to doubt him. And that reflects in the way that he answers every question directed his way with an easy, charming grace. He’s not just reporting, he’s performing. And Evan watches, fascinated, as Regulus shifts in front of his very eyes.

James interjects occasionally, his tone clipped, focusing on the tactical aspect of their mission, rather than those that Voldemort deems as collateral damage, the muggle-borns and to an extent, even the half-bloods. Barty, from beside Evan, offers sharp insights, his mind moving faster than the discussion unfolding in front of them. It’s impressive listening to Barty, watching the way he is able to anticipate the direction of a conversation and steer it to better suit his goals. But it’s Regulus who commands the room, Voldemort watching him with hungry eyes.

Evan listens, learns, and waits. He wasn’t there so has no information to offer and unlike Barty, he isn’t able to put forward keen observations. Without meaning to, his mind jumps to his sister, a topic he’s been trying to avoid, the thought of her but mostly the absence of her, a painful ache. He wonders what Pandora would think of this, it’s only been a few days but he misses her terribly.

The meeting begins to wind down, those at the far end of the table finishing their reports. Just as Evan thinks the Dark Lord might leave, hopefully taking the Dementor with him, he speaks again, voice low and carrying a significant weight.

“Lucius.”

Everyone stills, turning to face the man who is sat to Evan’s left. Lucius Malfoy straightens, he’s been suspiciously quiet for the past hour, Evan gets the distinct impression that it’s because he can’t stand Regulus. There’s something in the way he looks at him, sharp and dismissive, like he’s barely tolerating his presence. And yet, under the Dark Lord’s gaze, Lucius flourishes. Whatever disdain he might harbour for Regulus, it vanishes the moment Voldemort turns his attention toward him. “As we discussed last week, I have something for you,” the Dark Lord says, reaching beneath his robes with a motion so fluid it seems almost inhuman. It’s unnerving, in the space of a year, how his features have changed. The Dark Lord was handsome once. Now, there’s something unnatural in the way he looks and in the way he moves, as if even his body no longer remembers how to be human. “An object of great importance. You will guard it with your life.”

He produces a small silver box, etched with patterns and runes that seem to recoil in the candlelight. Lucius hurries to accept it with both hands, bowing his head. “It will be protected, my Lord. No harm shall come to it.”

The Dark Lord’s gaze lingers on him for a moment too long and Evan wonders if this is a test. “See that it doesn’t.”

Out the corner of his eye, Regulus moves. A tiny movement, barely even a shift in posture, just the slightest tilt of the head, a fractional narrowing of the eyes but it’s enough to catch Evan’s attention. Regulus is interested in that box, Evan knows him well enough to interpret the calculated look in his eyes. Regulus’ expression remains impassive, his fingers laced neatly on the table, but Evan sees the tension in his jaw, the way his gaze follows the box as Lucius tucks it away.

Evan doesn’t draw attention to it. He simply files it away, watching the way Regulus smiles at the Dark Lord with the same polished charm as before, only now, Evan knows it’s sharpened with intent.

They’re dismissed, the Dark Lord, closely followed by Walburga, Orion and Lucius, disappearing first in the direction of Orion’s study.

Slowly, the room beings to empty, Evan waiting patiently for those closest to the door to file out first. Regulus lingers, speaking low to James, whose face remains unreadable, perhaps purposefully schooled into neutrality. It’s clever of James, to keep his expression blank. In this house, any sign of emotion can be viewed as weakness.

A movement from beside him jolts him from his thoughts, Barty is up and stretching, making a move towards the door. Evan goes to follow him but it’s strange, something makes him turn around, it feels like there are eyes on him. He finds the culprit almost immediately, Nagini is still coiled near the Dark Lord’s empty chair, despite the fact her master is no longer in the room. Her body is a sinuous loop of gleaming emerald scales as she raises her head, tongue flicking lazily in the air.

Evan wonders if he’s a fool as he crouches low, balanced on his haunches, and extends a hand, like one might to a dog. In hindsight, he suspects he is. Who in their right mind offers a hand to a snake that size?

Nagini tilts her large head, considering him. Then, she makes her way over to him, the only sound predating her arrival is the whisper of her scales sliding against the polished wood of the floor. Evan doesn’t flinch, he waits patiently, leaving his hand hovering in the air between them. She stops beside him, those dark eyes trained on him. Hesitantly, Evan rests his hand on her head. When she doesn’t move he smiles, lets his hand rest there for a moment, gently, with only the slightest pressure behind it. She relaxes, flicking her tongue as she leans into his touch. Evan has to stifle a disbelieving laugh as he begins to stroke what he’s beginning to suspect is the Dark Lord’s familiar.

“Hi.” He says stupidly, because it’s not like they can have a conversation anyway but it seems strange not addressing her when his hand is currently resting on her head.

At the sound of Evan’s voice, Barty turns. His eyes narrow almost immediately, a flicker of unease crossing his face at the sight of Evan next to the snake. Evan meets his gaze and holds it, but doesn’t pull away. Instead he stays low, letting Nagini decide the pace of their interaction. It isn’t long before she’s had enough but she is careful as she pulls away from him which Evan considers to be a win. He watches her disappear into the shadows and for a moment, almost feels sorry for her. He is probably the first person to show her an iota of kindness and that doesn’t sit right with him.

Barty makes his way over, waiting for Bellatrix to pass them before muttering through gritted teeth. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know?” Evan says stupidly, “She seems lonely.”

Barty rolls his eyes heavenward in response. “Merlin, only you and Pandora would stroke something with fangs and scales like it’s a pet owl.”

Evan can’t help the twitch of his lip as they follow Regulus and James out the door and up the stairs. “We’re twins, Barty, what did you expect?“

The fire is already crackling in the hearth as they settle into Regulus’ room, courtesy of Kreacher, who makes no effort to hide that Regulus is his favourite. The room is immaculate, but Evan doubts that’s the elf’s doing. No, this is Regulus through and through. Every object is placed with intention, every surface cleared of any possible distraction. The inviting warmth of the fire feels almost out of place in comparison.

Evan settles by the window and watches the rain trace silver lines down the glass. Behind him, if he looks out the corner of his eye, he can just make out Barty lounging in the armchair, legs draped over one arm, his expression sour despite the relaxed nature of his posture.

From across the room, he can hear the sound of James casting a silencing spell, still stood by the door, where the spell needs to be the strongest. Apart from James’ soft murmuring, the only other sound is Regulus’ pacing. Evan shifts slightly, to lean against the wall, watching the way Regulus walks back and forth, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.

“We don’t have long,” Regulus says, voice clipped. “Lucius is with my parents and the Dark Lord in my father’s study but probably not for much longer. I need the box that Voldemort gave him. I’m to join them soon and I’ll try to delay him for as long as possible but you’ll need to find it and bring it to me.”

This catches Evan’s attention. He sends Regulus a look full of disbelief, the same expression mirrored on Barty’s face when he turns to him. “You want us to steal from him?”

Regulus stops pacing. “I need that box, it’s important.” Sensing their hesitation he sends them both a pleading look. “Please.”

A sound slips from Barty’s throat, a sharp huff, almost a scoff. “And what exactly are we risking our necks for? You still haven’t told us what’s in the box.”

“You don’t need to know. Not at the moment anyway.” Regulus rubs his eyes and suddenly he looks exhausted, like the mask he’s been wearing all day has finally slipped off. “The less people who know the better.”

Evan exchanges a glance with Barty, who rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. It’s been like this for months, Regulus always ten steps ahead, the rest of them desperately chasing him but never quite closing the gap.

Despite the lack of verbal agreement on their end, Regulus proceeds like the plan is already in motion. He moves to the desk and opens a drawer with a soft click, mind already on other matters. It’s then that Evan notices the gloves, black leather, most likely handmade the way they fit each finger perfectly. He frowns, a question forming on his lips, but one he doesn’t get the chance to ask. Regulus turns and extends a gloved hand to Barty, disrupting Evan’s train of thought.

“Did you manage to get it?” Regulus asks.

Barty nods, but his jaw tightens. Almost immediately Evan knows what he’s referring to, can tell by the tension now present in Barty’s shoulders. Under the cover of darkness, last night they had slipped into the Crouch family home undetected, Barty surprisingly, still keyed into the wards. “Yes. But I had to involve Crabbe, he distracted my dad. He’s suspicious now.”

Regulus doesn’t blink, hand still outstretched and waiting. “Let him be. He’s too stupid to connect the dots.”

Without moving from the armchair, Barty digs through his jacket before tossing a clear pouch into Regulus’ open palm. “Next time, do your own dirty work.”

Inside the package lie a few strands of dark hair, their roots tinged with grey. The colour is unmistakable, an exact match to Barty’s. Evan stares at them, suddenly unsettled by seeing those hairs in Regulus’ possession. For the first time since they discussed it, it makes their plan to infiltrate the Ministry feel startlingly real.

Regulus smiles faintly. “Duly noted.”

“Thank you, Barty. I know that couldn’t have been easy.” James speaks quietly, having moved to stand beside Regulus at the desk. He watches as the pouch is placed into a charmed box, the lid snapping shut with a soft pulse of magic. Regulus locks it calmly, unperturbed by the fact that soon he’ll have to masquerade as Barty’s father in front of what could be the entirety of the Ministry. Regulus says nothing in response, but his eyes soften as he turns back to look at Barty.

“The worst is yet to come, unfortunately.” Barty casts a sidelong look at Regulus. “When are you planning to to it?”

Regulus stares off into space, his gaze is fixed but not vacant. It’s the look of someone trying to piece together a puzzle of their own making, ensuring all the pieces still fit. “Next week, early morning, before Bartemius arrives at work. You still okay to intercept him?”

Barty’s mouth becomes a bloodless line, he nods before eventually blowing out a breath. “Yes.”

“What happens…after?” James asks carefully, his gaze settles on Barty as he speaks, eyes soft and heavy with pity.

“The Dark Lord will want him disposed of.” Regulus exhales slowly, turning to Barty, he lowers his gaze slightly, as if to soften his next words. “I don’t expect you to do it and I can’t imagine you’ll want me to go through with it either. If you want him protected, I’ll try to convince the Dark Lord that he’s more useful alive than dead. As long as you can get out of there alive and lay low for the next few weeks, it should be okay. By the time they put two and two together and work out that we got what the Dark Lord wanted, it’ll be too late, we’ll have it.”

“But Barty will be implicated at the very least. Maybe all four of us.” James pauses, it’s clear he’s trying to choose his next words carefully. “But if he’s dead…the Ministry might not know that we got what we wanted? They won’t know that Barty was involved?”

Regulus nods, expression shuttered.

Barty shrugs, a gesture meant to seem casual but it doesn’t quite land, his shoulders are tight, his jaw set. He doesn’t usually look this tense and the discomfort is written plainly across his face. Evan feels it like a weight in his chest, a quiet ache for someone he loves who he knows is hurting but can’t help. This isn’t his choice to make. Whatever comes next, the decision has to be Barty’s. “I hate him, I don’t care what happens to him…but I couldn’t do that to my mum. She loves him.”

“Merlin knows why.” Evan says, trying to keep his tone light but it rings hollow. Barty’s sharp glance confirms what Evan already suspects, that he missed the mark. He bites his lip and vows to shut his mouth once more, pushing his own feelings about Barty’s dad to one side.

“It’s your call, Barty.” Regulus’ eyes are full of an apology. “I’ll give you some time to mull it over.” His gaze flicks to the clock on the mantlepiece. “Would you mind heading down ahead of me? I’ll follow a few minutes later but I’ll be going through my father’s personal entrance, not the one by the dining room. Once I’m in, I’ll do what I can to keep Lucius occupied for as long as possible but it’s likely he’ll leave through the dining room where the Floo is. You should have at least twenty minutes to search the neighbouring rooms but be mindful that he could appear at any moment.”

Evan frowns, they can’t be sure if the box is tucked away somewhere in the house or if Lucius is clever enough to keep it on him after the Dark Lord’s warning, though he seriously doubts that. “What if he has it on him? How will you get it off him?”

There’s something knowing in Regulus’ eyes when he looks at him. “He won’t. The box…what I think is inside it, would be difficult to tolerate for too long, let’s just say it’s the sort of object that wears on you quickly. Lucius would’ve realised that almost immediately, upon first touching it. It will either be in the room with us or will be close by.”

The doubt lingers and Regulus doesn’t miss it. He steps closer and lowers his voice. “This is important, Evan. More than you know.”

Evan nods, the weight of Regulus’ words settling in his chest like stone. He doesn’t know what’s in the box. He doesn’t know why Regulus wants it so badly. But he knows one thing for certain and that’s the fact that if Regulus wants that box, he’ll get it, one way or another.

As they’re about to head down to start their search, Regulus murmuring something uncharacteristically soft to James behind them, Evan opens the door. The corridor is dim, lit only by the flickering sconces that cast long shadows across the jade green wallpaper, making the passageway feel narrower than it actually is. Evan adjusts his cloak, glancing at Barty, who’s half a step behind him, wand tucked into his sleeve, his eyes steely and his face tight with determination.

Evan moves to step over the threshold but his foot halts mid-air. His breath catches as he spots what is blocking his way or better yet, who.

Nagini is coiled just outside the threshold of Regulus’ door, motionless but alert, her head cocked to one side. Her gaze is fixed on the door, unblinking, listening. How much had she heard? If anything at all? Had James’ silencing spell been enough to protect their conversation from her prying ears?

Inside, Regulus pauses mid-sentence, visibly unnerved. His hand hovers near his wand at his hip but James stops him, placing his own hand over Reg’s.

When Nagini doesn’t immediately attack them, Evan breathes a sigh of relief and prays that’s a good sign. He suppresses a grin as he bends at the waist so that their eyes are level, an attempt to make them equals, so she knows he’s not looking down on her. “Hey, Nagini. We’re heading down, do you want to come?”

The serpent tilts her head, then slides forward, her body winding around Evan’s boots in a manner that’s almost friendly. She speaks in Parseltongue, low and serpentine, each word a sharp hiss. None of them understand the meaning behind her words but Evan watches her closely, feels the cadence, the intent behind the sound. It’s a yes. He’s certain of it.

When Evan looks over his shoulder, Regulus blinks, surprised, his gaze fixed on the snake at Evan’s feet. “It seems she’s…taken a liking to you.”

Evan shrugs, amused. “What can I say? She’s got good taste.”

Nagini slithers beside him as he begins to walk down the corridor towards the stairs, after a moment, Evan realises he can’t hear the sound of familiar footsteps behind him. The absence of noise makes him stop and glance back.

Barty stands in the doorway, unmoving. “You’re bringing her?”

Evan feigns nonchalance but inside he is shouting at Barty not to give her a reason to distrust them so early on. “Why not? She invited herself.”

Barty doesn’t reply but steps out of the doorway, towards Evan, his gaze lingering on Nagini as she glides past him, her tail brushing his boot. He stiffens. Evan catches the look he sends her, tight-lipped, wary. “She’s deadly.” Barty says quietly, under his breath as he places a hand on the door handle, pulling it shut behind them.

“She’s sweet.” Evan amends. “Catch you later, Reg. See you, James!”

He hears James huff out a laugh as the door closes.

—

They descend the stairs in silence, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Evan walks ahead, eyes forward, while Barty lingers a pace behind, jaw tight. He tries to bury the irritation clawing at him, tries to be reasonable, diplomatic even, but it’s difficult. Nagini’s presence complicates things. With her here, they’ve lost something vital, the chance to speak freely.

This was supposed to be their moment to plan and prepare. Instead, Barty feels the opportunity slipping through their fingers and now it looks like they’ll be going into this one blind. He doesn’t voice his frustration, not yet, not while she’s still here.

The snake reaches the foot of the stairs first, hissing softly to herself as she waits for them. Evan steps forward and without hesitation, he reaches out, pressing a gentle hand to her raised head, fingers brushing the smooth curve of her skull. For a moment, she’s still, then, slowly, she leans into the touch, just for a breath before pulling away. She doesn’t hover, instead slipping away, her long body vanishing into shadow. She doesn’t glance back, in fact, she doesn’t acknowledge Barty at all. The dismissal is quiet but unmistakable, she isn’t pleased with him.

Evan watches her go, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. Barty waits for her to disappear entirely down the corridor towards the kitchen and then he folds his arms against his chest, turning to face Evan. “Why did you offer to bring her down here with us?”

Evan leans on the bannister, his voice barely a whisper as he turns to address Barty. “I don’t want her to be suspicious of us, which she must be, if she was hanging around Regulus’ door. If we tried sneaking off, she would have probably snitched on us straight away, it’s better this way, if she sees us as allies, so play nice.”

Barty can’t believe he didn’t think of that. “That was smart, Ev.”

Evan beside him grins, resting his chin on his crossed arms. “Always the tone of surprise.” His expression becomes serious as he leans over to look at the room in front of them, which leads to Orion’s study, thankfully empty but it’s best to be careful what they say out loud in this house. “Do we have a plan? Other than hopefully finding what we’re looking for and then running like bloody fuck in the direction of Reg’s room?”

Barty tries to hide his smile but fails. “Nope,” he says popping the p, “no plan, I was going to try and come up with something on our way down but don’t worry, we’ll think of something, we always do.”

They move through the foyer into the drawing room, voices low and casual, as they exchange idle conversation between them, back and forth. Each topic is purposely light, the sort of things that will go unnoticed if anyone were to walk past and hear them. But beneath the surface, they’re anything but relaxed. Their eyes flick across the room, scanning every corner, every shelf, every tabletop. No detail escapes them but in the end, their search in here is fruitless. There is no sign of the box in the drawing room. Barty didn’t think Lucius would leave it here but it didn’t hurt to check, as long as they move on quickly.

If it’s lying around somewhere, the dining room where they met earlier is the most likely place or perhaps the anteroom outside Orion’s study. Without a word, they head in that direction, their steps brisk and deliberate, walking as if they have a purpose, as if they belong there, to avoid suspicion.

There’s a sudden drop in temperature as they get closer to Orion’s study and with a sinking dread Barty realises the room must be protected by a Dementor. Of course it is.

Barty makes a move to step towards the antechamber to deal with this, casting a silencing spell under his breath as he does so but Evan holds out a hand to stop him.

“I’ve got this,” he mutters, drawing his wand. Barty watches the way Evan’s face tightens in concentration, brows furrowing as he focuses on the spell. After a moment, a burst of light erupts from the tip, his Patronus, an eagle, soaring from it towards the high ceiling. But before it can take its full form, Evan stops it. He channels the magic, reshaping it, compressing the brilliance into something less defined. The light pulses and shifts, no longer a recognisable creature, but a glowing orb, indistinct and intentionally unfamiliar in case anyone were to see it.

It streaks toward the Dementor, circling with calculated precision until it hovers behind the creature. The moment its light touches the Dementor, the effect is immediate. The Dementor recoils, its shrouded form retreating from the light with a hiss of anger and discomfort. Barty watches as with a final flick of his wand, Evan sends the full force of his Patronus careening into the Dementor, sending it flying down the corridor, in the opposite direction to them.

When Barty is able to blink past the spots of light obscuring his vision, his gaze lands on the space behind where the Dementor had been hovering. There, on a side table, sits a familiar box, right next to the entrance of Orion’s study.

Despite the box being within reach, they linger at the edge of the doorway, expecting to hear footsteps, voices, anything to suggest those inside had heard something. The Dementor’s retreat had been swift but not quiet, a disturbance that could have easily draw attention from those inside the study. While they wait, a thought pops into Barty’s mind, one he can’t help but materialise.

“What memory do you think of? When you conjure your Patronus?”

Evan’s quiet at first, caught in the memory. Barty can see it in the way his gaze softens, in the faint curve of his mouth, the dimple that appears as he smiles crookedly at Barty. “The night you told me how you felt about me, in the Room of Requirement.” He tilts his head and shrugs, almost sheepishly. The gesture is vulnerable, like he’s worried the words might sound too sentimental when spoken aloud. “Nothing else has ever made me feel quite like that night did.”

Barty finds himself lost for words, a rare thing and not one he’s fond of. But in the face of something so soft and sincere, they slip from him, hearing Evan speak of that night with such reverence knocks something loose in him and it takes him a moment to recover.

“Yeah,” he says eventually, voice hushed, barely more than a whisper, “I think that would be mine too.”

Neither of them speak as the memory lingers between them. Barty watches Evan for a moment longer. There’s something gentle in the way he holds himself now and Barty feels it too, that shared softness, it still takes him surprise, that they’ve managed to get here, to this place, that they did it together.

Then, when no footsteps echo down the hall, no voices rise in alarm, Barty’s mouth curves into a smile. A plan begins to take shape in his mind, just reckless enough to work.

“Hey.” Before he can ask the question that is on the tip of his tongue, Barty is already moving closer, crowding into Evan’s space with a quiet insistence. Evan’s brow creases as he smiles, puzzled but not resistant. Despite the confusion flickering in his eyes, he lets himself be guided. Barty’s hand finds the small of his back, steady and warm, and with a few subtle steps, Evan is being shepherded toward the table.

“Do you trust me?”

Evan doesn’t hesitate with his answer. “Yes.”

“Then play along.”

He leans forward, capturing Evan’s lips with his own, pushing his lower back against the table as he does so. Evan pulls away, just enough to roll his head to one side, the motion lazy, almost feline, to see if Barty has managed to maneuverer them close enough to where they needed to be. His gaze snags on the box, now behind him, where he’s leaning against the table. A grin, slow and wicked, lights up his face. Barely a second passes between Evan’s understanding and him kissing Barty back.

Behind Evan, Barty slides his free hand across the table, fingers inches from the box, the other wrapped around Evan’s shoulder, his hand cupping his head.

“Do you think they’ll fall for it?” Evan murmurs breathlessly as Barty pulls away to press a trail of kisses down his neck. “If they come out?”

“Mm.” Barty responds noncommittally as he bites at the hollow of Evan’s throat, he gets a quiet moan in response.

The box pulses with dark magic, subtle but unmistakable, a cold whisper that curls around Barty’s fingers the moment they brush its lid.

Somewhere down the hall, a door opens and closes. The sound is distant, muffled but it slices through the quiet like a warning. Barty doesn’t flinch. His focus is absolute, trained only on the box and the door behind them. His lips remain pressed to Evan’s neck, a grounding point for Barty. The warmth of skin against his mouth contrasts with the chill radiating from the box. He studies it with practiced eyes, memorising every detail, the shape and weight of it, the carvings that decorate its surface.

Then, when he’s certain he’s committed it to memory, he slides it toward his open jacket. The inner pocket is already prepared, stitched for concealment. The box slips in beside Evan’s sheathed dagger, nestled close to his chest, where the most dangerous things are always kept.

When Barty speaks, there’s a quiet victory in his words. “They will and do you know why?” Evan doesn’t respond, only slides his hands down to rest on his hips, pulling him impossibly closer.

If anyone were to walk in, they’d see Barty and Evan, pressed against the furniture, Barty’s hand concealed by his gaping jacket, the now empty side table hidden by Evan’s back.

He drags his lips up Evan’s neck and bites on his earlobe, eliciting a whine from him. Evan’s breath is heavy in his ear and Barty tries not to be distracted by the sound of it, the feel of his hot breath against his cheek. Slipping his wand out of his sleeve, he closes his eyes, only for a moment to picture the box again in his mind, it takes a few seconds for the false box to materialise, identical to the one now residing in Barty’s pocket.

Barty grins to himself as he pulls away and meets Evan’s eyes, they’re blown, his lips are swollen. He’s never looked more beautiful. “Because it’s us, Ev, and we’re unstoppable where we’re together.”

Evan doesn’t say anything in response, only stares at him, stars in his eyes. They gaze at one another for a moment, anticipation building between them and then Evan is surging forward, catching Barty by the throat and pulling him towards him.

Barty loses himself in the kiss, he drops his arms from where one was twined around Evan’s shoulder, the other cupping his jaw, to circle his hips, lifting him up, so he’s not just resting against the table but so that he’s sat atop it.

Evan opens his legs, pulling Barty flush against him. A surprised laugh escapes Barty as he greedily devours the space between them, until they’re pressed together once more. There is the sound of a door opening behind them, both of them hear it and intentionally, neither of them react.

“You two.” Lucius’ voice is an impatient hiss. “What are you doing?”

Barty pulls away from Evan, squeezing his leg once, a silent ‘I got it, I’ve got this’, before turning to Lucius with a lazy sardonic smirk. “What does it look like, Malfoy?”

Lucius doesn’t say anything for a moment, probably realising what sits behind them on the table. What he thinks is behind them on the table. What Barty stole only moments before. Suspicion rises on his face as he stares at them both.

They need to move, fast. The box, now nestled against Barty’s chest, hums with dark magic and every second it stays in their possession is a risk. Regulus is waiting. Lucius is not yet aware. But that window is narrowing. Barty feels it like a clock ticking behind his ribs.

So Barty moves towards Lucius, drawing his attention away from the false box on the table. His movements are smooth, practiced, almost theatrical as he steps into Lucius’ path with a smile that’s all charm and no sincerity. He’s good at this, distracting, misdirecting, disarming. He hopes it will be enough for Lucius to take the bait. “Like what you see?” He says, voice pitched low, “waiting for an invitation to join us?”

Evan laughs, the sound a little breathless, he scrunches his nose as he surveys Lucius, top to bottom, from his pale white hair to his polished leather shoes. “Mm, Malfoy isn’t really my type, Barty, too blonde.” He meets Barty’s gaze, something mischievous dancing in his eyes. “I prefer brunettes.”

When Barty flicks a glance over to Lucius, he no longer looks worried, instead he just looks annoyed. “That’s enough,” he snaps, voice sharp. “Go and be a nuisance somewhere else. Now.”

Barty doesn’t flinch at his tone. He tilts his head, mock-innocent. “Oh? Is this your house, Lucius? You’re certainly acting like it, bossing us about.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially, a mock whisper. “But I could’ve sworn it belongs to the Black family.” A muscle jumps in Lucius’ jaw. “And by the Black family, I mean Regulus, he is the heir to it after all.”

Evan raises an eyebrow at the fury on Lucius’ face, clearly amused. Neither of them move. Lucius’s eyes flash. “I’m not repeating myself.”

“Oh, Merlin forbid,” Barty drawls, pushing away from the table. “Lucius Malfoy, repeating himself? The world might end.”

Evan huffs out a laugh. ”Come on, Barty. It seems the fun is over,” he jumps down off the table, sending Lucius a lingering look, “for now.”

They saunter off, slow and unhurried, leaving Lucius in their wake, seething. As soon as the door clicks shut, their eyes lock, brief but electric, triumphant. In that fleeting glance, the world narrows to just the two of them.

It’s like Barty had said earlier, they’re unstoppable together.

—

Barty doesn’t waste time. The moment Evan slips away toward their room, he pivots sharply, making a beeline for Regulus’.

The box tucked inside his jacket feels heavier with every step, its dark magic pressing against his ribs like a bruise. It’s not just dangerous, it’s invasive, whispering things he refuses to listen to.

He moves quickly, despite the fact that the manor is quiet. Barty knows better than to trust silence. Time is imperative, he isn’t sure how long the magic of the false box will hold. Lucius could notice the switch at any moment, and when he does, there will be consequences.

But right now, Barty’s only focus is getting it to Regulus. The one person who knows what to do with this kind of magic. The one person he trusts to hold it without letting it hold him.

His fingers twitch near the edge of his jacket but he refuses to lift his hand as if by doing so he’ll be giving the location of the stolen box away. Instead he focuses on the weight of Evan’s dagger in the same pocket, a reminder of who he’s doing this whole thing for.

Barty pushes open the door to Regulus’ room, expecting to find him hunched over his desk. Instead, James looks up from the armchair, a book closed on his lap, his expression tight. Evan and Barty had purposely meandered a bit, stopping off at the kitchen and trying to wrangle food from Kreacher so that they weren’t seen hovering, waiting for Regulus. It seems that they still beat Regulus back. Barty wonders what they talk about, the Dark Lord and Regulus, when he’s gone for such long stretches of time. Regulus is not one for drawn out conversations as it is, which must mean he spends the majority of his time listening to Voldemort…but about what?

“He’s not back yet,” James says in greeting, voice low. “Did you manage to get it?”

Barty steps inside, letting the door click shut behind him. He slips the box out of his pocket, holds it up like a trophy. ”We did.” Barty locks the door with a flick of his wand and ambles over to Regulus’ desk, setting the box down. He’s about to try one of the drawers, unlikely, given Regulus’ penchant for privacy, but it’s better than leaving the box out in the open. Just until he gets back. His fingers hover near the handle, mind already weighing the risk, when the sound of James’ voice cuts through the quiet.

“Where’s Evan?” There’s something brittle in James’ voice, something that doesn’t match his usual calm.

Barty’s hand drops from the drawer handle. He turns, gaze sliding over his shoulder to find James standing there. “What’s wrong?”

James hesitates, then pitches his voice low, despite the silencing charm still hanging in the air. “I hate this house,” he says. “I hate being here. It’s harder than I thought it would be.” He laughs but it lacks humour. “I know, I should’ve anticipated this but…actually being here, surrounded by his parents, the Death Eaters,” he scowls, “Lucius fucking Malfoy and the Dark Lord. I hate pretending it’s normal. I hate what it’s done to Regulus, being here. He’s not himself. I know it’s an act but I forget sometimes, he fools even me.” James sighs, lifts his glasses to rub his eyes. The skin around them is dark, shadowed, he look so tired, the kind that can’t be fixed by a night’s sleep. “And Sirius…I miss him, so much..” James seems to run out of steam because he goes quiet, dropping back into the armchair with a sigh.

Barty doesn’t respond immediately. He needs a moment, to gather his thoughts. Comforting people has never been his strength. That’s Evan’s domain, he’s able to console his friends with gentle words and his steady presence, it comes naturally to him. Dorcas too, with her quiet wisdom and the way she always seems to know what someone needs before they do.

But then it hits him, a sharp twist low in his gut. James has been carrying this alone. Whatever it is, whatever weight he’s brought into this room, it hasn’t been shared. Not with Regulus, not with anyone. And now he’s standing here, eyes heavy, choosing Barty of all people. Barty opens his mouth, ready to fumble through something, anything, that might resemble comfort, when something catches his eye.

Out the corner of his eye, on Regulus’ desk, a book flickers.

Just for a moment. A shimmer of concealed magic, like a charm slipping. Barty’s breath catches. He turns, ever so slightly, to better look at the object he’s just spotted. He knows that book. Regulus has carried it with him for months, never letting it out of sight. Always charmed, always hidden, always locked away.

When Barty doesn’t reply, James keeps talking, voice thick with quiet fury, building in momentum. “They treat him like a pawn. Just like they did with Sirius. Like he’s just another Black heir to parade around. But he’s more than that. He’s-”

Barty blinks, startled by the sharp edge in James’ tone. He realises, belatedly, that he’s missed part of it, some of James’ words had blurred into background noise, drowned out by his thoughts of the book.

He tries to tune back in, catching only the tail end of James’ sentence. The emotion is still there, raw and unfiltered and Barty feels terrible for not being fully present but the book calls to him in a way he can’t ignore. So, he blinks, nodding slowly, feigning understanding. Pretending he’s been listening all along. Whilst doing so, Barty begins to pretend to try and open some of the drawers again, careful to conceal the book with his body, he doesn’t think James would take too kindly to him snooping through Regulus’ things.

Slowly, he begins trying to open one of the drawers with one hand whilst sliding the book closer towards him with the other. “Yeah,” he murmurs, distracted. “I know, it’s been like that for years. The Black brothers were born only to continue a legacy, not for love or the desire to have a real family. You’re lucky, to have had that with your parents, we’ve never known what that’s like.”

He flicks a quick glance to James but thankfully, his friend seems to be mulling over his response. He’s staring aimlessly at the now closed book in his lap, he’s not looking at Barty anymore.

Emboldened by James’ distraction, Barty brushes his fingers over the book’s cover. The charm flickers again, weaker this time. When he opens it carefully, it falls away entirely, revealing an ancient book, the pages faded with age. He flicks to the title page, stopping short at the words there - Magick Moste Evile. So this is what Reg has been working on. Somehow, when Barty considers the box and the magic inside, it makes sense, that this is what Reg has been studying.

Between each page, there are carefully penned notes on sheets of parchment in Reg’s familiar cursive. Barty’s stomach dips as he quickly scans one of Regulus’ notes, it seems to be an amended spell from the book, something already dark, made even darker by Regulus’ proposed changes.

Some of them, however, pique his interest by how Regulus has softened them, made them decidedly less ‘evil’. He quietly turns the pages, only really taking note of the titles. There are plenty of useful spells in here, no wonder Regulus has pored over this book so intently the past few months.

One page in particular catches his eye, titled ‘blood oath’. The ink is fainter here, almost lost to time. Regulus doesn’t seem to have written much about this one, whether it’s because half of the page is indecipherable or because the contents didn’t interest him. Either way, his notes only propose a modified version of the spell. Barty almost moves on but a particular line of Regulus’ handwriting draws him in, stealing the entirety of his attention, ‘power in tandem, stronger as one‘.

In that moment, his mind wanders to Evan. He’d said it himself, only an hour ago, ‘we’re unstoppable together’. What if this spell could ensure that, strengthening them beyond what either of them could achieve alone? He presses a hand to the dagger that lies in its sheath by his chest, what if he could give Evan something back? After all Evan has given him?

Slowly, an idea forms, he turns to face James, hiding the quill that he has charmed to copy down the spell behind his back. James is rubbing his temple, eyes shut beneath his glasses. Guilt prickles at him at the sight of the defeat in James’ shoulder, the misery in his eyes. Of course James would struggle the most out of the four of them, this world is unfamiliar to him, up until now, he’s been largely untouched by the politics of pure-bloods. Barty sees it now and quietly vows to support him better moving forward.

“How about we go out tomorrow, after my patrol? You can tell me everything that’s bothering you and I’ll listen,” better than I did tonight, he thinks guiltily, “I can’t imagine how hard this has been for you, James. I’m sorry I haven’t supported you better.”

The ghost of a smile flickers on James’ face. “Yeah.” He says, a little of that tension in his shoulders melting away. “I’d like that.”

Barty smiles back at him, it’s then that his spell on the quill breaks, he feels his magic return to him and knows that the job is done. Carefully, Barty slips the paper in his pocket and gently shuts the book, pushing it back into place. Almost immediately, the concealment charm springs back into place.

“Do you think Reg has a plan?” James asks quietly.

Barty looks at James, who is looking out the window beside him, his gaze fixed on the full moon. Barty knows where his mind has wandered to, and who. He walks towards James, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

Barty thinks about the book filled with notes on Reg’s desk, the box he’s placed beside it filled with dark magic, the two are connected somehow, he knows it.

His reply is slow, deliberate. “Reg knows what he’s doing, James. I trust him and I know you do, too.”

James nods slowly and Barty claps a hand on his back. “I’ll leave you to it. Reg should be back soon. Will you let him know we got the box? I couldn’t open any of his drawers so I’ve left it on his desk.”

“Yes, of course.” James says, “sorry for going on and on.”

Barty feels awful. “You have nothing to apologise for. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you,” he dips his head, “but that changes tomorrow.”

“Night, Barty.”

“Night, James.”

Barty meant what he said, he will prioritise James tomorrow but for now, all he can think about is the scrap of parchment resting in his pocket.

The walk to the room he shares with Evan is not a long one, they’re just down the hallway from Reg and James, a door down from Sirius’ old room that remains locked and probably always will. Their floor has its perks, it's the second most private in the house, surpassed only by Walburga and Orion’s, who occupy an entire level alone. With no other notable rooms nearby, even visiting Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself, tend to steer clear.

Barty opens the door, slipping through the gap. Their room is bathed in a soft glow, its design reminiscent of Regulus’ though simpler in style.

At one end stands a broad four-poster bed, with chests of drawers on either side. Opposite, a wide fireplace glows gently, currently the room’s sole source of light.

Evan is sat by the fire, his back to Barty. At Barty’s arrival, he tips his head back against the headrest of the armchair he’s sat in, head hanging upside down, a lazy smile growing on his face. From this angle, Barty can just make out that the top few buttons of his shirt are undone and that his hair is mussed. It’s clear he’d been waiting up for him. Evan looks tired and all the most soft for it, Barty struggles to swallow past the want, the desire to be near him.

He wastes no time closing the distance between them. Settling at the back of the sofa, he waits, just long enough for Evan to lift his head, before wrapping his arms around him, nuzzling gently into the warm curve of his neck.

“You were gone ages.” Evan murmurs, closing his eyes. “I thought you were just dropping off the box.”

“Yeah, I know. I got sidetracked. James is a bit all over the place at the minute, I think he needed some time to vent.”

Evan opens his eyes at that. “I thought he looked stressed in the meeting earlier.” He sighs, not out of frustration but tiredness. “I’ll try and catch him at some point tomorrow. It’s been mad these past few days and we’ve been so busy.” He shakes his head. “Still, we should’ve made more time for him.”

“Maybe it’s best if you have a word with Reg, I think he’s so busy tying himself in knots that he doesn’t realise what’s going on with James.”

Evan blows out a breath. “Yeah, you’re right but that’s tomorrow’s problem. You ready for bed?” He lifts a hand, cards it through Barty’s hair.

“Mm.” Barty answers noncommittally, leaning into his touch. The moment stretches as he hesitates, unsure how to voice what he’s found, what he wants to propose.

As Evan untangles himself and heads for their en-suite, the words tumble from his mouth. “There was something else, too, that I wanted to talk to you about.”

With his hand hovering on the doorframe, Evan pauses, twisting to look back at him. “What?”

“I found something, on Reg’s desk.” He pulls out the parchment in his pocket, holds it up between them. “Do you remember that book that Reg’s been carrying the last couple of months?”

Evan scrunches his nose, tilting his head as he tries to place the item Barty is referring to. Suddenly, his eyes sharpen with understanding. “Reg carries a lot of books about but yeah, I think I know the one you mean, the old dusty one?”

Barty nods in confirmation. “He left it on his desk, it’s an ancient book about dark magic. Most of the spells I’d never heard of before but as I was flicking through I saw something in there, something I wanted to show you.”

The space between them narrows at Evan’s quiet approach. Slowly, he lifts a cautious hand to the proffered parchment in Barty’s hand. He scans the page quickly, an indent forming between his brows as he does so. “What’s this?”

“It’s a blood oath but nothing like I’ve ever seen before, I think Reg has been amending spells, making new ones from old, forgotten ones.” He drifts to Evan’s side, fingers brushing the parchment as he points at the line that had drawn his attention.

“Look here, it says power in tandem, stronger as one and I had an idea…” he trails off, feeling self-conscious under the weight of Evan’s gaze. “You gave me a place to stay when I had nowhere to go. You gave me your crest when I no longer had one and you gave me something I never thought I’d have, a family that chose me.” Their hands brush and Barty catches Evan’s hand, gently cradling it in his own. “You gave me everything and I had nothing to give you in return, nothing but me.” His eyes fall to the knot of their intertwined fingers. “Now, let me give you this.”

The softness in Evan’s eyes vanishes, replaced with a wide-eyed surprise. “You want to do this?”

“Why not?” Barty says and he can’t help it, he’s getting carried away with the idea of this. He grins. “There’s no one else I’d want to be tied to like this, no one else I’d want to share my magic with more than you.”

Uncertainty still lingers in Evan’s eyes as his gaze drops to their clasped hands. A laugh escapes him, a sound of quiet disbelief. “You found this in a book of dark magic and you’re certain you want to try it out?”

“Not all magic that is considered dark is fundamentally dark, Ev. It’s black magic because it involves a payment of blood but I’d give that willingly if it meant being tied to you, if it could make you stronger, make us stronger.“

The shift is subtle, but unmistakable. Evan’s shoulders, once tight with doubt, relax slightly. There’s a softness in his expression, a quiet surrender that wasn’t there before. Barty sees it. Not in words, but in the way Evan’s fingers curl more firmly around his. And then, Evan nods. Barely. But it’s enough.

“What do we do?”

Barty pulls out his dagger from the sheath hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket. “Do you trust me?”

The same question he’d asked Evan earlier.

Again, with no hesitation, Evan’s answer is the same. “Yes.”

Barty drags the dagger down his palm, a bright line of crimson springing up in its wake. He holds out his bloody hand, a silent offer.

“Me and you.”

“You and me.” Evan answers, slipping his own dagger from the belt sheath at his hip.

He lifts the dagger, slicing an identical line down his own palm before reaching for Barty’s. They press their bloody hands together and Barty begins to read from the page before him, his voice steady. A moment later, Evan’s joins his, soft at first, then stronger, together, until they’re speaking as one.

For a moment, nothing happens. They stare at one another, neither of them daring to move, anticipation building between them. Then, the flames in the fireplace rise, higher and higher, burning brighter and brighter. Next, comes the answering call of his magic, it builds slowly, a surge gathering in his chest like the ocean before a tsunami, relentless, rising, unable to be held back. He tightens his fingers around Evan’s, who doesn’t flinch, only grips Barty’s hand back just as tightly.

Barty feels the moment the bond takes hold.

There is a flash of golden light from their clasped hands that burns so brightly that Barty has to close his eyes against it. The darkness behind his closed lids is tinged orange as the magic around them rages. It is enough to bring Barty to his knees. He falls first, bringing Evan with him, their hands still entwined. As he opens his eyes to make sure Evan isn’t hurt, his vision swims. Evan blinks back at him, eyes full of disbelieving wonder at the rope of fire that binds their wrists together without burning them.

There is an explosion of light and Barty watches in horror as Evan slumps to the floor, crying out, the sound sharp and involuntary, dragged deep from within him. Their hands slip from one another and then Barty is quick to follow, nausea threatening to overtake him as his head hits the floor.

As the last of his consciousness ebbs, Barty’s hand reaches for Evan’s, limp and outstretched on the floor beside him.

Before he can reach him, the magic pushes him down, down, down and he’s sinking beneath it.

The world tilts as his vision fractures.

The last thing Barty sees is Evan’s pale face, as if from a tunnel, before he falls into the black emptiness.

—

The door to his room creaks open, and Regulus pushes past it, cursing the old hinges. His meeting with the Dark Lord had gone on longer than he’d anticipated and James is now asleep in his bed, curled on his side. He’s facing the doorway, the soft rise and fall of his chest a welcome invitation. Regulus wants nothing more than to crawl next to him, bury his face in James’ chest and fall into what he hopes will be a dreamless sleep.

He misses James, despite the days they’ve just spent side by side. What he aches for isn’t time or companionship, but the version of themselves that existed before they crossed the threshold of Grimmauld Place. He misses the James who laughed more easily, who carried less. What he longs for, what he can never have again, is the James from before, the one Voldemort hadn’t seen, hadn’t scarred.

Regulus stares at him, the soft curl of his hair, the sweep of his long lashes, the way they brush against his skin and has to fight the urge to reach out, to touch him. He loves all versions of James, every possible iteration of him that exists but he worries that he’s trapped this one, that by choosing him, he’s condemned him.

The longing, so fierce just moments ago, fractures under the weight of reality. The desire to be near him dissolves into something hollow. He draws back, releasing a breath that feels too loud in the quiet of the room and heads towards his desk instead.

Halfway across the room, cold dread trickles down his spine as he realises what he’d left there.

The book.

For anyone to see.

For anyone to read.

A juvenile mistake. He never leaves it out. Never. It’s always charmed, always locked away. But in his haste, he must’ve left it out.

Regulus crosses the room in two strides, hovering a hand over the cover. The charm is intact, but the magical signature is wrong. Not entirely foreign. Just…altered, like it’s been tampered with.

It’s familiar. A magic he’s known since his childhood. He places it instantly, Barty.

Regulus’ stomach drops. It doesn’t matter that now he’s stood within arm’s reach, he can see that the Dark Lord’s box is sat beside it, humming with dark magic. Confirming the contents of the box doesn’t matter to him right now, because a desperate panic is rising within him at what Barty had potentially seen, when he’d opened the cover of the book. What spells had he come across, as he turned the pages? What had he thought, as he’d read Regulus’ notes? What questions had they raised?

He doesn’t waste any more time speculating. He turns on his heel and heads for their room, heart thudding against his ribs like a drum.

The first sign that something’s wrong is the door, ajar, hanging crooked on its hinges as if magic had struck it with force.

Regulus nudges it open and the breath he’d been holding catches in his throat.

All thoughts of the book, every worry and lingering concern vanishes as he finds Evan and Barty on the floor, their bodies curled towards each other, hands inches apart.

The realization of what’s happened, what they’ve done lands like a blow, and horror unfurls inside him, slow and suffocating.

He recognises the spell, how could he not? It’s his.

The air is thick with magic, it presses against him, the weight of it is unbearable. Beneath both of their hands is a pool of blood, dark, rich and intermingled. Regulus knows if he were to turn their hands over, exposing their palms, he’d find two slashes carved there, one for each of them. A precise line, deliberate, drawn with purpose.

Regulus can’t breathe. “No-“

He moves forward, but something stops him. A wall of magic, invisible but impenetrable. It hums against his skin, ancient and intimate. He reaches out, but it repels him.

That’s when he sees it.

Their magic.

A golden thread winds around their wrists, glowing faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. It’s woven together, tangled in a way that defies logic. He can’t tell where Barty’s ends and Evan’s begins. It’s not just a bond, it’s a fusion. One he recognises from the pages of his book, half-theorised, never tested.

Regulus can only stare at them, helpless, panic clawing at his throat.

He watches as the golden thread pulses once more, then fades into their skin, leaving only the puddle of blood and their motionless bodies.

Barty stirs first.

As he moves, the golden barrier around them flickers, then falters. The magic pulses once, soft, reluctant and then fades into nothing.

A few seconds later, Evan blinks his eyes open.

The moment their gazes meet, Regulus moves, no longer at the mercy of their magic. He rushes towards them, dropping to his knees, hands hovering over their bloodied palms, over the thread that’s vanished into their skin.

“What have you done?” He aims for calm composure but his voice betrays him, the words coming out shrill and edged with panic.

Barty groans, sitting up slowly. Evan follows, flexing his fingers, inspecting the dried blood with a detached curiosity. Apart from the cut on their hands, they appear to be physically unharmed but Regulus is more worried about what’s happened inside of them, if there is any lingering internal damage as a result of the spell.

Evan turns to Barty, a slow smile blooming across his face. “Can you feel that?”

Barty’s eyes widen. He nods. “It worked… I can feel your magic.” He lets out a breathless laugh, “It’s amazing!”

Regulus recoils, as if struck, the word hitting harder than it should. “Amazing,” he repeats, hollow. “You don’t understand. You’ve bound yourselves. Intertwined your magic. Does that not worry you? It should.”

Evan frowns. “I feel fine.” He turns to Barty, gaze gentle. “You okay?” At Barty’s nod, Evan shrugs, as if to say ‘there’s your answer’.

“For now,” Regulus snaps. “But magic like that doesn’t come without consequence. Barty, what the hell were you thinking?”

Something in Barty’s expression hardens. “You’re one to talk, I saw the book, Reg. How long have you been studying the Dark Arts? Months, I’d bet based off of how long you’ve been carrying that book around.”

At that, Evan turns to him, eyes heavy with hurt. “You never said anything, Reg. Why?” The question hangs between them and Regulus has to swallow the apology rising, unbidden, from his throat. It’s never been about trust, not when it comes to them, he trusts them implicitly, with everything he has. He told himself he was protecting them. That staying quiet would keep them safe. But now, looking at the fallout, he sees the truth, by saying nothing, he’s already dragged them into the dark with him.

Regulus stands, moving towards the open window. He braces his hands against the sill, letting the night air cool him. “Yes, I’ve been studying dark magic for months. Every spell, it took something. A piece of me. Sometimes it’s subtle. Sometimes it’s not. But there’s always a cost.” He sighs. “This spell required your blood as payment but what else might it demand from you in the future?”

Behind him, he can feel the bond between them humming like a live wire. “There are things I can’t tell you yet, not because I don’t want to but because I can’t, it’s not safe.” He sends Evan an apologetic look over his shoulder. “But I have to do this, if we have any chance of beating him, then I need to take these risks, no matter the cost.”

Slowly, Regulus begins to remove his gloves. “I’m worried about the spell you’ve cast, the bond you’ve just created because although I haven’t tried it, I have tried some of the other spells in that book and there are consequences. There is always a price.” The gloves have served their purpose, shielding him from the chill of the house, the creeping bite of autumn. But more than that, they’d hidden what now lies bare, black veins, thin and spider-like, winding down his casting hand.

Evan’s face pales. “How long?” He asks, voice shaking, eyes fixed on Regulus’ hand. “How long has your hand been like that?”

Regulus curls his hand into a fist. “It started early this year. At first, it was just in my finger tips but the more I use, the more it spreads.” He casts a concealment charm and then his hand is unblemished once more. It makes no difference to him, however, whether he can see them or not, because when he closes his eyes, they’re still there, he can feel them, a permanent brand.

When Barty looks down at his palm, Regulus sees it too, the faint scar already sealing, magic knitting the skin back together. There’s something fragile in Barty’s eyes as he stares at his hand, something that makes Regulus want to reach out and steady him, even though he thinks Barty might pull away. Regulus attempts to soften his voice at the worry he sees there, but the fear behind it remains. “Magic is dangerous but it can also be kind. I changed the original spell, let’s hope that it was enough to negate any negative consequences and that this turns out to be a good thing.”

He knows his voice lacks conviction, how could it not, when his thoughts keep circling back to the Horcrux he’s certain lies hidden in his room? The magic he’s dared to touch to unravel it still clings to him, tainting the blood in his veins, a quiet poison he invited in.

And yet, he clings to the hope that the sentiment holds true. That magic, for all its danger and weight, might still offer kindness. To them. To him.

He keeps hoping, keeps praying, because if it isn’t true, he doesn’t know what’s left or what will become of them.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of The Prophecy