The Edge of the Night

by psychosomaticstomachache

Summary:

Regulus, in his sixth year at Hogwarts, is already a Death Eater. James hates him, for that and for what he did to Sirius, and it's clear that Regulus feels the same way. Still, James can't help but seek him out. Just as an outlet for his anger, nothing more.

But what happens when Regulus realises he's on the wrong path? When he starts wanting to get out?

Well, James is stubborn. Nearly as stubborn as Sirius, when it comes to Regulus. They both refuse to give up.

A story of friendship, redemption, and kicking Voldemort's ass with the power of love.

Chapter 1: Prologue

James hadn’t known what it was to hate someone — to truly and utterly despise them — until Sirius Black had turned up on his doorstep. It had been nearing midnight, and he'd just left the shower (his second of the day, since he’d spent most of it on a broom), when there was a knock at the door. He usually left it to his parents to answer, seeing as it was almost always for them anyway. That day, though, he hadn't.

James had heard stories about Sirius’s family. Still, being the child that he was, he’d never quite pieced together the extent of what happened in the House of Black. He shouldn’t have had to; it wasn't something anyone should've been exposed to, let alone someone his age. But Sirius had never had the gift of ignorance. Sirius had grown up with the knowledge that he was nothing but a sacrifice, and while James had never truly understood his words, the day his best friend showed up on his doorstep, broken and bleeding, he finally saw the Blacks for the poison that they were.

James wouldn’t have been strong enough to survive a day of it. He still couldn’t comprehend how Sirius had kept going for so long. He wished, more than anything else, that he’d realised sooner. That he had noticed how bad things were and acted to get his friend to safety.

But Sirius's pain was never something he would have been able to recognise. Because the truth? Well, that wasn't a conclusion that James Potter — a sheltered, doted-on only child — would have been able to come to.

Remus had a better idea of it. He still hadn’t known the full truth. It was Sirius’s story, and Sirius hadn’t wanted anyone to hear it, but Remus, at least, had known pain enough to notice the marks it left behind. James and Peter had grown up shielded, the way children should be. They’d been allowed to know their innocence and notice when it left; Sirius and Remus had both had theirs stripped away too early to notice it was gone. James thought he still had some of that child-like naivety left in him. He didn’t see that as a bad thing. He wished he had more of it. Most of it though, he knew, had left the moment he’d opened the door to Sirius, and learned what it was to hate.

His first focus that night, of course, had been on his friend. There was worry and desperation and pain, all blurred together into a tight ball of fear. But, once the initial shock had passed, all James had been able to feel was a blinding fury. It had started as an ache in his bones, quiet enough that he’d barely noticed it, but it didn’t leave. It built and built until it was all he could feel. Until he opened his eyed and everything, no matter where he looked, was tinged red. Nobody had noticed, or criticised, or anything of the sort. They were all too busy taking care of Sirius, and trying vainly to care enough to make up for the love he'd been deprived of for so many years. James, though, had felt the rage, and known what it was to hate.

He'd had the urge, as ridiculous as it was, to march up to Grimmauld Place himself. He hadn't known what he could do, hadn't known if he was capable of hurting the Blacks in the ways he wanted to, but he did know that he wanted. He wanted to watch them bleed, to hear them scream, to hear them beg for forgiveness for their transgressions against their son. Then, he wanted to hear them go quiet.

James hadn’t known what to think about Regulus at first, so he’d waited for Sirius’s verdict on that. As little as Sirius talked about his family, he talked about his brother even less. James, stupidly, had hoped that they’d had some sort of solidarity between them. That they had looked after each other, even when their parents failed to. But when Sirius finally broke, sobbing into the fabric of James’s jumper, he told him the truth. That Regulus was the perfect little soldier. That he stayed quiet through the punishments. That the cut across Sirius's chest, deep and bloody and painful, was put there by his own brother.

So, as much as James hated Walburga and Orion Black, he hated Regulus even more. Because he’d held out hope for him, and in return had been met with nothing but pain for his generosity. He’d smiled at Regulus in the corridors, even when the boy never did back, and had even avoided pranking him too heavily out of a belief that, behind closed doors, he was on Sirius’s side. Feeling that belief torn apart was one of the worst pains James had ever felt, second only to moments before, when he had found Sirius bleeding at the door.

Now, in his final year, it was common knowledge that James Potter despised Regulus Black. He didn’t keep it a secret, and his only regret was that his hatred seemed to make Regulus more popular with his Death Eater friends. James didn’t know for certain that they were Death Eaters, but he didn’t need to to know that they at least wanted to be, which was just as bad. He knew that Regulus, at least, was one: Sirius had come to him just before the summer of sixth year, and once he’d finally managed to get the words out, he’d informed James that his brother had the mark. It wasn’t a surprise, at that point, but James had still held Sirius while he wept, cursing Regulus in his mind and wishing the boy was there so he could do it in person.

While James had learned to hate in the summer of sixth year, it was something he’d never forgotten, and the usual source of his anger was Regulus Black. Simply seeing the boy in the corridor was enough to set him on edge, teeth clenched and blood pumping in his ears. Sirius never tried to stop his anger, something he’d be forever grateful for, but he would never encourage it, either. He’d even gone as far as telling James not to hurt Regulus, which took just about every modicum of his self-control.

But James loved Sirius. So, he listened, and he respected his wishes, staying away even as he imagined what it would be to feel Regulus’s flesh tear under his nails. Instead of taking his anger out on the Slytherin, he found other ways to channel it, letting it fuel him while he flew laps around the pitch, or danced with his friends, or planned The Marauders’ latest prank. Most of the time, it worked. But sometimes, and all too frequently recently, the rage bordered on being unbearable. Sometimes, it wasn’t even something Regulus did — just that James had gotten a worse mark than expected in a test, or lost a match, or something else of the sort — but, any time it happened, it was inevitably Regulus that James wanted to take his anger out on.

One of these days, he was going to break. All he could do was brace for the fallout.

Chapter 2: Drive you Crazy

Regulus Black despised James Potter. The man was obnoxiously loud, inconsiderate, and (worst of all) friends with his brother. It had been a little easier over the past year or so — when Sirius had run away, James had started to hate Regulus back instead of giving him those stupid, pitying smiles in the corridors — but the boy still seemed to exist everywhere Regulus looked. He was like a particularly nasty infection, somehow always managing to be in just the wrong place at just the wrong time.

Irritatingly, Regulus couldn’t even blame Potter for his presence this time. If he could’ve found a way he would’ve, but Quidditch matches were the one place that Regulus knew to brace for the Gryffindor’s repugnant demeanour. James had been the first to join his house team, after all, and while it would make Regulus’s year if he'd suddenly fall out of love with the sport, he wasn’t stupid enough to let himself dream it could happen. There were three things people knew about James Potter, even those who had yet to meet him: he didn’t know the meaning of quiet, he was best friends with the equally-loud Sirius Black, and he lived and breathed Quidditch. Regulus, as someone who craved silence, hated his brother, and enjoyed Quidditch, found all of these things equally repellent.

There were, however, a few perks to the Gryffindor being on the Quidditch team. Nothing to make up for the ongoing misfortune of his existence, but enough that Regulus occasionally found it within himself to put aside just how much he hated his presence. His favourite perk, of course, was making sure to catch the snitch as soon as possible any time they were on the field together. With Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw, he liked to draw the match out where he could. He enjoyed being in the air, and the longer their match went on, the longer he had an excuse to be there. Against Gryffindor, though? Few things brought him more pleasure than seeing the anger on James Potter’s face when his team was, once again, defeated by Regulus’s abilities.

His thoughts snapped back into focus, fingers curling around the golden ball in front of him right as the Hufflepuff commentator shouted into the microphone. He could never remember her name. He was pretty sure she was a Mudblood, though, so it didn’t matter all that much.

“Regulus Black has caught the snitch! Slytherin house wins!” Some cheers came from the Slytherin section of the stands, though those were far outweighed by the equally-enthusiastic boos echoing from the other houses. None of the teachers ever argued with the unsportsmanlike display, which Regulus considered a bit hypocritical with how often the Slytherins were given their own special talks about playing nice with others. At least Slughorn tried to stand up for them, he supposed, though the potions teacher’s spine was practically the consistency of jelly. Regulus was fully aware that, with his influence as Heir to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, it’d be all too easy to make it crumble if he ever wished to do so. It wasn’t information he had used, or was planning on using, but he liked to have the knowledge, just in case.

After looping around the pitch once more, he joined his teammates on the ground, wincing as a large hand landed on his shoulder. As much as he loved flying, oftentimes he found himself wishing there was some version of Quidditch that wasn’t a team sport. He endured the cheers of his teammates with as much politeness as he could muster, and was just about to make his escape when he was stopped in his tracks by the glare of one very pissed-off James Potter.

Potter's anger was no surprise — it had been the intention, why he’d caught the snitch so early in the game. Usually, though, the Gryffindor kept his distance, preferring to glower from afar without the concern of having to stand too near Regulus. Regulus’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, because he wouldn’t say no to the chance to take Potter down a peg, and also, well, because he wasn’t blind. He despised the man, but even he could admit he was fit, and the whole wind-tousled hair and post-Quidditch glow was doing nothing to help the situation.

“How did you do it?”

Regulus crossed his arms, letting the corner of his lip curl upwards. “You’ll have to be more specific, Potter. If you’re looking for pointers on how to play, I’m sorry to inform you that I have no interest in helping out the competition, as inadequate as it may be.”

James's eyes darkened, something sharp dancing in his amber irises. It was devastating, and if the expression had belonged to any man other than James Potter, then Regulus would’ve already been plotting ways to get him into bed. In fact, much to his annoyance, some baser parts of his mind were having a hard time remembering why Potter wasn’t an option, and were busy making plans that the rest of him knew full well couldn’t be acted on. It was such a pity that looks like that had been wasted on the human embodiment of a headache.

“I hardly need advice from a bunch of cowards. Once we figure out how you’re cheating, you’ll never play in a match again.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. James knew — he must’ve done — what it was like in Grimmauld Place. Regulus had grown up knowing that his worth depended on his actions, that if he stepped one toe out of line he’d be punished with methods that would swiftly reduce even the strongest of aurors to tears. The threats of a seventh-year weren’t enough to even register as a danger, and James's attempts at scaring him were almost pitiful.

“What makes you think we’re cheating?”

James scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. Any time you guys play against other teams, it’s a normal match, but when it comes to us, it barely takes any time before you find the snitch. It’s too much to be a coincidence. You’re rigging the matches, and I’m going to find out how.”

“Have you considered,” Regulus drawled, “that your team is just easy to beat?” It was a lie, of course. Objectively, Gryffindor was the second-best team in the school, and would’ve been first if it weren’t for Regulus. Potter, in particular, was clearly the best chaser in the school, and had scored twenty of his team’s thirty points before Regulus had ended the game, bringing the final total to 150-30. The team just had the bad luck that Regulus despised its captain.

“You know that’s not true.” James took a step forward, hand reaching for his wand. Regulus, reflexively, mirrored the motion, preparing for a hex to be thrown his way. He cocked his head.

“Do I?”

“You’re infuriating!”

“I’m not the one who started this conversation. It was your choice to talk to me, Potter, and I’d be thrilled if you’d make this the last time we were forced to interact.”

“Glad to, Black, once you stop ruining the game for those of us who actually care about integrity.” James’s gaze, pointedly, stilled on Regulus’s left forearm. “Not that I’d expect one of your lot to understand.”

Regulus had the strange urge to pull his arm away, hide it, but he stood his ground instead. “Some of us just understand that we have to do what’s needed. You think anyone’s going to care about your ridiculous integrity once you’re out there in the real world? It’ll get you killed.”

“Rather that than lose my morals. I don’t understand how you and Sirius came from the same place.”

“Finally something we agree on. My brother never deserved to be a part of our family.”

James’s hand tightened on his wand. For a moment, Regulus thought the boy was going to hex him, and if the anger etched into the Gryffindor’s expression was any indication, then maybe James had thought so, too. At the last moment, though, he tore his hand away, glancing back to where his teammates were watching. It drove Regulus slightly insane. He wanted to keep pushing, force James to break, force him to show his teammates he could be violent; that he wasn’t the perfect, sweet golden boy he pretended to be.

“Fuck you, Black,” James spat instead.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Potter?” It wasn’t Regulus who replied this time. It was Barty Crouch Jr, a beater for the team and his dormmate. He’d all but forgotten that his team were there, and would’ve chided Barty for his intervention if it hadn’t caused such a delightful reaction; James stood there spluttering, face red and fists clenching at his sides.

“You haven’t heard the last of this, Black,” was the weak remark he decided to finish with once he’d regained his composure, storming off back to his team. Regulus watched him go for as long as could be deemed appropriate before facing a grinning Barty.

“What?” He snapped.

“Nothing!” Barty looped an arm over his shoulder, not batting an eye when he shrugged it off. “Just didn’t know you and Potter had so much tension.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You hate him just as much as I do.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Barty laughed, “that’s not the kind of tension I meant.”

Regulus rolled his eyes again, not dignifying Barty with a response. The Slytherin had always been insane — more so than the usual amount for his house, anyway — and he’d long since learnt not to take him seriously. As much as Regulus would love to fuck James Potter, would take pleasure in taking him apart piece by piece, any attraction between them was, unfortunately, limited to his end. All James felt for him was disgust, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

Chapter 3: Playing Hard

James couldn’t sit still. He’d been trying to finish his transfiguration homework for hours. He was good at it, usually; it was his favourite subject, and the one time Minnie seemed not to be exhausted with his existence. He shifted in his chair again, sticking his right foot under his left leg, before quickly deciding that that position was just as uncomfortable as the last, and planting his feet back on the carpeted floor. He hated feeling like this. There was never anything he could do but wait, and James was many things, but patient was decidedly not one of them. That’d been clear since he was a child. Still, at the ripe old age of seventeen, he hadn’t ever managed to wait for a batch of his mother’s cookies to cool. Any time she baked, it would lead to a burnt tongue and a sense of regret, but just enough satisfaction that he’d happily burn himself all over again the next time.

The energy was worse than usual today. It wasn’t just physical, but it was messing with his mind, too, causing just enough chaos that he couldn’t get his thoughts straight. He scanned back over a paragraph he must’ve looked at at least ten times already, hoping in vain that this time would be the one it made sense. It wasn’t. His mind was a jumble of anxiety and energy, and the need to be anywhere but sat still at a table.

“Prongs?” Remus asked. The boy was cross-legged on the floor, looking up from his books for what must’ve been the first time in hours. Remus’s study patterns were pretty much the opposite of James’s. While James could never seem to get his attention to stick, and found his mind constantly flitting between ideas without any concept of pacing itself, Remus seemed to get so fixated on a concept that it was genuinely a challenge to get him to look away from it and think about something else, even just for a moment. With this in mind, James was flattered that he’d managed to capture the Gryffindor’s attention, though understandably concerned about what he must’ve done to earn it.

“Sorry, Moony, am I moving around too much?”

Remus shook his head firmly. “You know I don’t mind that, Prongs. None of us do.” It was true. Despite James’s seemingly boundless energy, not one of them had complained after six years of sharing a dorm. It was part of the reason he loved them so much.

“What’s up, then?”

“That’s what I wanted to ask. You seem more restless than usual.”

“I’m fine.” Remus didn’t respond, holding eye contact. Just waiting. In fairness, it was a tactic that usually worked: James always found it overwhelming to discuss his habits in a group setting, but with just him and Remus in the dorm, it wasn’t quite as intimidating. “Alright, fine, I am feeling a bit off.”

Remus nodded, gently placing down the book he’d been reading and smoothing the pages, before shutting the cover. “What is it?”

“Nothing important,” James promised, “go back to your reading, I’ll be fine.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

James sighed, twisting around in his chair to better look at Remus. It wasn’t like he was going to get anything done, anyway, regardless of the direction he was facing in. “I’ve just got a lot of energy. Need to work it off.”

“You could go down to the Quidditch Pitch?” James almost shook his head, knowing that in this state — whatever it was — he wouldn’t be able to focus on Quidditch either, and that it’d just make him feel worse. But that got him thinking about ways he could relieve his energy. It couldn’t just be something physical, not this time. He needed a mental distraction. And, for some godforsaken reason, that pulled his thoughts to Regulus Black.

It was a crazy idea. Insane, and Sirius would kill him if he even caught wind of it. But… he wouldn’t really be doing anything wrong. He itched for an argument, and while he’d never consider doing anything to hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it, there was nobody more deserving of his anger than Regulus Black. They’d be fighting against each other outside of Hogwarts, anyway, so it wouldn’t hurt to get a head start, and James certainly hated him enough that it’d be easy to keep his focus trained on forming insults. It was the only plan that made sense, when he thought about it that way. He needed to fight somebody, and the only ethical way to do that would be to seek out Regulus Black, Death Eater extraordinaire.

“You know what, Moony? I think you’re right.” James didn’t bother closing his Transfiguration book, heading over to the trunk where they kept the map, and rolling the scroll out. “Just checking it’s empty,” he said by way of explanation. Remus nodded, though he was already pretty well absorbed back in his book.

Examining the map, James was happy to discover that Regulus wasn’t in the Slytherin Common Room, and widened his search radius until he eventually found a lone blot of ink, seemingly in some abandoned corridor. Jackpot.

“See you later, Moons. Thanks!” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to check whether Remus had heard him or not. He had much bigger priorities at that moment.

It surprised and delighted James to find that Regulus had stayed put right where he’d last seen him on the map. He couldn’t have taken the parchment with him without arousing suspicions, so he’d prepared himself for a chase, but was more than glad to find that it wouldn’t be necessary.

Regulus, for his part, spotted him before he’d even started to speak, head snapping up with a snarl already twisted in his expression, and black curls falling across his eyes. “Why are you here, Potter?”

James tutted, already feeling the familiar, addictive fire light in his blood. “Well that’s not a very nice way to greet me, is it, Reggie? How about you start with a hello?”

“Fuck off, Potter. Leave me alone.”

“Oh, sorry.” James pretended to look around, delighting in the weight of Regulus’s glare. This was just what he’d needed. “I didn’t realise this corridor belonged to you.”

“Fine,” Regulus spat, pushing off the wall abruptly. “I’ll leave.”

“Alright then, have fun running away.” Regulus’s retreating figure paused, and James had to stifle a grin as the boy turned back to face him, jaw clenched and lip curled up in a snarl. James wouldn’t want to draw any real comparisons between himself and Regulus, but it was vindicating to see his anger mirrored back at him. Just as real. Just as raw.

“I’m not running away. I’m simply leaving because, surprisingly enough, I despise your presence."

James shrugged lazily, surprised to find that, for once, he seemed to have the upper hand. “Call it that if you like. Looks like running to me.”

“What are you even doing here?” Regulus pulled his wand from his robes, pointing it straight towards him with a steady grip. James didn’t flinch. “This corridor doesn’t go anywhere, Potter, so why are you here? Do you live solely to irritate me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” James replied, stepping closer. His hand was resting on his own wand now. "Just an unfortunate coincidence.”

“Then leave!”’

“Make me.” That, apparently, was all Regulus needed to snap. Within seconds, something red was flying towards James, which he swiftly deflected with a muttered shield charm. “That the best you’ve got, Black? I’m disappointed. I thought The Dark Lord would have higher standards for his underlings.”

Another spell flew towards James. This time, he had enough warning to step out of the way, before firing back an expelliarmus of his own. It was a pretty tame spell by the standards of a duel; as much as he wanted to hurt Regulus, he wasn’t ready to be expelled for it.

They continued on like that for a while, James’s mind calming even as exhaustion seeped into his posture. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been there, but he didn’t plan on stopping until Regulus did. They seemed to be pretty evenly matched, though James knew he’d be able to win if he’d been aiming to cause more harm. Regulus was no doubt giving it his all, seeing as the boy could hardly be held back by anything as trivial as morals, but his all didn’t seem to be quite as violent as expected. James was almost disappointed.

Tomorrow, he’d be no worse for wear, bar the shallow gash that Regulus had managed to catch him off guard with. Regulus, unfortunately, would be fine too, nothing but a cut on his arm to show for their encounter. Unless James managed to get him with something else.

Just then, though, Regulus made a motion that James hadn’t expected, one that he couldn’t follow. He threw a shield up, but it wasn’t quite fast enough; he’d let his hesitation get the better of him.

He dropped to the floor, wincing at the thud that echoed throughout the corridor. James knew what had happened, but he still tried to move, desperately fighting against the magic to dig his claws back into Regulus.

“And here I thought you were supposed to be good at duelling, Potter. I guess Voldemort has more of a chance than you gave him credit for.” The sound of Regulus’s footsteps was almost more of an annoyance to James than the curse the boy had put him under. They were duelling, curses were to be expected, and Regulus fighting back just made it easier for James to take his anger out on him. Leaving, though? Now that was something he could protest against. He was the one in charge here, and as such, he should be the one deciding when it was called off. Regulus didn’t deserve the choice to leave.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter much what James would've protested against, for the simple reason that he couldn’t. Regulus left him in the empty corridor for whoever was next to enter to find, and James couldn’t even move enough to make a sound of protest.

He should’ve regretted it. Any sane person would've. Instead, rather than lamenting his current situation, he decided relatively quickly that it’d just have to be something he accepted, and set to work planning how to get Regulus back for the incident. If he could get the boy to keep fighting with him, then that’d be fantastic, really. It’d cause an annoyance to the Slytherin, for one, which James saw as an act of service to all the non-Death Eaters in Hogwarts, and for another, it’d give him a moral way to let out his anger. Win-win.

A few minutes later, just as James was contemplating the best way to confront Regulus next, he felt his muscles relax. He sat up quickly, looking around for whoever had freed him, but the corridor was still empty, nothing but the statues there to watch over him. Regulus hadn’t come back — James would’ve known if he had — which could only mean one thing: somehow, he had figured out how to put a timer on the curse.

Interesting.

Well then, maybe Regulus Black would turn out to be a better opponent than James had given him credit for.

Chapter 4: Real and Make-Believe

The Slytherin common room was fuller than Regulus had ever seen it. It seemed to be busier and busier at meetings these days, so much so that the number of warm bodies in the room almost took the edge off of the usual chill that came from being below a lake. He didn’t care much one way or the other who attended, but at least with more bodies it was easier for him to tune out and stop paying attention without as much risk of being targeted as a Mudblood sympathiser, or whatever else they thought to accuse him of.

To make it clear, he didn’t tune out of meetings because he sympathised with Mudbloods. He’d learnt just as much as the next pure-blood the risks they brought to wizarding society, he just had very little interest in anything Yaxley and his little gang had to say. It was never anything of consequence, just the same drivel over and over about pollution of blood lines et cetera et cetera, and he found it hard to fathom how the rest of the crowd remained so enthusiastic when they spoke. Maybe they were just better at faking it, but Regulus doubted it; he’d grown up in a house where one of the first lessons he’d learnt was how to lie, courtesy of his brother, and even he found it hard to act interested.

He pushed thoughts of Sirius away, straightening in his chair in a mock-display of infatuation with whatever crap Mulciber had just come out with. It had been even harder to focus today for one key reason, that being James Potter. He usually tried to let the boy occupy as little of his thoughts as possible, but he could hardly do that when the Gryffindor had shown up in a corridor that Regulus knew full well led nowhere, seemingly with no intention other than fighting with him. He would’ve liked to be able to say he hated it. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t have been quite true: his feelings on the matter were messy, just as things always seemed to be when it came to Potter.

“Regulus!” came the voice of Evan Rosier, hissed in his ear. Evan was perhaps the only one (in attendance, at least) who found the meetings as dull as Regulus did. Even among those who avoided being dragged into them, he had a feeling the average response would be closer to something like moral outrage than the sheer boredom he and Evan felt. Barty was the exception to that rule, of course; the last time he’d been forced to attend, he’d managed to set off some sort of firework from his wand that took the form of a snake, chasing after Avery until the boy had slipped away into the chaos. If he’d been anyone else, his loyalty would’ve been brought into question, but it was widely accepted among Voldemort’s followers that Bartemius Crouch Jr was the most insane of them all, and therefore undoubtedly the least lightly to decide to betray them. Barty was the sort who’d gladly watch the world burn just as long as he had the opportunity to dance among its ashes, and the best place to do that was at Voldemort's side.

Regulus glanced to his left, catching Evan’s eye just enough to let the boy know he was listening.

“Is it just me, or does Mulciber look like he’s about to shit himself?” Regulus looked to the front of the room, holding back a smirk. Mulciber, clearly, had decided he had something very important to contribute to the discussion, and looked close to bursting with the need to blurt it out. Taken out of context, though? He looked like he was in the middle of a particularly severe bout of constipation.

“Not just you. Shame he isn’t getting off on this as much as Avery seems to be,” he whispered back, directing Evan’s gaze over to the Death Eater on Yaxley’s other side, who was watching the man speak with such reverence that Regulus would hardly be surprised if he decided to confess his undying love there and then. At least that would’ve made for better entertainment.

Evan snickered, apparently just enough to draw Yaxley out of his own self-obsessed bubble.

“Something funny, Rosier?” Evan’s expression shuttered in an instant.

“Oh, nothing much. It’s just funny how Mudbloods think they can compare to us, isn’t it? I mean, we come from a history of greats; they’re nothing but a bunch of Muggles with birth defects.” Yaxley scrutinised him for a moment, before nodding shortly.

“Quite right, Rosier,” he said, before quickly slipping back into his mundane speech.

Regulus glanced around the room, spotting Dorcas Meadowes hovering at the edge. Nobody else seemed to have noticed, which was probably a good thing for her. The girl had made it all too clear that she took no interest in their activities, and it was probably only her half-blood status and lack of outright confrontation that had kept her safe this long. That wasn’t to say she hid away from it all; Meadowes had quickly established herself as a safe space for those wanting to whine about the unfairness of blood purity, and presumably complain about Yaxley and his lackeys. She was the sort of prefect who actually took her job seriously, and while Regulus didn’t care in the slightest for what she did, he did at least respect her for that much. Perhaps that was why he chose to keep her presence quiet, looking away with a small jerk of his head as she met his gaze.

It couldn’t have been anything else. Like he’d said, he didn’t care for Mudbloods, and thought that Voldemort’s ideas were probably for the greater good. He didn’t love the idea of murder — it seemed a bit extreme — but, then again, what did he know? He was just a child. His role was to listen and obey, not begin questioning the ideals he knew to be true. This was war, and Regulus was no strategist, but he knew that there was no way out of a battle without a fight.

He sat through the rest of the meeting in silence, trying (and failing) not to think about James or Sirius or the fact that he’d have to fight — kill, if he was ordered — both of them once he made it out of the castle. That was, if nobody else on his side got there first.

He told himself it was for the greater good. Just like always, that frustrating little voice at the back of his mind, the one that reminded him far too much of his brother, remained unconvinced. It was alright, though, because most of him knew, and he was strong enough to silence the parts that doubted.

Chapter 5: Fever's Gonna Catch

It was only a few days later that James sought Regulus out again, just as soon as he had the chance to. He had to get his revenge, after all, because he refused to leave the Death Eater with the upper hand. His friends had been questioning his new-found obsession with the map — none of them, James included, had been so fixated on it since they’d first made its magic work — but he always found some vague excuse and, realising there was little point pushing it, they always let it go.

After careful examination, he had come to the conclusion that Regulus didn’t spend nearly enough time alone, or outside of his dorm room, for his liking, but the moment he spotted the Slytherin walking up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, blissfully unaccompanied, he made a dash for it. It’d have been pathetic if he’d been after anybody else, but James was convinced that antagonising Regulus Black could be deemed nothing less than community service, so he preferred to term this particular mission an act of bravery.

He found Regulus sitting on the edge of the tower, squinting against the light of the midday sun. He’d had to skip lunch for this, but that at least meant that they’d likely remain alone, everyone else too busy fuelling themselves for the last lessons of the day to think of coming up here. Skipping lunch would’ve been a problem if James had ever found himself struggling in class, but as it was, the only subject he or Sirius had ever had any issue with was Divination, and even then they’d managed to get by just fine by making up their own stories to convince the professor with. So, he took no issue with skipping lunch to fight with Regulus Black. What he did take issue with, however, was just how peaceful the boy looked.

Regulus was evil. A Death Eater, somebody born of shadows who’d never learnt to pull free from them, which was why James felt close to popping a vein to see him so calm under the sunlight’s scrutiny. If the world were a fair place, the shadows would cower under the light of day, or at least have the decency to warp away from it, but not Regulus. He just sat there as if it were where he belonged, framed in a golden halo. James, briefly, wondered whether his hair would be as soft to the touch as it looked, before quickly silencing that thought, hating that it had even occurred to him. He focused on that hatred for a moment, trying to concentrate it enough that it’d burn away the evidence. When he was satisfied, he cleared his throat.

“Black.”

Regulus looked back at him, face twisted into that scowl James knew and loved. He glanced back at the landscape, then back to James.

“No.”

“Aw.” James adopted a cruel grin, adrenaline running through his veins. “What’s wrong? Not happy to see me?”

“You know I’m not. Why do you keep finding me?”

“Oh, just coincidence.” He looked down, picking at his nails. “A happy one, though, don’t you think?”

“I didn’t realise you were so eager to get jinxed again, Potter.” Regulus had turned fully now to face him where he sat, back pressed against the railing. If only the bars were a little higher, James could push him right under. Call it an accident.

“Eh,” James shrugged. “Wasn’t so bad. I thought Death Eaters were supposed to be powerful, but you couldn’t even get your jinx to stick.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes. As strange as it was, that satiated James, not because Regulus was angry (ok, a little of that too), but because he was finally blocking out at least some of the sun from his vision. Regulus Black didn’t deserve to see the light, let alone embrace it as brazenly as he had been before James had come here to stop him.

“You know that’s not what happened, Potter.”

“Do I?” James asked. “Are you telling me that oh-so-evil Reggie let me go out of… the goodness of his heart?” It was phrased as a taunt but, truthfully, James really did want to know the answer. He was under no illusion that Regulus had let him go for a good reason, but he wanted to know what went on in the Slytherin's mind, how the boy could have possibly come to the conclusion that letting him go was his best option. Maybe it was to take away the evidence, so James couldn’t reliably snitch, or maybe it was to lull him into a false sense of security. He couldn’t figure it out, but he wanted to. Desperately.

Regulus snorted, rolling his shoulders. “Sure, if that’s what you want to tell yourself. I didn’t know you cared so much about what I think, though, Potter.”

“That’s not— I— I don’t!” James argued, wincing at his own stuttering. It was a poor attempt at defence, one he knew he could do better than.

Regulus, clearly having sensed his discomfort (not that it was hard to), tilted his head, a dangerous gleam in his eye that caused James to swallow thickly. “You don’t seem so sure about that.”

“Well I am!” he insisted, taking a step forward. “I have no reason to care what somebody like you thinks.”

“Hmm.” Regulus stood. Stepped forward, too, until they were much too close. James remained rooted to the spot, mouth dry. “No, you don’t. You said it yourself: I’m a Death Eater and, idiot that you are, you would rather die than become like me. So I’m curious, James, why do you care so much?”

James’s world felt like it was closing in, edges of his vision going dark until he could see only what stood before him. Only Regulus. His breaths came in short pants, none quite enough to deliver the air he so desperately needed. He couldn’t think without it. Regulus must’ve cursed him, it was the only explanation, but with what? He'd never felt anything quite like it.

“What did you do?”

A crease formed on Regulus’s brow, so faint that James thought he’d imagined it. It was gone when he next blinked, so perhaps he had.

“What do you think I did?”

“I don’t know, that’s why I fucking asked. Some sort of spell. A curse. I don’t know, just stop it.” Regulus was closer now. James didn’t know when it had happened, but it certainly wasn’t helping him feel any better.

“And what sort of curse did I put on you, hmm, James?” The way Regulus said his name was mocking, the boy's normally-flat voice turned sickly-sweet, so much so that James felt bile building at the sound of it. He couldn’t take anymore.

“Fuck off.” Regulus didn’t. He stayed right where he was, that mocking smirk still fixed on his expression.

James needed to wipe it off. He didn’t know what kind of curse he was under or what he was feeling, but he did know that, whatever it was, it was causing his desperation to mount at an alarming rate. He needed Regulus to stop. Now. He couldn’t take anymore. So, the next time Regulus’s lips parted, what was probably an insult poised on his tongue, James stopped it. He pushed forward, held firmly onto the boy’s shoulders, and crashed their mouths together.

Oh.

Whatever the curse was, this was clearly what it had wanted. James’s rage dimmed. It didn’t die, not completely, but now it was partially obscured by a new type of fire, one that burned just as hot and ached for him to remain right where he was, taking everything he could from Regulus Black for just as long as the boy would let him. And let him Regulus did. Instead of pulling back, disgusted, as would be the logical thing for him — for either of them — to do, he only pressed closer, releasing a soft noise into James’s mouth that he was helpless but to consume. It was so unlike Regulus, so contrary to the coldness he was used to, that he couldn’t help but want more, pushing them back until they were both up against the railing. Regulus’s legs came up around his hips, as if on impulse, and James held them there. It occurred to him, then, just how much power he held, even in his cursed state. He could push Regulus back just a bit further, tip him until he was dangling from the tower. Let him fall. He wouldn’t, but the possibility seemed only to make him dizzier, and he focused on biting into Regulus’s mouth, pressing them together until they were all tongues and teeth and there was no space left between them.

Regulus was the first to pull back. He leant over the railing, just for a moment. “What the fuck, Potter?” James didn’t reply, biting at his pulse point, nearly hard enough to bruise, then moving back up again when Regulus yanked sharply at his hair. Regulus knew what was happening. He must’ve been the one to curse James, after all, so it hardly mattered whether he got his question answered.

The next time, it was James who pulled back. He pressed into Regulus, then drew back at the boy’s gasp. “This doesn’t mean anything.” After that, he went straight back to where he was, trying to take from Regulus until he had nothing left to give. Regulus bit his tongue. Hard. James didn’t mind the pain, probably liked it far too much, but he leant back anyway, keeping their lips centimetres apart, close enough that he could still feel Regulus’s breath, hot against his skin.

“I hate you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.”

They continued like that for far, far too long, burning kisses interspersed with cutting insults. It felt too good to stop. James wanted to bleed, and he didn’t care if it was Regulus’s teeth or words that did it, just as long as he got to bite back. But then, just as suddenly as they’d started, they stopped. Regulus pushed back against his shoulders hard, forcing him to lose his grip where his hands had settled about the Slytherin’s waist.

“I have class.” James barely had time to blink before Regulus was gone. If he hadn’t still felt the sting of his bite, he’d have been able to convince himself it hadn’t happened at all.

But it had. And what did that mean? Was it some sort of plan to get into James’s head, make him question his own sanity? Well, he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d kissed Regulus and it had been… confusing, but that was where it ended. The curse would go away soon, and he’d stop thinking about it. Stop wanting to do it again.

So, James went to class as always, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Sirius. Surprisingly, the spell’s effects didn’t seem too detrimental to his focus; he could pay attention just as well as usual (which, admittedly, wasn't amazingly well), and had no trouble changing his focus. The thoughts of Regulus were still there, but they burned in the background, sneaking up on him when he had a moment of quiet rather than consuming his thoughts like most curses would. At first, he thought the particular spell he was under might’ve been the Black’s own creation, but as the day crept on and he felt no less inclined to find Regulus and press him against the nearest solid surface, James began to doubt whether it was a curse at all. It felt far too much like his own desire, like something he wanted, not something he was forced to crave.

By the end of the day, he had come to the unfortunate and damning conclusion that he wanted Regulus Black. Desperately. He didn’t want to hold him or even talk to him, or anything else that typically fell under the category of ‘things that couples did’. He didn’t want them to be together at all. He despised Regulus with all that he was, he just wanted to show it by fucking him. It might’ve seemed counterproductive from the outside — at least to couples like Mary and Lily, who he was sure would see sex as just as much an expression of love as everything else they did together — but James knew how to separate the two. Sex with Regulus wouldn’t just mean nothing. It’d be violent, hateful, and serve only to reinforce the animosity between them.

As long as he was sticking with the no-curse theory, too, there was also the delightful possibility that Regulus would be up for it just as much as he was. James may have started the kiss, but Regulus had met him with just as much bite.

He tried to think about it logically, will down the arousal that had to be clouding his vision. Even then, he couldn’t see many downsides to the plan. Except, well, Sirius.

James would never do anything to purposefully hurt his best friend. He’d considered it, after Sirius’s twisted version of a prank in fifth year, but he’d hated himself for even having the thought, and had pushed it down into a little box, never to be seen again. Sirius may have made mistakes, but at his core he was good and kind and everything his brother wasn’t, and James would hate himself if he were ever the one to cause him harm. That could’ve been an issue, since James knew that, despite it all, Sirius still cared for his brother. Or, at least, the person Regulus used to be. But, then again, did Sirius really have to know?

He didn’t like the idea of hiding something from his best friend, but at the same time, it seemed the best of the options he had. He could just keep quiet, and he was certain Regulus would, too. It would be just as humiliating for a Death Eater to be caught with a blood-traitor as it was the other way around.

It was decided, then. James would find Regulus again. They’d finish what they’d started. Nobody had to know.

Chapter 6: All in Hand

“I kissed Potter.” Barty sat up quickly enough that he bashed his head on the slanted ceiling, groaning in pain. Evan, having the more sense of the two (though, some days, that was by a very, very small margin), remained lying back on his bed, just muttering something under his breath.

Regulus, in general, didn’t enjoy sharing his life with other people. It didn’t matter whether it was what he’d had for breakfast or the details of his childhood trauma, sharing anything about himself just felt like a vulnerability. Like opening himself up to a judgement that he sought refuge from at Hogwarts. Maybe it was just who he was, or a consequence of his family’s strange way of showing their love, or a manifestation of his abandonment issues. He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t care enough to find out.

Barty and Evan were the exception. They hadn’t been for a long time. When Regulus had first learned he’d be sharing a dorm with them, he hadn’t even bothered to say hello, just turning right around to find the library. But they were persistent, like some sort of thorny weed he could never quite pull from under his skin, and he was observant. It didn’t take him long to figure out that they were both just as messed up as he was, not in Slytherin out of some ambition to join the Dark Lord, but instead out of an ambition to take back some kind of control. Evan’s family was all too similar to Regulus’s own, and while Barty’s dad was about as far from Voldemort as it was possible to get, the way he treated his son was so similar to the way Orion did that Regulus was sure the two fathers could find a way of getting along despite it. So, he, Barty and Evan had learned to care for each other, in a way. Trust each other, at least, despite the thorns. Because of them.

Something about having them for friends, too, made Regulus feel better. Because it was proof that things could be worse. Barty hated his dad, and while Evan had a more complicated relationship with his parents, the prevailing feeling there usually wasn’t aligned with love, more some sort of learned indifference. Regulus didn’t necessarily like the lack of control he had from his position in the House of Black, but he knew that it was where he belonged. Because, at the core of it all, was love. He’d been punished and ridiculed and forced to watch his brother suffer, but there had never been any question of whether his parents loved him: they told him so at every opportunity. His mother more so — Sirius had always been his father’s favourite — but he’d learned to love them both. They were family. Blood. And that was where his loyalties lay.

“Potter?” Barty spluttered, rubbing the spot where he’d hit his head. Then, expression morphing into glee, he turned to Evan. “You owe me three galleons, Rosier.” Evan rolled his eyes, rummaging around in his pocket until he pulled out three golden coins, chucking the handful over to Barty.

“You bet on me?” Regulus meant for the exclamation to come out indignant, but he’d known the pair for long enough that it just sounded resigned.

“‘Course we did,” Evan agreed. “I would’ve split the winnings with you if you hadn’t decided to have such terrible taste. I mean, Potter, Reg? Really?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Barty mused, smirking. “Bloke’s fit enough. You wouldn’t let me have a go when you’re finished with him, would you?”

“Barty.” Evan’s voice was pitched low, lower than Regulus was used to. He didn’t want to find out what that meant, especially considering the way Barty had stilled at the sound of his name, lower lip catching between his teeth in what could only be an expression of triumph. Regulus didn’t know if the two were just fucking or if they were together or what, but he felt no need to. In fact, he’d rather be kept out of whatever it was altogether.

“Can we get back to my problem now?” he asked. Evan sighed, dutifully breaking eye contact with Barty. Barty recovered quickly, and returned his gaze right back to Regulus.

“Is it a problem?” He asked. “I mean, why don’t you just shag him a little then curse him or something? I’m sure if you ran back home with a story of how you crucioed a Potter, you’d get pride of place at the dinner table.”

Barty wasn’t strictly wrong, but Regulus didn’t want to do that. He didn’t care about Potter, and was well aware that they’d be fighting each other with far more violent intentions soon enough, but it still felt wrong, somehow. Like taking advantage, as ridiculous as that seemed. James Potter, for all his many, many faults, was the sort of person who tried to be good. Genuinely, sickeningly nice to anyone who he thought deserved it. He picked up books the first years dropped in the corridors, spent his time listening to his friends, and was just generally the type of decent person that Regulus was meant to despise. And he had every reason to despise him, from his family and from the boy himself. Yet, somehow, he couldn’t make himself feel that disgust. Not fully. Not yet.

The time would come where they’d be on the battlefield and he’d have to make the choice to kill James. To kill his brother. Because it would be for the greater good, and letting them live would cause far more damage than getting rid of them. For now, though, Regulus didn’t have to make that choice and, selfishly, he wanted to keep living in a world where he didn’t have to for as long as he could. James Potter was a blood traitor, a threat to their society, an arrogant, misguided Gryffindor. Apart from that, though, he was somebody who tried to be good, and manipulating him without a greater goal still felt wrong.

“Maybe,” he hummed, noncommittal.

“Just do what you like,” Evan suggested. “It’s not like he matters to you, and you certainly don’t matter to him.” Regulus nodded. Evan narrowed his eyes. “Just… don’t get too attached. Remember which side you have to be on.”

“I know that,” Regulus snapped, frustration and anger simmering just under his skin. “I’m heir to the Noble House of Black, Evan, of course I fucking know which side I’m on.”

“Alright!” Evan held his hands up. “Whatever, I’m not the one who kissed a bloody Potter. Just be careful, won’t you?”

“I’m not an idiot, Evan.”

“I know, I know. Just remember how important it is that this doesn’t get out, yeah? We just care about you, Reg. That's all.”

“Right.” Regulus rolled his eyes. He never said it back, but he knew that they could tell how he felt regardless. He’d never been good at lying, not to those who really wanted to know him. Luckily, those people were few and far between; it was easy to put up a charade when nobody cared enough to look past it.

“So.” Barty was sitting upright now and leant forward, head resting on his hands. “You’re going to fuck him, right?”

“No,” Regulus decided. “I’m not.”

He ignored Barty’s forlorn groan. Evan was right: nothing good could come of shagging Potter. He had far too much to lose, and nothing, really, to gain. Yes, the Gryffindor was a good kisser. Yes, somehow their version of kissing had felt better than the rest of his, admittedly limited, encounters put together. But that was all there was between them, and as much as he knew it’d feel good at the time, nothing remotely positive could come of hate sex with James Potter of all people.

Regulus’s resolve, as it turned out, lasted all of twenty-four hours. The next day, James cornered him outside of class. Again. He wasn’t naive enough to think that he’d be left alone, and had prepared for this to happen. He’d prepared to throw curses or punches, or just involve himself in their usual verbal sparring. What he hadn’t expected was for Potter to push all that aside, to just instruct him to follow. What he also hadn't expected was how quickly he acquiesced.

Two minutes later, they were locked together in a cramped broom closet. It wasn’t comfortable. The shelves dug hard into Regulus’s spine and he could barely shift his weight, but none of that seemed to matter when it was James he was pressed against, James shoving a thigh between his legs. And, Merlin, what a thigh it was. He bucked into the pressure, marvelling at the shift of muscle under his hands when he reached out to pull the boy closer, closer, closer. They barely fit in the closet, but like this Regulus had the insane notion that he wouldn’t care if it were half the size. He didn’t need to move. He didn’t need to breathe, even. It didn’t matter here. All that mattered was James and the fact that Regulus needed him to stay right where he was, and keep moving just right against him.

After a while, James pulled away from his mouth. He tried to chase it, to bite back down on the Gryffindor’s lip, but James didn’t let him, tugging his head back harshly as he started mouthing at the exposed skin of his neck. Regulus couldn’t help but let out a whine at that, something much too desperate if James’s derisive chuckle was anything to go by, but he just didn’t care. He’d probably beg if it’d get him what he wanted. In fact, he was pretty sure he’d get on his knees right there and then if James only demanded it.

James didn’t, though. He just continued to bite at the delicate skin of Regulus's neck. So, Regulus settled for the next best thing and reached down for his zipper. When he wasn't stopped, he shoved his hand down the front of the boy’s trousers, with very little grace, wrapping his fingers around James's dick.

James let out a sinful sound at that, and Regulus gasped at the feel of it against his neck. He took the noise as encouragement and kept going, bringing James closer and closer to the edge until, finally, he came right over Regulus’s hand, breath shuddering against his skin.

A few moments later — as soon as he’d come down from his orgasm — James was moving again. Not against Regulus, as he’d so hoped for, but instead to take his warmth away, stepping back like he’d been burned. Regulus knew that that wasn’t possible; James was the warm one when it came to the two of them, like some sort of bonfire he kept stepping too close to, just to feel the flames lick at his skin. But James pulled away anyway, hastily tugging up his zipper and slamming the door closed behind him, leaving Regulus hard and alone in the suddenly-cold broom closet.

If Regulus was a normal person, that would’ve put him off. He would have left the closet angry, vowing never to return again. But this was what he’d signed up for by following James in the first place. It was how they worked. So, instead, he shoved a still-sticky hand down the front of his too-loose trousers, muffling himself with the palm of the other until he came, embarrassingly quickly, to the memory of James Potter.

He hoped, pathetically, that there would be a next time.

Chapter 7: Under My Skin

There was a next time. Many, in fact. It was always the same. They'd find some broom closet or classroom or anywhere else where nobody would see them. They would rut against each other, or Regulus would shove his hand down James's trousers like the first time, or, occasionally, he'd get to use his mouth. That was his favourite, because James was always the loudest then. As soon as it was over — as soon as James finished — the Gryffindor would be straight out of whichever door they'd come through, leaving Regulus to get himself off. Which he did. Every time. Always embarrassingly quickly.

It made sense to Regulus, that James left so early. He understood the urge. In fact, if it hadn't been James who left, Regulus might have taken to doing so himself; he wasn't sure he'd be able to look the Gryffindor — his enemy — in the eye after, either. He was fine with it, content with their whole arrangement, fully aware that an arrangement was all it was and all that it could be. That it'd be gone the moment they were out of Hogwarts, when James would be fighting against justice and, more importantly, against him.

It wasn't exactly great, but he was coping with it; coping with it, that was, right up until he found Pandora. Or, rather, Pandora found him. He had been studying in the library as usual, because as much as he'd taken a liking to Barty and Evan, their particular brand of energy was hardly conducive to productivity. He'd had some book sprawled open in front of him, something about potions or transfiguration or maybe something else, he wasn't quite sure now. It'd been forgotten to make room for more pressing matters.

Regulus hadn't taken much notice of Pandora before. She was a Ravenclaw, which usually indicated clever people but tedious conversations, so he did his best to stay away from them. Well, as much as he did from any other house, he supposed, most of Slytherin included. So, he didn't know much about her aside from what she looked like, and that she tended to be surrounded by a new group of people each time he saw her, whether from choice or necessity he wasn't quite sure. Either way, he certainly hadn't expected her to approach him.

“Regulus,” she called, voice laced with a strange familiarity. It sounded almost as if she knew him already, which he was quite certain she didn't. But the surety in her tone made him question that anyway, just for a moment.

“Can I help you?” he asked, looking up. She was quite pretty, really, if you were into that kind of thing. Long blonde hair, sharp features, a bright sort of smile. She looked kind. Gentle. But there was something underneath all that caught Regulus’s attention, something that he found in a lot of the Ravenclaws: a sort of conviction she carried herself with. It made them interesting, but it also set him on edge. Knowledge could be dangerous, surety even more so.

“No,” she replied breezily, not missing a beat, “but I can help you.” That made him startle. Just for a moment, of course, and he made sure to recover before anyone could take notice. Regulus had grown up in the House of Black, and as such he was used to navigating the unexpected.

“How?”

“I found something you might like.” She dropped a book before him without preamble. It was heavy, and the weight of it echoed throughout the library, enough so that, for a moment, he was worried somebody would come to kick him out. Or confront him, at least, which would be even worse. They didn't, though, and by the time he turned back to Pandora, she was half way out the door. He wanted to ask her more, keep her there until she told him what she was doing, why she had decided to talk to him at all. More than that, though, he didn't want to make a scene. Didn't want anyone paying attention to him who wasn't already. So he let her go, frustration twisting in his chest as he finally looked down at the title of the book she'd offered him. Or, well, forced on him, really.

Muggle-borns in the Wizarding World.

Regulus scoffed. If there was one thing he knew enough about, it was Mudbloods. He'd been taught about them from practically the moment he was born. It was a favoured topic among his mother and father both: how Mudbloods had infiltrated their society, how best to remove them, how much of a threat they posed. And, once he had finished his education, he'd be one of those fighting against their invasion. So, if there was one book he didn't need to read, it was that one.

Yet, for some reason (probably curiosity — he'd always been told he had too much of that as a child), he found himself lifting the cover, opening to the first chapter.

How Muggles Gain Magic

That was an easy one. It was a mutation: an unfortunate one. Some muggles had a problem in their genetic code, something that gave them a pale imitation of a normal wizard’s abilities. Regulus didn't necessarily think this was reason enough to punish them on its own, but what came after was. They infiltrated normal wizarding society, tried to take jobs and resources that didn’t belong to them. That they weren't built for.

As he read, though, he found that the book told him something different. Not vastly so, but not quite the same truth he knew. It told him that Mudbloods — or, Muggle-borns, as the book called them — were a result of a magical ancestor, far off in the past. The magic lay dormant then, after some generations, a child was born with abilities. It didn't say how close these were to the average wizard's, but he could take a guess. If the magic had been dormant for centuries, the suddenly-developed abilities had to be lesser: newer and untrained. The book's words weren't exact echoes of what he knew, but they were similar enough that he couldn't quite bring himself to dismiss them. He kept reading.

It was the next page that caused him to slam the book shut. Eight little words. A lie.

A Muggle-born's abilities are equal to a pure-blood's.

That part he knew wasn't true. If their powers were the same, then there would be no need to… remove them at all. The whole issue with Mudbloods was that they were tainted, something they weren't meant to be. They couldn't belong in wizarding society because they were lesser, unable to prove their worthiness when compared to those that were meant to be there. Regulus didn't know where Pandora had found the book she'd given him, or indeed who had allowed such a thing to be published, but he did know that it had to be a lie.

That night, Regulus took the book back to his dorm, and he burned it. Barty and Evan didn't ask, they just looked the other way.

He had meant for that to be the end of it. He really had; Regulus had too many important things to do to waste time on frivolities. To question things he knew to be true. It was just that, well, for some reason he couldn't get the words out of his head — they'd etched themselves in, scarred over — and, maybe, if he read enough about the truth, the falsities would be scourged from his memory, and it’d be like he never even saw them in the first place.

That wasn't what happened.

He went to the library the next day and pulled out the first book he could find describing Mudbloods, or Muggle-borns, as they all seemed to say. It was just as bad as the first, claiming all sorts of things about equality and power that simply couldn't be true. So, he found another book. And another. And another. But, no matter how long he looked for, or how many books he tore open in his search, the message was always the same: Mudbloods were just the same as everyone else. Their powers were just as strong. They were, for all intents and purposes, regular wizards.

Regulus had never skipped class before, always too wary of how his parents would react if they heard of such a thing, but that day he did. He was too desperate, too fixated to even notice his surroundings, the people coming and going that he'd usually take a register of. He was too far gone to even notice the girl approaching his table before it was too late.

It wasn't Pandora this time. It was somebody even worse: Lily Evans.

She was a Mudblood, but somehow still one of the best in her class. Regulus knew she must be cheating somehow, that or she got by just by excelling at written work, and was rather shocked that nobody had called her out yet. Maybe the year above was just a particularly low calibre, although even then he couldn't see how his brother of all people could manage to fall behind a Mudblood. Perhaps it was another of Sirius's little rebellions, purposefully falling behind people like Evans to bring shame to the family name. It wouldn't work, not now that he'd been burned off the tree, but Regulus wouldn't put it past him to try anyway.

“Black,” she practically snarled, lip curling up in disgust. She reminded him a bit of Potter. The two of them would make a good couple, at least by traditional standards. In fact, before he and James had started their… whatever it was, he’d been convinced the boy was saving himself for Evans; the two seemed close enough, anyway, and it was hardly like a Potter to care about blood status. Maybe he was still waiting for her, and just saw Regulus as something to do in the meantime. Regulus felt something strange at that thought, something cold. He shook it off. He shouldn't be having feelings about any of this, Potter least of all. All they were to each other was a distraction, and a bad excuse for one at that.

“Evans,” Regulus replied, keeping his expression stony.

“That's my seat.” Regulus raised an eyebrow. Looked around.

“Is it? I'd say it's mine at the moment.”

The girl's eyes narrowed. Red hair seemed to suit her. Her anger, at least, reminded him of Sirius's, all fiery and loud. It was a Gryffindor trait. None of them had learned the importance, or the power, of quiet.

“I use that spot every week. It was free because it's mine. You're never even in the library at this time.”

“Well, I am now. And this is my chair.” Regulus dropped his gaze, hoping she'd just leave. Evans, though, was a Gryffindor, so of course she didn't.

“You're not even working on an assignment!” she exclaimed and — too quickly for him to make any attempt to stop her — she picked up one of his books, flicking through the pages.

“That's mine.”

“Well, I'm holding it now.” Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked back at him, meeting his eye. “What could you possibly want to know about Muggle-borns? I thought avoiding Muggle Studies was a prerequisite to becoming a Death Eater.”

“Curiosity.” He shrugged easily. “I was bored. There's nothing much to do around here, and the curriculum's hardly heavy enough, trying to cater to the reduced capabilities of your lot. Thought I may as well find out about your mutation before we get rid of it.”

He'd expected anger, some stuttered response full of half-formed rebuttals. Instead, he was met with something calmer, something far more Slytherin than he'd given her credit for.

“I'll have you know,” she stated calmly, “that I'm best in my class. I know you can't say the same.” Regulus wanted to argue that it wasn't the same thing, that he was only second to Barty, a pure-blooded wizard, and that he'd certainly be able to beat her. She didn't give him a chance. “I know plenty of pure-bloods who struggle far more than their Muggle-born counterparts; blood status is in no way an indicator of power.” Regulus opened his mouth. He was silenced again. “I'm not trying to change your mind about me — trust me, I know that's a lost cause — but I'm not going to stand here and listen to you spout nonsense. You're a Death Eater, Black, you should at least have the courage to admit that you're evil.”

“That's not right!” he argued. His words felt weaker than usual. He hated it. “Mudbloods are tainted, it's in the name. You don't belong in our society. This is the way it has to be.”

Lily scoffed. “If you believe that then I really do pity you. Now, get out of my seat.”

Regulus should have argued, really. It'd do him no good to be seen conversing with a Mudblood, let alone doing her favours. But he wanted to leave, to get out and away, and this seemed the only way to go about that. So, without a word, he stood, leaving his books littered about the table for Evans to clear up. She didn't argue as he walked away, but he could feel her green eyes as a searing heat on the back of his neck. He didn't risk turning to check, heading straight down the corridor with his gaze fixed forward. He wished he'd never gone to the library. Knew the books couldn't be right. They didn't make any sense. But there were so many of them and they all said the same thing, and that meant that the scar in his mind only stretched, warping into something oppressive, something he couldn't just dismiss anymore. Because what if? What if it was all wrong? What if that was why Sirius had betrayed them?

So, Regulus would find proof. Not because he believed he was wrong, but because he needed to know he was right.

Chapter 8: Leave Them Kids Alone

Regulus had been in his bedroom the night Sirius left. He hadn’t known that anything was happening. He never did, not unless they wanted him to. His parents cast silencing charms on every room, and he was never sure whether to be grateful for it. His mother claimed they were to protect him, so he didn't have to listen when Sirius inevitably tried to rebel, but some part of him thought that he'd rather know. He always knew the next day anyway when his brother was quiet, his characteristic spark dulled for a moment (and it was always just a moment, he always managed to bounce back), but part of him felt like it wanted to know at the time, as well. What for, he wasn't sure. It wasn't like he'd ever speak out, and he knew that doing so would likely make Sirius's punishment worse, anyway, but it still felt like he should be aware of it at least. Because it was Sirius. It was his brother.

That was what he had thought, anyway, before that night.

“Master Regulus.” It was Kreacher. He didn’t mind the elf, but he did mind that, every time Kreacher came to find him, it was with bad news.

“Kreacher.” Regulus sat up on his bed, smoothing down his hair and doing his best to remain alert. He hadn’t been doing anything wrong, technically, just resting, but he still felt guilty to be caught being so unproductive.

“Mistress Walburga asks for your presence in the drawing room, Sir.”

Regulus tried to swallow through the fear, loosen the tightness in his throat.

“Thank you, Kreacher. I’ll be right down.” Kreacher disappeared and Regulus darted over to the mirror, straightening his shirt and trying to put on a pleasant smile. Once he’d composed himself as far as he was able, he hurried down the stairs towards the drawing room, raised on his toes so as not to make too much noise with each step.

Strangely enough, it was his father he found first, standing just beside the door he needed to pass through. His father never usually bothered with him, leaving that job to his mother. Sirius was the heir after all and, as Orion put it, the strong one. Regulus was merely the spare, the weaker version of his brother. Only there in case something went wrong with the original plan. But he was here now, expression set in stone as he forced Regulus to meet his gaze.

“Regulus.” Regulus kept his shoulders as firm as he could. He looked straight into his father’s eyes, and tried not to shiver with how much they reminded him of his own.

“Father.”

“Your mother is with your brother in the Drawing Room.” Regulus nodded. “You are to see them.” He nodded again. “You are to do whatever your mother tells you to.”

“Yes, Father.”

Orion smiled, then. It wasn’t something Regulus was familiar with, or indeed something he wanted to become familiar with. “I don’t believe you.”

Regulus’s breath hitched, just for a moment. He saw his father catch the motion.

“You see, Regulus, you have always been my weaker son. I don’t believe you have it in you to do what needs to be done.” Regulus opened his mouth to reply. He didn’t get the chance, his father not even acknowledging the motion. “So, I am going to help you. It will make you stronger to punish your brother, and him stronger to endure it.”

Regulus felt sick. He’d never helped Sirius, that was true, but he’d never hurt his brother, either. He’d watched and he hadn’t intervened, and maybe that was the same thing, but he could justify that much, at least. Make excuses. To be the one causing Sirius pain? To harm him with his own hand? His father was right. He wasn’t strong enough.

“Look at me, Regulus.” He did. He hadn’t even realised his gaze had drifted, fixed on the door just inches past his father. “Imperio.”

It was a strange feeling, the Imperius Curse. Regulus didn’t hate it, not at first. He knew he should’ve, knew it was wrong not to be in control, but at the same time, being controlled meant that he couldn’t make the wrong decision. He didn’t try to fight it. Not as his father told him, again, that he was to do as his mother told him. Not as he was directed to the Drawing Room, nor as he was told to go inside.

The silencing charm broke as he opened the door, and he had the presence, at least, to despise what he heard inside. What he saw. His mother was standing at the edge of the room, gaze fixed on the floor. Sirius was on the floor. He was screaming, and that was how Regulus knew it was bad. Sirius had confessed once, when they were both together, looking up at the stars, that he hated making noise when he was being punished. That had surprised Regulus, because he had thought that noise was what Sirius lived for. The boy was loud wherever he could be, and even where he couldn’t, arguing and defying their parents with all that he had. But then Sirius had explained, told him that silence was just another form of defiance. It held weight, he’d said, proved that he could resist them, despite the torture. Even Sirius, though, hadn’t been able to stay silent through the Cruciatus.

Regulus found it strange that they both used their silence so differently. His had never been a form of defiance, rather a form of protection. He remained silent so it’d be taken as acquiescence. So they had no reason to think he would defy them. He wished that his brother was more like him, happy to hide in the shadows where Regulus made his home, but Sirius never had been content with that. Even with Regulus there with him, it still wasn’t enough.

The screams stopped when his mother spotted him. Regulus thought that, had he been himself, by now he’d be holding back tears, forcing himself not to break. This time, though, that wasn’t a challenge. Even as his mind screamed, his body remained still. Pliant.

“Regulus.” His mother smiled. He smiled back. She stepped across the room, around Sirius’s body on the floor, and enveloped him in a hug. He hugged her back. After a few moments, she seemed to remember why they were here, and looked down to where Sirius still lay, trembling, with a disappointed grimace.

“It’s a shame,” his mother said, “that he still can’t learn his lesson. If only he was more like you, my perfect son, then we wouldn’t have this problem.” She reached down, ran a knuckle over his cheekbone. Regulus nodded. Even the internal part of him, the one that wasn’t in control, agreed. She was right: if Sirius could only learn to give away his voice, along with his silence, then this wouldn’t happen. They’d be ok.

“I feel like I’ve failed as a mother,” she continued. “I know what’s best for my sons, and yet I still can’t make them see it.” She turned back to him. “Regulus, do you have your wand?”

“Yes, Mother.”

Sirius looked up at him, then, and Regulus looked back. He hated what he saw, despised it with every fibre of his being. Sirius’s eyes, usually so telling and bright, even in his pain, were empty. Twin sheets of steel glazed over, devoid of any feeling at all.

“Get it out.”

Regulus did.

“Point it at your brother.”

Regulus did.

"Cut him."

Regulus did, leaving a long gash across Sirius's chest.

“Crucio him.”

That— Regulus didn’t. Not at first. He tried not to. He hesitated, working to see past the command. Then, a fresh wave of emptiness washed over him, and he did.

“Crucio.” He knew he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t; it was his brother. But that didn’t stop the red light shooting out the end of his wand, wrapping like some twisted shade of lightning around Sirius, while the boy contorted on the floor. While he screamed again, this time at Regulus's hand.

Regulus let up slightly, his mind revolting against the command his body so eagerly obeyed. His mother noticed.

“Keep going,” she ordered, something edging on glee in her voice. He wondered if Orion had told her what he’d done. Would it matter either way?

Regulus kept going. He hated himself, but he did it, forcing scream after scream from his brother’s torn throat. The next time he met Sirius’s eyes, they weren’t empty anymore. They were alight with a pain like Regulus had never seen, a pain that he’d been the one to cause.

He stopped. Just for a moment: it was all that he could manage, but it was enough. As soon as the Crucio lifted, Sirius was gone, darting towards the fireplace, stumbling and slowing but never stopping. They didn’t keep flu powder, so it shouldn’t have mattered, but then Sirius was tearing at his robes, pulling something from his pocket, shouting into the fireplace. The flames turned green, enveloping him and tugging him away. When the fire turned back to orange, all Regulus could feel was relief.

“Regulus.” He didn’t think he’d ever been so scared of his mother before. He'd always respected her, and she treated him well in return.

He swallowed. “Yes, Mother?”

“Why did you let him go?”

“I’m sorry, Mother.” Her eyes narrowed.

“Why did you stop the curse, Regulus? Tell me the truth.”

He was Imperioed. He couldn’t lie. “I wasn’t strong enough, Mother.” She tutted, sighing.

“I wish you hadn’t made me do this, Regulus.”

That night, Regulus suffered through the Cruciatus in Sirius’s place. He didn’t try to hold back his screams, and when she was done, his mother left him in the drawing room, curled up on the floor. He wasn’t allowed at meals for a week. His parents wouldn’t talk to him. Worst of all, he didn’t have his brother to make things better.

Once his mother decided he’d been punished long enough, she treated him just as she had before. She said that it was probably better this way; Regulus had always been the more obedient child, and he’d make a better heir. He nodded. He smiled. He knew better than to argue.

He’d tried to block out the memory for a while, to forget the screams, but in the end Regulus had come to conclude that his father was right. He’d always been the weaker of the Black brothers, but that had been alright because Sirius had been there to protect him. Now that he was alone, he realised that he had to learn to be strong like his brother, and he couldn’t do that by avoiding what caused him pain. So, he tried to think about Sirius, to bear the memory of his brother in pain because, if everything went to plan, he’d be the one causing it again. And this time, when the time came, he couldn’t afford to fail.

That train of thought didn’t seem so certain now. Regulus didn’t know if it was Pandora or the Mudblood getting into his head, or maybe just the books that he’d read, but he couldn’t seem to feel so sure anymore. About anything. He hated it, and he knew the only way to get it to go away was to prove himself right. So he would question his beliefs, and he would prove them true. Then, whatever came next, he’d know it was justified, no matter how bad it felt.

For the moment, though, Regulus wasn't doing much questioning of anything. There was no room for justification or reason in his mind, not when he was on his knees for James Potter in the broom closet, the both of them panting from exertion.

James zipped his fly and turned to leave as usual. Regulus stopped him, gripping onto his arm to pull him to a halt.

“What?” James spat, shaking his arm free from Regulus’s grasp. Shit. Why had he done that? He didn’t know, but now James was glaring at him and he had to find an excuse, or at least a distraction, something to throw him off the scent.

“Just wondering where you’re off to,” Regulus tried. It would’ve been a poor attempt for an excuse from anyone else, but he was a Black. Lying was in his DNA, and so the words felt natural as they fell from his lips. “Going to plan another shitty prank with your little gang?”

James’s eyes narrowed into slits, turning dark in the same way they did when Regulus sucked his cock. He refused to find it attractive.

“And just how many times have you fallen victim to our shitty pranks, Black?” Regulus shrugged lazily, trying to ignore the insistent press of his own dick against his trousers.

“It's not like it’s hard to pull one off.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Alright.” James blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. That made sense, since Regulus hadn’t expected it either.

“What?” Oh well. He was too far in to back out now.

“I bet I can pull off a successful prank on Gryffindor, without being caught.”

James tilted his head. “And what are we betting?”

Now, Regulus had never claimed to be a good person. Clever, maybe, but never good. So it was hardly a surprise when his first thought was selfish. He was in a bit of a turbulent time, alright? All he wanted was something certain, something he could control, and, well, maybe this could be his chance.

“If I win,” he suggested, gesturing about the closet, “we do this my way.”

“And when I win?”

“Well, what do you want from me, Potter?” Regulus tried to lean against a shelf behind him, but found that the wood dug far too harshly into his back.

James only took a few seconds to consider. “You’ll stop calling people slurs.”

“Slurs?” he asked, genuinely taken aback.

James nodded, expression grim.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you’re fucking thick.”

“You— I— which ones?” he settled on, deciding that was the safest route for inquiry.

“You know,” James said, growing more and more frustrated, “for Muggle-borns.”

“Mudbloods?”

“Shut up.” James’s arm was at his throat, pushing him back into the jagged shelves behind him. He couldn’t breathe.

“Alright,” Regulus spluttered. He hadn’t know that that even was a slur, but he supposed it made sense. He wouldn’t much want to be told his blood was dirty, even if it was true.

“Good.” With that, James was out of the closet, slamming the door behind him. Regulus waited for a moment, then followed.

He usually stayed back for much longer after James left, so it was a surprise when he passed the Gryffindor in the corridor. He didn’t look back, not wanting to give anything away, but he couldn’t help but overhear part of the boy’s conversation anyway. He was talking to a Ravenclaw girl, younger by the look of it. Regulus wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her around the castle.

“What does your toad look like?” James asked, sympathy dripping from his words. It was so different to the way he spoke to Regulus that he had to take a moment to recalibrate, and remember that James Potter was, genuinely, a nice person. Just not around him.

“He’s yellow,” the girl sniffed. “And he’s got these spots on his stomach. Do you think you can find him?”

“Of course,” James promised. It was stupid, really. What happened if he couldn’t find the girl’s pet? It could’ve found its way out of the castle, or been eaten by something or other. Regulus hated the words, too, because they did nothing to reassure his worries. If James was on the wrong side, then how was he so genuinely good? He’d have to be misguided, but then that raised the question of how many others were just as good, simply fighting on the wrong side? And how many of those people would Regulus have to kill?

He strode past as quickly as he could, ignoring the small voice that told him he was the problem, that there was a reason it was him James treated differently. It couldn’t be true, so it did no good to think about it. Regulus Black had always tried to be right, even if he hadn’t tried to be good, and that was important to him.

When he returned to his dorm for the evening, he didn’t complete the Defence Against the Dark Arts homework sitting on his bedside. Instead, he circled the date of Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match on his calendar, and he got to work.

Chapter 9: Peak Viewing

James loved Quidditch. It always just… made sense. It was why he was captain, he supposed. While his teammates got nervous on match day, worrying about whether they would be good enough, it was one of the only times that he could be certain he was. Quidditch was black and white. There were rules to follow, clear indications of progress or loss, and he’d learnt the right way to work with them. Hufflepuff had a good team this year, but James knew that his was better, and that meant that, so long as everything went to plan, they’d win.

Everything did not go to plan.

James gave his usual pre-match talk, hopefully soothing the nerves of his team as far as he could. He looked to Sirius throughout his speech for reassurance, and was met by the same blinding grin every time. They split off to get changed and put on their usual red-and-gold kit. Then, everything began to go wrong. Just as they’d regrouped and started out onto the field, to the applause of the crowd above them, their kit changed. The usual reds and golds that James wore with pride vanished, replaced by the green and silver characteristic of Slytherin house. He glanced around frantically, only to realise that it wasn’t an issue limited to himself; the whole team was looking down at their kit, equal expressions of horror painted across their faces.

Well, mostly equal. Sirius was worse than the rest. He pulled hard at the cloth as if he could force it into changing back, something like a growl rising from his throat. It would’ve been funny, had James not known exactly what was going on. Exactly who was behind it.

Regulus.

He almost wanted to throw the boy in at the deep end, snitch and ensure that the prank couldn’t be counted a success. But he couldn’t do that, especially not to Sirius. The one thing he’d promised himself in starting whatever it was he had with Regulus was that Sirius wouldn’t find out, and as satisfying as it’d be to win their bet, that satisfaction wouldn’t be worth it. What would he even say?

Oh, by the way, Sirius, it was Regulus who hexed your Quidditch kit. How do I know? Well, I’ve been fucking him, you see. Yeah, your Death Eater little brother. Well, no, I didn’t think it was a good idea, I just didn’t think you’d find out, see. But don’t worry, I’ve still been treating him like shit.

Yeah, no. James may be willing to go to war after graduation, but he still valued his life.

So, he tried to comfort Sirius, cringing at the commentary booming from above all the while.

“Here comes Gryffindor!” A pause. The sound of parchment shuffling. A cough. “Yes, that does seem to be Gryffindor, in… Slytherin colours? Hold on a moment, folks.” The muffled sound of voices behind the microphone. “Right, so it looks like this is how Gryffindor team is planning on playing. What an… interesting decision. Could it be that they’re trying to throw Hufflepuff off their game?”

No, you idiot, James wanted to shout. Nobody in his team would be caught dead in Slytherin colours by choice Instead of losing his temper, though, he did his best to boost his team’s sunken morale again, all the while cursing Regulus in his mind. He glanced up into the stands, half expecting to find the Slytherin smirking down at him, dressed in a green of his own, but Regulus Black was nowhere to be found.

The game itsel, unsurprisingly, didn’t go well. It didn’t go terribly, but not well, either. They just about scraped a win, thanks partially to James’s quick adjustment; he knew what was going on, so he managed to get back on his feet fairly quickly and start scoring. The rest of the team had a more difficult time of it. They kept passing to Hufflepuffs, instinctually doing all they could to keep the ball away from the colours that now denoted their own team. At one point, Sirius aimed a bludger straight for James’s head, and he had to drop the Quaffle trying to avoid it. It was a good thing that their seeker only had to focus on the snitch and not discerning her teammates, like the rest of them. She was only a third year, but she was one of the most dedicated on the team, and her practice had clearly paid off. Just as Gryffindor was about to fall too far behind to recover, she swooped into a dive, outpacing the Hufflepuff seeker easily, who hadn’t managed to spot the Snitch as quite so quickly.

Gryffindor won, just, but confusion was evident even in their victory. The usually-rambunctious crowd in their section didn’t seem to know what to do with themselves, some trying to bring the usual level of enthusiasm while others let out awkward sort of chuckles. It didn’t match the satisfaction James usually felt from winning a match, and he knew just who to take his frustration out on.

He stayed behind in the locker room just long enough to congratulate his team and see Sirius out of Slytherin colours before he left to find Regulus. He didn’t go back to his dorm for the map. Maybe it was arrogant of him, but he didn’t think he’d need it.

He was right.

Regulus wasn’t far from the changing rooms. To anybody else, he would’ve blended into the background, but James knew he was waiting. So it hardly surprised him when the Slytherin reached out, tugging him into a nearby cupboard by his tie with a whispered locking spell.

“So,” Regulus started, an infuriatingly smug smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Good game?”

“Fuck off.”

Regulus tutted. “Now, that wasn’t very nice, was it? I asked you a question, James.”

“You know full fucking well how the game went,” James said petulantly, crossing his arms over his chest.

Regulus leant back, muttering a quick spell to light the cupboard. James hated it. It was much easier to be with Regulus in the dark.

“Now, James, I think you’ve forgotten the rules of our deal.”

James gritted his teeth. “And why’s that? You haven’t asked me to do anything yet.”

“Oh,” Regulus grinned, “I need to ask, do I?”

“How else were you planning on telling me what you want? Announcing it by Howler? I bet that’d make a right stir at breakfast.”

“Alright, then. First of all, you’re going to play nice, Jamie.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Regulus sighed with a drawn-out, dramatic exhale. “Now that’s not what I asked of you, is it?” James opened his mouth to answer. “No talking back.”

He wanted to tell Regulus to fuck right off. He wanted to take control back, to push him into the wall and take what he wanted. But, a bet was a bet, and as much as he despised Regulus, he couldn’t go back on a promise. Unlike some, he had integrity.

“Fine. What do you want?”

“I’m so glad you asked. I think it’s your turn to get on your knees for me, James, don’t you?” James tried to ignore the reaction his body had to those words, and desperately hoped that the light Regulus had conjured wasn’t bright enough to see him flush. It was just sex. It was only natural he was turned on by it. It didn't mean anything beyond that.

“Fine.” James did his best to glare, although the effect felt somewhat diminished when he sank to the floor, staring up at Regulus’s steely eyes. The boy was still smirking, and as much as he hated it, he felt his cock twitch at the sight.

“Good boy.” James bit down on his lip. Hard. Regulus’s hand came to brush through his hair, tightening in the curls and sending a shiver down his spine. It was humiliating. He couldn’t bear it.

“That’s it, James,” Regulus practically cooed. “I’m sure you can figure out what comes next.” James had enough sense to drop his glasses to the side before he tugged on Regulus’s zipper, pulling down his trousers and boxers in one swift motion and coming face-to-face with his cock.

Had it been attached to anyone else, James would’ve thought it pretty. It was long, probably longer than his, and had a subtle curve to it that was— well, he could admit it’d probably feel nice. Objectively.

“Suck,” Regulus ordered, and James was in this far already, so he did. He leant forward, licked experimentally at the tip, then took Regulus as far down his throat as he could manage.

This, inevitably, led to him choking. Regulus hissed, tightening the hand in his hair as he pulled back. James hummed at the sensation.

“Careful,” Regulus muttered, then gently urged him forward again. He went, and this time when he had Regulus’s cock down his throat, he realised that there was a far better way to think about this than as a loss. It wasn’t submitting to Regulus, it was rising to a challenge, and James had always loved competition. So, he went about his task with a newfound vigour, taking Regulus further and further until there was nowhere left to go.

By that point, he had Regulus moaning above him, and his brain had started to feel a bit fuzzy. He couldn’t remember anymore why this had felt like a bad idea. All he knew was the task before him, and that he wanted to do it well.

As if reading his thoughts, Regulus chose that moment to tug him back slightly, so just the tip was still in James’s mouth. James made a swirling motion with his tongue, and delighted in the boy cursing above him.

“Shit,” he ground out. “So good, James, You’re doing so well for me.” This time, James couldn’t even try to disguise his whine, and Regulus moaned again at the feeling.

James pulled back to speak, breath hitching at just how disappointed Regulus looked in his absence.

“Fuck my mouth.” Regulus tugged on his hair, just the right side of painful.

“Are you sure?” he asked, breathless. James nodded, not wanting to repeat himself. He didn’t have to; Regulus seemed to need no further encouragement, pulling him closer, closer until all James could do was keep his mouth open, let Regulus use him just as he wanted to.

It didn’t take long, after that, until Regulus was spilling down his throat. He loosened his grip then, so that James could’ve pulled back if he wanted to. He didn’t. He just stayed on his knees, swallowing until there was nothing left. He didn’t know whether he genuinely liked the taste or just the knowledge that this was his victory, but he did know that he enjoyed it. Too much, probably.

It took a long, long while for his brain to start up again. When it eventually did, he was struck hard with the horror of the situation. He was on his knees, harder than he could remember being in his life, for Regulus Black. For a Death Eater.

James scrambled to his feet, backing into the opposite wall of the closet. It wasn’t as far away as he needed it to be, not nearly.

Regulus furrowed his brows, still flushed from his orgasm. James shouldn’t have thought it was pretty. Why did he think it was pretty?

“Are you alright?” No. No, he wasn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit that.

“Fine,” he replied shortly. Then, “Happy?”

“More than. You’re not half bad, Potter.”

“I still hate you, Black,” James said, just because he could. Because it felt important to get out there, to reaffirm it.

“I know,” Regulus replied. That was good, at least, but it was far from enough to absolve James of his guilt. He’d come here looking to lose his frustration and, yeah, maybe he’d done that, but this was so much worse. Because he knew he’d done a bad thing, something he couldn’t take back, and despite that knowledge, he still couldn’t will his erection down.

“You should really stop disrespecting Muggle-borns,” James said, just to say something.

“You didn’t win the bet,” Regulus replied. “Besides, they’re not meant to be here.”

“Says who?”

“It’s not right. They don’t fit in.”

James’s frustration, his anger, was back now. It felt purifying compared to the guilt.

“Lily Evans is top of our year. She fits in more than anybody. Mary, too. Take a look at any set of exam results; nothing in them will tell you a person’s blood status. Admit it, Regulus, you have no good reason to think of Muggle-borns as you do.” Regulus just… stared at him. James felt himself deflate a bit. He’d been prepared, poised to jump at whatever Regulus said next, tear it apart, but the boy just looked at him, almost curious.

Then, without warning, Regulus was gone, the cupboard door clicking shut quietly behind him, leaving James in silence.

James, again, wasn’t proud of what he did next, but he’d built up enough guilt that day as it was. What was something else on the pile? So, he shoved his hand down the front of his trousers, trying and failing not to think of moments prior as he brought himself to completion.

As satisfying as his release was, it left him tense all the way back to his dorm. The situation certainly wasn’t helped when he returned to the sounds of shouting. Sirius and Remus. Again.

“You betrayed me!” Remus was saying as he opened the door, and James knew what had caused the argument instantly. It had been ongoing ever since Sirius’s mistake in fifth year. As much as he wanted them to sort it out, to be ok, he understood the anger, and he didn’t know how to mend it.

“I’m not like them!” Sirius shouted back. “I know I made a mistake and I’m sorry for it, but that does not mean that I’m like them.”

“Nobody else would have done that, Sirius. Not me, not James, not Pete! How can you stand there and say you’re better than the Slytherins when the way you act is just the same? Worse, even. This was just some stupid prank. You nearly ruin my life!”

“That was a mistake! I’m different, I am. I’m not the same as they are.”

“Well you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

James snapped. “Just— shut up! Can you two just give me one minute of fucking peace!” His dormmates did indeed fall quiet and stared at him, shocked. Not nearly half as shocked as he was with himself. He knew he was on edge, could feel the itching under his skin, but he hadn’t expected his anger to break free. Not at them.

“Sorry,” he blurted, feeling himself panic. “I don’t know where that came from. You have every right to work through things, I didn’t mean— I can just go if you like.” James backed towards the door. Sirius lunged forward to stop him.

“No. No, you’re right.” James blinked, startled.

“I am?”

“You are.” It was Remus this time. He glared over at Sirius. “This is still a conversation we need to finish,” he looked to James, gaze softening, “but you don’t deserve to be in the middle of it, and neither does Pete.”

“You’ve got that right,” Peter chirped from his bed. It looked like he’d been reading, though James didn’t know how he could’ve been with the argument burning around him.

“Sorry Prongs,” Sirius said, sighing. “Come with me, Moony?”

“Like I have a choice,” Remus grumbled. He followed Sirius out of the dorm anyway and that, at least, was progress. Progress from a year before, when they could barely stand to look at each other.

It was quiet now, which should’ve been a good thing, but it did nothing to help James’s guilt. If anything, it was growing, feeding on the knowledge of his failures. He’d kicked his friends out of the dorm, shouted at them for trying to resolve what clearly needed to be talked through. They’d said it was alright, but it couldn’t have been. They had as much right to be here as he did, and he’d all but sent them away.

“James.” James blinked, trying to refocus his vision. It was Peter. Of course it was; he was the only one still here. “Let's go flying.”

“What? You don’t like flying, Pete.” Peter hummed.

“True. I’ll read and you can fly, then, how about that?”

“But-” James tried to protest, thoughts muddled.

“Great.” Peter stood, striding over to where James was still stood in the room's centre and tugging at his arm. “Come with me.”

James didn’t have it in himself to argue.

Chapter 10: Tear Us Apart

Notes:

Woah a POV that isn't James or Regulus?!?! Crazy.
(Also sorry)

“Come on then,” Sirius said, tilting his head up to make eye contact with Remus. He hated when they argued. It meant that the boy’s usually-warm expression hardened into something sinister, molten brown eyes warping until not even Sirius, who'd spent hours and hours studying Remus's expressions, could tell what he was feeling. Remus’s anger reminded him of Regulus’s, and he despised it now every bit as much as he had then. He didn’t want to be looked at like that, especially not by his Moony. But he knew he’d done wrong and that meant that he had to suffer the consequences, no matter how awful they were.

Remus let out a huff of frustration. “You act like I want to be angry at you.”

Sirius stalled for a moment at that. Picked at his thumbnail. “Well, of course you do. Why else would you do it?”

“You— I— what?” Remus glared down at him, but this was something Sirius had no defence against. “You’re one of my best friends, of course I don’t want to be fucking angry at you. You’re the one who’s making it so hard to forgive you.”

“By doing what?” Sirius spread his arms open, glancing around the abandoned classroom as if it’d hold the answers. Remus had already put a silencing spell on it and that, at least, he was grateful for. “Tell me what I’m doing wrong and I’ll fix it.”

Remus’s jaw ticked. “I’ve already told you. Stop acting like them.”

“How? I’m not trying to, Remus, I swear. What am I doing wrong?”

“You led Snape to the Whomping Willow! You tried to make me a murderer, Sirius.”

“I know that,” he replied, chest aching at the reminder, the image before him of the damage he’d caused. “And I’m sorry, you know I am, but it was a year ago, Remus. I need you to trust me again.”

“And what if I can’t?” That hurt, cut deeper than anything else the boy had said. Because it was Remus. Sirius loved him, it was as simple as that, and if he couldn’t win his trust back? Win his love again? That knowledge would tear him apart. He wished, madly, that the Cruciatus was an option here. That he could suffer by Remus’s hand for as long as the boy felt was necessary, and come out the other side absolved. Sirius had never felt that rebelling against his parents was a crime, but still, every time, his punishment had felt like absolution.

He’d asked Remus to hurt him once. It hadn’t been long after the incident and Sirius had ached with the same guilt he still felt now, itched for it to be cleansed. So, he’d crept over to Remus’s bed in the night — Remus had been offered the chance to move dorms but hadn’t taken it, something Sirius would forever be grateful for. The boy had heard him before he’d even reached the curtains.

“Go away.” It was an order, clipped. Sirius hadn't listened. When had he ever?

“Hurt me,” he'd whispered instead, pulling the curtains back.

“I told you to go away!” Sirius had glanced behind him to check they were still alone, finding James and Peter fast asleep. He couldn't let them hear him. He'd promised to leave Remus be.

“No, listen, Crucio me, ok? I want you to. It’ll make it better.”

Remus had turned to face him, then, and Sirius's breath had been knocked out of him by eyes he hadn’t seen in far too long.

“That,” Remus had told him, voice slow, almost careful, “wouldn’t help things. In fact, it’d make me feel far, far worse. I need you to stay away from me.”

Sirius had shaken his head, refusing to take no for an answer. “Just do it. I’ll let you, don’t worry. You hate me and I get it, I know it’s my fault, so you should punish me for it.”

“Shut up,” Remus had snapped, eyes pressed together like he couldn’t bear to so much as look at Sirius. Sirius couldn't blame him for it, not then and not now. “You have to mean an Unforgivable, Sirius. I wouldn’t. And that’s why it wouldn’t help.”

“You hate me. That’s enough.”

“I do hate you.” That shouldn’t have stung as much as it did. Sirius had already known it was true, known that Remus must hate him in the same way he hated himself. “That doesn’t change the fact that I’ve loved you for years.”

“What?”

“I hate you but I care about you too, as stupid as that may make me. What I want isn’t for you to hurt, it’s for you never to have hurt me.”

“I can’t do that. I wish I could Remus, but I can’t. This is all I can offer. Please.”

“It isn’t enough.” Remus had paused. Rephrased. “It isn’t what I want. I need you to leave me alone for now. That’s what I’m asking.”

“Ok,” Sirius had rescinded then, voice a whisper. He'd gone back to bed. He hadn't slept.

“I don’t know,” he said now, terrified to realise that he was fighting back tears. “I don’t know if I could live like that. Without your trust.”

“Well, you’ve been doing it just fine so far. It took you five years to betray me the first time, Sirius, how can I know you won’t do it again?”

“I promise.”

“And you promised not to hurt me,” Remus shot back. “Remember that?” Sirius did. Of course he did. They’d just found out about Moony and Remus had been terrified, promising to leave and forget them and all sorts of awful things. So Sirius had promised, looked Remus in the eye and sworn that they wouldn’t hurt him. That he could stay, and it'd be alright. He’d never meant to lie — Sirius had never made a promise he’d meant to break — but that didn’t change the fact that he had. He could argue with Remus as long as he wanted, but nothing he could say would fix the problem, and he didn’t know where that left them. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

In the end, Sirius had never deserved Remus. As much as he tried to argue, to fight his instincts, he was a Black at heart. His blood was tainted. And it just took one small slip up — one night like the one in fifth year — for everyone to figure that out.

“Look me in the eye,” Remus told him. Sirius did. “Can you really promise that you won’t hurt me again?”

“I-” Sirius choked on his words. He wanted to promise. He should be able to, needed to do what Remus asked of him. But he knew who he was and where he came from, and that there was no guaranteeing he wouldn’t give in to it again.

His silence seemed to be enough of an answer; Remus turned on his heel and slammed the door to the classroom, leaving Sirius frozen on the other side.

That night, for the first time in a long while, Sirius crept over to James’s bed after lights out. James didn’t question it. He never had. He simply shuffled aside, letting Sirius settle in beside him. Sirius closed his eyes tight, hoping that if he wished hard enough then some of James’s warmth would see fit to seep into him and fix the part of himself that he knew was broken.

Chapter 11: Vain and Blind

Regulus had promised himself to never speak at Death Eater meetings, not unless he was forced to. There was no good that could come of it. Either they'd decide that he'd said something worthy of the cause and start trying to hang around him more, which, no thanks, or they'd decide that he'd said the wrong thing and start harassing him, which he also very much did not want to deal with. So, he just showed up and sat through their ranting quietly, something that seemed to him like a nice, healthy middle ground.

So it came as a surprise, to himself just as much as everyone else, when, for once, he volunteered his thoughts.

"Mudbloods are the dregs of our society," Avery was saying, pacing up and down with his lips twisted in disgust. "They ruin our reputation, always come last in examinations—" Regulus didn't pay attention after that. He was too busy thinking about what James had said, what he'd made sure to check for himself. What he knew to be true.

Take a look at any set of exam results; nothing in them will tell you a person's blood status.

And that was when Regulus Black, always calculating, never rash, came out with the stupidest thing he could've imagined saying, especially here.

"They don't come last, though."

"What?"

Shit.

He scrambled, trying to find something he could say to fix things, but the words just seemed to fall further and further from his grasp.

"I just mean that the exams are wrong, probably, right? Because Mug— Mudbloods do better than they should. That's why they do so well, is all, because the system's set up wrong."

"Are you sympathising with Mudbloods, Black?" That was Yaxley, eyes narrowed into slits that could've rivalled even James's rage.

"No! Of course not. I just mean that they don't always come last, but that's not because they're better than us. It's because the exams are rigged in their favour, right?"

"And how would you know that? Been talking to Mudbloods, have you?"

"No, it's just that I can read." That too, Regulus quickly realised, had been the wrong thing to say.

"Petrificus Totalus." His body went rigid. He fell to the floor with a harsh thud, one that sent pain flaring up the arm he'd landed on, and then rolled awkwardly over to face the ground. He couldn't see anything happening above him.

"Crucio." He knew what to expect with that one. That didn't make it any better. It was the first time he couldn't scream through the curse, stuck as he felt his body claw itself apart from the inside, blood boiling and nerves tearing themselves apart in a futile effort to escape the spell. It was as though all the pain he'd ever felt had been concentrated in one spot, and then projected through his body so that no part of him suffered less than any other. He couldn't bear it, and yet he had to. He didn't have a choice.

It didn't last anywhere near as long as Regulus had expected. He supposed that made sense, since none of the Slytherins (well, none of those who were currently feeling devoutly anti-Regulus, anyway) could attempt to compete with Walburga Black, or indeed Orion. Which was why it was such a surprise when the pain started up again. Not having anticipated it this time, Regulus, promptly, passed out.

When he awoke, after who-knows-how-long, he was still in pain. Admittedly, though, far less of it. Cautiously, he squinted his eyes open, only to be met with Barty's face, much too close to his. That explained the pain. As much as he tried to argue against it, Barty's preferred way of waking him had always been by slapping him, and apparently that still applied when he was unconscious.

Regulus groaned. "Ouch," he said, lacking enthusiasm. He said the same thing every time in hopes of discouraging Barty, though by now it was more out of habit that any hope in his system actually working.

"Really? That's the first thing you want to say to us? How about a thank you for saving your ass?" Ah, so Evan was there too.

"What happened?" Regulus asked. He thought it was only fair he knew what he was meant to be thanking them for before doing so.

"What happened," Evan told him, "was that you decided to try and defend fucking Mudbloods and, just like anybody could've told you, your opinion wasn't very popular."

"I remember that much," Regulus grumbled. "I meant what happened after I passed out."

"Yeah, when exactly was that?" Barty asked. "Because Evan thinks it was right after you got Crucioed, but I said it couldn't be that because surely you would've at least built up a little bit of a tolerance by now."

"It wasn't straight away!"

Evan raised an eyebrow. "When was it, then?"

"When it happened again."

"The second time?"

"What?" Regulus sat up. "There was more than two?"

"Ah," Barty nodded. "The second, then."

Regulus shuffled around so he could face his friends, legs hanging down over the side of the bed. "Tell me what happened."

So, Evan did. He learned that, apparently, the curse hadn't stopped the first time because of Mulciber's weakness. No, it was because Evan, the idiot that he was, had charged at the boy and broken his concentration enough to stop the Cruciatus. Then, Evan had, obviously, been overwhelmed by the sheer number of Slytherins who were feeling very hostile at the time, and had been fought off so that Regulus could be Crucioed again.

They had taken turns cursing him, right up until Barty had turned up from who-knows-where to put a stop to things. Barty had never needed to study, Regulus knew that much, but he hadn't known that the Slytherin was capable of fighting off nearly half their house so easily. He assumed Barty had fought, anyway; Barty and Evan were both remarkably tight-lipped about the whole thing.

"Oh! That reminds me!" Barty rushed over to his bed once Evan had finished recounting his version of events, rooting around in his bedside drawer and pulling out a crushed-looking box of vitamins. He popped a couple out and swallowed them dry, as usual, followed by a swig of firewhiskey to help him, as he phrased it, digest them properly. Regulus, for one, was glad for the alcohol. Somehow, it helped Barty feel more centred and less, well, insane.

"I still don't understand the whole vegan thing, Barty," Evan mused. He'd made his way over to his own bed now and was sitting, leant against the bare wall behind him. "You've got no problem killing people, but animals are where you draw the line?"

Barty nodded. "People basically consent to murder by being bastards. I don't talk to animals, ergo, I can't decide if they deserve it or not."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Can we get back to what we were talking about?"

"I'd pretty much finished, actually," Evan said with a shrug.

"Yeah," Barty agreed, talking another swig of his near- empty firewhiskey bottle. "We saved your ass, you're welcome, you can stop being an idiot in return."

"Thanks," Regulus told them, earnest even through his reluctance. He really was grateful to have them as friends. He wouldn't admit as much aloud, but he knew that they were aware. They relied on each other, the three of them. It was how they'd stuck together for so long.

"You're welcome," Evan and Barty replied in unison.

"Don't do it again, though, yeah?" Evan suggested. "I'd rather not watch you get Crucioed, really."

"Right."

It hadn't taken much, Regulus realised, for all of Slytherin house to turn on him. Everyone excepting his friends, anyway, and he knew that neither of them had ever really cared about the Dark Lord's cause. He'd never really considered how little it would take to set Yaxley's lot off. He'd known they weren't exactly friends, but he'd tried to reason that they were together in the same fight, at least.

That wasn't something he could justify anymore, though, what with how little it took for them to turn their violence against him.

He knew they hadn't attacked him because he'd been wrong. That would've been justifiable. No, they'd turned violent before they could even consider what he'd said. So that they didn't have to consider how real his words truly were. And that didn't help. It didn't help affirm his beliefs that Mudbloods shouldn't have been there, it just added weight to the other side of the argument, the one he'd only recently discovered. The one that said there was nothing inherently different about those born to Muggle parents. They didn't perform any worse on exams, and Regulus had never actually found anything to prove that they didn't fit. In fact, he thought that, had he not been born a pure-blood, he wouldn't have been able to name a concrete difference between himself and a Muggle-born. It was a terrifying notion, because he knew it wasn't one he was allowed to have. But, for the first time he could remember, it was one that felt right.

"I'm going for a walk," he announced, ignoring the wave of vertigo that threatened to pull him back down when he stood.

"Thank Merlin." Barty strode over to Evan's bunk, throwing himself down next to the boy. "I know you didn't get to see it, but Evan's so hot when he's being violent, Reg. I need him to fuck me, like, now."

Regulus grimaced, refusing to turn back and see the love-struck expression Evan was inevitably directing Barty's way. Instead, he threw a middle finger up behind him as he left, pushing the door to their dorm shut.

It was only when he reached the common room that he discovered that Barty hadn't exactly fought the Slytherins off. Not in the traditional sense, at least; that much was evident from the charred state of the room. The house banners had been turned a black to match the floors, the walls decorated with dark stripes amidst the usual green. The dungeons were dingy enough as it was, but Barty had managed to make them look even more depressing. Regulus knew instantly that he was seeing the effects of Fiendfyre, but he couldn't even be angry. It had been what had saved him, apparently, after all. So, really, he should be grateful. Mostly, he was just glad that Barty had managed to get the fire under control before he'd burned the whole school down.

Regulus hadn't planned on talking a long walk, but he ended up sitting by the lake for at least two hours, watching the sky turn dark. Barty and Evan had never learned how to make it brief, after all, something he'd discovered in more ways than he liked to admit.

Even once he had, eventually, gotten bored of sitting by the lake, he didn't go straight back to his dorm. Instead, he made potentially the worst decision he could've, and set off in search of James Potter.

Chapter 12: Satisfaction

Something had changed. Regulus wasn’t in his dorm like James had expected. Instead, he was wandering the corridors, remarkably close to Gryffindor Tower. After the way things had panned out last time, James had planned on going on a bit of a detox from Regulus, but he was also curious to a fault. There was no way he could leave things alone, not if the Slytherin was actively looking for him, and he was pretty certain there was no other reason that Regulus Black of all people would be so close to enemy territory.

So, against his better judgement, James made his excuses to Peter (Remus and Sirius still weren't back, which he was trying not to worry about), and marched off to find Regulus. It took him even less time than usual, what with Regulus looking for him too, and soon they were back in a broom closet that James was sure they’d been in before, a dim orb of light hanging above them.

“What do you want?” He asked, then did a double take. Regulus’s usually-pristine skin had turned a frankly alarming array of shades. Purple blotches were dotted about the visible areas of his arms and face, fading into an array of yellows and blues and greens and even reds. It looked almost like some kind of magical rash, and it took James a moment to realise that the marks were actually just bruises. A lot of them.

Regulus, for his part, acted as though he were wholly unaware of this development. He crossed his arms and glared. “You’re the one who pulled me in here. I should be asking you that, no?”

James laughed. “Come on, why else would you be coming towards Gryffindor tower? Or is there somebody else you’re trying to bother?”

“I wasn’t coming towards Gryffindor tower.”

“No?” James bit back a smirk. “What else is it you were looking for, then? I didn’t know there was much else to see when you came this way from the lake.”

Regulus’s breath hitched, and James knew that he’d won. “How do you know I was at the lake?”

James just shrugged. He wasn’t going to give up his secrets, especially not to a Death Eater. “What happened to you, anyway?” he asked. “Fail at bullying some Muggle-Born?”

“What?”

“Oh, come on,” he chuckled, “don’t tell me you haven’t looked in a mirror?”

“Spit it out, Potter.”

“Your whole body’s practically a bruise.”

“Shit,” Regulus cursed under his breath. He pulled out his wand and James tensed a hand on his own, ready to fire in retaliation, but then the Slytherin twisted it around so that it was facing back to himself. He whispered a quick spell, and suddenly his skin was blank again, as though it’d never been touched by the bruising James knew had been there.

“Was that a healing spell?” he asked, not even attempting to disguise his shock. He wished he’d been listening more closely in class. A spell like that would work wonders for Remus after a full moon. Hell, James hadn't even known there was a spell that could vanish bruising so quickly.

“Glamour,” Regulus replied, then blinked, eyes widening as if he’d said something wrong, though James didn’t know what that could’ve been. Maybe the Slytherin had wanted to pretend it was a healing spell after all, and act like he had some sort of superior magical capability.

“Ah,” James nodded. “Makes sense. You wouldn’t want everyone finding out you got beaten up by a Muggle-Born, would you?”

“Suppose not.”

So that was what’d happened. James was giddy with the knowledge: Regulus Black, Death Eater extraordinaire, had been bested by one of the ‘inferior species’ he was so determined to eradicate. He wished Regulus hadn’t already used a glamour. He wanted to take a photo, frame it on his wall so he’d have a permanent reminder of the Slytherin’s failure to look at any time he felt down. He was glad he’d let Regulus find him, because it meant that he didn’t have to be so embarrassed over their last meeting anymore. Sure, it’d been fucking degrading, but nowhere close to how bad this was for the other boy.

He wanted to find whoever did this just to thank them, but something told him Regulus wouldn’t be eager to give up a name.

“So why are you here, anyway?” he asked, still grinning. He didn’t think he’d be able to stop. Not any time soon, at least.

Regulus looked back, face now smoothed into that same arrogantly-apathetic expression James was used to seeing. “I’d think even you could figure that one out, Potter.”

“Maybe.” James stepped closer. “But I want you to tell me.” Regulus shrugged his robe off, uncaring as the fabric pooled on the closet floor.

“Get on with it.”

“With what?” James teased. He wanted to hear Regulus say it, to hear him ask for what he wanted.

“Just fuck me already.”

As much as James hated Regulus Black, he didn’t hate himself quite enough to deny a request like that.

“Fine.”

This time when he emerged from the broom closet, it was with the same sense of satisfaction as the last, just a whole lot less of the guilt stuff. Fucking Regulus really was worth all the trouble it came with.

Chapter 13: Under Pressure

Notes:

Woah two chapters in one day?!?!
(The last one was rlly short so I hope this makes up for it :))

Nobody had mentioned the bruises, but that didn’t stop Regulus from worrying. It only took one wrong move for the situation to get back to his Parents. The penchant for incest that ran in pure-blood families meant that their social circles were extremely tight-knit, so much so that if pretty much any of the Slytherins in Yaxley's little gang mentioned Regulus’s mishap to their parents, it would certainly get back to his. Orion was already worried enough about him being weak. The last thing he needed was for his parents to think he was beginning to sympathise with Muggle-borns too, even if he was.

Regulus was the sort of person who always had a plan, but now that his worldview had been shattered into a million tiny pieces, he didn’t know what came next anymore, and that terrified him. Was this how Sirius had felt? Alone and afraid, with nobody to turn to to talk about it? At least Sirius had had James, he supposed, and his other Gryffindor friends. Regulus was in Slytherin, which was enough on its own for him to know that this wasn’t something he could mention to anybody in his house.

Well, now that he thought about it, that might be a tad dramatic. He knew Barty and Evan were far from enthusiastic about all the Death Eater meetings, so maybe they’d understand. It was something to consider, but certainly not a risk he was comfortable with taking quite yet. For now, he needed to keep to the shadows long enough to centre himself and come up with a new plan of action.

That was what he’d on decided, anyway, before breakfast came around. He sat with Barty and Evan like usual, just far enough up the table to distance themselves from any unwanted conversation with the other marked Slytherins, but close enough that they didn’t look like traitors to the cause. Except, today, Regulus got enough glares that he may as well have just sat with the Gryffindors. He tried to ignore them, and focused on scraping his knife over an already-cold slice of toast. He even did his best to respond to Barty and Evan’s weak attempts at cheering him up, right up until a letter dropped, unceremoniously, onto the side of his plate. It was from home. His father, specifically, judging by the writing.

Regulus should’ve been grateful they didn’t send a Howler, he supposed, although this was almost certainly worse; it meant he’d done something wrong. His parents sent Howlers when they were proud of him, raving about his sorting or exam results to the whole Great Hall in an effort to elevate any potential Death Eaters’ perceptions of their family. When they sent a letter instead, it meant they were disappointed.

“Excuse me.” He stood, not quite aware of his surroundings as he gripped the parchment tightly in his hand. It might’ve been cutting into his skin. He didn’t bother to check.

Evan’s hand shot up, gripping his wrist tightly enough to keep him from leaving. Any more so, and it would’ve added to his already-impressive collection of bruises. It’d be so much easier if Regulus could regret earning his injuries, but a strange part of him wanted to wear them like battle scars. Like they were proof that he could be different. Would Sirius be proud of him if he knew what he’d done?

“Stay,” Evan implored. Regulus didn’t reply, shaking his grip off (perhaps slightly too violently — he didn’t bother to check) and taking measured steps towards the hall’s entrance, counting each as he went. Evan didn’t follow him. Neither did Barty. They both knew better.

Eventually, he picked out a broom closet to sit in, checking first to make sure the corridor was clear. He sat in a corner and curled his knees up to his chest, whispered a Lumos, and tore the envelope open. Usually, he was gentle with the letters. He’d tease the seal with a letter opener, prying it off before adding it to the collection in his bedside drawer. This time, he didn’t bother, and ended up tearing the wax down the middle. Maybe it was because he hadn’t brought the letter opener to breakfast today, trying to delude himself into thinking nothing had changed. Maybe it was because the closet reminded him of James, and he felt confined here with memories he’d rather forget. Or, just maybe, it was because Regulus didn’t believe in it anymore. Any of it. He’d been careful with the letters when he’d known they meant something, when they came from the people who loved him and wanted to guide him down the right path. Now, he knew his parents were wrong, and though he didn’t know if it was out of some genuine malice or just their own ignorance, either way meant the letters just couldn’t hold the same weight they used to.

Regulus knew that, but it didn’t stop the words from carving into his skin just the way they always had, digging through muscle and sinew to wrap tightly around his heart. They were still his parents. He loved them, and he knew they loved him, even if they were wrong. So, even while the letter wasn’t true, it mattered.

He kept the parchment clenched in hand, refusing to drop it even as his body shook, wracked with tears he’d long since learned to keep silent. His parents were disappointed, which couldn’t be a surprise, really, but it didn’t feel fair. It wasn’t fair, because how was it possible that he’d made the wrong decision for both sides of the war? He couldn’t conform to his parents' beliefs any longer, couldn’t even bear to adapt to them the same way Barty and Evan managed, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that the Gryffindors would accept someone like him — someone marked — into their cause, and he wouldn’t belong there anyway. James had made it clear enough that he had no respect at all for him, and Regulus had lost his brother the night he'd tortured him. The night he was too weak to resist.

He was alone.

He was meant to have potions first period, but since he was Slughorn’s favourite, he knew the professor would be lenient if he didn’t turn up, and skipping class would be far better than turning up in a state like he was in. He had just about decided that that’d be the best course of action, and resigned himself to spending the hour and a half making himself at least semi-presentable, when someone opened the closet door.

He scrambled to his feet, brushing his hands through his hair and swiping at his face, hoping he’d look unbothered enough that whoever it was wouldn’t question him. Then, the man stepped through into the closet, all messy hair and stupidly big glasses, and Regulus couldn’t help it. He started crying. Again.

Anyone else would’ve been better, in that moment. Why was it always James Potter? Regulus knew just how kind James could be, and was brutally aware that that kindness applied to almost everyone but him. It’d been bearable when he thought he was in the right, and that avoiding James’s light was some sort of badge of honour, but now he was acutely aware that he was the issue: defective. He wanted to be good. Fuck, he wanted James to like him, and to be met with nothing but disgust from the sun itself? It felt like failure, bitter at the back of his throat.

He thought he saw a flash of concern in James’s gaze for a moment, but it must’ve just been wishful thinking, because the next time he searched for it he was met only with the cold exterior he was used to. James’s eyes weren’t meant to be cold. They were a soft brown that reminded him of hot chocolate by the fire, or melted honey spread in careful layers. Yet, when James looked at Regulus, his gaze felt chilling, somehow, and it only made him feel worse, because he knew it was his fault that the boy's warmth was gone.

James laughed cruelly, teeth bared in a sharp grin at Regulus's tears. “Try to bully another Muggle-Born?”

“No,” Regulus snapped, realising his mistake when James’s eyebrow raised in interest.

“Oh?”

He straightened his back, glaring forwards. “It’s none of your concern.”

James couldn’t know. Regulus couldn’t risk his defection getting out, and that was if James even believed him. Most likely, he’d decide Regulus had some kind of plan to infiltrate the Gryffindors, that their whole… arrangement was all part of his scheme. And, while Regulus knew what he and James had was less than nothing, pathetically, he couldn’t bear the thought of James thinking he was just a means to an end. James was good, and Regulus wouldn’t do anything else to hurt him. He’d done enough damage as it was.

“C’mon, Reggie.” James pouted. Malice was practically dripping from the boy, but Regulus’s idiot brain found it within itself to decide that the expression was somehow cute, anyway. If only it’d been in a different context.

“No.”

“It’s for research. That’s something you like to do, right? Read? Although I imagine we’ve got different interests. I’ve never been in the bigotry and persecution section of the library before.”

“How do you know I like to read?” Regulus couldn’t remember ever seeing James in the library. For a long time, he’d considered it a blessing, especially because it meant his brother hardly ever showed, either. In fact, the only one of their group that seemed to frequent the library was Lupin, and he and Regulus had built an effective system of steadfastly ignoring each other. Pettigrew stuck to the system, too, when he occasionally decided to show his face.

James just shrugged. “You seem like the type. Anyway, tell me, won’t you? I’d love to find out what could possibly make a Death Eater cry.”

“And why would I tell you?”

James was closer then, crowding him into a corner before Regulus could even blink. It was far too much. He couldn’t take it, couldn’t think about James and his closeness and keep ahold of everything else in his mind, and he couldn’t get rid of the rest either. He couldn’t breathe properly. He felt like he was going to pass out. He was probably still crying, though he couldn’t really tell anymore.

“I can get you to tell me.” James smirked down at him, the picture of arrogance.

“Fuck off.” Regulus didn’t know where he’d found the strength, but somehow his shove managed to startle James enough to get him to back away. He tripped back and Regulus took the opportunity for what it was, dashing past him and out of the broom closet. The outside air felt cool on his face, a welcome escape from oppressive heat. He would’ve paused to bask in it had he not been acutely aware that he was in the middle of a corridor, most likely a complete mess. He needed to find a bathroom. Fast.

The closest bathroom happened to be for girls, which wasn’t any good. Regulus walked right past it, then turned back, having spotted the out of order sign pasted over the door. He was on the second floor. He’d heard groups of students mention the girls second floor bathroom in passing, and talk about the ghost haunting it. He’d heard that nobody ever went in, which meant that it’d be the perfect hiding spot.

So, he didn’t waste any more time and softly shut the door behind him, leaning against it as his pounding heart began to settle down. Regulus patted at the front of his robes, making sure he still had the letter and not quite relieved to realise he did. He was glad, at least, to know that it wasn't in Potter's possession.

Once he felt a bit calmer, he started taking account of his surroundings. It was only then that he registered a faint sobbing sound, though he was sure it must’ve been there since he arrived. The noise seemed to be coming from the other side of the bathroom, past the strangely-extravagant sink area where the toilet stalls were positioned. He knew it was just a ghost, and had already been prepared to ignore whatever he came across in here, but the noise kept getting louder. After a few minutes of trying and failing to make his reflection look presentable, Regulus was certain that the sounds couldn’t be natural anymore: whoever this ghost was, they wanted attention.

He seemed to have a streak of making terrible decisions recently, so it was only natural he kept it up. He called out.

“Are you alright?”

The sobbing stopped, leaving a silence so loud that he was sure he’d made a mistake in asking. Maybe this person didn’t actually want to be noticed, and he was intruding on their peaceful misery. Then, almost before he could blink, the ghost of a girl shot out of the stall. She looked as though she belonged in one of the younger years — third, maybe? Regulus wondered why he’d never heard of her. It wasn’t as though dying in Hogwarts was all that common, at least as far as he was aware; death was what awaited you on the outside.

“You want to talk to me? Nobody ever wants to talk to me.”

Regulus almost ruined his hard work and started crying all over again. He was being ridiculous, but she was younger than him, just a child, and he didn’t care how long she’d been that way. She shouldn’t have to beg for attention. She shouldn’t look so hopeful at the prospect of receiving it.

“Of course I do,” he found himself saying. “What’s your name?”

The girl’s eyes widened behind her oversized glasses. They reminded him a bit of James’s.

“Myrtle. But you probably want to call me Moaning Myrtle. I know that’s what everybody else does.”

Everybody else can go fuck themselves, Regulus thought. “Myrtle’s fine,” he said instead. “I’m Regulus. It’s lovely to meet you.” He stuck out his hand. Her lip quivered, and before he knew it she was sobbing, breath coming in loud hitches between the stream of tears.

“I knew it! You’ve come to make fun of me too, haven’t you?”

It took a moment to realise what he’d done wrong. Once he did, he swiped his hand back down to his side. “No, I haven't Myrtle, I promise. I’m sorry.” She didn’t stop crying, but she did quieten a little, looking up at him warily through her eyelashes.

“Then why do you want to talk to me?”

“You seem like you could use somebody to talk to.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Nobody’s ever this nice to miserable, ugly Myrtle. Why would you be?”

She was a ghost, Regulus supposed, so there was no harm in letting a bit of the truth slip in. She didn’t seem the sort to be friends with Death Eaters, anyway.

“I want to be good.”

She stared for a while. Regulus shifted a little, growing uncomfortable under the scrutiny: she was really quite intimidating for a child. Then, “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright, Regulus, I’ll believe you.” She smiled then, seeming almost giddy, tears long forgotten. “What do you want to talk about?”

“It’s up to you.” She considered this.

“Do you want to know how I died?”

That hadn’t been what he'd expected. “Is that what you want to talk about?”

She shrugged, looking away. “It seems like something you should know if we’re going to be friends.”

“Alright then Myrtle, tell me.”

With a firm nod, she began. “I’d come to the bathroom to hide. Nobody ever liked me even when I was alive, so I did that a lot.”

“Nobody likes me much either,” he found himself admitting.

“You?” she asked, seeming almost offended. He nodded. “But you’re the nicest boy I’ve ever met! And you’re pretty, too.”

Regulus smiled. He couldn’t help it. If he couldn’t have anyone living on his side, then having a ghost was better than nothing, even if she couldn’t know what he’d done to get where he was. “Thank you, Myrtle. For what it’s worth, you’re pretty, too. And you’re not annoying to me.” Her face split into a beam.

“Can we be best friends, Regulus?”

“Of course.” Evan and Barty would probably disown him if they found out. Since first year, they’d prided themselves a strange amount on being his best friends. They were annoying bastards, though, so they deserved his betrayal.

“I’ve never had a best friend before. I wish I could hug you.” She reached out, almost as though to try it, but pulled back at the last moment.

“Me too, Myrtle.” Strangely, it wasn’t a lie. If he could, Regulus Black would’ve actively made the decision to hug a teenage girl's ghost. If only the Death Eaters could see how far he’d fallen.

“Alright,” she nodded, face set in determination once more. “I was in here alone like usual, and then I hear somebody else come in. I wouldn’t have come out, only he started speaking and it was a boy. I couldn’t tell what he was saying — it sounded like hissing more than talking, only I don’t know why he’d be doing that — but I could tell he was a boy. He shouldn’t have been there, and I didn’t like having him there, so when he didn’t go away after a while I decided I’d tell him to. But then I walked out and there— there was—”

“Take your time,” Regulus soothed, dread coiling in the pit of his stomach.

Myrtle nodded, pausing for a moment to centre herself. “It was these yellow eyes. That’s all there was, and the next thing I knew I was a ghost. It took hours before anyone found me, you know, and even then nobody was particularly upset that I was dead. You’d care if I died, Regulus, wouldn’t you?”

It was nonsensical, seeing as she was already dead, and could hardly die again. He answered anyway. “Of course I would.”

Regulus was having a hard time staying focused on her, as much as he knew she needed him to. The pieces were coming together in his head, forming a picture that brought bile to his throat. The hissing had to be Parseltongue; that was the only thing that’d sound that way, not to mention the yellow eyes. Parseltongue only had a limited number of speakers, almost all of them descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. Which meant that, whoever was at fault for Myrtle’s death, they were most likely one of Regulus’s kind.

“Do you…” Regulus trailed off, realising there was no real polite way to ask what he wanted.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “We’re friends. You can ask me.”

He shut his eyes. “Were you a Muggle-Born, Myrtle?” She went silent again.

“It’s alright, you can tell me.”

Her voice wavered. “I was,” she admitted. “That’s part of why they didn’t like me much. You don’t mind it, do you, Regulus? We can still be friends?”

“Of course,” he assured her quickly. He wanted to throw up. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Myrtle, I promise.”

She did try to hug him then, both of them wincing when she passed right through.

“You really are the nicest boy in the whole world.”

Regulus shook his head. As much as he appreciated the compliment, it didn’t feel right to trick her. “Most people don’t think so.”

“Why not?” She tilted her head. “You can talk to me if you like. I can listen.”

“It’s— you know those people who bullied you?” She nodded. “I used to be like them. But now I know that they’re wrong, but I was really mean to everyone else, too, so nobody likes me much.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“You won’t go back to them, though?” she asked. It felt more like a demand. “You won’t go back to the mean people, will you? You’re too nice to do that.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

“I think that makes you brave then, Regulus.” He shook his head.

“My brother was always the brave one, not me. I’ve never been able to stand up for anything.”

“You are now.”

He snorted. “I’m not. I’m in here hiding with you.”

“But you’ve changed your mind,” she pressed. “You won’t go back to them. I know how horrible it is to be on your own, so I think you’re really brave for deciding to be. It makes you better than the other people who just accept things as they are, anyway.”

“You think so?” Admittedly, it made him feel better to think that way. And if she believed he was brave, well, maybe he could be. For her. He wanted to belong, and he knew bravery didn’t have to be lonely — his brother was proof of that — but since his options were cowering alone or being brave alone, he’d rather see himself as being the second. Maybe he didn’t deserve to belong, but he could still choose to be brave.

“Of course I do. You’re brave and nice, and you’re my friend.”

“Thank you, Myrtle. That makes me feel a lot better.”

She smiled. “You look a lot better now.” Her eyes widened, hands coming up to cover her mouth. “I meant that you were pretty before! It’s just that you look happier now. Less sad.”

Regulus laughed. It felt good to smile. “You look happier too. I’m glad we can be friends.” He glanced to the door, just for a second but she must’ve caught the gesture. Her face fell.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I can stay longer,” he assured her. “But I do have class later, so I’ll have to go in a bit.”

“No, you can go now," she determined. "But you have to promise you’ll come back.”

“I’ll come back as soon as I can.”

“I can wait,” she told him, “I don’t mind when you come back, but you have to come back again if you promise.”

“I will. I swear.”

“Alright.” She backed away a little, giving him room. “Good luck, Regulus. Keep being brave.”

“Thank you, Myrtle. Remember how cool you are, ok? There’s a reason we’re best friends.” She giggled, then turned and floated back to her stall.

Regulus felt much better exiting the bathroom, enough so that he decided to skim over the content he’d missed in Potions, just in case anything turned out to be important. He doubted it would. He’d pretty much memorised their textbook back-to-front at this point.

He turned up to the library and took his usual seat. It happened to be beside Lupin. They always left a chair between them so nobody could misconstrue them as being together. It wasn’t that they meant to sit near each other, just that they both seemed to have good taste in study areas, and were both far too stubborn to let their spots go. So this was the solution.

He flicked to the right page in his book, quickly scanning it and finding that, just as he thought, there was nothing interesting enough to distract him for the rest of the period. He glanced up at the clock, debating how to fill the remaining minutes before his next lesson. Then, he glanced to Lupin, hating the thought that was forming even as he became very aware it was one he’d have to act on.

It’d been years since he’d let himself think about Sirius at any length. It was impossible to banish all thoughts of him, but Regulus tried to nip them in the bud as they arose. It made sense when he thought of Sirius leaving as a betrayal of their family and their values, but as it was, his current values seemed to be a lot more closely aligned with his brother's than he’d ever imagined they could be. Now, he knew that Sirius was right to leave, not just to escape the pain, but to fight for what he believed in, so surely he didn’t have to banish the thoughts anymore. Reconciliation was nothing but a pipe dream, but he was at least allowed to care.

He’d never talked to Lupin before at any length, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

“It’s strange how different you are to Sirius, for two people who are always together.”

Lupin didn’t look up from his book, seemingly ignoring him. Except that, after nearly twenty seconds had passed, he did, staring at Regulus with marked suspicion, which he supposed was fair.

“You’re talking to me.”

“Who else?”

“Why?”

Regulus shrugged. “Just making an observation. I know Sirius is hardly the academic type, but even he needs to pick up a book now and again. Surely he’s capable of that much.”

“You’re asking me about Sirius.”

Regulus shrugged again. Lupin’s gaze seemed to dig a lot further than he’d anticipated, and he realised that he was in over his head. “Not particularly.”

“You are. Why now?”

“Forget it.”

“No.”

“What?” He’d expected Lupin to be happy enough to just go back to his books, to ignoring him. What other option did he have, really, if Regulus stopped addressing him?

To talk back, apparently.

“Sirius is fine.”

“I don’t care.” Regulus let the man's words soothe him anyway, even though he hated the way Lupin looked at him as if he knew far too much. He shouldn’t have underestimated somebody who spent so long in the library. The Gryffindor’s perceptiveness would’ve been admirable, had it not been proving such a pain to Regulus at that point in time.

“Are you sure? Because-” Regulus snapped his textbook shut, stuffing it into his bag. He started off, then turned back, hating himself as he did so. It’d do no good, none at all. Yet-

“Don’t tell Sirius I said anything.” It was a plea just as much as it was a command. He didn’t know which Lupin took it as.

“I won’t,” the man said anyway. That was a shock to Regulus, but he knew better than to question it. He gave a sharp nod then turned on his heel, nearly colliding with Pandora in an effort to escape the library. She dropped her books on the ground with a clatter, and as much as he wanted to leave, he wasn’t a completely terrible person, so he bent down to help her gather them.

“Thank you, Regulus,” she said, bright blue eyes glittering with a smile. “Do remember to let people in, won’t you?”

“What?”

“Let them in,” she repeated, “or it’ll just hurt more.” She drifted away before he could question her further, and he didn’t have it in him to follow her. Especially to find answers he didn’t want to know, and ones which were most likely fabricated anyway. Instead, he took a breath, set his shoulders, and finally made his way through the door, heading towards the greenhouses.

Chapter 14: Emotions Won't Grow

Remus hadn't expected to interact with Regulus Black that day. In fact, he hadn't expected to interact with Regulus Black ever. The two of them had an unspoken truce that they would stay out of each other's way due to their mutual respect for the sacredness of Hogwarts' library. He didn't know Regulus beyond the fact that he had the Dark Mark, but from what Remus had gathered, it would be a big deal for him to violate that agreement. Which was why, when Regulus did, he'd responded. He wasn't on good terms with Sirius at the moment, and had an even worse relationship with his brother, given the circumstances, but he still couldn't bring himself to turn away from Regulus's plea. And a plea was what it had been. He was sure of it.

They were still brothers, Sirius and Regulus, even if they both tried to deny it. From what Sirius had told him before he'd gotten out, they had pretty much depended on each other back in Grimmauld Place, and he knew at the very least that Sirius cared for Regulus. Sirius had been torn apart when he'd left, not by his parents' cruelty, but by his brother's betrayal. Remus, of course, had assumed that Regulus mustn't have felt the same way, but, well, there had to be something there now, didn't there? Maybe Regulus was evil. He was a Death Eater, at least, which was a near enough synonym, but Remus knew now that he cared too, and no matter how much or how little that meant, he wasn't cruel enough to deny the boy the knowledge that his brother was alright.

The thought of Sirius burned, a violent flame kicking at the space between his heart and his ribcage. He loved Sirius. He didn't want to be angry. He'd never wanted anything less, but he also didn't know if he would ever convince his hatred to fade. It was always there, twisted so tightly around his love that the two became blurred together, warped into something so strong it terrified him. So, he would pull away, take a step back from Sirius for just long enough that the violence inside him settled, and then he would return to him. It was a cycle, one they'd been repeating since fifth year, and one he wasn't sure they would ever escape. He had hoped at first that it'd get better over time, but there were apparently some pains that were too great for time alone to mend.

Sirius was supposed to be his safety. His harbour. The one place he could finally let his guard down. Remus had never trusted someone so wholly before, and he'd never wanted to, before Sirius. Silver burned him, but not Sirius's, never his, because when Remus looked into his eyes he saw nothing but warmth, a gentleness that called his soul to stitch itself back together. So when Sirius had finally betrayed him, the wound was deep. Deeper than any he'd had before, and laced with a silver edge that stopped the skin from knitting back together. It left behind a gash that still now was no closer to mending itself.

Remus knew more than anyone that Sirius wasn't anything close to evil. He knew it had been a mistake, but that did nothing to take the pain away. He wished that it did, that he could find a way to forgive him and make it all better. That they could be happy again, how they'd used to be. Now, they were more like a stone and the knife that dragged against it, the knife staining the stone and the stone blunting the knife in retaliation. They would keep at it, most likely, until all that remained was silver and ash.

Remus sighed, dropping his head down against his textbook for a few moments. When he lifted it back up, he was met not with the usual glare of sunlight from the window opposite, but with a curious set of pale eyes, more blue than Sirius's piercing silver.

He startled, jerking back. The woman — Pandora, he thought her name was — didn't say anything. She just kept staring.

This was definitely the strangest day he'd had in the library, and it wasn't even lunch yet.

"Can I help you?" he hedged.

"Who is it?"

"What?"

"The boy."

"Which boy?"

"The one you're thinking about, of course."

It was a fluke. She couldn't know what he'd been thinking about. Could she?

"Are you a seer?" he asked. She shrugged.

"You should stop trying to forgive him, you know. It won't work."

And fuck, if that wasn't just everything he was afraid of.

"You're sure?" he asked, voice strained, hoping that this time the answer would be different. That if he just tried hard enough, something would change.

"Mhm," she nodded. "You don't have to, anyway."

"He's my best friend." It shouldn't have been a lie, but it sounded like one even to his own ears. He'd never seen himself only as Sirius's friend, even if friends was all they ever could be. Even in first year, the boy had been his everything. He still was, despite it all.

"Hmm. I don't think so." He would've said something back, had she not moved on so quickly. "You love him."

"I do," he sighed, seeing no point in denying it to this woman, who clearly knew far too much about him already. He just hoped she had the sense to keep it to herself.

"Good," she nodded decisively. "Keep doing that."

Remus blinked. "I thought you said I couldn't forgive him?"

"You can't, but you can still love him."

"Not properly. Not like he deserves."

"Why not?"

"Because! I can't love him properly if I hate him at the same time. It doesn't work." He froze after speaking, glancing quickly around the library. He was relieved to find that nobody seemed to have heard his outburst, or at least nobody had acknowledged it.

"You don't have to hate him," Pandora replied, idly threading a hand through her blonde hair. It was long, long enough to fall near her hip, and he wondered if she used a potion or whether it grew to that length naturally.

"I do if I can't forgive him."

"Or do you just hate that you can't forgive him?"

"I—" Remus's voice was stuck in his throat, refusing to come out with more than a syllable at a time. Before he could regain control over it, Pandora turned away. She headed back out the entrance he was sure she'd only come through moments before. He wanted to follow after her, demand answers, but his mind was spiralling enough as it was.

What if she was right? What if he didn't have to forgive Sirius?

It was a strange thought. It didn't make sense. And yet, well, did it have to? It was twisted and wrong, probably, to even consider, but it felt like something he could work with, and that was more than he'd had in a long time. Because if he really focused on his hatred, if he tried to unravel the knot in his mind, it wasn't Sirius that he hated, not anymore. He hated what Sirius had done, yes, and he hated that he couldn't forgive it, but he didn't hate Sirius himself.

Remus stood from his chair before he'd had a chance to think it through properly. He had to get to Sirius before next period, needed to talk to him while he knew what to say.

He didn't run through the corridors (he wasn't insane enough for that) but his strides were quicker than usual. If anyone noticed it as strange, they were smart enough not to comment and to let him pass by. Time didn't seem to pass in the same way it usually did. One blink, and he was at the bottom of the staircase. Another, and he was at the top. A third, and he was ducking through the portrait, hurrying up the stairs to their dormitory.

Sirius was the only one there when he threw open the door. He'd been hoping for that. Expecting it, too: they didn't have a lesson first period, and whenever that happened Sirius took the chance to sleep in, professing that his beauty sleep was far more important than breakfast. They'd all given up arguing years ago.

"I can't forgive you." In retrospect, it probably wasn't the smartest way to start. Sirius deflated, grip loosening on his hairbrush enough that it clattered to the floor.

"That's not what I meant!" Sirius just looked confused now. Great. "No, it was, but not in a bad way. I can't forgive you, Sirius, but I think I cam get past it." He took a breath, fixing his gaze on the corner of the room. "I don't think I've hated you in a long time. I think I've been trying to forgive you and I've hated it because I can't. But I'm going to stop trying now." Sirius let out a wounded noise and Remus flicked his gaze over, quickly looking away and taking a fortifying breath when all he found was pain, raw and open. He clenched his fists at his sides.

"I'm going to stop trying to forgive you, because I can't. But that doesn't mean I hate you. I don't think I've ever really hated you, Sirius. I couldn't. I— you're my best friend, and you always will be, and I think I can move past it, now. Or try to, anyway. I can't forgive what you did, but that doesn't change the way I feel about you." This time when he looked back to Sirius, there were tears. He stepped forward automatically, and Sirius met him halfway. They held on tightly. Remus didn't want to let go. This was where he belonged.

They stayed like that, mending, and then he felt something strange start to happen. The wound he'd been left with, the one tainted with silver, started to change. Maybe that was the wrong expression: it didn't heal, he knew now that it couldn't do that, but something grew around it. Flowers began to sprout, wrapping tight over the gash until it no longer looked so raw. Instead of blood, there was petals, and bright greens weaving together until it didn't feel so ugly anymore. It was beautiful.

Suddenly, everything between them didn’t look so scary. How could it? This was Sirius, and Remus loved him, more than anything else in this world. He was giddy with the thought, so much so that he didn’t even think when he pulled back to look down into those bright, silvery eyes.

“I love you.” It didn’t scare him, even then. Even when he’d said it aloud. It was true and it was glorious and it was something that deserved to be expressed.

“What-” Sirius choked. “What do you mean?”

“I love you.”

“Remus, what does that mean?”

He shrugged. He was grinning, he was sure, could feel it down to his bones. “It means I love you, Sirius Black.”

Sirius searched his expression. Remus let him, would’ve stayed right where he was for however long Sirius needed, but then Sirius was leaning upwards and this was so, so much better, so he leant down. They met in the middle once more, and nothing had ever felt so right.

This was who they were, who they were meant to be. Two souls made one. And this love was worth everything, far more than any pain that could come with it. He’d go through it again, everything, ten times over just to be in this moment. To have Sirius Black in his arms.

Chapter 15: Make It Up

Notes:

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to goodwllhuntin, congrats on (almost) finishing your thesis!! Your comments always make my day and mean I really look forward to uploading <3 Hope you enjoy!

James had expected to come back from class to find Sirius and Remus stonily ignoring each other, or maybe fighting, considering how volatile they'd both been for the past couple of days. So, it felt a little like he’d stepped into an alternate reality when he returned instead to find them tangled together on Remus’s bed, making out so violently that he wasn’t entirely sure it couldn’t still be considered fighting. It was such a shock that it took him a moment to gather himself enough to speak; he only managed it when Sirius’s drawn-out moan served as a sharp reminder that this was something he definitely did not want to bear witness to.

“Hi,” he said. Neither of them turned to look. “Hello!” That did it — their heads whipped around in unison. It would’ve been funny, if James wasn’t so scarred from what they’d been doing beforehand.

“James!” Sirius jumped up from the bed, gripping his hands behind his back as though that would somehow make him look less guilty. “Good class?”

“Would’ve been better if you’d shown up,” he said, more amused now than anything else.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I, we were…” Sirius trailed off, obviously struggling for the best way to explain. James was about ready to jump in and spare Sirius the pain when Remus saved him the trouble.

“We’re not fighting anymore,” he explained, still sitting right where Sirius had left him. “We’re dating.”

“We are?” Sirius asked. He looked like Padfoot, practically wagging his tail in excitement. I mean, yes, of course we are. This is Remus. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Hi, Sirius’s boyfriend,” James waved dutifully. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, James,” Remus waved back, grin pulling at the edge of his lips.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Sirius observed, eyes narrow. “Why don’t you seem surprised?”

“Oh, I am,” James supplied, “just not any more so than I am that you managed to stop fighting. I mean, I knew you liked each other, I just didn’t think either of you would take your heads out of your asses long enough to realise it.” Also, he was very fixated on something else at that point in time, but Sirius didn’t need to know about that.

“I’ll have you know,” Sirius said primly, chin held high, “I’ve known how I felt since fifth year.”

Remus snorted. “First.”

“What?” Sirius spun around.

“I knew how I felt in first year.” Sirius didn’t seem to have a response ready for that. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again like a fish trying to learn to breathe.

It was then that Peter finally made his appearance, humming as he entered the room and stopping short when he realised that both Remus and Sirius were there, eyes darting between them. He sidled over to James, leaning close enough to whisper.

“Have they…?”

“Unfortunately.” James didn’t bother lowering his voice.

“What?” Peter whispered back.

“Sirius?” James asked.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you tell Pete about Remus?”

“It’s— he’s my—”

“Boyfriend,” Remus supplied once more, serving only to deepen the blush that was startlingly apparent on Sirius’s pale complexion.

Peter looked between them. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he all but lit up.

“Oh, thank Merlin. Finally, we can sleep in peace without all your fighting.”

James raised an eyebrow. Peter tilted his head, then seemed to realise what he was getting at, smile dropping right from his face to be replaced with what could only be described as sheer, unadulterated horror.

“Oh no,” he groaned, “it’s going to be even worse now, isn’t it?” James wanted to reassure him. All he could offer was a grimace.

“Well,” he said, taking the silence as his cue. “I’ll see you guys later. Do try not to disturb Pete too much, won’t you?”

“Wait,” Sirius asked, face twisted in confusion. “Where are you going?”

Ah. Apparently in his eagerness to start his plan, James had forgotten to think ahead to an excuse.

“Quidditch,” he blurted. Sirius only looked more suspicious. Shit.

“I thought Ravenclaw had the field?”

“No.” That wouldn’t work. “I mean yes, but I’m going too. There was… a girl… invited me?” The tension in the room heightened for a moment, so much so that James was scared to suffocate on it. But then, Sirius’s expression cleared. He almost collapsed in relief.

“You didn’t tell me you had your eye on someone, Prongs! It’s about time you got over Lily.” James decided not to remind Sirius that it had been years since he’d harboured a crush on Lily, and that he really was quite glad that she and Mary were so happy with each other.

“Yeah. I mean, it’s new, so it’s nothing really. But, Quidditch, you know?”

“Quite right.” Sirius stepped forward and patted him firmly on the shoulder. “Good luck. She’ll be swooning over you by the end of training.”

“Right,” James agreed. “Bye, then.” For someone who’d grown up with perhaps the most manipulative parents ever, Sirius was worse at spotting a lie than James was at creating one, which was saying a lot. Unfortunately, Peter and Remus didn’t share the same lack of talent, and he felt their twin looks of curiosity follow him right out of the room. Oh well. As long as they didn’t ask him about it again, everything would be fine.

He made his way to the first floor, trying to maintain his usual cheery demeanour so as not to raise suspicion. He smiled, nodded at anyone he knew, and then moved on, not quite hurrying but not taking his time either. There wasn’t a time limit on his plan. If this all took longer than expected, then he could execute the final stage in the morning just as well as he could now. But James lacked patience. He craved answers, wanted them more desperately than he’d ever wanted before. He couldn’t wait, and didn’t know how he’d cope if it came to that.

Soon enough, he was making his way down the final set of stairs to the first floor. He drifted into the small alcove behind the stairwell, still trying to seem as casual as possible, then, when he was certain nobody was around to notice, he pulled the invisibility cloak out of his bag, tossing it over himself. His father most certainly would not be proud of him, but James didn’t know what else the man had expected when giving him such a useful device. Besides, he couldn’t be that upset with how James had decided to use it, seeing as McGonagall had made sure he was aware of all the pranks mysteriously occurring throughout the castle, and he hadn’t seen fit to take it away yet.

James slowed his pace a little now, not wanting the sound of footsteps to give him away. Since class was over, the corridors were pretty empty as it was, but he still didn’t want to take any risks. When he reached the door he was looking for, he made sure he was alone before lifting the edge of the cloak to cast a whispered invisibility charm at the area in front of him. Then, he set about his memorised list of spells to make sure he wasn't detected by the potions teacher's precautions. Remus had been kind enough to suggest everything one would need (in theory, of course) when James had posed the very abstract question of breaking into Slughorn’s potions cupboard.

He pulled the door open. Nothing changed.

He scanned the shelves in front of him, leaning up on his toes to reach for the vial he needed. He paused when his fingers brushed over the glass, but when nothing happened this time, either, James grasped the potion fully. He pulled it from the shelf and, as softly as he could, closed the cupboard door, doing what was likely an extremely amateur job at resealing it. It didn’t matter. Slughorn would notice the potion was gone anyway. Just as long as he didn’t have reason to suspect James, it’d be alright. The man would be too cautious of his reputation to risk bringing any attention to the loss by staging an investigation.

His friends wouldn’t be at dinner yet — they tended to make their way down at around six — but James knew that Regulus liked to eat earlier, about forty-five minutes after class ended. He headed for the Great Hall, glancing at a clock on his way, pleased to find that it was only half past four, so he had time.

The hall was relatively empty when he walked in. James had taken off his invisibility cloak along the way, since appearing at the table out of nowhere would raise questions, even at Hogwarts, but that wasn’t too much of a problem. The Slytherin table was closest to the door, so he took the opportunity to make his way along the outside of it. He kept the vial of clear liquid he’d stolen concealed, hidden away in his fist, and then when he got close enough, he slipped his thumb off the top of it, tipping the entire contents out and into the jug of pumpkin juice beside him, just for safe measure. James hated the stuff, but he’d watched Regulus, knew it was the first thing the Slytherin reached for when he sat down.

Satisfied with his work, he continued on until he reached the end of the Slytherin table, then crossed the room to Gryffindor. The only people there were a group of first years, and James felt it’d be slightly strange to drop himself in the middle of their conversation, so he perched on the edge of the table instead, making sure he was facing towards the opposite side of the hall. He idly picked at the food in front of him, attention not shifting from the empty seat across the room.

It took about five minutes until James got bored of waiting. In that time, one of the younger Slytherins had taken it upon themselves to reach for the same pumpkin juice he’d spiked, and now there was a lot more giggling happening around the table. She hadn’t put it back where she’d found it, much to James’s irritation, but it was alright: it was still the closest jug to Regulus’s seat.

The giggling continued on as James waited. And waited. He tapped his fingers against the table in a mind-numbing pattern. He checked the clock. Regulus was late.

It was around seven minutes later than usual that Regulus finally entered the hall, followed by Crouch and Rosier. James hated the both of them too, and was sure they’d have the mark as well if they were hanging around Regulus. Maybe they’d drink the pumpkin juice. That’d be fun, just as long as his main target got there first.

Regulus didn’t look over to him, though James was sure he must be able to feel the staring. Instead, he just went about his usual routine. He poured a healthy amount of juice into his silver goblet, but he didn’t drink straight away. He engaged himself in some inane chatter with the other members of his little Death Eater gang, piling food onto his plate. It was only when there was a lull in the conversation that he reached for his pumpkin juice. James’s breath stilled in his throat as the boy took a long sip, then another right after, more than enough for the potion to take effect.

James waited, leant forward on his elbows as he watched for Regulus’s reaction. Regulus took a bite of his food, and swallowed it fully before turning again to say something to Crouch. It was only when he did so that James knew his plan had worked. Regulus’s eyes widened almost comically. He looked down at his plate, then at the pumpkin juice, then, finally, at James. James grinned over at him. He winked, and revelled in the fury that rested pale on Regulus’s complexion. Without warning, the Slytherin stood and practically sprinted for the door. James followed, not particularly caring about how odd he must look doing so. The hard part of his plan was over, and now it was time to reap the rewards.

Regulus was the one who found a closet first this time. James followed him in without question.

“What the fuck did you do, Potter?” Neither of them bothered with lighting the room.

“I think you figured that out just fine on your own.”

“What is wrong with you?!” James almost flinched at the shouting. He’d never known Regulus to be this loud. “Why can’t you just leave me the fuck alone?”

“Where’d the fun be in that?”

“This isn’t fun!”

“Oh, come on,” James pushed, well aware that Regulus couldn’t lie, not like this. “We’ve had some fun, haven’t we?”

“I wish we hadn’t.” That shouldn’t have stung, not from a Death Eater. James hated that it did.

“Right. Well, I suppose we should get to the real questions, then.”

“No.” James felt Regulus lurch for the door. He stopped him, swiftly pinning his arms overhead. The position would’ve distracted him, had he not been so determined to get to his questions. “Now now, Reg. You’re the one who got us in here. I think it’s only fair you answer a few questions, no?”

“No.”

“Oh well. I’ll ask them anyway, and you can do what you like. Why were you crying?”

“I wasn’t,” Regulus gritted out. Alright, James supposed he’d have to be more specific.

“This morning in the broom closet. Why were you crying?”

“I got a letter from my parents.” Regulus’s efforts to escape redoubled, but James just shifted so he had him pinned more firmly.

“A letter? What’d it say?”

“That they were disappointed.”

“Aw, poor you. Was it because you failed to bully some poor Muggle-borns?”

“Because I defended them, actually.” Regulus sounded almost scared at his own admission. It shocked James enough that he let his grip on the Slytherin’s wrists slacken, just long enough that he slipped free. He swore, gripping Regulus's wrists again, tight enough that there’d be bruises.

“And why would you do that?”

“Because I seem to be incapable of making good decisions recently.”

“But what compelled you to say that in particular?”

“Because it was true.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said they didn’t come last in exams.”

“Why?” James hissed, more confused now than ever. “You don’t like Muggle-borns.”

“I don’t hate them.”

“Then why the fuck are you a Death Eater?”

“I don’t want to be.” James let go fully now, stumbling back a step and finding himself pressed up against the wall opposite.

“Then-” he started, head spinning with so many things he didn’t want to feel. “Then why did you take the mark?”

“I thought it was the right decision.”

“And now?”

“I know it wasn’t.”

“I don’t understand.” It was all he could manage. Regulus couldn’t be saying what James thought he was, because that’d mean that he wasn’t really evil. That he wasn’t the person James had been treating him as. And that wasn’t right, couldn’t be right, because it’d make him the monster, just as bad as them, and that was something he’d sworn to himself he would never become.

Regulus was evil. He had to be. Lost and irredeemable, just like Sirius had told him. Just like he'd learned for himself.

“You’re not a good person.”

“I know.” Ok, he could work with that. That was alright, because it meant he’d been right. Regulus wasn’t good, even if he didn’t hate Muggle-borns. He’d still chosen this, after all.

“How?” James needed to know, needed the reasons laid out in front of him. He needed reassurance that he’d been right.

“I hurt Sirius,” was the first thing Regulus said. “I chose the mark. I let myself be convinced that Muggle-borns were the problem. I kept using slurs—”

“Regulus,” James interrupted, desperate now. “What bad things have you done that you don’t regret?”

The room was silent. James couldn’t breathe in the quiet. It was too much; it wasn’t right. He tried to inhale, but the best he got was a shaky wheeze. He leaned further against the wood, letting it support his weight.

“Lumos,” he whispered through his breathlessness. Because he had to. Needed to see—

Oh. Regulus looked wrecked.

His eyes were wide, fists clenched at his sides, and he was staring at James with such unmistakable fear that it’d have made him feel proud at one point. Not anymore. Now, all he could feel was the weight of guilt, heavy on his chest. This was his fault. He’d done this.

“It’s— that doesn’t matter.” Regulus’s eyes were darting around the closet, never quite landing on James. “I still did it. All of it. It doesn’t matter if I regret it.”

“Of course it does.” James's voice was still a whisper. He felt tears pricking at his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to wipe them away. “That makes them mistakes, Regulus, it doesn’t make you evil.”

“I’m a Death Eater.”

“You don’t want to be.”

“I hurt Sirius.”

“Did you want to?”

“No.” It was the quickest Regulus had replied to any of his questions.

“I’m sorry,” James gasped, because it hurt, as though someone had torn deep into his flesh and left him there to bleed out.

Regulus’s eyebrows furrowed, and he looked so confused that James’s heart broke for him. He wanted to reach out, hold him tight and tell him that everything would be alright, even though he was certain, now, that it wasn’t. He wanted to hide Regulus away from the world, keep him somewhere safe where he didn’t ever have to come back out. Most of all, James wanted to tear himself himself apart for being so cruel, for not stopping to think of Regulus as a person beyond what his mark represented.

“Have I hurt you?” It was an easy question. He already knew the answer, but he needed Regulus to say it, no matter how much he knew it’d hurt.

“Yes.” Regulus was crying now along with him, not loudly, though. There was only the occasional tear, slipping fast down porcelain skin.

“I’m so sorry,” he croaked. “I’m sorry Regulus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I should’ve asked. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re a good person, James.”

“You can’t believe that.” James stared into Regulus’s bright eyes, and was struck again with the knowledge that Regulus couldn’t lie. He thought he deserved this, James’s cruelty. And, fuck, he’d been so cruel. Regulus was just like Sirius in that way, James realised, and maybe that shouldn’t have been so much of a surprise, knowing that they both came from the same place. But he’d deluded himself for so long into believing that Regulus was different, that he couldn’t be the same, that the realisation broke him anyway.

James crumpled. He slid down the wall and curled his knees into his chest, burying his head between them as though he could make the world disappear that way. He expected Regulus to leave him there, having nothing left to keep him tethered, but instead, the Slytherin came to crouch beside him.

“Are you alright?” The words were tender, filled with so much concern that he flinched when they landed. How had he been so blind? How had he let himself hurt something so gentle?

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry was all he could say for a while, and still Regulus didn’t leave him. He kept muttering nonsense about how everything would be ok, which it wouldn’t be, couldn’t be when James had tried to destroy somebody that deserved kindness, that needed it more than anyone. Then, his head shot up, fear pushing to the forefront once more, muting the unshakeable waves of guilt.

“The bruises. The bruises, Regulus. What happened?”

“Yaxley. Mulciber. Avery. I don’t know who else.”

James stood, finally feeling strong enough to do so. “I’ll kill them.” He wasn’t sure if he would, but he’d hurt them at the very least. This was something he could do to make up for it all. Or, not make up for, nothing could ever do that, but to try. He had to try.

“No,” Regulus ordered.

“Why not?”

“Nobody can know.” The gentle concern from before was gone from Regulus’s voice. It was a command now, sharp and deadly.

“But— Sirius! Your brother! He has to know!”

Regulus’s wand jammed into the underside of James’s chin, and suddenly he was the one pressed up against the wall.

“You will stay quiet, James, or I will make you regret it.”

“But-”

“Promise.” And it was Regulus. Regulus, the boy he’d hurt. Regulus, the boy who deserved so much better. James didn’t have it in him to deny him anything, not now.

“Alright.” He didn’t know that he meant it, but he knew at the very least that it was what Regulus needed to hear.

“Good.” Regulus stepped away, and James mourned the loss. Then, he turned to leave.

“Wait!” Regulus turned back. James wanted to ask him to stay, to beg him to. He wanted Regulus to let himself be taken care of and let James be the one to help him. But he couldn’t command that from him, couldn’t take more from the boy than he already had. So, he searched for something else to say instead. “You’re a good person, Regulus. I’m so sorry for everything.”

Regulus shut his eyes against the light. “Goodbye, James.” And, with that, James was left alone in a broom closet again. This time, he was certain, was by far the worst he’d felt about it.

Chapter 16: Mixed up, Muddled up, Shook up World

Notes:

Just moved six hours to the South of England and dragged all my stuff upstairs in a ridiculous heat, if none of this makes sense that is why. Hope you enjoy anyway <3

Regulus hadn’t slept that night. There was far too much happening in his head and he was sick and tired of it. Not only was he still unsure of what his next steps had to be (given the whole mess of his situation), but now he was struggling to process James’s words, too. If only he hadn’t been stupid enough to drink veritaserum. He most certainly should have learned better than that after his mother’s training.

He didn’t know how James had managed to get his hands on the truth serum. He didn’t want to, but thinking about that question was far better than thinking about James himself. The boy’s expressions kept plaguing Regulus’s thoughts. He’d looked so sad. So guilty, as if he, somehow, had been the one in the wrong. James hadn’t exactly been nice to him, admittedly, but it wasn’t hard to see that Regulus was the problem in their situation. He was the Death Eater. He certainly had no right to make James feel guilty for treating him like what he was.

He’d just have to stay away. James had promised to stay quiet, so as long as Regulus could stay in control around him, it’d be alright. James would forget all about him, and he’d be able to come up with a plan.

It dawned on him now, though, as he stared up at the dull grey ceiling, that he was no closer to coming up with a plan than he had been when he’d started trying to. His thoughts were still far too tangled for him to begin tugging them apart or following any particular strand, which meant that something had to change. Which is why, against his better judgement, he started to consider talking to Barty and Evan.

They wouldn’t judge him. He’d thought it over, and he was sure of that much by now. They knew the darkest parts of each other, the three of them, and Regulus’s doubts were small talk compared to those. The biggest issue would be him dragging them down into this with him, but even if he did, that didn’t change the fact that they deserved to know. They were stuck in this just the same as him and deserved the truth, no matter how dangerous it was.

So, instead of letting Evan lie in — he was a heavy sleeper, and Regulus and Barty usually left it to the last minute to wake him for breakfast, since the alarm never did — he strode over to the boy’s bunk while Barty was busy in the bathroom, poking him hard in the cheek.

“Ouch,” Evan grumbled, not opening his eyes. “It can’t be morning already.”

“It is.”

“I think I’ll skip breakfast.” He rolled onto his side, facing the wall.

“No.”

“You can’t make me go.” Regulus would argue that he most certainly could, given he’d done it every other day this year, but he wanted to get to the point before he lost his nerve.

“I want to talk.” Evan’s eyes were open in an instant. He scrambled upright, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“You, Regulus Arcturus Black, want to talk?”

“Fuck off,” Regulus grumbled, barely suppressing a smile.

“What?” Barty hurried through the bathroom door, wet hair hanging comically over his eyes. “Regulus wants to talk? He’s not drunk, is he?”

“I’m right here.”

“I wasn’t asking you.” Barty didn’t even look his way, staring straight at Evan.

“I don’t think so,” Evan mused, glancing back at Regulus out the side of his eye. “It’d help this make sense if he were, though, so I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Barty nodded, looking more serious than Regulus could remember him being, well, ever.

“Are you going to listen to me, then? Or just keep talking about me while I’m here?”

“We can talk about you while you’re not here instead if you like.” Barty winked, striding over and making himself far too comfortable on Evan’s bed. Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a breath to stop himself asking what exactly Barty meant, since he was certain he did not want to know.

“Alright, Reg.” Evan wrapped an arm around Barty, who sunk into the hold with a pleased hum. “What’s your big news?”

“Are you Potter’s boyfriend now?” Barty prompted.

“I— no! What the fuck, Barty?”

“I mean, it’s a valid question.”

“Evan!”

Barty leant in, propping his chin up on his hands. “Yes or no?”

“Obviously not! What do you guys know about Muggle-borns?” he asked, quickly changing the topic.

“Mud-bloods?” Barty queried, seeming to be thinking the question through.

“Invasive,” Evan started, sticking up a new finger for each point he made. “Inferior, a drain on resources… that about covers it, I think.”

Barty nodded. “What he said.”

“Have you ever… what if they’re not?”

“Not?” Barty cocked his head to the side.

“Not like we’ve been taught. I’ve been doing some research and I think we’ve been wrong. They’re not weaker, they don’t get worse scores on tests. They’re just the same as us.”

“Regulus.” That was Evan, voice cutting. “Not this again. Wherever you’re getting this, you need to stop.”

“But it’s true!” he insisted. "I can show you. I can prove it."

“Does it matter?” Barty picked lazily at the skin around his nail.

“Of course it does!” Regulus retorted, shocked the question had even been raised.

“I mean, it doesn’t, though,” Barty argued. “We’ve got the mark already, no use worrying about that stuff now.”

“I think we were wrong.”

“So what if we were?” Evan cut in. “It doesn’t change anything. The more you think about it, the worse it’ll get for you. Stop now before you’re in too deep.”

“And what if I already am?” Regulus refused to break eye contact, looking straight into Evan’s demanding gaze. The boy's eyes flashed with fear at the words, widening for a moment before assessing Regulus, dragging across his face as though looking for cracks. Regulus knew he wouldn’t find any. He hadn’t been certain of many things. He’d spent most of his life regurgitating other people’s thoughts, bringing them up time and time again until the substance in them was barely recognisable, but this was something he could feel. It was something he knew, and something he wouldn’t let be taken from him.

Evan sighed, slumping back against the wall. “Then I guess we’ll just have to keep saving your ass.”

“It was kind of fun the first time,” Barty said, grin spreading across his face. “You should’ve seen them. I swear Mulciber almost shit himself.”

“I heard he did,” Evan nodded. “I’m glad we’re friends or I probably would’ve as well.” Regulus could’ve sworn that Barty wilted when Evan described them as friends, just for a moment. Those two really needed to get their shit together.

“So,” he clarified, “this doesn’t change anything, you guys are still going to keep fighting Muggle–borns, but you’ve got my back anyway?”

“About sums it up,” Barty nodded.

“Unless you've got a better plan?” Regulus almost asked for help, then (though he wasn't entirely sure what with), but he stopped himself at the last minute. They knew now, or knew enough. It was up to them to decide where to go from there.

“Thanks,” he said instead.

“No problem.” Barty reached a hand out to ruffle his hair, not managing it for long before Regulus pulled away.

“Right.” Evan looked up to the clock over the door. “Breakfast, then?”

Breakfast passed as usual, only this time with Regulus making extra effort to avoid James’s gaze. He went to class, just as always, and kept trying to decide the best route forward. It didn't work; his thoughts were still too messy. They were tangled and torn wrapped up together and joined so closely that he couldn’t tell them apart from one another. He needed something big, something momentous to give him a knock in the right direction and help him see clearly.

He needed James.

Now, he was well aware that talking to James was a terrible idea, but thinking back, they’d been fine not talking before, in the early stages of everything. They’d used to just fuck and it’d be good — beyond that, really — full of anger and rage and fire. It was what Regulus needed right now, the only thing that might be enough to pull him out of whatever state he was in.

So, he went to find James. After class, he headed straight for the Gryffindor common room, assuming he wouldn’t have to wait long. He was right. Soon, he found himself pulled into an already-lit closet, just like usual, and he instinctually wrapped his arms tight around James’s shoulders, leaning up.

James pulled back.

“Regulus.” His cheeks were flushed, expression gentle. Almost vulnerable. “We need to talk.”

Those were the last words he needed to hear.

“No.” Regulus tried to press forward again, but he was stopped by James’s grip, tight on his hip. Not enough to bruise, but enough to hold him in place.

“Yes,” James insisted. “You don’t belong there, not with them.”

Regulus could’ve played dumb, pretended he didn’t know exactly what James meant, but they were both in this too deep already for him to try that.

“Of course I do. They’re family.”

“They don’t love you.” That hurt to hear, admittedly, but not as badly as it could’ve. It wasn’t true, after all. Sure, his parents were misguided, he knew that, but they still loved him. They’d raised him. They sent him letters to show they cared, and always made sure he had the best that money could buy. Were they perfect? No. They’d made mistakes, just like everyone else, but he was certain they loved him.

He shook his head.

“No, Regulus, listen. I can get you out. It’s alright. You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to.”

“You don’t.”

“James.” Regulus’s voice didn’t waver. He waited, waited until James finally met his eye. “I want to stay.”

“But-”

“Fuck me.”

Regulus could see James’s breath hitch, resting taut in the apex of his throat.

“What?”

“Fuck me, Potter. You heard me.”

“But-”

“Now.”

With James, Regulus had learned, orders were by far the best way to go, and today was no exception. James's gaze darkened, as if on command, and soon after he was grasping Regulus's face in his hands, holding him still as he leant in to press their lips together. It was slow, slower than he was used to, but wonderful nonetheless, all soft edges and smouldering heat. Regulus tried to make it go faster, to sink into it and forget just like he always did, but James wouldn't let him. He kept it slow, forcing him to feel every press of their bodies together.

Regulus bit James's lip, hard enough to bleed. James whined at the taste of metal on his tongue.

"I said fuck me, Potter."

"We'll get there, Sweetheart." Sweetheart. The endearment made Regulus's stomach flip, contorting in new ways he wasn't entirely comfortable with. It was so far removed from what James usually called him, from the usual weak insults spat amidst the throes of passion, that he stuttered, mind blanking for a second as a pathetic sort of sound escaped his lips. James didn't seem to mind pathetic. He swallowed the sound down like he was starving, chasing it on Regulus's lips as his hands slid carefully under the hem of his shirt.

It wasn't the usual careless abandon they were used to, but it was all Regulus could think about nonetheless. He could feel nothing but James's lips, his hands as they traced gently over the lines of his body, setting wildfires in their wake. And he realised now that he'd been so, so cold in their absence. This was what he was missing. He needed to burn.

He tried to sink to his knees but James wouldn't let him, holding him still, ever so gently, and continuing to take him apart piece by piece. Regulus needed to do something, though, couldn't just stay still and take his own obliteration, so he set to work at the fabric covering James's skin, pulling it away piece by piece until James was just as bare as he was.

He never got what he'd wanted. It was only when he was writhing, practically begging James to get on with it, to move for fuck's sake, that James did. He kept a finger under his chin, forcing him to look, to watch as James came apart right along with him. It was far too much. It wasn't what he needed. He'd come to James to be torn apart, to be cleansed in the fires of their mutual destruction. He needed to be hated, craved it more desperately than the air that sustained him, because it was only in James's hatred that he knew who he was. Instead, James was gentle, treating him as though he were precious. As though he was something worthy of the soft kind of love he'd long since given up on.

James treated Regulus as though there was something left in him to break, and that was more than he could handle. They fell over the edge together, Regulus still looking straight into James's eyes, watching the consequences of their destruction unfold even as he felt them wrack through his body in a bolt of lighting. After, he cried.

"Regulus?" James's voice was higher than usual, still breathy from his orgasm just moments ago. "Shit, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have, I should've known, I didn't mean to—"

"Shut up." It made everything worse. James treating him gently while they fucked was one thing, but doing it outside of that? He couldn't allow it.

"I'm so sorry, I—"

"Stop apologising. I wanted it, James. I came to you." He swiped at his eyes, but no matter how many tears he managed to push away, more came to replace them.

"But then why are you crying?"

"Why do you care?" A few days ago, Regulus would've known how James would respond. Would've braced himself for the cold dismissal, the ice that acted in such a juxtaposition to James's touch. Now, however, James was an unknown, unpredictable in the worst kind of way. He caught Regulus off guard, every time, and that couldn't happen. Not if he was going to stick to his plan, whatever that was.

"Of course I care. I'm so sorry. You need to get out of there, I can help, I promise. Sirius—"

"I am not my brother." At that, finally, he felt the tears stop, reduced to an aching lump at the back of his throat.

"No, of course not, I know that, but I can—"

"I don't need your help."

"But I want to help." James's lips were parted, eyes wide in an almost doe-like innocence. Regulus wanted to kiss him again.

"I don't need your help, Potter. This is where I'm meant to be."

"That's bullshit." Regulus hadn't expected James's anger to come back. It was quieter, this time. "You don't belong there, Regulus, not with them, I can get you out."

"No, you can't." Regulus was getting tired of this conversation. His head hurt.

"I can! Sirius left."

"Sirius wasn't marked." He took a step forward. James took one back, swallowing. "Tell me, Potter, how do you remove a Dark Mark?"

"I don't know, but you can still—"

"Say I leave with you, run away from it all. What happens then? What about when Voldemort tries to summon me back?"

"You won't have to go! We can protect you." James bit his lip, eyes scanning Regulus's expression.

"What about when he doesn't give up? It hurts when he tries to summon you, did you know that?" If James's reaction was any indication, he didn't. It didn't surprise Regulus; James pure, but that also meant he was naive. He hadn't grown up in the same world that Regulus had, didn't know just how twisted things could get. That sometimes there was no good way out. "I haven't heard of anyone dying from it yet, but I'm sure it could happen, if he wanted it to. Would you watch me die, James?"

"No!" James looked horrified at the suggestion. "I'll figure something out. We'll find a way."

"No," Regulus shook his head, "we won't. There's no solution here. I'm going to do what's best for me, and you're going to stay out of my way."

"But—"

"You hurt me, James." It was cruel, Regulus knew it was, but it was the only way. "Do you want to make it up to me?"

"Yes."

"Then leave me alone." With that, Regulus pushed his way out of the closet, heading back to Slytherin house.

Chapter 17: Ballroom Blitz

Notes:

Ok so I put in the tags that nobody we like dies
...
I may have forgotten about this chapter
There is still no major character death, but a minor character does die in this chapter who we (presumably) like. If you want further clarification before continuing to read I'll put an explanation in the end notes!

By the time Christmas came around, Regulus was still doing his best to avoid James, and he still had very little semblance of a real plan. The only thing he did have was Barty and Evan; they'd stuck by him constantly, something he always made sure to complain about but, deep down, was more than grateful for. Most of the Slytherins had calmed down enough to leave him alone by now, but he was still on the receiving end of Yaxley, Avery and Mulciber's anger. Or, he would have been, at least, if the trio hadn't ben so concerned about confronting him when Barty was around.

Now that it was time for the holidays, Regulus didn't know how to feel about going home. He loved his parents, of course, but knew equally that their ideals were horrendously misguided. He hoped that he'd be able to help them see reason, but he would have to do so carefully. In Grimmauld Place, defiance was the utmost form of betrayal. He would have to ensure he still appeared obedient, at least at first, while finding a way to challenge their beliefs. It would be difficult, but he was certain that this was his best option. His parents were potentially the only of Voldemort's followers that he could convert to his side, not because they had any particular love for Muggle-Borns, but because they did for him, and so they would have to listen.

He offered his usual goodbyes to his friends on the train, promises exchanged alongside orders to stay safe while they were apart, and then he was heading back home, steeling himself as he made his way up the steps to the front door.

He had barely knocked once before the door was pulled open, creaking on its worn-down hinges at the vigour of the action.

"Master Regulus! Kreacher is being happy to see you home, Sir."

"I'm happy to be back, Kreacher," Regulus responded, stepping through the door frame and shivering at how much darker the world suddenly seemed. He set his shoulders and headed directly to his room, knowing his mother preferred him to unpack before greeting her in the Sunroom. He had never understood the need for a Sunroom in winter, but his mother insisted that the light was good for her health, and so it was kept heated year-round.

He filed his stuff away as quickly as possible, ensuring that his room remained just as spotless as it had when he'd arrived, before hurrying back downstairs.

He knocked twice, this time, before there was a response.

"Come in."

Opening the door as carefully as he could so as to keep noise to a minimum, he stepped through, shutting it just as gently behind him; too much sound would disturb his mother's peace. He looked around, unsurprised to find the room just as barren as usual. There were a only few mahogany chairs sat facing the sun, and even those he hardly saw the importance of, considering he had never seen his mother sit in one.

"Regulus."

"Mother."

"How are your grades?"

"I am almost top of my class."

"Who's ahead of you?"

"Only Bartemius Crouch Junior."

His mother gave a hum of disapproval. "The minister's son." She sighed. "No matter, at least the boy is of pure-blood. Now, what is this I hear about you speaking out against the Dark Lord?"

"It was a mistake, mother," Regulus was quick to respond. "I was merely trying to clarify the facts, not suggest anything out of turn."

"I see." She stepped closer. Held his gaze. "You swear to me that you did not mean to imply sympathy for Mudbloods?"

"Yes, mother."

A crack echoed across the room. It took Regulus a moment to realise that she'd slapped him. The sting was always worse afterwards, once the shock of the impact had passed.

"See that it doesn't happen again."

"Yes, mother." Now wasn't the time to argue. He would have plenty opportunity to convince her, along with his father, of the truth before it came time to return to Hogwarts.

"Now, it is time for your first mission." Regulus's breath hitched, but he held steady, not willing to show the way her words affected him.

"Yes, mother."

Barely an hour later, he found himself seated in his dining room, facing the fireplace. Voldemort was at the table's head, detailing their mission. Regulus thought he recognised Evan and Barty, though he couldn't be sure with the cloaks. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, or whatever the opposite of that was.

Their supposed mission, in Regulus's opinion, was more of a massacre. That much would've been obvious, he hoped, even before he knew the truth of blood purity. There was some sort of high-profile party happening at the Ministry. There were Muggle-borns attending, and Voldemort wanted to put a stop to that.

"Black. Crouch." Well, at least he knew he'd been right about Barty's presence. "West entrance." Evan was placed on one of the Southern doors, and Regulus pretty much stopped listening after that. Their role was simple enough: to stop anybody escaping. It was better than being in the midst of everything, because it meant that, with any luck, he wouldn't be expected to partake much in the actual killing.

He considered trying to get word out to someone, but then they were already on their way to the event, and there wasn't enough time. He didn't know anybody at the ministry he cared enough about to be scared for, either, so there was no use in trying to risk his life for it. He had to be patient. And, right now, that meant pretending to be the perfect little Death Eater. He'd play his part until he had a better option.

Nobody stopped them from entering, which seemed strange. The Death Eaters must have someone on the inside. The hows of it all didn't matter much, though. They were there regardless, making their way through twisting halls, heading towards the centre of the building. He was taking his position, standing opposite Barty, preparing to burst through the door.

The screams started, and that was their cue. They entered the room together, positioned across from each other at the door. A woman barrelled towards them, and Barty flicked his wand, pushing her back without a word. Regulus took the next one, muttering a Flipendo that knocked the man onto his back. A moment later, a bold of green hit the victim, and he stilled.

It was only then that the reality of the situation hit Regulus. The reality of what he was doing, of his role in it all. A man was dead. An innocent. Somebody who probably had a family back home, a family who he'd never see again. And it was his fault.

He'd been right about this being a massacre, that much was clear. It couldn't be considered war, not when one side was at such a disadvantage.

Barty elbowed him in the ribs, harshly enough to bruise. It was what he needed. He drew in a ragged breath and focused back on the moment, letting the pain ground him. His decision was made now, and he had to stick with it, for better or for worse.

He tried to take his mind as far from the moment as he could while continuing to follow orders, forcing person after person back into the room they were trying to claw their way out of. They built up a rhythm, he and Barty, alternating shots, ensuring they each had time to recover from the last. Which was why it was such a surprise when Barty's shots stopped firing. Regulus scrambled to regain momentum, just about managing to dodge a woman's spell and hit her back before she could cross the room's threshold, then turned his attention to Barty. The boy had been hit, that much was clear, a trickle of blood crawling its way down the side of his head. That wasn't what concerned Regulus; he knew Barty could handle a little pain. What concerned him was where Barty's attention was fixed, halfway across the room, right beside where Evan's door was situated.

Bartemius Crouch Senior was here. If Regulus had paused to think for a moment, he could've probably figured out that that would be the case, but he hadn't taken the time. He doubted that Barty had, either, considering the way he was staring. He was fixated, not drawing his gaze away even as another spell hit him, digging a worryingly deep gash into his shoulder. Regulus was hit, too, while his attention was drawn away, pain flaring up the side of his thigh. He spun around to retaliate, then quickly looked back across the room, watching as Barty's father tried to fight back against the Death Eaters. He was losing, overwhelmed, and he had nowhere to go. It didn't take long until he ran for the door.

Barty scoffed, muttering something about his father being a coward, but the man didn't get particularly far with his running either, as it turned out. He ran towards Evan's door, but Evan didn't cast a spell at him. Instead, he let his wand lower, dropping it to his side. Crouch seemed to follow the movement, confused, then, without hesitation, Evan threw his other hand forward, fist colliding with the man's face.

Barty gasped, and Regulus knew without looking that he was grinning. He rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to protecting their door and trying his best not to think about the implications of what he was doing, as well as doing his utmost not to look at the faces of those he condemned. The next wizard who came toward them did so with his wand already raised, not aiming at either one of them but at the door between. Regulus knew right away what he was doing. His hand twitched on his wand, but he waited a moment to raise it.

"Bombarda!"

His vision went black as he was thrown against the wall, face dragging against the stone. In the time it took him to recover, the red-head was gone, along with some others who had spotted the new escape route. Ears ringing, he dragged himself to his feet, heart pounding as he searched for Barty. He relaxed when he found the boy on the floor, already in the process of dragging himself to his feet. Barty's mask had cracked right down the middle, falling away to reveal a feral grin that Regulus knew meant he was more than alright. He wiped blood from his face, licking it from the back of his hand and seeming to savour the taste on his tongue.

It wasn't long after that before the room fell quiet, the floor now littered with bodies. Lots had escaped (more than planned, thank Merlin), and a few of the bodies were those of Death Eaters, but the sight was still enough to make Regulus nauseous.

"Well," Barty chirped, "that could've gone worse, eh, Reggie?" Regulus just glared.

"Fine, fine," Barty sighed. "I'll just go talk to Rosie then. You saw him, didn't you? He punched my dad. I need him to fuck me, like, yesterday."

Regulus rolled his eyes with none of his usual enthusiasm. "Piss off."

"Happily." Barty raised a hand in mock-salute, dodging around bodies as he crossed the room to where Evan was stood, resting lazily against the door frame and watching his approach.

A few minutes later, once the dust had settled on the consequences of their destruction, it was time for the debrief. That was also at Grimmauld Place, for whatever reason. Regulus thought it had likely been his mother's idea, a scheme to show loyalty, or something of the kind. Still, regardless of whose idea it was, he soon found himself back home, covered in significantly more blood than he had been when he'd left. He was glad, at least, that his mask hadn't cracked. He was scared enough for Barty as it was; if anyone who'd escaped had taken the time to look at his face, it wouldn't take much to place him as the son of the head of law enforcement. Regulus could only hope that everyone had been too focused on escaping. And that Barty's father had died in the attack. That, at least, would be a silver lining to the whole thing.

It seemed that some higher being had finally decided to take pity on him, because the debrief didn't last all that long. Voldemort said something about being happy with the results of their mission, then something else about being disappointed that they hadn't managed to kill anyone else. He addressed Regulus in particular at one point, chastising him for not seeing the Bombarda coming. It was clear, though, that the man didn't suspect him of anything worse than ignorance, or else he would have been punished far more severely. After that, it was just him left at the table, Voldemort sending the rest of the Death Eaters away before disapparating himself with a crack.

Regulus cleaned the blood from the floor with a quick spell, knowing that Kreacher would be left to do it if he didn't, and gave himself a moment to gather his wits. When he finally felt ready, he took a step outside, finding himself immediately confronted by his mother.

"Regulus." Her eyes were alight, warmer than he'd seen them in years. "How was the mission?"

"Fine." She waited. He didn't say anything more. He was too tired to display any more faux-pride tonight.

"Don't be rude," she snapped. "Was the Dark Lord impressed with you?"

"Yes, mother." She grinned, then, the smile warping her expression into something borderline dangerous. Regulus shivered.

"Well done. Your father will be so proud." Regulus thought that his father would likely just name the ways in which Sirius would have done better than he had, but he didn't say that. He nodded in assent, keeping his gaze downcast.

"Retire to your room for the night. We'll speak to you at breakfast."

"Yes, mother."

Dutifully, he made his way up the stairs, not quite feeling like he was really there. He hesitated outside of Sirius's door, hand hovering above the handle. He'd only been in there a few times since his brother had left, and it hadn't changed. His parents had emptied it as far as they could when they'd realised Sirius was gone for good, but Sirius hadn't let them tear it apart, not completely. He'd used some kind of permanent sticking charm that Regulus had never seen before, fixing his posters to the walls so they couldn't be taken down. Regulus hadn't appreciated the gesture when it had meant he was punished for his brother's insolence, but he did now. It meant that he could pretend like nothing had changed, could hide away and imagine that Sirius was still there with him. It wasn't something he did often, but occasionally he would allow himself to be weak. He'd give in to his instincts, curl up on the edge of Sirius's bed, and stare up at the Gryffindor house crest that hung proudly beside it.

Today, he didn't. He was still beaten and bloody, and it felt wrong to desecrate Sirius's space with the evidence of his shame. He passed by his brother's room and curled up beneath his own sheets, not bothering to shower or change.

It was a good thing that he woke up early the next morning. It meant he had enough time to clear away the evidence of his laziness and make himself look presentable, washing the blood out of his hair and covering his wounds. He pulled on some dark trousers and a matching black shirt, and pushed back his curls until they sat the way his mother liked them to. Then, he made his way down to breakfast, ready for whatever awaited him.

"Regulus." That was a surprise. His father never greeted him first.

"Father."

"Well done. I thought you were too weak to do what was needed. Yesterday, you proved me wrong."

"Thank you, father." The words were bitter on his tongue. He wished that this hadn't been what it took to get his father's attention. He couldn't keep doing this, couldn't bear it, and that meant that he would have to let his father down. Again.

"Yes, we are very proud of you, Regulus," his mother reiterated, the words a crushing weight against his chest, squeezing to the point of pain. "Sit for breakfast."

"Yes, mother."

Breakfast turned out to be everything Regulus had ever wanted. His parents had decided that he was an adult now, and they treated him almost as though they were equals. He took part in the conversation, telling them about his pure-blood friends, and they listened, nodding along to his anecdotes. They praised him, congratulating him on his strength and capability and on making the right choices, just as Sirius had failed to. His father could see now, he said, that he'd been wrong. Sirius had never been the stronger one, he'd been too weak to handle the necessary expectations. Regulus was the one who was strong enough to be a part of their family.

A month ago, Regulus would've melted into the praise, taken everything he could get. He hated, in part, that he knew better now, because it meant he couldn't enjoy what he'd worked towards for so long.

But, as it was, the praise only made him feel worse, settling heavily in his stomach, weighing him down with guilt and regret and everything it shouldn't. It was a reminder of who he was and what he had done. It was a reminder of who he didn't want to become. He didn't want this version of his parent's love, not if it came at the expense of his self.

"I have something I'd like to say." Regulus's heart was in his throat, but it was too late now to go back. He'd said it, and if he ever wanted to make it through this conversation, now was his best chance.

"Yes, Regulus?" his mother asked, still smiling from across the table.

"Have you… did you know there are some Mug— Mudbloods that are performing just as well as pure-bloods at Hogwarts?" The atmosphere changed, all joviality gone from the room in an instant.

"I hope you aren't finding yourself challenged by the filth, Regulus?"

"No," he assured his mother. "It's just… I thought they were less powerful?"

"They are," his father confirmed. "They're lesser. Taking our rightful place in society."

"Right," Regulus nodded, "but, then, why aren't they falling behind?"

"Well," Orion stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "either the tests are too easy, they're cheating, or the teachers are taking sympathy and boosting their marks."

"But I know that's not happening," Regulus argued. Because he did. He'd thought the same at first, but then he'd looked into it. They had the same tests, he was sure there was no cheating happening in them, and he knew that Hogwarts valued integrity far too much to falsify any grades. "The marks are real. They were earnt."

The table fell silent. That was a good sign. It had to be, right? It meant that his parents were listening to him, thinking it through. It meant that they were open to change.

"Crucio."

Regulus should've seen it coming, should've expected it by now. He shouldn't have let himself hope. Yet, as the pain coursed through his body, ripping him apart at his seams, he couldn't help but feel betrayed. Because he had hoped, hoped that they'd cared enough to listen, that they cared for their son more than their misguided beliefs.

He didn't know how long it was before the pain stopped, but it was long enough that his muscles had long since given up trying to fight. He'd fallen to the ground at some point and lay there twitching, incapable of getting to his feet.

"I though you had finally seen reason, Regulus," Orion sighed. "You've only got yourself to blame for this."

"Kreacher," Walburga called.

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Imperio." That was his father. Regulus felt a familiar sensation of weightlessness wash over him. "Look forward."

Regulus did, ignoring the fight his body put up. He saw his mother, and Kreacher looking up at her.

"You've grown far too attached to this house-elf, Regulus," his mother said, meeting his eye. "We were willing to let it slide when you were proving obedient. Now, it is clear you have been corrupted." She looked down at Kreacher. He couldn't breathe. "Avada Kedavra."

Regulus couldn't scream through the Imperius. He could do nothing but watch as Kreacher, his only friend left in that house, crumbled to the ground, lifeless. She'd killed him so easily, as though his life meant nothing. He wished that he could've just been crucioed again, that he could've taken the pain for as long as it took until Walburga was satisfied. He wished that he'd never known Kreacher, because then the house-elf would've been safe, not dead just feet away from him, in the same spot his brother had lain years before.

It all made a grotesque sort of sense now, everything clicking into place. This wasn't love, it never had been. The thing Regulus had spent his life chasing after hadn't existed to begin with. He'd been nothing more than a tool, and now he was in too deep. If only he'd been strong enough to see it earlier. If only he'd been more like Sirius.

Sirius. He understood that too. Regulus couldn't stay here, not knowing what he did, and being in Gryffindor, Sirius must've learnt what he had a long time ago, long before he had left. Sirius hadn't spoken out just to be defiant, he'd spoken out because he'd had to. And Regulus realised, now, just how much Sirius had endured for his beliefs. If it'd been him, he would've crumbled, but Sirius never so much as faltered, facing his punishment time and time again with defiance still sharp in his gaze. Regulus had never understood until now how strong his brother had been to stand up for what he believed in. Sirius should've left earlier, as soon as he'd realised.

Why hadn't he?

Regulus thought back to those early years at Hogwarts, to the time they spent licking each other's wounds, and it came into focus with a sickening clarity. Sirius had been there through it all. He hadn't left, not until Regulus had betrayed him; until he'd been the one causing the pain. He had been the reason Sirius had stayed, the reason he had suffered, the reason he had left. All of it.

Sirius had stayed for him, and Regulus had still hated him for leaving. Sirius had stayed for him, and Regulus had tortured him for it. Sirius had stayed for him, and Regulus had betrayed him.

It was his turn now. For them. He wouldn't submit any longer; he would fight back, in any way he could. Fuck the plan, fuck being careful, fuck all of it. Sirius had suffered for him. Kreacher had died for him. It was his turn to be brave.

Regulus didn't listed to a word his parents said after that, just waiting until they let him return to his room. He'd be quiet for now, since he couldn't do anything dead, but once he got back to Hogwarts? That was when he could begin to fight back, to try to make a difference. He'd be brave like his brother, even if it killed him.

Notes:

Kreacher is killed by Walburga after Regulus tries to talk to his parents about blood purity.

Chapter 18: Keep Quiet

James usually loved the holidays, but this time he'd been glad to return to school, because it meant that he could make sure Regulus was alright. He'd been relieved, at first, when he'd managed to spot the boy in the corridor, sandwiched between Rosier and Crouch as he always seemed to be. That relief vanished, though, when he noticed that Regulus was limping. Not much, but James knew that any outward expression of pain from the Slytherin was more than enough to warrant concern.

So, he had forced himself through his classes for the rest of the day, almost obsessively checking the map under his desk and earning himself an occasional glare from Remus. When the final bell rang, he darted off to find Regulus without so much as a word. By that point, he doubted that Remus was surprised by his behaviour in the slightest.

When he found Regulus, he gestured for him to follow to the nearest closet as usual. This time, however, Regulus stood his ground. That floored James. As much as Regulus would complain, he had never outright refused him before.

"What is it, James?" Regulus asked, strolling up to him without a care in the world. James's eyes widened at the casual use of his name, and he looked around, doing his best to indicate that there were many people in the corridor, and that it was likely not in Regulus's best interest to announce his affiliation with a Gryffindor to them all. If Regulus received the message, he ignored it.

"You don't have to looks so surprised that I'm using your name. Wasn't it that closet that you fucked me in, Jamie?"

"More than just that one," James retorted, mouth moving far too quickly for his brain to keep up with. Then, "Regulus," he hissed, lowering his voice once he managed to process what had just been said. "Did someone give you veritaserum?"

"Nope." It took him another moment to process that, trying to work out whether it was possible for Regulus to lie about being under the influence of veritaserum while being under the influence of veritaserum. He came to the reluctant conclusion that it definitely was not.

"What are you doing, then?"

Regulus shrugged. "I'm just being honest. You don't mind, do you?"

"Well, not really, but—"

"Good. Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?" James looked around again. They'd gathered more than a bit of an audience. Regulus still didn't seem to mind it, though, so he figured what the hell.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright." Their audience, seeming not to realise how unwanted and unnecessary their presence was, gave a dramatic gasp, whispering amongst themselves.

"Define alright. I was part of the group that attacked the Ministry —" more gasps at that, including James's own "— which wasn't great, but it did help me realise that there's no point in going along with all this. Barty's dad got punched, too," Regulus mused, "which was nice to watch. Then, my parents said they were proud of me for being such a good little Death Eater, which was a bit much, so I told them that Muggle-Borns weren't so bad, really."

"You didn't." James said it more as a statement than a question, not wanting to even consider how Walburga and Orion could have reacted to that.

"I did," Regulus told him, unperturbed. "Then they crucioed me. Then killed Kreacher, so obviously that was terrible. But, again, it did help me realise that I've been going about this all wrong. So, surprise, I'm joining your side." Regulus wrinkled his nose. "Whatever that is."

"Shit. That's. I— what?" James blinked. "What about the mark?"

Regulus shrugged. "If it kills me, so be it."

"No! That's insane, Regulus."

"Is it? Surely it's better than fighting for Voldemort."

"No— I mean, maybe, but—"

"What would you do then, James? If you were me?"

"Well, I'd think it through first—"

"Check."

"—and not come to this conclusion! It's practically suicide." James didn't understand, couldn't comprehend how Regulus, one of the most cautious people he knew, had suddenly become so recklessly bold. He didn't want to understand it. He just wanted it to stop, for Regulus to be safe. For him not to be proclaiming his defiance in front of a crowd of students.

"Better than murder. Besides, even if it is, maybe I can make a difference on the way out. Fight back like you Gryffindors are so fond of doing."

"Regulus!"

"I thought you'd be happy," Regulus said, eyebrows furrowing. "Before Christmas, you were practically begging me to come with you."

"Yeah," James told him, voice strained, "because I didn't think it'd mean you'd be dead! I wanted you to come with me so you'd be safe, not in more danger."

That, for the first time, seemed to be something Regulus didn't have a retort to.

"Oh."

James had practically forgotten about their audience now, far too focused on the boy before him.

"Regulus." James tried to control his breathing, tried not to think back to how lost Sirius had been when he'd first come to stay with the Potters. "You know I care about you, right?"

"You—" Regulus shook his head, hard. "What? No, James, you think you have to save me. There's a difference."

"No. Yes, I want to save you, but I also care about you. I like you, Regulus, and you know what I really, really wouldn't like?"

"What?"

"For you to be dead."

"Oh," Regulus said again.

"Yeah."

"So," Regulus seemed to consider, "you won't help me?" James had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"Not if you'll end up dead. Anything else? Of course I will."

"I see." It was clear that Regulus didn't know where to go from there. If James was being honest, neither did he.

"Can I walk you back to your dorm?" he asked. The damage was done now, and it would hardly make a difference in the rumours if they were seen together for another few minutes.

Regulus, much to his delight, blushed. It wasn't bright, but it was there. "If you have to." James took that for the offer it was, and did. He didn't stop at the entrance to the common room — that wouldn't do any good, since the biggest threats were probably inside — and instead insisted on staying with Regulus until they got to his door. It wasn't until he was assured that Crouch and Rosier were inside that he agreed to leave.

He was jeered at as he crossed back through the common room, but nobody made any further effort to approach him, which was good. He wasn't in the mood for confrontation.

Once James got back to the safety of his dorm, and confirmed that he was, blessedly, alone, he allowed himself to panic.

What the fuck? His thoughts were racing and he tried to pick them out, separate them, but they were moving far too quickly for him to get a hold of. Regulus had been hurt. Everyone knew, now, that he didn't want to be a Death Eater. In all likelihood, he was going to be hurt again.

And James couldn't do anything about it.

Regulus certainly couldn't go back to Grimmauld Place now, that much was clear, and James was reticent to even let him sleep in his own dorm, but what else could he do? At least Crouch and Rosier would be there with him. He could try to get Regulus pulled from school, but he had no authority to make commands like that, and if Regulus was to be believed then it wouldn't matter much anyway. He still had the mark. He could still be hurt and, apparently, killed.

So, they would have to get rid of the mark. Except James had no idea how to do that. Had anyone actually done that? There had to be a way, if it could be created, it could be destroyed. He just had to figure out how, or find someone who could. Who did he know who could work it out?

Remus.

If there was anyone who could do it, it was him. Well, apart from maybe Lily, and as nice as she was, the two of them weren't close enough for him to ask this of her. Especially since she was a Muggle-born, and Regulus was who he was. No, it would have to be Remus.

So, James decided to find him. He checked the map, confirming the boy was in the Courtyard, and hurried downstairs.

When he got there, he found his friends in their usual positions for a Friday afternoon. Sirius and Peter were engaged in a scarily-competitive game of gobstones, which James was certain they cheated at half the time, and Remus was sitting watching, book in hand. He wasted no time, striding forward.

"Moony."

"Prongs." Remus looked up from his book. "Are you alright? You ran off pretty quickly after class."

"Can I talk to you?"

"Sure."

Remus didn't move, so James lowered his voice far enough to be out of Sirius's earshot.

"Alone?" That clearly raised some alarm bells. Remus shoved his book back into his bag, and pulled them off to one side.

"What is it?"

It's about Regulus."

"Regulus? As in Sirius's brother?"

"Do you know any other Reguluses?" James snapped.

"Alright!" Remus held his hands up. "I was just trying to clarify."

"Sorry," James mumbled. "I'm just a little stressed."

Remus nodded, accepting the apology. "Go on."

"Right. So, I've kind of been… talking to him?"

Remus's eyebrows shot up. "Talking to him."

"Yeah, and I might've given him veritaserum."

Remus's expression contorted into something a little less patient and a little more exasperated. "Why the fuck did you give Sirius's Death Eater brother veritaserum? Is that the problem? Is he angry at you?"

"Not quite."

"Oh, God," Remus groaned. "There's more, isn't there?"

"Yeah," James admitted.

"Fuck's sake." Then, when James offered no reply, "out with it, then."

"Right, so he's not actually evil?"

"You—" Remus rubbed his eyes. "Say that again."

"Yeah, so it turns out he regrets all that Death Eater stuff. And he's realised Muggle-Borns aren't so bad. And he wants to get out, except he's decided to actually announce that now to the whole fucking school, so people know about it. So he's not safe with the Slytherins, obviously, and I think the mark can kill him if Voldemort wants it to, and I just don't know what to do, Moony."

Remus didn't respond.

"Moony, please."

"Hold on, James. I need a minute to process all this." That, James supposed, was fair enough. He stayed quiet, anxiously examining Remus's expression."

"Ok," Remus said, much too calmly. "I'm going to need a few things clarifying."

James nodded.

"You're sure he took the veritaserum?"

"Yes."

"You're sure it was veritaserum?"

"Yes."

"You're sure he wants out?"

"Yes."

"And when you say the whole school knows?"

"I mean it."

"Sirius?"

"Not yet."

"But he will?"

"Yeah."

"Right." Remus took a breath. "And you came to me because?"

"I need help."

"With what?"

"Getting rid of the mark."

"Getting rid of the— James, you can't be serious."

"No," James replied, straight-faced. "That's your boyfriend."

"Shut up." James did. "You want me, a seventh-year, to figure out a way of getting rid of Voldemort's dark magic?"

"Well, when you put it like that…"

Remus stood for a minute, watching him. "You're not going to give this up, are you?"

"Nope." That, at least, was something James was certain of.

"Fine," Remus eventually sighed. "I'll try."

"Thank you, Moony. Thank you so much."

"I can't promise anything though, James. You know that, right? In all likelihood, this is going to fail."

"I have to try," he insisted.

"Of course you do." Remus rolled his eyes. "I mean, Regulus Black? Really? Why were you even talking to him?"

James decided that 'I wanted to argue with him and we ended up fucking' likely wasn't the most appropriate answer, so he stayed quiet.

"Alright, whatever. But you're explaining this to Sirius if he asks."

"Alright," James agreed, with an awful sinking feeling. If he knew Sirius Black — and he liked to think that he did — he was certainly going to ask. If not why his boyfriend was suddenly so interested in dark magic, then definitely why there was suddenly so many rumours about his best friend fucking his little brother. James was screwed. He could deal with that, though, as long as it meant that Regulus would be safe. He had faith in Remus, even if Remus lacked it in himself.

As it turned out, James didn't even have time to prepare for a confrontation with Sirius. The moment they crossed back to the other side of the courtyard, Peter looked up at them. At James, more specifically.

"Were you talking to Regulus Black?"

Shit.

"Yes," James admitted, voice strained. He refused to look in Sirius's direction.

"I thought so." Peter leaned forward, elbows resting on his crossed knees. "A Ravenclaw boy just came to talk to us," he explained, a gleam in his eye. "Did you fuck him, too?"

"Wormy!" That was Sirius, voice practically a squawk. "Why would you ask him that?"

"You heard the boy just as well as I did."

"Yeah, but I obviously know Prongs better than you do. He'd never do that, would you, Prongs?" James didn't respond right away, trying to figure out the right words to express just how much he had done exactly that.

"He doesn't seem so sure," Peter argued. Sirius waved a hand, dismissing the words.

"Don't worry," he told James, earnest. "I know you'd never do something like that. I don't know what that prick's playing at, cornering you in the corridor like that, but I trust you, Prongs." And, oh, that made James feel so, so much worse. He didn't feel guilty for talking to Regulus, not anymore, but suddenly it didn't seem like it had been such a great idea to keep it from Sirius. Why had he ever thought he'd be able to keep it from him? They were practically the same person, joined at the hip. They didn't keep secrets from each other.

To make matters worse, he could feel Remus's heavy stare on the side of his skull. Remus knew he'd been talking to Regulus, which meant that he'd know the rumours were true, and that he'd have to have realised just which part of their relationship James had neglected to disclose. This was bad. It was so, so bad.

"Well, I mean, he didn't seem so bad?"

Sirius barked out a laugh. "Nice one, James. You hate Regulus more than I do, and that's quite the achievement." He snorted. "You and him? Together? Imagine that." James had imagined it. In quite a lot of detail, actually.

"Yeah, maybe I've been a bit harsh."

Sirius shook his head. "Not harsh enough, I say. If he hadn't been my brother for so long, I'd have let you do far worse by now." James winced, grimacing as he let Sirius lead him off towards the hall.

He was quiet through dinner, and when they finally returned to the dorm, it was Remus who pulled him aside, ushering Sirius and Peter on ahead. This time, James did his best to give his friend the whole truth. Without the details, of course. When he finished, Remus looked even more sick of him than he had before, which, really, was fair enough.

Chapter 19: Mischief Managed

Regulus received a letter at breakfast. That was hardly a surprise. He opened it there at the table, reading alternating paragraphs aloud with Barty and Evan, each of them competing to be the most dramatic in their enunciation. His friends had been surprisingly supportive of his change in direction, even if they worried for him. He'd assumed that Evan in particular would have to keep away from him so as not to be harassed by his family, but the boy had just shrugged it off, arguing that he'd be of age soon enough and, really, what was the worst they could do? Regulus was glad for it. He would've done what he had to anyway, but losing his friends would've been a bigger blow than he'd like to admit.

So, they sat at the far end of the table, as far from Yaxley's lot as they could manage, scoffing at his mother and father's poor attempts to reason with him. His mother had gone as far as calling James and Sirius filthy which, really, Regulus thought was quite rude, and hypocritical seeing as Sirius was of her own blood. He decided he'd pin the letter up above his bed, anyway. Just as a reminder.

Word of his change of heart had spread quickly, and as far as he could tell, was gossip for pretty much the whole school. The Death Eaters hated him, of course, something he now took great pride in. What had taken him by surprise, though, was just how much support he got from the other houses. Most of them still avoided him, understandably, but he'd been offered a few nods here and there. One of the younger Hufflepuffs had gone as far as to offer him a high-five, which he'd reluctantly returned, much to the girl's glee. Things were shifting. He didn't know where they'd end up, but he didn't hate the direction they were going in. Sure, Voldemort could catch word and kill him off tomorrow, but at least he would've been enjoying himself up until then. He was doing this for the right reasons, of course, but the freedom still felt better than he could've imagined.

The biggest challenge he had for the moment was figuring out James. He'd been sure that James would commend his change in heart — the Gryffindor was all about being good, after all, standing up for what was right — so he hadn't expected him to look so genuinely scared at the prospect of Regulus advocating for the same. He hadn't thought, either, that James knew him well enough to worry for him at all, but clearly James's saviour complex was greater than he'd bargained for, and now he was stuck being cared about not just by his friends, who loved him enough to let him have his freedom, but by James Potter, too, the one boy Regulus knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to stay away from.

"You're insane," Barty told him once they had finished reading through the letter, grinning.

"Thanks," Regulus nodded. It was a compliment, he knew, coming from Barty.

Evan shook his head, but he was smiling, too. "I hope you know what you're doing, Reg."

Regulus shrugged. "Even if I don't, it's my choice." And that, at least, Regulus knew they understood. He hated that Barty and Evan were still stuck with their families. Well, Barty not so much — he'd made the decision to get the mark, something that went against all his father stood for — but Regulus still wasn't quite sure that was a choice of his own, and not just a choice made out of the necessity to escape in any way he could. Evan hadn't expressed any sort of regret about the mark in particular, but he also hadn't been especially enthusiastic to get it in the first place, and Regulus wondered if he'd have made the same choice, had he had his freedom. Not that it did any good questioning it. It wasn't like he knew a good way out, he just wished they'd been given a chance; it wasn't fair that they weren't.

At least they'd have each other.

Regulus wanted to keep making an impact while he still could. Preferably, one that caused Yaxley and his lot as many issues as possible. Also preferably without being beaten up again, although that point was more negotiable. It didn't come as a surprise to him when his next thought was James Potter, as it so often was these days.

At least this time he was thinking of James for a good reason, and at a reasonable daylight hour. James had said that he'd help Regulus out, as long as it wasn't something that'd hurt him, and Regulus was growing more and more tempted to take him up on his offer. An idea was forming, one to get Yaxley, Mulciber and Avery back, and he was certain that, with James's help, he'd be able to pull it off.

Unfortunately, Regulus had no idea how James seemed to keep on finding him, and that ability didn't work the other way around. Which meant that he had to consider his options, deliberate where the Gryffindor was most likely be. After assuring Barty and Evan that they'd have the dorm room to themselves, and folding his parent's letter neatly into his pocket, Regulus didn't make his way to class. Rather, he headed towards the Herbology greenhouses. He knew James took Herbology — he'd turned up one day with a mandrake leaf somehow stuck in his hair — and he knew that seventh-year Herbology took place on a Tuesday morning, too. If he was going to get James alone, this was where to do it. He just had to convince him, somehow, to skip class.

So, Regulus waited. He stood around the corner from the greenhouses and kept an eye out, watching as each person stepped past. James didn't turn up until a minute before class was meant to start. He had Pettigrew with him, too, which Regulus hadn't accounted for, the two chatting away. Still, he wasn't going to just give up, so he whispered a stinging curse, aiming it at James's thigh. It hit, and James moved a hand down to rub at the spot, glancing around. For a moment, Regulus worried he wouldn't spot him, but then he did, eyes widening as he realised where the curse came from. Them, much to Regulus's delight, he excused himself from Pettigrew, leaving his friend to watch him as he darted away from the classroom, seemingly at the very last minute.

Regulus could've sworn Pettigrew spotted him. Bright blue eyes met his own for a moment, something knowing crossing the boy's expression. It had to have been a trick of the light, though, because the next moment the boy was making his way into the greenhouse, not stopping to look back.

James rounded the corner, smile lighting his eyes. Regulus still wasn't used to it, having the full, binding weight of James's joy directed his way.

"You found me."

"I did." James's grin stretched further, though Regulus couldn't see why.

"Why?"

"I want your help." Suddenly, the grin was gone, and Regulus mourned its loss.

"What is it? Did someone hurt you again? Was it Avery? I knew I shouldn't have left you alone, what—"

"I'm fine," Regulus cut in, putting a stop to James's alarmingly-quick spiralling. "I just need a favour."

"Oh." James's shoulders sagged. "You're sure nothing happened?"

"Yes, quite sure."

"Good. Alright, so, what do you need?"

"I've got a prank, of sorts, planned on some of the Death Eaters. I want you to help me with it."

"You? Regulus Black? A prank?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Is that such a surprise?"

"No, no," James shook his head, "you just don't seem the type."

"People change," Regulus told him, then decided to push. Just a little. "Besides, I think you'll remember that I can pull a prank off quite well. With the proper motivation, of course." Regulus hadn't prepared to see James's blush. Once it was there, though, he couldn't stop himself from drinking it in, following the pink down to where it disappeared below James's collar, imagining in too great a detail — because he knew, because he'd seen it — just where it went after. His dick took interest at the thought, and he willed it to calm down. Now wasn't the time, and it definitely wasn't the place.

"Right," James coughed, not quite meeting his eye. "So, a prank. How can I help?"

"Remember that veritaserum you spiked me with?"

"Yeah," James rubbed at the back of his neck. "Sorry about that, by the way."

"I don't need you to be sorry," Regulus told him, crossing his arms over his chest. "I need you to get more."

James nodded. "Anything else?"

"You're not going to ask me what I need it for?" He'd expected James to say yes, but he'd assumed there would be some questioning of his intent, at least.

"I mean, is there anything else I need to know? I trust you. That's enough for me."

"You trust me." Regulus blinked, trying to decipher the words.

"I mean, yeah."

"You're an idiot," was the only response he could come up with. He knew James cared about him, had some sort of protective instinct where he was concerned, but to trust him? That meant more than he was ready to face.

"Maybe," James admitted, "but I trust you anyway. Tell me, or don't. I don't care."

"Alright." Regulus shook his mixed feelings off. He had other things to think about right now. "It'll be a surprise, then," he said, wanting to see just how far James was willing to go with this trust thing. "Get the veritaserum, then you'll see."

"Got it," James winked. "Your wish is my command." Regulus's heart, foolishly, skipped a beat.

James sped off, and true to his word, it wasn't half an hour later that he found Regulus again, this time in the library. Regulus had decided it apt to find out more about Muggle-borns. Seemingly, it was a topic he wasn't very well informed on, after all.

"Regulus!" Regulus winced at James's shout, casting a look around to make sure Madam Pince wasn't close by. He had no doubt she'd kick James out without hesitation, especially since he didn't exactly have a rapport for being the most dedicated to his studies.

"Be quiet," he hissed, when James got close enough to hear. Then, in the same whisper, "did you get it?"

"Of course I did." James didn't lower his voice, but he wasn't shouting anymore, either. Regulus decided he'd take a win where he could get one.

"Good." He held out his hand expectantly.

James pulled a vial out his pocket, then hesitated. Regulus was tempted just to lean forward and snatch it, but he resisted. James trusted him. It wouldn't do either of them any good to violate that.

"What?" he asked instead, snapping the book in front of him closed.

"Just promise me, whatever it is you're doing, it won't be dangerous?"

"I'll be fine."

"Right. Because it's not dangerous?"

"Not for me."

James bit his lip. "As in it really isn't dangerous for you, or as in you think you'll be fine because you've got a plan?"

"James," Regulus groaned, banging his head against the back of his wooden chair, "you said you wouldn't ask any questions."

"I know, I'm sorry. I don't need to know what you're doing, just promise me it's not going to get you hurt?"

Regulus wanted to be angry, to chastise James for going back on his promise. But this was James Potter, eyes wide and earnest behind his oversized glasses. Regulus was never going to be able to stay angry at him, not when he clearly meant so well.

"I promise." Regulus held a hand out. "Can I have it now?"

"Yeah." James smiled, grin stretching right the way up to his eyes. Regulus loved when he smiled like this. James was always smiling, it was practically who he was, but there was a difference between a smile in his resting expression and a smile that he meant. It was part of why Regulus had been so annoyed at him in those first years at Hogwarts. James would always smile at him, but it was always that fake, plastered-on expression. Never like this.

James placed the vial gently into Regulus's hand. He didn't pull away immediately, and Regulus didn't, either. After some time of that, their skin barely brushing, James curled Regulus's fingers up one by one, pressing until his grip was tight around the vial. Regulus let him. He just stared, transfixed at the places their skin touched. The places he burned.

"Alright." James's words pulled Regulus back up to his eyes, glimmering with something far too much like amusement. "I'll leave you to it, then. I'll be here if you need anything."

"You can stay if you want," Regulus blurted out, right as James turned to leave. It was stupid. Nearly worth it, though, when James's attention turned back to him.

"Would you want me to?" It was a simple question. Regulus struggled to answer it. James waited, though, patient as he forced the word past his lips.

"Yes." That, certainly, had been worth it, because it meant he was gifted with another of James's blinding grins: the real ones. James pulled a chair over from another desk and sat opposite Regulus, watching him.

Regulus tried to focus back on his book. Except, five minutes later, James was still watching him. He'd read over the same paragraph around ten times by now, too distracted by the boy opposite, and he was sure his inattention was starting to become noticeable.

"Don't you have work to do?" he tried, keeping his gaze fixed downwards.

"Nah," James replied. "I'm happy to watch you."

"You realise that's kind of creepy, right?"

"You're the one who asked me to stay. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," Regulus admitted.

"Then I'll keep watching. Unless that's a problem?"

"It's just a bit distracting," he sighed. "Surely there's something you could be doing?"

"Fine. I'll read with you." That hadn't been what he'd meant, but he didn't argue. Not when James pulled his chair around to the other side of the table, and not when he positioned himself close, thigh pressing against Regulus's in a way his brain decided to fixate on.

James made a surprised sort of sound as he started reading. "You want to know more about Muggle-borns?"

"I should," Regulus told him. "It's not like mother and father got around to telling me anything of worth."

James snorted. "That sounds about right. I've got a better idea, though."

"You? An idea?" James elbowed him for that. It didn't hurt.

"I happen to know some Muggle-borns—"

"Congratulations."

"—and so I happen to know a bit about them myself. I can try to answer your questions."

"What if they're rude?" he asked. It was a valid question. This was unknown territory. He couldn't be sure he wouldn't slip up, say something out of place.

"I don't mind. Better than saying it to someone's face, yeah?"

James did have a point. Regulus still thought it'd be safer just to look in a book — books couldn't judge him — but James really did seem to trust him. It was only right that he tried to return the favour.

"Alright," he conceded. "Fine."

"Great," James beamed. "Hit me." Regulus, in vengeance, jabbed his own elbow into James's side. Much more violently than James had done it.

"Ouch." James pouted. "You know that's not what I meant."

"I know." Regulus smirked, unable not to at James's overly-dramatic gasp.

"Traitor. Anyway, first question."

"Fine." Regulus twisted in his chair to better face James, something which had the added effect of pushing their legs closer together. His first question wasn't strictly about Muggle-borns, but it was something that had been bothering him for a while, and James was more likely to know the answer than he was, what with knowing people from the Muggle world and all. "If Muggles can't use magic or brooms, then how do they get places so quickly?"

The corner of James's mouth twitched. "That's the first thing you want to know?"

Regulus's posture stiffened. "Is that a problem?"

"No!" James assured him. "It's a perfectly good question. And one I happen to know the answer to. They use something called an aeroplane."

"An aeroplane?"

"Mhm. It's like a big bus made of metal. And it has wings, like a bird, so it can fly with them inside of it."

"So they do have magic."

James laughed. "No, it's not magic. They generate power somehow and use that to make it fly."

"James," Regulus said flatly, now seriously doubting the competence of his informant. "It flies. I'm pretty sure it's magic."

"It's not, I promise. Mary told me about them."

"Well then how do they work? How can you possibly make metal float without magic?"

"I don't know," James admitted. "She didn't get that far. Maybe it just goes really fast? And flaps its wings? That's what birds do."

"So you're telling me that Muggles have a way to make people fly? Without using any magic at all?"

"Yep."

Venturing into the Muggle world was suddenly much higher on Regulus's bucket list.

"You better not be lying to me, Potter."

"I'm not!" James promised. "Tell you what, I'll even take you to see one one day. Deal?"

Logically, Regulus knew the chances of him making it that far were unlikely, what with betraying Voldemort and all. Part of him was surprised he'd even lived this long, though that was something he was doing his very best not to think about. Still, he held out his hand, allowing James to shake it.

"Great." James sounded elated, as if Regulus were the one doing him the favour. "Now, any other questions?"

Surprisingly enough, James did seem to know an awful lot about Muggle-borns, though Regulus wouldn't put it entirely past him to make things up, so he would make sure to check the facts at some point. Still, when they left the library he felt much better about his knowledge in general, and at least well-equipped enough not to accidentally call anyone else a slur to their face, which had to be a good thing. He would've liked to stay with James longer, but he'd already made the Gryffindor skip one class; he couldn't ask any more of him. So, he let James go, and headed back to his dorm, deciding to finalise the details for the rest of his plan.

Regulus waited in his dorm until the evening, right up until he was almost certain that Yaxley, Mulciber and Avery would have left for supper.

"Now," he told Evan, then he transformed.

Regulus had become an animagus in his third year, right after noticing that his brother had become strangely quiet. It hadn't taken him long to piece the reason together, since that year Sirius had decided to actually visit the library, and had left the books he took out piled on his desk, free for anyone to search through, which was exactly what Regulus had done. The day after, Regulus had found his own mandrake leaf. He was thankful he wasn't a loud person anyway since it meant, unlike his brother's, his transformation went relatively unnoticed.

Unnoticed, that was, except by Barty and Evan. At first, they'd assumed he was just being his usual moody self, but he'd unfortunately warmed up to them enough by that point that, after a few days of excessive quiet, they staged an intervention, refusing to let him leave the dorm until he spat out what was wrong with him. It hadn't taken much probing, admittedly. And once they'd found out, they'd taken to the idea a bit too enthusiastically, which was how the three of them had become, as far as Regulus was aware, the youngest animagi as Hogwarts. Or, he and Barty had, at least; Evan had had to start the process over, something Barty still teased him about.

Evan's animagus form turned out to be a crow, but while flight was, admittedly, a useful perk, Regulus still thought his own cat was a much better alternative. Barty, much to both their amusements, had nearly died the first time he'd transformed. Regulus had turned along with him for the first time, and while he'd found himself quite happy in feline form, Barty's octopus was much less comfortable in the grass. He'd flailed around for a moment before managing to turn back, panting as Evan nearly pissed himself laughing. It wasn't even a big octopus, around a few centimetres in length at most.

Barty had been disgruntled at first, but now he seemed quite happy with his animagus. Discovering just how venomous he was had certainly been helpful in his acceptance of it, though he had held a small funeral for the first fish he'd accidentally killed. Now when Barty needed to let off some steam, more often than not Regulus and Evan would send him to swim across the Great Lake. Nearly every time he returned with a story of poisoning some predator that had come after him, and delighted in giving them a dramatic account of the encounters. Evan always listened. Regulus mostly ignored him.

He held still as Evan fit a garish green collar around his neck. It had a sewn-in pocket, making it perfect to carry the small vial of veritaserum James had delivered. Regulus tolerated Evan's hand near his neck, but when he felt pressure along his back he jerked away, turning to hiss at Barty, who didn't look repentant for his actions in the slightest. Luckily, by that point Evan had already managed to fasten the collar and slip the veritaserum into its pocket, meaning he didn't have to endure any more of Barty's presence. So, he stuck his tail high in the air and marched towards the door, turning the corner without a glance back.

Once he was in the corridor, Regulus did his best to stick near the walls, not wanting any more attention than was necessary. Nobody would be able to tell it was him regardless, but he'd rather not have a bunch of strangers cooing over him if he could help it.

It was only partially a success. A few people passed him without a second glance, too involved in their own conversations, but there were also a couple of times where he found his path blocked by somebody demanding his attention. Nobody tried to follow him, though, just letting him pass by when he ducked under their outstretched hands. He waited outside of the room he needed until the corridor was empty, then swiftly ripped off his collar (Evan had fitted it with a quick release mechanism) and changed back to his human form, shoving the door open and praying he was right about the dorm being empty. It had to be. The only other person who might not be at supper was Snape, and Regulus was almost certain the other three banned him from the dorm except to sleep, since he was a Half-blood and all. Not that that'd stopped Snape from trying to befriend them. Regulus looked around, letting out a relieved breath when he confirmed that he was alone. Then, he started searching.

The thing was, the seventh-year Death Eaters weren't exactly quiet about how they liked to spend their evenings. It was a subject brought up far too often, to the point that, if Regulus had held any sort of compassion for them, he'd have found himself concerned for their dependence on alcohol. If nothing else, it certainly explained what had happened to any brain cells they may have possessed. Knowing this, he wasn't surprised when it took barely any time at all to find a half-empty bottle of firewhiskey under one of their beds. He pulled it out, twisted the top off, and dumped the entirety of the veritaserum vial into it, knowing the alcohol would be too strong for them to taste it anyway.

Regulus replaced the bottle under the bed, shoved the collar in his pocket, then returned back to the door. He leant in to look through the peephole, and froze when he realised what was on the other side.

They were early.

He'd meant to wait outside the dorm, use his hearing in cat form to listen in, but there was no way he could open the door now without them noticing. So, he took the only route available, and willed himself to change back. He managed it, just as the door opened.

He looked up at Yaxley.

Yaxley looked down at him.

"What the hell?" Yaxley turned to look back at Mulciber and Avery, and Regulus was certain this was it. They knew a cat wouldn't have been able to get through the door itself. There was no possible way.

He was shocked, then, when, instead of questioning the strange turn of events, fucking Mulciber of all people leaned down to scratch behind his ear.

He couldn't pull away. It was integral to the mission that he didn't. So, reluctantly, Regulus started to purr.

"Aww," Avery cooed. "It's so cute!"

Regulus forgot himself for a moment and tried to deny the statement. All that came out was a meow, which, to his horror, seemed only to soften Avery further. The boy turned to Yaxley, the only one who didn't seem to be enamoured with the presence of a mysterious black cat. "Can we keep him?"

"No!" Yaxley looked downright horrified. At least someone here was on Regulus's side. "I'm allergic." Oh. That could be fun.

"Come on," Mulciber argued, now scratching at the underside of Regulus' chin. "Just for tonight?" Yaxley looked between his friends, finding himself outnumbered.

"It's gone before we go to sleep. And," he pointed to Mulciber, "you keep it away from me."

Regulus decided then that it would be his personal mission to get as close to Yaxley as possible.

"Will do," Mulciber agreed easily, then Regulus found his centre of gravity shifting at an alarming rate. He dug his claws into Mulciber's arms to object, but the boy paid him no mind, carrying him across the room to what was, presumably, his bed.

Nothing much happened for a while. Mulciber did a pretty good job at keeping Regulus away from Yaxley, though, much to his amusement, he did manage to make the occasional escape, which more often than not ended in a near-scream from the Death Eater. He'd just about resigned himself to the fact that they'd decided not to drink for once in their lives when Avery crouched down and pulled the spiked firewhiskey from under his bed.

"Who wants shots?"

Everyone did, as it turned out. Apart from Regulus, who was very content just to watch. This was the most entertainment any of them had ever provided him with, and he didn't want to miss it.

"I hate Regulus Black," was the first thing Yaxley came out with. It was flattering, really, to know the boy thought about him so often.

"Yeah," Avery agreed, as Mulciber hummed an affirmatory sound.

"Don't worry," Mulciber said, "we'll get him back. Remember the plan?"

Yaxley nodded, unfortunately deciding not to go into any details of said plan.

"Let's cheer you up," Avery offered. "What would make you feel better right now?"

"Mr Snuggles." Regulus was glad cats couldn't laugh, or he'd have already given himself away. He pushed at the bed sheets, trying to make a more comfortable sitting spot.

"What?" Mulciber asked, clearly holding back a laugh of his own.

"My teddy." Yaxley flushed a deeper shade of red, stumbling back far more than was necessary given the small amount he'd drunk. "What the fuck did you put in that, Avery?"

"Nothing!" Avery assured him. Then, posture practically shaking with his attempt at holding back laughter, "Do you want me to get Mr Snuggles?" Mulciber did laugh at that, though he disguised it well enough as a cough.

Yaxley, growing more and more frustrated by the second, practically shouted his next response.

"Yes!"

That seemed to be the breaking point for Mulciber, who dissolved into a fit of laughter. Avery hid his a little better, holding an arm over the bottom portion of his face.

"Oh, fuck off," Yaxley snarled. "I bet you've got some weird sleeping habits, Mulciber."

Mulciber seemed to interpret that as a question, breaking free from his laughter just in time to inform Yaxley, "I do wet the bed." Oh, this was too good. Perhaps Regulus's best idea yet.

"What?" Avery choked out. It was Yaxley's turn to look victorious.

Mulciber paled. "I didn't mean to say that." Then, he turned on Avery. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Avery insisted, shit-eating grin still fixed on his face.

Yaxley scoffed. "You must've done something."

"I wouldn't fucking spike my crush, would I?" Avery froze, glancing between the two Slytherins as though there was a possibility they hadn't heard what he'd just, quite loudly, professed.

"You've got a crush on Mulciber?" Yaxley gasped. "What the hell, Avery?"

"No," Avery said, quick to defend himself. Then, far more reluctantly, "I've got a crush on you."

The room fell silent, and Regulus decided he'd officially heard enough to consider his plan a success. Plus, he needed to get back to Evan and let him know they were right about Avery's obsession. So, he hopped off the bed and made a beeline for Yaxley, twisting himself around his legs.

"Ugh!" Yaxley exclaimed. "Someone get this fucking cat out."

Avery was quick to comply, scooping Regulus up and dumping him outside the dorm without a word, slamming the door behind him. Regulus held his head high as he returned to his own dorm. His pride garnered him more attention that he would've liked, but it didn't bother him so much now, not with how accomplished he felt.

Just before he reached his dorm, he felt a jolt of pain in one of his legs. He hissed lightly, assuming he must've stepped on something. Quickly, he hurried past the door that'd been kept propped open for him then changed back, looking down at his arm to find the source of the pain, stomach lurching. There was no injury, but it wasn't hard to figure out what the problem was. The pain started right where the mark was, throbbing up his arm like a warning. A warning for what he didn't know, since he'd already done pretty much all he could to proclaim his change in loyalties, but that was what it felt like nonetheless.

It took a moment for him to remember how to breathe again. It wasn't that he hadn't known how severely he was likely to be punished for betraying Voldemort, but it hit him now that he'd spent very little time considering the exact details of the repercussions. The way Regulus had seen it, he'd be alive one moment and dead the next, gone before he could think too deeply about it, but this new development made it pretty clear that it wouldn't be like that at all. The pain would keep ramping up, he was sure, until it was excruciating enough that his body finally decided to give in. That was, if Yaxley's lot didn't get to him with whatever their plan was first. He grimaced, still staring at the mark as though, if he could wish hard enough, it would simply disappear.

"Regulus?" Regulus dropped his arm instinctively, looking over to Barty. The pain was bearable for now, and that'd have to do.

"What?"

"Come on, how did it go? Learn anything interesting?"

"Yeah," Evan said. "Don't keep us in suspense."

"Alright," Regulus agreed. The pain became almost dull enough to ignore as he focused on storytelling, glad to find that his friends seemed just as entertained with his account of events as he had been. Evan could barely speak for a good five minutes after he heard about Avery, breaking into a fresh bout of laughter every time he tried.

They talked about how to spread the information, then, once that was decided, went to bed. It took Regulus longer than usual to fall asleep. He kept scratching at his arm, no matter how hard he tried to stop himself. Eventually, though, he managed to get a few hours in, passing out with his nails still digging in to his skin.

Chapter 20: Help Me Forgive

Summary:

Fun fact: this chapter feels like the start of part 2 (of 4) of the story to me. That's not important for anything at all, just thought I'd put it out there!

It didn't take long for James to figure out what Regulus had used the veritaserum for. Not when three howlers swooped in, one each for Yaxley, Mulciber, and Avery, and began to proudly announce to the hall things that James was certain their recipients would rather be kept private. Yaxley's wasn't so bad, really, though he could see how having a toy called 'Mr Snuggles' may not be great for the whole evil-persona thing he was trying to project. Pissing the bed, though? That was definitely something James wouldn't want revealed about himself, although having his unrequited crush on his best friend announced to the hall would arguably be far worse.

He grinned into his cereal as he listened to the notes go on, trying to remain subtle as his eyes scanned the hall for Regulus. Much to his delight, Regulus looked right back at him, smirking slightly before returning to his own breakfast.

Once the messages were over, the hall was in uproar. As far as James could tell, not one of the Slytherins felt a jot of pity for their fellow housemates' situations. Not that he blamed them.

"That wasn't any of us, was it?" Peter asked, leaning in.

"Can't have been," Sirius said. "Who else would've done it, though?"

James shrugged, knowing for a fact that he was still beaming. He felt Remus looking at him, and knew that he would almost certainly be able to deduce who was behind it, too, just from his expression.

"Oh," Peter said, and James's head whipped around. Peter couldn't know, right? James hadn't told him anything. It wouldn't make sense. And yet the boy still gave him an undoubtedly knowing smirk, quieting down and going back to his own cereal as James struggled for answers. He looked to Remus for help, but Remus just shrugged, clearly not knowing any more about it than he did.

It must've been the rumours. Sirius was adamant about not believing them, but that didn't mean Peter thought the same. Which meant that two of his three best friends now knew he'd fucked Regulus Black. Ergo, his third best friend was far too close to finding out.

As such, James knew that Sirius's revelation was inevitable. Still, he had hoped for just a little more time to prepare. Not that anything would be able to prepare him, of course, but the thought counted; it'd have been nice if Sirius had remained oblivious for just a little bit longer. Instead, he burst into the dorm at the end of the day, furious, and James was certain his time was up.

"That fucking prick!" James tried to stay calm, to not jump to the obvious conclusion. He fisted his hands in his bed sheets.

"Who?" Remus asked, eyes darting between Sirius and James.

"Fucking Regulus. I mean, he approaches me in the corridor for the first time in years with some shitty excuse about wanting to talk? I bet it's a mission from his master. Infiltrate the Gryffindors, they'll never suspect a thing. Well, I'm not stupid enough to fall for that. In what world do you abandon someone for years, put yourself on the opposite side of a fucking war, and then just pretend everything's fine?" Sirius's fists were clenched, posture trembling in the centre of the room. He reminded James of a caged animal, itching to tear something apart. He reminded James of himself, and the way that Regulus used to get under his skin.

"Are you sure it's a lie?" All eyes turned to Peter. James had figured at this point that Peter knew a little about what had happened between him and Regulus, but never that he'd actually take his side.

"Of course I am!" Sirius took a step forward, and James admired the courage Pete must've had not to flinch back. "He's a Death Eater! One of them!"

"People can change, can't they?" That was Remus. He held his hands up when Sirius turned his glare on him. "I'm not taking sides here, I'm just saying betrayal might not be the only option."

"I can't believe this! That bastard made his decision the day he put that scar on my chest. He crucioed me. Did I ever tell you that part?" The silence in the room made it very clear that that particular detail was one Sirius had omitted. James hated it. He hated anything that caused Sirius pain. Except that he didn't think that was who Regulus was; not anymore, at least. So, yes, he could feel anger on Sirius's behalf for what had happened to him, but he wouldn't use that as an excuse to hurt the Regulus he knew again. He'd done that enough already, and he was certain that the boy hadn't deserved any of it.

"Prongs." Sirius turned to him, practically pleading. "I know you understand it. He's evil." James wanted to say yes, cave and agree to anything Sirius needed. He would've, had it not been Regulus Sirius was asking him to condemn.

James took a shaky inhale, bracing himself. "You know I hate what happened to you. If there was any way I could've stopped what happened, I would take it. But you know, more than anyone, that people make mistakes. What if that wasn't who Regulus really is?"

"That wasn't a mistake!" Sirius shouted, voice echoing off the walls. "You have to mean it, James. That's the only way an unforgivable works. If I thought— if there was any way he didn't, any way I thought my brother was still in there, I wouldn't have left. He's just like them."

"Alright, alright," James conceded, trying vainly to soothe Sirius. "Maybe he was. And you know I don't blame you for leaving. I wish you'd gotten out sooner, Sirius. I wish you'd never been in that place at all. But what if he has changed? I mean, shouting Death Eaters' secrets to the hall? That's hardly something someone loyal to them would do, right?"

It didn't take James long to realise he'd made a fatal mistake. The silence was deafening. It crowded around him like a taunt, a reminder of just how stupid he'd been.

He swallowed, tried to speak, but no words came out. So, instead, he waited. And waited. And-

"James." Sirius wasn't screaming now. He was quiet, much too calm. James wasn't sure if it was some manifestation of his anger, or simply a result of a vain belief that he must've misheard. That James couldn't possibly have implied what he so clearly had. "What do you mean? How would you know that was something Regulus did?"

"I—" James choked on his words.

"Tell me it's not true. The rumours. They were lies, weren't they, James?"

"I—"

"James!" James startled at the change in tone. "They were lies. Weren't they?"

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage. It wasn't what he meant, not by half, and it wasn't nearly what Sirius needed to hear.

"You—" Sirius tripped on his words, evidently struggling with the revelation just as much as James was. "No." He shook his head. "No, you hate him. You wouldn't. You wouldn't do that to me. You couldn't."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't understand. I don't understand! You told me you hated him."

"I did."

"If you hated him then you wouldn't've — what did you even do?"

James swallowed. It didn't do anything to help his dry mouth, only choking him further. "The rumours— well, they weren't a lie—"

"You're lying. You wouldn't, James. Tell me you wouldn't. It's not funny, alright? Whatever this is," Sirius gestured to the room around him, motions jerky, "it's not funny anymore. Cut it out."

"Love—" Remus tried to take a step forward and Sirius whirled to face him, eyes blazing.

"Stay out of it. This is between James and me, isn't it, Prongs?"

James grimaced, nodding to Remus, who took a reluctant step back.

"I'm sorry. I should've told you. I didn't mean for it to get this far, then it just kind of happened, and he didn't want you to know. And I know I should've said something anyway, I shouldn't've kept it from you, and I'm sorry but I didn't know how. I'm so sorry, Pads."

"Don't call me that," Sirius hissed, "not now. You're going to tell me exactly what happened, how exactly my prick of a brother managed to trick you. We're going to fix it, and then I get to be angry at you, James. For as long as it takes."

"I know. You can be angry, for however long it takes," James assured him, hating what he knew that'd entail. He'd hardly been able to handle Sirius and Remus fighting, he didn't know how he could bear Sirius being angry at him. Hating him. It was his fault, though, so he'd have to learn to take it. "It wasn't a trick, though. You have to believe me. He's different, Sirius."

"He's not! He can't be," Sirius burst out. Then, quieter. "Tell me, James. Everything." James winced.

"Alright," he agreed, reluctant. "It— well, I hated him. You know I did, that wasn't a lie. So it started with me finding him to… blow off some steam, I guess?"

"You started this?"

"Yeah," James admitted, moving on quickly before Sirius had a chance to object. "I wanted a fight and Regulus was an easy target. I didn't tell you because I knew you told me to stay away, and it didn't mean anything. And then, well, you heard the rumours. But that didn't mean anything, really, either. I still hated him. Then one time when we met up he was hurt—"

"What? How?" It was strange, James thought, that despite how much Sirius tried to hate Regulus, he'd never managed to let go of the care he held for him. It must've been his instinct as an older brother: to protect, no matter what. No matter how long it'd been since they'd last tried to love one another.

"I thought he'd tried to fight a Muggle-born," James admitted. Sirius scoffed, nails digging into his trousers.

"Please. He was always a coward. He wouldn't start a fight if his life fucking depended on it."

"Right," James replied, unconvinced, "except then I found him crying and he wouldn't tell me why, so I spiked him with veritaserum." Sirius's glare didn't let up, and James felt small under his evaluation. "He said—" James felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, and swallowed around them, trying to force them back. Not wasn't the time for guilt. "He told me he wanted out." Sirius inhaled, sharp. "He told me it was Yaxley's lot that hurt him, because he was defending Muggle-borns. He said—" James was crying now. He couldn't help it, ugly tears spilling down his face. "He said he regretted it, what he did to you. He told me he wasn't a good person, Sirius, and when I asked him why, the first thing he said was that he hurt you."

"No," Sirius rasped through tears of his own. "Tell me you're lying, James. Please, tell me you're lying."

"I can't."

Sirius's crumbled. That was the only word James could think of to describe it, the way the boy's legs gave out, the way he folded down to the floor like a string had finally snapped. Remus moved again, rushing forward to hold him, and this time Sirius didn't object. It took a long while until Sirius's sobs slowed, turning to quieter hiccups. Not one of them moved while they waited.

"I can't do it again," Sirius admitted, once he could speak again. "I don't forgive you, and I can't forgive him, James, not yet. But I need you to promise me you're telling the truth. I won't lose him again."

"I promise," James told him. Sirius nodded slowly, then his eyes went wide.

"Fuck." He stared straight at James, as though he held all the answers in the world. As though he could absolve his fears, when James hadn't yet been able to curb his own. "He's got the mark. You don't get rid of the mark. It— no-one can know. He's not safe. Who knows? If it gets back to our parents— fuck, if it gets to any of the Slytherins— James, no-one can know."

"Yeah," James said, drawing out the syllable. "I don't think Regulus agrees with that part."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that rumour? It might've been him who started it. As in, he made an announcement to the corridor. That I might've accidentally confirmed. I think he wanted to prove he'd changed, so he announced it to pretty much everyone. If anyone doesn't know by now, I'm pretty sure they will soon."

"Shit. What do we do?" Sirius stood, apparently determined to follow whatever non-existent plan James had. It was flattering, really, that his friend had so much faith in him, even despite his anger.

"I'm open to suggestions?" That didn't seem to satisfy Sirius, and James definitely didn't want another outburst. He tried something else. "I asked Moony to help find how to get rid of the mark?" He winced at Remus's scowl, but didn't have a chance to apologise before Sirius whirled on his boyfriend.

"You knew?"

"Not for long," Remus offered, trying vainly to placate him.

"My own boyfriend!" He looked up to where Peter was sitting cross-legged, seeming pretty calm, considering the situation. "You didn't know, did you, Wormy?"

Peter shrugged. "Nobody told me, but I pretty much figured."

"You figured?" Pete nodded, offering no further explanation. Sirius, to James's relief, didn't probe any further, apparently realising that now wasn't the time.

"Right," he huffed. "Now that I know all my friends have betrayed me, it's time someone here comes up with a plan."

James tried to protest, but Sirius cut him off. "A proper one." That was fair.

After a long discussion, they ended up in pretty much the same place they'd started. Nobody knew how to get rid of the mark, but it was clear that was what they had to do. So, until they could, that'd be their priority. Remus even agreed to skip classes, which was how James knew he was serious about it. Either that, or he just wanted to make his boyfriend happy; James didn't care much either way, quite frankly, just as long as it meant they'd figure out how to help Regulus. He couldn't fail. Not at this.

Chapter 21: Brothers

Nothing and nobody was going to stop Sirius from finding Regulus. He hadn't processed everything James had told him. He was angry. He was confused. But more than all that, he needed to find his brother, because if anything that James had told him was true — which he knew it had to be because, despite everything, including his better judgement, he still trusted his best friend — then Regulus was in danger. And, as much as Sirius still hated Regulus with everything in him, he loved him more. Always had and always would.

It was stupid. Dangerous, maybe, but nothing would be able to take away what he and Regulus used to be for each other, not even when they were on opposite sides of a war. Not even when Sirius despised his brother. Sirius was pretty sure Regulus could kill him outright and he'd still come back as a ghost to protect him, in any way he could.

Nobody tried to stop him, and for that he was glad. James did ask to come with him, but he shut that idea down quickly, and James was still feeling guilty enough not to argue with him about it. Part of him wanted to reach out, to tell James that it was alright, but it wasn't. It couldn't be, not yet, and pretending would only hurt the both of them more. James should've told him. Regulus was Sirius's brother. It was Sirius's job to protect him, and there could be no justification for anything standing in his way. If Regulus had given in, become a Death Eater because he'd wanted to be, that'd be different. Not even Sirius could protect him from the consequences of that, nor would he want to. But if Regulus didn't want this? Well, then Sirius would just have to do whatever it took to get him out.

So, he used the map to make sure Regulus was in his dorm, then marched down to the dungeons, not bothering with the cloak, despite James's offer. It didn't matter if he hid, not when Regulus had apparently announced his disloyalty to the whole school anyway, idiot that he was.

He didn't know the Slytherin password, of course. He would never choose to be near their common room out of his own free will. So, he waited until a student approached, clad in disgustingly green robes. Once the boy was close enough, Sirius pulled his wand out.

"Password," he demanded. The student, who couldn't have been more than a second-year, startled, eyes widening. Sirius had definitely picked the right target.

"Pure-blood," the boy stuttered out, after a moment, and the door swung open. Of-fucking-course that was the password. Sirius's lip curled in displeasure, but he lowered his wand, striding into the near-empty common room.

The little chatter there was dropped off as he entered, taking on a more sinister tone. He paid it little mind, not caring so long as nobody stopped him. Except that, when he tried to follow the corridor down to the dorms, somebody did.

Dorcas Meadowes stepped in front of him, posture strong and eyes narrowed. He'd always respected her. As far as he could tell, she was one of the few good ones in the house. He wouldn't hesitate to duel her, though, if she intended to stop him seeing Regulus.

"What?" he asked, voice clipped.

Meadowes examined him, dispassionate. "You're not supposed to be here."

"Great. Let me past." Sirius tried to dodge around her, but she moved to block his path.

"What are you doing here, Black?"

"I'm here to see my brother."

"I'm not letting you fight in here," she told him, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I'm not looking for a fight. I'm here to talk to my brother."

"Why?"

Sirius bristled at that. "That's none of your business."

"It is," Meadowes told him, "if you force yourself into my house and cause a commotion. Tell me what you're here for."

"Oh, come on." Sirius realised she wasn't going to let him past, not without an explanation. And, as little as he wanted to talk to her, he wanted to fight her far less. He'd heard she was reasonable, at least, so maybe she'd accept his excuse.

"You've heard the rumours about Regulus?"

"People talk." Her expression didn't change.

"Then surely you know why I'm here."

"Spell it out for me."

Sirius sighed, shoulders slumping. "I just want to make sure he's alright."

"Hmm." She tilted her head. "And if the rumours are wrong?"

They weren't, Sirius wanted to tell her, but he knew that wasn't the answer she wanted from him. He grit his teeth.

"Then I'll leave. No fighting."

She examined him, as though looking for cracks in his facade. "Alright," she allowed eventually, stepping aside. "But don't stay long. I'm doing you a favour, Black, don't make this a habit." Sirius nodded, then continued on down the hallway. He wondered why Meadowes had been sorted into Slytherin; she seemed more like a Gryffindor to him.

Sirius didn't bother to knock when he reached Regulus's room. He never had at Grimmauld Place, so if they were going to try this whole brothers thing again, that seemed to be the place to start. It meant he probably wouldn't put his best foot forward with Regulus's roommates, but he didn't think that mattered much. Both Crouch and Rosier had the mark anyway; he wouldn't go out of his way to fight with them as long as they left Regulus alone, but he also wasn't going to pretend to be friends with Death Eaters. He didn't think he was physically capable of that.

As suspected, three pairs of eyes turned to him when he burst in. He only cared about one.

"Leave," he demanded, keeping his gaze fixed on his brother. Much to his displeasure, neither Crouch or Rosier twitched. In fact, Crouch just barked out a laugh.

"And why'd we do that? This is our dorm room, you know."

"I need to talk to my brother."

Rosier raised an eyebrow. "And did Regulus agree to this?"

Sirius did his best to convey his thoughts to Regulus. Regulus, the prick, ignored him, remaining seated as he watched the conversation play out.

"I don't need your permission to talk to my brother," Sirius gritted out. He wanted to punch one of them. Preferably both. Rosier first, probably; he had his sleeves rolled up, Dark Mark out as though it were something to be proud of.

"That's not what I asked," Rosier argued. "I asked if Regulus agreed."

"Fuck off."

"No, no," Crouch interjected, "he's got a point. Maybe you don't need our permission, but you definitely need Regulus's permission if you want to talk to him, no?"

"How about you just—"

"Alright!" That was Regulus. Finally. Sirius couldn't help but startle at his voice. The Regulus he was used to was quiet, hiding away in the shadows. He wasn't used to hearing him sound so self-assured. That had always been Sirius's thing, even if most of it was a front. "Evan, Barty, leave. I'll be fine."

Surprisingly enough, Crouch and Rosier stood without argument, making their way out past Sirius. Crouch slapped him hard on the shoulder as he passed. He felt the urge to chase the boy and get him back somehow, but stood firm. Regulus. That was who he was here for.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Regulus asked. To the untrained eye, he would seem at ease, but Sirius had known his brother far too long to believe that. His legs were crossed at the ankle, something he only ever did when he was nervous. One of his arms, too was pressed closer to his side, and Sirius really didn't like that. It meant that it hurt, and that Regulus wanted to hide that pain. Sirius took a breath, deciding to circle back to it. He had to be careful. Regulus had never appreciated his boldness.

"You wanted to talk," he stated. "I want to listen."

"What changed?" He should've expected that. Regulus had always been too perceptive for his own good.

"I realised you meant it." Regulus's eyes narrowed for a moment, then he jerked back.

"James," Regulus realised, the name half-way between a prayer and a curse. Regulus wasn't Sirius's, not any more, but he still knew his brother enough to recognise that he cared. It should've been a relief to have confirmation that James hadn't been lying, that Regulus really did care, and that he wanted to change. To some selfish part of Sirius, it wasn't. It made him sick. James shouldn't be able to have Regulus, not when Sirius had lost him.

"Yeah," Sirius admitted. Regulus scowled. The selfish part of Sirius loved it, wanted to keep them far, far away from each other, but he swallowed it down. He wasn't like his parents, he worked every day not to be, and that meant choosing love, every time. He loved James. He loved Regulus, despite it all. If they made each other happy? Well, that was his problem to deal with.

"He didn't mean to," Sirius said. "It was an accident."

Regulus nodded reluctantly. He didn't seem angry, at least, more resigned. "You'd have found out anyway, I suppose. I just thought the rumours would get to you first."

"They did," Sirius nodded. "I didn't believe them." Strangely, that was what made Regulus's lips twitch, turning up into the ghost of a smile. Sirius felt warm.

"You always were the stubborn one."

"Better than giving in." Shit. He shouldn't've said that. Regulus would shut down now, just like he did every time. Sirius had used to scream at him, or cry, depending on the day, begging his brother to stand beside him. Regulus would turn away, every time. Sirius didn't blame him for it, as much as it hurt, because it was the right decision, everything considered. He just wished it could've been different, that there was some way they didn't end up here, years apart, divided by a war neither of them had wanted a part in.

Regulus, though, just nodded. Somehow, that was worse.

"Yeah. I get that now."

"Shit," was all Sirius could come up with. The word was an exhale, one long, punched-out breath. Regulus laughed.

"That about sums it up."

Sirius shifted on his feet. There was too much space between them, but it was different, now. He couldn't ask Regulus to close it.

Could he?

Somewhere in it all, Sirius had forgotten. Forgotten that, as much as he knew his brother, his brother knew him too.

"Come here," Regulus said. Sirius did. He practically collapsed into Regulus, wrapping his arms tight around him. Tight enough, he hoped, that nothing would dare take his brother from him. Not again.

"I missed you," Sirius confessed.

"I missed you too," Regulus told him. And Sirius had known, felt that it was the case, but the words squeezed him tight anyway. He couldn't breathe, but he didn't need to. This was enough. It was everything.

He was crying, he was sure, but he knew his brother, knew he was too, so it was alright.

He shifted his grip. Regulus winced.

Sirius let go immediately, staring down at Regulus's ribs, searching as though he'd be able to spot what was wrong, despite the jumper that kept his skin hidden.

"It's alright," Regulus told him. Sirius hated it, that Regulus somehow felt the need to dismiss his pain. He remembered what James had said and looked again, frowning when he couldn't see any bruises at all.

Oh. "You're hiding them."

"What?"

"You're hurt and you're hiding it." He'd been stupid. Naive. Regulus had abandoned him, but that didn't mean Sirius had let him go. He'd watched across the corridor, checked at every opportunity to make sure his brother was ok. Physically, at least. But it hadn't mattered. Regulus was hurt now, and he was hiding it. How many times had he been before? How many times had Sirius ignored it?

"It's nothing," Regulus dismissed again.

"Stop it," Sirius ordered. "Don't do that. It's not nothing, Regulus. You being hurt isn't nothing."

"Sirius." Regulus waited until Sirius met his eye. "Think about where we're from. You think a few bruises matter? Really?"

"I'm sorry."

"Shut up." Sirius did. "You don't get to apologise, alright? This is my fault. I'm sorry, Sirius, for all of it."

"But I—"

"Stop it!" Regulus ordered again. "You Gryffindors are going to drive me insane, I swear." Sirius smiled, then remembered who exactly Regulus was referring to.

"James deserves to be sorry."

Regulus groaned. "Don't tell me you're angry at him for all this."

"Of course I am!"

"Really? What is it, exactly, that you're angry at him for?"

"He hurt you!"

"I deserved it."

"Fucking stop that. No you didn't."

"Fine." Regulus rolled his eyes. "Say I didn't. How was he supposed to know?"

"Well, he shouldn't have gone to find you in the first place."

"I didn't exactly make him leave. I'm as much to blame for it as he is, so if you're angry at him, you should be at me, too."

"I am!"

"You're not acting like it."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot going on right now. I can be angry at you later."

Regulus grimaced. "Probably best to do it now."

"What?" Sirius narrowed his eyes. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Regulus shrugged, expression worryingly controlled. "Just that I'm not best liked right now."

Sirius shook his head, sharp. "We're going to fix it, alright? Then we'll have plenty of time to be angry at each other."

"I'm not angry anymore."

"I'm sure I can do something to piss you off." Regulus smiled again. Sirius wanted to keep it there, to never let Regulus have any other expression.

Unfortunately, it disappeared far too quickly.

"Not sure you can beat getting the Dark Mark."

"No, probably not. Hey!" Sirius perked up. "I can hold that over you now, can't I? It doesn't matter if you disagree with me because I'm not the one who got the Dark Mark, which obviously makes me right." He paused. "How was it? Getting the mark, I mean."

That made Regulus laugh. "Just great, Sirius. Best day of my life."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "I still can't believe you agreed, you know? I knew you'd chosen them, but I still didn't believe you'd get the mark. Not until I saw it." He took a breath. "I cried after seeing it."

"Sorry," Regulus murmured, looking down at his knees. Sirius shook his head.

"Don't do that. I do want to know why, though. Could you tell me?"

"What's there to tell? Mother and father told me to get it, so I did."

"You must've wanted it to get it, though."

Regulus shrugged. "I wanted to make them happy." Sirius tasted bile.

"They didn't give you a choice, did they?" It wasn't a surprise. Knowing their parents, it was the only logical option. But Sirius had had an image of Regulus he'd needed to maintain, and that had meant pretending his brother had a choice, because he wouldn't have been able to handle the alternative.

"I said yes."

"But did you want it?"

"That hardly matters."

"Right," Sirius rasped. "I'll take that as a no, then."

Regulus was moving, suddenly, clenching his wrists and forcing him to look. "Don't do that. Don't act like I didn't have a choice."

"Well, you very clearly didn't."

"I did! I did, Sirius, and that's why I have the mark and you don't."

"Where would you have gone?" Sirius's breath caught, fear overwhelming him. "Shit, where would you have gone, Reggie? I had James. You didn't have anywhere else, did you? I should've stayed. I should—"

Regulus cut him off. Again. "No. You deserved to leave. I chose to stay. That's it, Sirius. I'm glad you got out."

"Right," Sirius grumbled. "Well, that's very clearly not right, and we'll come back to that, but there's something I need you to tell me."

Regulus nodded.

"I don't blame you for it. Well, maybe I do. I don't know, but I love you, Reggie, and nothing's going to change that. I always did, even then, but I need you to tell me why you did it. I just need to hear it, I think, for closure or something. The night I left. Why did you do it?"

Regulus took in a harsh breath. He was shaking, unsteady where he sat, and Sirius wanted to take his words right back, tell him that it was all alright, that he didn't need to say anything. At the same time, though, he needed to hear Regulus's response. Maybe it was selfish, but he deserved an explanation, didn't he? He'd accepted that Regulus wasn't going to stand up for him, but he'd never thought that his brother could hurt him. And that, above everything else, was what had torn them apart.

"I tried to fight it." Regulus was crying properly now. Sirius held him. It was all he could do, try to steady him as he shook. "I really did, I promise."

"Fight what?"

"The Imperius." Sirius didn't know whether the room was quiet or whether he just couldn't hear. His ears were ringing, so surely that meant his hearing was alright, but there was too much quiet, too, too much to process. It was all too much. He couldn't take it, wanted desperately not to have heard what Regulus told him at all. Because it was the final piece of the puzzle, drawing together a picture that Sirius couldn't bear to look at. He wanted to shatter it, but he couldn't, not now that he knew.

Sirius had soothed himself with the fact that Regulus had been the one who left him. Told himself that, as much as he missed his brother, it was Regulus's choice; Regulus was the one who'd made the decision to abandon him. Now, though, it was all different, because Regulus hadn't left him at all, apparently. He'd been cursed, and Sirius had left him alone, abandoned him to the cruelty of their parents. He'd been cursed, and Sirius had hated him for it. He'd been cursed, and Sirius hadn't stopped to question it. He felt guilt, more than anything, and shame, too. If he'd known his brother as he'd pretended, he would've known that that would never have been Regulus's choice. They were always there for each other, despite it all, and it wasn't Regulus but Sirius who'd chosen to tear them apart, and leave his brother to burn in the ashes.

"I'm sorry," Sirius choked, feeling the world tilt on his axis and knowing that nothing he could do would set it right again. "I'm so sorry."

"What?" Regulus asked, somehow managing to sound offended, even through the tears. "Don't do that. I crucioed you, Sirius, you don't get to be sorry for that."

"I left you."

Regulus sucked in a breath.

"I made you."

"You didn't! You didn't, you didn't mean it. I should've known, I shouldn't have let them convince me. I should've known, Regulus, I'm so sorry."

Sirius's gaze was dragged up forcefully, Regulus's cold hands harsh on either side of his face.

"No." It was startling, how steady Regulus was now, how different from the trembling boy he'd been just seconds before. "It was them, Sirius," he said, words a revelation. "All of it. They did this, not us. It wasn't your fault." He paused, determined. "And it wasn't mine either. We were children."

Sirius, he was sure, had never been prouder of his little brother than he was in that moment. He didn't know when Regulus had become the more rational one, but he was so glad that he had. He sank into his brother's arms and let himself be held. He let himself believe that it was all alright, even if it could only just be for a fleeting moment. Most importantly, Regulus let him believe it too.

It was Sirius who pulled back eventually, gasping. "You stopped."

"What?" Regulus blinked, eyebrows knitted together. "No I didn't, you—"

"No, no, not now. Then. Regulus, you let me go."

"Oh." Regulus nodded, a small smirk crossing his face. "I suppose this gives me something to bring up in arguments then, huh? I broke through an unforgivable for you. I think that ought to give me some leverage."

"Fine." Sirius bumped their shoulders together, wanting to keep them close. "I suppose that makes us even, then." He laughed, then laughed some more, unable to control it now the dam had broken.

"What?" Regulus asked, alarmed.

"I love you." It was all Sirius could say, the only thing in his head that was making sense. The only thing that felt right.

Regulus grinned. "I love you too." Then, somehow, he was laughing as well, the two of them trapped in the moment together. Two brothers on opposite sides of a war, who loved each other anyway. It was the lightest Sirius had been in years.

They didn't stop, not until Crouch and Rosier interrupted them with matching expressions of horror.

"What the fuck?" Rosier asked.

"Is Regulus… laughing?" That was Crouch.

"Fuck off," Regulus grumbled. Sirius knew, then, that the three of them had to be friends. Proper friends.

"He is," Evan gasped. "He's been cursed, Barty, he has to have been."

"You're right," Barty nodded, solemn. He rounded on Sirius. "What've you done to him? We want our serious Regulus back."

Regulus groaned pre-emptively. Sirius was glad his brother knew him so well. "He was never serious," Sirius informed them, "that's me." Just like Regulus, Rosier didn't seem very impressed with his joke. Crouch barked out a laugh, though, so Sirius decided he was his favourite. Or would've been, at least, had he not been a Death Eater. That was a bit of a deal-breaker.

Sirius glanced at the clock, wincing. He had much more to say but he was running out of time, and he refused to do it in front of Crouch and Rosier, even if they did seem relatively alright with Regulus opposing their Dark Lord. "I better get going," he said. "I'll be back, though, yeah?"

"Yeah," Regulus agreed softly, letting him stand.

"Hang on a moment." Rosier stopped him. "Hurt him and I'll kill you." Crouch nodded along. That, at least, Sirius could respect.

"Same goes to you." They watched each other for a few moments, an understanding passing between them. They didn't like each other, but they all liked Regulus, and that'd have to be enough to keep them civil.

Sirius nodded to Meadowes as he left the common room. She took in his dishevelled appearance, the tear-tracks that were undoubtedly clear on his cheeks, and nodded back.

Chapter 22: Lie to Me

"Thanks, Prongs." James hadn't expected that. It had to be a good sign, though, right?

"It went well?"

"Yeah," Sirius said, crossing the room and dropping down into the space beside him. "I'm still pissed at the both of you, though."

"I can cope with that." And he could, he thought, as long as this was the form Sirius's anger took. As long as it didn't pull them apart.

Sirius relaxed beside him, an elastic band, one that had finally been allowed to break. "Can we—"

"Yeah, of course we can." James shuffled back on the bed, pulling the curtains closed behind them. He flicked his wand, muttering a quick silencing charm. "So it went well?"

"Yeah," Sirius nodded. Then, to James's alarm, he was crying. It wasn't the same way he was used to seeing Sirius cry, all pain and desperation and longing; it was something gentler, something that seemed to flow from him like a wave in the ocean, pushing forward and receding back. It was everything, and it was nothing at all.

"It's alright," James soothed, pulling Sirius in. He held him close enough that their heartbeats touched, and hoped that Sirius would be able to feel it, feel everything James held for him. He was sure he had to be able to, because James felt far too much to keep contained. Sirius was all that he was, the breath in his lungs, the blood in his veins. If he was hurt, he knew it would be Sirius's blood that spilled from him, just as his would spill from Sirius. They were two people, each their own, but they would always belong to each other.

"He wants to get out." Sirius's hands gripped his shirt and the skin under it, bruising. James found that the pain helped ground him.

"He does. He will. Because we're going to help him."

"Promise me."

James couldn't do that. Remus had told him already that it was all but impossible, and if he were to put odds to it, they most certainly wouldn't be in their favour. But, then again, they were the Marauders, and it felt inconceivable that they could fail. They wouldn't, not at something as important as this. Maybe it was arrogant to think so, but James would much rather be arrogant than have to face the alternative.

He'd already promised himself that he'd get Regulus out. What did it matter making the same promise to one person more?

"I promise, Pads," he said, and he meant it. "We're going to get him out."

Sirius nodded against his chest, then cried harder.

"I want to forgive you," he declared, "but I can't."

"It's alright." James ran a hand up and down his back.

"I can't forgive him, either."

James's stomach dropped. "You said it went well though, yeah? That you guys were alright?"

"I love him, Prongs. Just like I love you. I just can't forgive him yet, even though I should."

"Oh," James breathed, "well, that's alright, then."

"It is?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "You can not forgive for as long as you want, just as long as you love in the meantime." Sirius pulled back, wiping at his nose. James was pretty sure there was snot on his jumper. He didn't care enough to check.

"I will," he promised, silver eyes gleaming as they met his, as sharp as blades. James had always known that, seen Sirius's edges for what they were since their first day on the train. It might've scared some people away, just how deeply those edges could cut, but that was because most people didn't stop to think about how gentle they could be, too. James didn't think of a knife was a weapon, not by itself; it could cut away at the rot just as well as the healthy skin around it.

James fought with himself for a moment before deciding, ultimately, that he'd regret not knowing more than the repercussions of asking. "You don't have to tell me," James assured his friend, "but did he say anything about before? About what he did to you?"

Clearly, he had underestimated the potential repercussions of his actions. When Sirius broke again, breath coming in shuddering gasps as though the air itself were fighting against him, James was certain that he'd made the wrong decision by asking. Then, almost as soon as it had started, it stopped. Sirius shook it off, squaring his shoulders and looking right to James with a stubbornness that told him he was going to listen, whether he wanted to or not.

"Yeah. Turns out that was our dearest parents, too." James pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, as though seeing better would, somehow, help him understand.

"What do you mean?"

"It was the Imperius."

It took James far longer than it should've to realise what Sirius was telling him. He was glad it did, because what Sirius was suggesting shouldn't be an easy assumption to make. It shouldn't have been an assumption James could make. Not when it was about Regulus, Sirius's brother; Regulus, who was good even if he couldn't see it, and didn't deserve any of the pain he felt he was owed.

"No." James shook his head, feeling his brain rattle around inside of it. All of a sudden, he wanted his parents to be here. Why weren't they here? They would fix it, just like they always did, and make everything alright again.

"Yeah," Sirius affirmed, expression grim. "I shouldn't have believed it. I should've known."

"No, no," James shook his head, torn between comforting Sirius and needing not to believe what he was saying. "It was them, not you." James was back again, right where he learned to hate the first time. Except, this time, his anger was for both the Black brothers, not just one of them. Maybe that made it better. Frankly, though, he didn't care whether it was better or not, whether it was something he was supposed to feel. He wanted to tear Walburga and Orion apart for daring to hurt the people he cared for in the first place, and he knew he wouldn't hesitate, given the chance. He wouldn't feel guilty, even, because they deserved it. He wanted to draw their blood and wear it like a badge of honour.

"Yeah." Sirius slumped, elbows resting on his knees in an effort to keep himself upright. "It's them. It still is. We need to get him out, as soon as we can."

"We will. He's not going back there." James didn't recognise his own voice, so low it was practically a growl. Sirius didn't seem to either. He blinked up at James, eyelashes still dark with the remnants of tears shed.

"You really care about him, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Why?" He would've laughed the question off, except Sirius didn't seem to mean it as a joke. No, he was serious.

"He's your brother," James stated, feeling like that much should've been obvious.

Sirius huffed out a laugh. "Oh, come on, I know that's not it."

"No, but it is," James argued. "I mean, he doesn't deserve to be there, which is most of it, but I wouldn't care so much if he wasn't your brother."

"Fuck's sake Prongs, don't tell me you really mean that. I'm supposed to be the emotionally-stunted one here."

"What?"

"Come on, you're really going to tell me you thought about me every time you met up with him?"

James wrinkled his nose, shivering. "I really hope not." It took Sirius a moment to realise what he'd just, inadvertently, implied. James had expected disgust. A scream, maybe. What he hadn't expected was for his friend to turn and, without a moment's hesitation, punch him in the face. Hard. Hard enough, in fact, that his nose started to bleed.

"Ow! What the fuck, Pads?" He'd hoped that the sight of blood would be enough to calm Sirius from whatever had set him off, but even that didn't seem to have an effect.

"You— my brother— you defiled him!"

"What?" James's voice was distorted by the hand he held over his nose. He was pretty sure some of the blood had gotten into his mouth. "No I didn't! It was mutual. I thought you knew that already!"

"I didn't think about that."

"Well then what did you think we were doing?" James asked, genuinely confused.

"I don't know! Talking! Arguing! I didn't think you were having secret rendezvous to do that with my little fucking brother."

"At least you weren't there! I have to hear you and Remus, you know, and you're not exactly great at remembering silencing charms."

"Remus isn't your brother!" Sirius screeched, still looking absolutely horrified at this new piece of information. "I thought you hated him."

"I did."

"Then why— how did you—"

James scratched at the back of his neck, trying to look at anything other than Sirius. "I mean, we weren't exactly gentle."

Something crashed into James's already-bleeding nose, causing the tentative hold he had on the situation to become undone, and blood to pour onto his bed sheets. They were red, which would help with the staining but, unfortunately, a much lighter shade than his blood seemed to be.

"Why the fuck would you tell me that?"

"You asked!" Really, he wasn't sure why they were still on this topic. There was nowhere to go from here that'd make Sirius feel any better about the conversation they were having.

"Not for that! I meant why, not fucking how."

"It's the same thing, though. We hated each other. There was tension. We tried to resolve it." Sirius retched, and for a moment James was worried he was going to actually vomit. He felt bad for whoever got this dorm after they left. All things considered, the room had seen far too much of their combined bodily fluids, especially considering that they'd been here since first year. With Sirius and Remus's wounds — particularly in earlier years; Peter's spontaneous nosebleeds; the amount of snot Sirius used to get on James's sheets after a bad night; the times Remus vomited after a bad moon and none of them got a bucket there in time; and now Sirius and Remus's new activities, James was sure there must come a point where not even Scourgify could hide all the damages.

"Why would you do that, James?" James just shrugged. He could say he was sorry, but, well, it didn't feel right to apologise for everything, even knowing what he did now. There were still lots of particular parts of his and Regulus's meetings that he just couldn't bring himself to regret. In fact, if he could take the whole hurting Regulus element away, then he'd be pretty happy with it all, really.

Sirius buried his head in his knees. James decided it must be a new form of anger, that he was building up to a particularly loud explosion, but then Sirius looked back up at him, expression carefully blank.

"This never happened. I'm going to forget about this, and you're never going to bring it up again, are you?"

James shook his head, miming zipping his lips shut.

"Ok." Sirius nodded. "Good, that's good, that's—" he paused. Shook his head. "Something else. What were we saying before all that? Oh! Right! You and Reggie!"

"What?" James tilted his head. "I thought you didn't want to talk about that?" He was grateful, this time, that Sirius only punched him in the shoulder. He didn't fancy explaining the situation to Madam Pomfrey, which he'd have to if anything else happened to his poor nose.

"I meant your emotions, Prongs! Not your dick."

"Right. Hold on, what emotions?"

"The ones you clearly have for my brother. Which I still don't approve of, by the way. I just think you should know what I'm not approving of."

"You don't want me to care about him?"

"I do. Platonically."

James laughed. "Sirius, I don't think you have to worry about that. There were no emotions involved."

Sirius hit his head against the wall behind them. Hard. "I can't believe I'm the one explaining this to you. Look, James, I know you. And whether you want to admit it or not, you're far too invested in him."

"Come off it."

"Merlin. Alright, so if I was to tell you Regulus got hurt again?"

"What?" James sat up straighter, anxiety thrumming through his bloodstream. "What do you mean? Who? Is he alright? Where—"

"That's what I mean!" Sirius burst out. "You weren't even that bad after Avery attacked Lily, and you actually admitted that you had a crush on her."

"But—"

"James." Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Look me in the eye and tell me, right now, that you don't have a crush on my brother."

James did. He looked Sirius in the eye and—

Fuck.

Sirius's edges had never hurt him, but they'd always been far too good at taking him apart, pulling his skin back layer by layer to expose the vulnerable flesh beneath; the stuff James kept hidden, even from himself. So, it was only when he looked his best friend in the eye that he knew — really knew — just how screwed he was.

"I'm in love with your brother." Sirius's eyes widened, almost comically.

"What?!" James winced, covering his ears.

"You made me say it!"

"I thought you liked him, not that you were in love with him. Fuck. Fuck! You don't even know him."

"I know enough." James knew he loved too easily, and far more freely than Sirius ever would. His heart had been treated gently by those he offered it to, and he'd never been given reason, like Sirius had, to keep it shielded. Still, despite all that, he was certain he knew Regulus enough to love him. He might not know his favourite colour or what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he'd seen him split open. James had watched Regulus be gentle, watched him bleed, and watched him cut, too. Regulus was mean, but mean in a good way, a way that scratched at an itch James had never even known he needed rid of. He craved every piece of attention Regulus gave him. He clung to them, and pieced them together in a mosaic he kept close to his heart. He knew he hadn't seen all of Regulus, not yet, and perhaps he never would, but there was nothing he wanted more than to keep trying to.

He could've tried to explain to Sirius, but it was a feeling more than it was any words, and he knew he couldn't do it justice. So, instead, he decided to condense it, cut to the most important part. "I want to, though."

Sirius bristled, then deflated. "I should've known." He shook his head. "Only you, Prongs." Then, he fastened James with a glare. "You better not say anything. Not until we get him out, anyway. Actually, preferably not even then. Can you just make it go away?"

"I won't," James promised, ignoring the last part of Sirius's request. This was one he knew he could keep. Regulus didn't love him — he barely tolerated him — and James refused to do anything that would make his life any more difficult. Telling him would just be selfish, especially now. He'd just have to channel his love, turn it into something productive, something he could use to actually help. Love was powerful, wasn't it? Maybe his and Sirius's together would be what proved enough to get Regulus free.

"Good." Sirius shuffled in, settling into his lap with a sigh like nothing had happened at all. "I still can't trust him, you know? And I hate it. Because he hasn't done anything wrong, not really, but I feel like I don't know him anymore, and it's different, and I just can't trust him like I used to. Is that— does that make me a bad person, do you think?"

"No, of course not," James responded, tightening his hold around Sirius's waist. "It makes you human."

That night, James didn't sleep. Every time he tried to shut his eyes he saw flashes of blue and a boy stuck under the surface, drowning.

Chapter 23: The Dam Breaks

Regulus had had enough. So much so that he went through periods of wishing the mark would just do its thing sooner, rather than making him live through the suffering. Those periods weren't very common, because he was unfortunately ailed with the insistent desire to live, but they happened more and more often with the growing number of concerns he found piled on to his plate.

First, there was Sirius. That was a strange one, because mostly Sirius was a reason he wanted to live. A very big one, at that. He'd only just gotten his brother back, and he wanted desperately to know anything he could of him while he still had the chance. He was tempted to demand Sirius's presence more often, hold his own impending death over him as incentive, but it had become extremely clear that Sirius was still in denial about that particular consequence of his betrayal, so it was something he tried not to bring up where he could. As far as anyone else knew, Regulus's threats were just potential right now. The mark on his arm — which grew worse and worse each day, to the point Regulus that had started obsessively dragging the wrong end of a knife over it again and again in a fruitless attempt to soothe some of the pain — unfortunately told him something very different.

As much as Sirius was a reason he wanted to live, though, he was also something adding to the thousands of thoughts Regulus seemed to be having at any moment, the thoughts he wished he could find some way to switch off. It was heady, feeling in control for once, but that control also came with the need to make a lot of decisions he wasn't used to. Even at breakfast, where he'd used to just stick to what he'd been fed at home, Regulus had taken it upon himself to start experimenting. He'd begun with a ridiculously sugary cereal he was certain his mother would faint at the sight of. It wasn't nice, by any means, but it wasn't terrible either, and his mother's angry voice in his head was all the encouragement he needed to scrape his bowl clean. For the last couple of days, Barty had even made the executive decision to help Regulus choose his meals. It had led to some food combinations that'd made him want to throw up, and some that should've, but, for some reason, his body decided to tolerate. Either way, he didn't argue half as much as he should've. He'd be dead soon enough, after all. He could at least humour Barty while he was still around to.

Another thing that'd been bothering him was the guilt that clung to him wherever he went. Especially, and unhelpfully, when he was trying to sleep. He felt bad about not telling Sirius what was happening, of course, but at least they hadn't been part of each other's lives for a long time. Regulus could rationalise it with him, tell himself that he didn't owe his brother an explanation, not when they barely knew each other now. Barty and Evan, on the other hand, he had no real excuse for. He knew that they'd want to know, and that it'd likely be much worse for them if he up and died without a word. At his core, though, Regulus was a selfish person. He couldn't bring himself to be the one to tell them, to spend his last however-many days watching them grieve while he was still here. He wanted things to be normal, and apparently he was willing to sacrifice their comfort for that. They'd try to act the same, if he told them and asked them to, but he knew them too well to believe any shitty facade they put up for him. He wouldn't tell them. He wouldn't tell Sirius. And James-

Fuck. James.

James was a matter that Regulus had very complicated feelings on. For one, he still wasn't fully over how they'd started out, and sometimes he'd brace at the sight of the boy, expecting some new form of righteous anger to be thrown his way. For another, he had the unfortunate knowledge of what James looked like naked — what he looked like on his knees, tears in his eyes, practically begging Regulus to fuck his mouth. What he looked like when he was gentle, watching Regulus ever so carefully as he took him apart piece by piece. And that was very much a problem, especially because he had a very hard time not thinking about any of those things when James was around him. Also, James being kind to him now was something he was having a difficult time processing for a myriad of reasons, so it wasn't helping with his stress levels. And maybe he felt a little guilty, too, that James was another someone he wasn't telling.

All in all, Regulus was having a hard time keeping himself afloat. He was almost grateful when he practically crashed into Yaxley at the next corner he took, because at least it was something to take his mind off everything else. That gratitude quickly dissolved when he took the time to consider his situation, and just how bad it was looking for him.

It wasn't just the usual trio. They'd decided to recruit Snape, too. Regulus wondered if it was because they just wanted more wands to hurt him with, or whether they felt they wouldn't be able to fight him with just the three of them, and hoped it was the latter.

"There you are," Yaxley snarled, a triumphant grin tearing across his face. "We've been looking for you, Black."

"Can't imagine why," Regulus replied, feigning disinterest even as he tried to think his way out of the situation. He couldn't run, that was a given, because then he'd have his back to them. Just then, his mark flared up, pain sparking throughout his body. It was an effort to keep standing, and not to curl in on himself.

"Cut the shit." Mulciber stepped forward. "It was you, wasn't it?"

"What was?" Regulus asked, hand moving to his wand, hopefully slowly enough that they wouldn't notice.

"The rumours!" Mulciber's voice carried, bouncing against the stone walls and vanishing off into the distance.

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't be modest, Black." That was Snape. Regulus was surprised they even let him talk. "You're an animagus, aren't you? Just like your prick of a brother." It surprised Regulus that he'd been figured out, but he figured that Snape, at least, had more brains than the other three. Still, it didn't matter all that much. They hated him regardless. All he'd done was express just how mutual that feeling was.

"So what if I am?" Regulus's fingers curled around his wand. "Jealous you couldn't manage it?" He looked to the others just in time to watch Avery's eyes fall to his hand. He didn't have the chance to pull his wand out properly before the other boy shouted a spell, his wand already trained on Regulus. He was prepared enough, at least, to hurl himself out of the way, quickly enough that the beam of red shattered on the cobbles behind him.

"Awe, are you a little scaredy cat?" Mulciber mocked, firing a spell that Regulus had just enough time to use a shield charm against. He fired one of his own back, knocking Mulciber's wand out the way.

"It's four against one, Black," Snape sneered, sounding far too proud of the fact. Regulus was sure he was just happy for the chance to be included, which would've been funny if being included didn't mean ganging up on him. "You can't beat us."

Spells were flung his way again, but there was more than one now, too many to dodge, not enough time to fight against them. He tried, anyway, knowing he was too late, and that he would be hit far before the words ever left his lips.

"Protego!" A shield flew up in front of him, shaking slightly as the spells battered against it, but, to Regulus's surprise and relief, not faltering. It hadn't been him, he knew it couldn't've been, so he spun around, finding four people he certainly hadn't expected to see in the dungeons. Why the fuck were they here? He was grateful they were, though, because these were people he could be certain wouldn't take Yaxley's side. Lupin was at the forefront, wand held steady, maintaining the shield that had just saved Regulus.

And, just like that, the tides had turned. There were five of them now, compared to Yaxley's four, and he took immense joy in watching the Death Eaters' complexions pale as they came to the same realisation.

Regulus was the first to react, flinging a babbling curse Severus's way. Then, the corridor descended into chaos, people and spells moving so quickly that everything became a bit of a blur. Regulus somehow managed to get distracted a few times, despite the adrenaline, watching the way James fought, effortlessly dodging spells with his signature grin fixed firmly in place. It was clear they were winning, though, the opposition growing sloppier and sloppier with their movements, until he spotted a couple of figures hurrying towards them from behind Yaxley's lot. Regulus almost laughed aloud when he realised who they were.

"Protego diab—"

"Barty!" Evan screeched, thankfully cutting the spell off. Regulus really didn't fancy having to explain any student deaths to Dumbledore.

"Fine." Regulus could hear the pout in Barty's voice. "Slugulus Eructo." Avery, who'd been looking the best out of the lot at that point, struggled for a moment, then retched, slugs spilling out onto the floor. His allies jerked back, dropping their guards for long enough that each and every one of them was hit with some spell or another. Regulus wanted a portrait of the moment. He was sure Sirius would be happy to inherit it. Maybe he should tell Barty what was happening after all, and request it as a dying gift.

"Leave," Evan warned, voice dangerously low. "Now." They did, scrambling to their feet and practically leaning on each other as they hobbled away down the corridor. Regulus sent a jelly-legs curse after them, just because, and delighted in Yaxley clattering to the floor. His mark throbbed. He ignored it.

Then, it was just the seven of them. Everyone seemed to be on guard still, sizing each other up as potential threats. Maybe they would be, out in the war, but here and now they were united, and Regulus thought there was something nice about that. James caught his eye, mouthing something he couldn't quite catch. Regulus nodded in response, and that seemed to be the right answer.

"Are they bothering you, Reg?" Evan asked, wand pointed at Lupin. It was a poor choice of target, if Evan was aiming for who he suspected was the most dangerous. Lupin was strong, but it wasn't long until the next full moon, and he was looking a bit worse for wear, despite everything he'd managed to throw into the fight. Regulus was touched that the boy would fight for him, despite the exhaustion, but he suspected it was for Sirius, really. Sirius hadn't told him exactly what was going on between them, but they had always seemed far too close to just be friends. He just hoped whatever they had wasn't as complicated as Barty and Evan's situation.

Sirius pointed a wand at Evan in retaliation. "Us? I think you're the ones bothering him. We were just fine before you showed up."

Barty spoke next. "Just say the word Reg and I'll—"

"Guys!" Pettigrew raised his voice, cutting Barty off. "I'm pretty sure we're all on the same side here." That seemed to do it. The tension softened and all eyes turned to Regulus.

"What?" he crossed his arms over his chest.

"What happened?" James asked, clearly far too distressed about the whole thing. Regulus wanted to soothe him, which was frankly ridiculous since there was hardly anything to soothe in the first place.

"They attacked me."

"No shit." Sirius rolled his eyes. "Care to expand?"

"I hate to agree with Gryffindors, but I'd like to know that too," Barty added, Evan nodding along.

"Fine," Regulus sighed. It was over for now, so there wasn't much harm in telling them this part, at least. "So, when I was in their dorm—"

"You were in their dorm?!" Sirius screeched.

"Yeah, anyway—"

"Wait," James cut in. "Like, while they were there?"

"Yes, while they were there. Do keep up, Potter." Regulus rolled his eyes.

"But how? They would've— you don't have, like, an invisibility cloak, do you?"

"No." Regulus could've just told them, but it was quite fun watching them guess.

"Then how—"

"Oh." Regulus turned to Lupin.

"Figured it out?"

"I think so. All of you?"

Regulus nodded. "Fourth year."

Lupin snorted. "He won't like that."

"Oh, I know," Regulus smirked.

"What's going on?" Sirius looked between Regulus and Lupin, utterly and completely lost.

"Yeah," Pettigrew piped up. "I don't know what's happening."

James, at least, seemed to have realised what his friend was implying, watching Regulus curiously.

Lupin turned to Sirius.

"He became an animagus before you did."

"What?" Sirius stared at him, mouth agape. "Hold on, what are you? Wait, why would you even do that? It took us fucking ages and we needed to do it because—"

"Sirius," Lupin warned, and Sirius's mouth snapped shut.

"Shit. Sorry."

"Don't worry," Regulus replied, knowing full well the apology wasn't meant for him. He looked to Lupin. "I know." The boy's eyes widened and he swallowed harshly, fists clenching.

"How long?"

"Third year."

"Mine or yours?"

"Yours." Lupin squinted at him for a moment, then broke into a laugh, tension melting from his posture.

"And you didn't tell anyone?" His eyes flicked to Barty and Evan.

"No," Regulus told him, insulted that he thought it was something he'd let slip. He had considered it, he supposed, when he hadn't known any better, but even then Lupin's relationship with his brother had been enough to ensure he kept his mouth shut.

"We'd like to know, though," Evan pressed.

"Yeah," Barty nodded. "No secrets, Reg!" Regulus swallowed his guilt, shaking his head.

"This one's not mine."

"Hold on!" Sirius shouted, alarm mounting by the minute. Pettigrew had a fist pressed over his lips, trying not to laugh at his friend. "You knew?"

"It's pretty obvious," Regulus shrugged. Lupin looked the most amused of the lot now, lips pressed in a suppressed smile as he shook his head. James seemed to be in a similar state to Sirius, practically gaping at him.

"Alright." Sirius blinked, shaking his head. "Alright, so what are you, then?"

"None of your business." Regulus paused, lips twitching. "I can tell you, though, that Barty's a—" he cut himself off with a yelp, flinching at the stinging curse he'd been hit with. Barty glared at him, his version of a polite request to shut up, and Regulus, feeling magnanimous, did.

"Anyway," he said instead, "I was in their dorm and I heard them say something about a plan to deal with me, which I assume this was, although it's a pretty shit plan. I mean, what was there to plan beyond just beating me up?"

"Regulus!" Evan scolded. "What the fuck? Why didn't you say anything?"

Regulus shrugged. "You'd worry."

"You could've told me," Sirius said, indignant.

"You would've worried too."

"With good reason!"

"Reg," Barty whined, "you knew how much I wanted an excuse to fight them again. "We could've done it together!"

"Isn't that what we did?"

"Well, yeah, but my way wouldn't include so much threat to you. We'd burn them a little, then be on our way."

James watched Barty, seeming to contemplate something.

"I like you, Crouch," he said eventually.

"'Course you do," Barty replied. Then, his eyes landed on Pettigrew, and Regulus almost groaned as the boy's grin stretched. "You're Pettigrew, right?"

"Me?" Pettigrew practically squeaked, looking around as if to check he was the only Pettigrew Barty could be addressing. "Yeah," he nodded, shuffling forward to shake Barty's hand. Regulus glanced over to Evan, but he seemed to be enjoying the show just as much as Regulus was. Barty was going to eat the poor boy alive.

"Barty." Barty sank to his knees, nothing if not dramatic, and pressed his lips to the back of Pettigrew's hand. That wasn't a surprise. What did surprise Regulus was what came next. Barty made to stand but Pettigrew put a hand on his shoulder, keeping him where he was.

"You can stay there if you like." James made a choking sound, stifling a cough behind his elbow.

"Oh," Barty grinned, staying right where he was put. "You are fun."

Pettigrew smirked at that and made to answer, before Sirius grabbed him by the arm, pulling him back.

"Pete! They're Death Eaters!" Regulus wasn't sure if he meant to whisper, but his voice carried anyway, echoing off the stone.

Pettigrew shrugged, looking helplessly between Barty and his friends. "They don't seem so bad."

Barty rose to his feet, arching a brow. "You got a problem with that, Black?"

"Of course I've got a fucking problem. You're evil!"

"Sirius—" Lupin stepped forward, too late to do anything, really.

"Oh?" Barty tilted his head. "Is that what you think about Reg, then?"

"That's different! He wants to leave!"

"You think that's an easy choice to make?" Evan asked, taking a step forward. "Not all of us can just up and leave. Some of us decide to stay with our little brothers."

The tension was back, and Regulus realised that he was, unfortunately, the only one who could diffuse it. James had stepped forward to stand beside Sirius; Lupin and Pettigrew stayed back but Regulus knew that Lupin, at least, wouldn't hesitate to step in if things went south.

"Stop it." He put himself in the middle, glaring at each of them. James was the only one who had the decency to look apologetic. "We're on the same fucking side here, and I'd rather not see any of you injured for being idiots."

"Aww," James grinned, "you do care."

"Shut up, James."

"And you called me James! In front of other people!"

"I'm sure he's called you much worse than that when he's had your—"

"Okay!" Regulus raised his voice. "Thank you, Barty, that's enough. And thank you all for helping. We're going to go back to our dorms now, aren't we?"

"But—" Sirius argued. Regulus refused to let him.

"Aren't we?"

Sirius sighed. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah." Regulus took a breath. "Thank you." Sirius smiled.

"No problem, Reggie." Regulus rolled his eyes, but he could feel the corners of his mouth pull up.

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say."

Lupin led the Gryffindors back down the corridor, James bringing up the rear, just behind Sirius. He turned back, offering an overly-enthusiastic wave.

"See you, Reg! Try not to piss anyone else off, yeah?" Regulus raised a hand, waving him off. When he turned back around, he saw Evan with a hand over his mouth, muffling his laughter.

"You waved at him."

"Shut up." Regulus pushed past him, marching towards their dorm.

"Why won't you wave us off, Reggie?" Barty sighed, hurrying to walk beside him. "Do I need to suck your dick again first? Because I will."

"I hate you."

"You love us," Evan countered.

Regulus sighed, deciding to let himself be a little vulnerable. Just this once. "Maybe."

Barty and Evan cheered, high-fiving in front of Regulus. He couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed at it. He just felt grateful, so glad that they were here with him. It wasn't something he could take for granted anymore, and he would treasure it while it lasted, as embarrassing as that was.

Chapter 24: Like a Glove

James knew, with all of them together, that they would find Regulus a way out eventually. It was just hard not to get demoralised when, after days of research, they didn't seem to be any closer to a solution. As the time dragged on, he was finding it harder and harder to stay focused, and easier and easier to imagine putting his fist through a wall, which wouldn't help anything, but would at least be satisfying to do.

Remus had even managed to drag Lily in to their research today, giving some excuse that they were just doing it out of curiosity, which she accepted easily. The two often worked together on research for research's sake, after all, so why would this be any different? Although, Lily did seem to be growing more and more suspicious as tensions mounted, both James and Sirius doing a poor job at keeping themselves under control.

"There has to be something!" Sirius shoved an already-searched pile of textbooks to the floor, where it landed with a loud thud. James looked around like he'd seen Regulus do when there was some too-loud noise (usually from him), making sure Madam Pince wasn't in hearing distance.

"Sirius," Remus sighed, "we're doing our best." James was glad that at least one of them could remain level-headed, although in his worse moments he hated Remus a little for it. It didn't seem right for any of them to be able to keep calm while Regulus still wasn't safe.

"Well that's not good enough!" Remus didn't respond to that, just levelling Sirius with a raised eyebrow until he sighed, sinking down in his chair.

"Sorry, Moons," he mumbled. Remus shook his head.

"It's alright. I get it. Let's just focus on figuring this out, yeah?" Despite his earlier concerns about the project's doability, Remus had been just as commited as James and Sirius to finding an answer; he'd actually started to mumble about it in his sleep. Even Peter had never complained about being dragged along, though he was definitely the one with the least stake in the whole thing.

"What's got you so worked up, Sirius?" Lily asked.

"Nothing!" Sirius replied, clearly lying. James held back a snort.

"We just had a bet, is all," he told her. "First to find the answer gets the next batch of cookies mum sends. But if none of us find the answer then nobody gets them, and you can't just throw away a batch of mum's cookies. That's practically treason."

Lily shook her head, smiling in disbelief. "Couldn't you just split them?"

"Nope," James shook his head. "That's not fair either, see, because Pete's such a slow eater that by the time he finished his first one, the rest'd be gone, so the only fair thing to do in a tie is give them to nobody."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, "that wouldn't be fair, would it? In fact, I think we should all take that into consideration more, and actually portion out Effie's sweets when they arrive."

"Nah," Sirius grinned. "If you snooze you lose. We shouldn't suffer for your slowness."

"It's not suffering," Peter argued. "It's equality!"

"Ah," Remus looked up from the page he was on, "but it's not equity, is it?"

"Of course it is."

Remus shook his head. "No, I think it's fair the way it is; those with more trauma get more cookies."

That was pretty accurate, really. Sirius was by far the fastest eater of the lot of them, and he had more than enough trauma to make up for it. Remus was a second, with Peter lagging behind him. James, in theory, wasn't much slower than Remus was, but he got cookies all the time at home, so tried not to be greedy with them when the packages arrived.

"I hate you all." Peter sighed, then went back to flicking through the pages of a particularly heavy book.

"So," Lily mused, "if I get there first?"

James grinned. "All the cookies your heart desires."

That seemed to do it. They lapsed back into heavy silence, broken only by the scrape of turning pages.

"Does it have to be a spell?" Peter finally asked.

"What do you mean?" Lily didn't look up from her book.

"Just, all of these books are about spells. What if there isn't one?"

"There is," James insisted. "If something can be created, it can be destroyed."

"Sure, but why's it have to be a spell?"

"Because—"

"Hold on," Remus interrupted, leaning his elbows on the table. "He might have a point."

"An object, then?" Sirius asked, pushing his hair out of his face. "What kind of object?"

"It'd have to do the opposite of the mark," Lily reasoned, looking between them.

James nodded. "The mark wants to cause pain, so what's the opposite? Freeing someone from it? Helping them out?"

"Yeah, helping someone prevent the pain, I suppose," Peter reasoned.

Lily gasped, shooting to her feet.

"Lily?" Remus prompted, but by the time he asked the question she was off, practically sprinting to another section of the library. They waited for her return, having nothing better to do. She'd found something, was all James could think. She'd found something and it'd help Regulus and then everything would be good again. His heart lifted to press hard against his ribs, beating hard enough that he heard the blood in his ears; it dropped when he saw what she'd brought back.

It was a thin book, barely fifty pages, and, from what James could tell, was filled with Children's stories.

"Are you fucking with us, Evans?" Sirius asked, all but glaring at the book.

"No," Lily shook her head, red hair falling over her shoulders. "Just listen! I think I've found it." James, sceptical as he was, had long since learned not to doubt Lily Evans. So, he stayed quiet, deciding to hear her out.

"Right." She flicked through the book, before seemingly landing on the page she wanted. "What do you know about the Sword of Gryffindor?"

"Oh!" Remus rushed up from his seat, wincing slightly at the sharp movement, before coming round the table to join Lily. "You think so?"

"It has to be, right? I mean it says it right here, help in dire situations. That's what we're looking for, right?"

Remus nodded, eyes lighting up. "And it's built on some sort of honour code; that's practically the opposite of Voldemort's approach." James watched the conversation play out, feeling distinctly lost but not wanting to interrupt and slow progress. Sirius seemed to have no similar qualms.

"Does someone fancy filling me in?"

"James owes me cookies," Lily told him.

"If you're right," James promised her, "you can have all the cookies in the world." He paused. "What exactly is this, though?"

"The Sword of Gryffindor." James knew that name. He'd heard about it before. It was goblin-made. Enchanted. There was a fight over it, and now it was-

"Dumbledore's office!" he gasped. "It's the one in Dumbledore's office, isn't it?"

"That's the sword we're after?" Peter asked. Remus nodded, grinning.

"Fucking hell," Sirius whispered. Then forgetting all about them being in a library, "We did it! It's going to fucking work!"

A quiet cough came from behind where they'd gathered around the table. James turned, not surprised at all to find a stern face greeting him.

"Yep," he nodded. "We'll be going now, sorry." Madam Pince barely blinked, glaring at them all the way out of the library.

"Right," Sirius said once they were out, rounding on them. "We get the sword now, yeah?"

Remus sighed. "I think first we need to—"

"Hold on!" Lily cut in. "You're actually getting the sword? Why?"

"Err," James shifted his weight, "we need to test it. Can't just take you at your brilliant word, can we, Evans?"

"You're going to test it," she said flatly.

"…Yes?"

"You know what," she threw her hands up, "I don't want to know. Just make sure you get those cookies to me, yeah, Potter?"

"Will do, Evans," he grinned, sagging in relief and offering her a salute as she left. When he turned back, Sirius and Remus were engaged in a hushed argument, Peter ignoring them as he produced little balls of light from his wand.

"You can't just run in without a plan, Sirius."

"He's my brother. I'm doing this."

"Of course you are," Remus agreed, "but not without a plan."

"We don't have time for a plan!"

"What we don't have time for is for you to be caught sneaking into the headmaster's office. We won't get a second chance at this; we have to get it right."

"I hate to agree with Remus," James said, "but I think he's right."

"James! We can't—"

"Look." He paused, daring Sirius to interrupt. He didn't. "I want to make sure Regulus is safe just as much as you do, but Moony's right. We can't afford to get caught. I'm not saying we spend days coming up with something, but we can spare a little time, can't we? Regulus has survived this long, and it's not like there's some imminent time constraint."

"What if we're too late, though?" Sirius looked up at him. Terrified. "I have to save him this time."

"We will," James assured him. "We just need to figure out the best way to do it."

"Right." Sirius looked to Remus. "What's the plan?"

"Well," James decided, "we'll need the cloak."

Peter nodded. "And the map."

"We'll have to get Dumbledore out of the office."

The discussion continued like that, the four of them leant against the wall outside the library, lowering their voices when anyone passed by. Eventually, they had something resembling a way forward.

James and Sirius ended up huddled under the cloak, pressed against the cold stone wall of the second floor. They had to wait like that for a while before the next stage of their plan could begin. Part of James thought it was probably a bad idea, putting the two people worst at waiting in a corner and telling them not to move, but the bigger part of him knew that he had to be the one to do this, just like Sirius did. If the sword was what they needed to counteract the mark, then the sword was what they'd get.

Finally, after what felt like eons, James heard the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor, followed by Remus's muffled voice.

"I'm really sorry about this, Professor," Remus apologised, sounding well and truly contrite, "but you know how Sirius is. One moment my potion was on the shelf, and the next it was all over the floor."

James had to hold back a laugh. Remus had told them he had a plan to get to Dumbledore, but none of the details. This was ingenious, really, and came with the added bonus of pissing Sirius off, who James could feel practically vibrating beside him. Remus had to get his Wolfsbane potions directly from Dumbledore himself, so needing a potion was a guaranteed trip to the headmaster's office.

"I understand, Lupin. However, next time I would ask that you keep it somewhere that isn't so reachable, especially considering who your dormmates are." It was funny, really, that they'd made it to seventh year and McGonagall still somehow seemed to consider Remus a victim in their whole situation. James was sure that, if she took a moment to think about it, she'd realise just how detailed some of their pranks were, something the rest of them had far to little patience to pull off. They might be the ones with the big ideas, but they'd be caught far more often if it wasn't for Remus's attention to detail.

"Of course, Professor." The pair passed them, Remus on the side closest to make sure McGonagall couldn't accidentally touch the cloak. Both Sirius and James tensed, relaxing again when the Professor was out of reach.

"Thank you," Remus offered McGonagall when they reached the spiral staircase. "If you tell me the password, I'll be fine from here."

"That's quite alright, Lupin, I'll take you up. I have business to speak to Dumbledore about myself." Then, to James's horror, McGonagall practically whispered the password to the gargoyle, much too quietly for James or Sirius to hear. That, he was certain, had not been part of the plan.

Remus spared a helpless glance in their direction before he was stepping onto the staircase, disappearing from sight.

"Shit," Sirius whispered. "Did you hear that?"

James shook his head, drawing another quiet curse from Sirius.

"It's alright," he said, trying to sort through his thoughts. "Moony got up there alright, and Wormy's still with him. If we just stay here, he can tell us when they come past, yeah? I'm sure Pete'll figure out enough to run this way."

Sirius hummed a sound of acknowledgement, his grip tight around James's wrist. It wasn't a big problem, theirs, considering everything that could've gone wrong, and especially considering everything that still could. Only, James had been telling himself that there wouldn't be any problems at all. He'd managed to delude himself into believing that nothing could go wrong, because he refused to consider what might happen if they did, and now he was faced with the horrible reality of the situation. Nothing was guaranteed, and that scared him. It forced him to face the very real possibility that they could fail Regulus. He was sure, if they did, he would quite simply never be happy again. He would curl up on the ground and rot, his self forever lost to what could have been. Perhaps Sirius would join him, and they could decay together; why start being separate form each other then?

He barely noticed the strangled whine escaping his throat. Sirius did, though, shoving an elbow into his rib cage. That was a risky move, because it could well have caused him to shout and blow their cover altogether, except it seemed that Sirius knew just how much he could take. The pain was enough to ground him, but not enough for anything beyond that.

"We'll be fine, yeah?" Sirius said, tone somewhere strange between terror and confidence that only he could manage to produce. Sirius, James was sure, would charge headfirst into his own death, knowing what awaited but still oh-so confident that it wouldn't come.

"Right." James shoved down the terror, locking it in a little box that was, practically, far too small for it, but that he hoped would contain it at least until this was all over. There was a possibility they would fail, but he refused to make himself an instrument in their downfall, which he very likely would if he let himself focus too hard on the fear.

They waited, and waited, and waited some more. The silence was suffocating. Then, all of a sudden, it wasn't. A deafening crash sounded from the top of the stairs, right before a rat came tumbling down to the floor, followed closely by a much larger, flame-coloured bird. They tore off together past James and Sirius, and James had to grip the cloak to stop it flying up and revealing them. Moments later, a panting Remus reached the bottom of the stairs, following behind at a much slower pace. James had forgotten, in all of this, just how fast birds happened to be, but now it was clear that Remus stood little chance of catching up. They'd just have to hope Pete could keep outrunning Fawkes, because his backup didn't seem to be an option anymore.

Despite the chaos, Remus still slowed a little when passing their corner.

"Doxy Floss," he mumbled, ensuring his enunciation was clear, then vanishing off in the same direction Pete ran off in. Dumbledore and McGonagall were the last to exit the staircase, just in time to watch Remus disappear around the corner and chase after him, the stairs disappearing behind them.

James and Sirius waited, holding a joint breath, then, once they were well and truly alone, bolted off in a near run, Sirius slightly too loud in supplying a password to the gargoyle. It was a good thing that they'd had so much practice together under the cloak, because it meant they had little difficulty moving in tandem; the first time they'd tried to run in it together, James had managed to trip over the material, and they had had to scramble to hide the cloak before eventually and inevitably being discovered by Filch. Safe to say, they were much more careful after that.

Still, in the rush Sirius managed to stumble when they were halfway up the stairs. James tried to catch him but he was too late, the material of his cloak slipping out of his grasp. Time stood still for a moment, taunting him of his failure, and then everything was moving again, Sirius managing to catch himself on the wall, cloak riding up to his mid-thigh until he pulled himself fully under it again. James exhaled in relief, then they kept climbing, soon reaching the door to Dumbledore's office.

He was glad he'd been called in here so many times now, because it meant he'd had plenty of time to admire his surroundings, and consequently that he knew exactly where to find what they were looking for. He stuffed the cloak into his pocket, then made his way over with Sirius, staring up at the object that sat just out of reach, even if he jumped for it, which was, of course, the first thing he tried.

"I'll get on your shoulders," Sirius decided, and James crouched down, holding onto Sirius's ankles once his legs were looped over his shoulders. He stood carefully, then Sirius reached, inching forward until— there. Sirius's hand curled around the hilt of the sword, just as the door slammed open behind them, loudly enough that James jerked back, and then his balance was tipping and Sirius was still on his shoulders and they both came clattering to the floor together, Sirius's arm still extended out from above his head to keep from impaling either of them with the sword.

Shit.

"It's not what it looks like," James blurted, panicking as he tried to extricate himself from Sirius. Dumbledore raised a pale eyebrow from behind his half-moon glasses. Remus peered in from behind him with Fawkes settled on his shoulder, mouthing an apology.

"Is it not, Mr Potter? Pray tell, what are you and Mr Black doing in my office, if not attempting to steal an important magical artefact?"

James tried to come up with an explanation, but his voice refused to cooperate, leaving him staring up at Dumbledore with his mouth gaped open.

"We were cleaning!"

"I see," Dumbledore nodded. "Was it the sword in particular that hadn't been kept up to your standards?"

"Yes!" Sirius nodded, and James groaned aloud. "It's a little dusty, see, so we figured we could just take it back to our dorm for a bit. We'll bring it back tomorrow, 'course, good as new."

Dumbledore hummed. "That's quite the sword you have there, you know, Mr Black?"

"It is?" Sirius shrugged, fidgeting with the hilt. "Never would've guessed. You know, with all that dust."

"You see, the sword only responds to those who need it. Since it allowed you to wield it, we can only conclude that it sees your cause as a worthy one."

"Oh." Sirius examined the blade more closely. "It does?"

Dumbledore nodded, then crossed the room to take a seat at his desk. "Take it with you. Return it to me tomorrow, after it has been thoroughly… cleaned. I assume Mr Lupin will ensure it comes back on time?"

"Of course, Professor," Remus agreed, sagging against the door frame. Fawkes chose that moment to come inside, swooping past them in a practised arc and landing elegantly on his perch.

"Good. You may take your leave." James followed behind Sirius, and was nearly out of the room when he was called back.

"James?" James spun around.

"Yes, Professor?"

"I believe you are leaving something behind." It took James a moment to place what was missing. Once he did, he froze, watching Dumbledore cautiously.

"I won't take it from you," Dumbledore assured him, "I simply wish for you to be more careful."

"Yes, of course," James nodded, a bit too vigorously, then dashed across the room to stuff the cloak back into his pocket, relaxing a little once it was returned to its rightful place. "Thanks."

Dumbledore didn't reply, or even look up at him, simply sorting through papers on his desk.

"Fuck," James breathed when they were safely out of the office. He felt giddy, the fear evaporating into a fizzing sense of anticipation. "Fuck. We did it; we actually got it." They'd still have to make sure it worked, but, knowing Remus and Lily, he was certain it would.

Sirius laughed, a sound that came straight from his chest. "We have to find Reggie. We have to tell him! Merlin, I can't believe Dumbledore let us go." He looked to Remus. "What happened there, anyway?"

Remus didn't look at him, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. "The stairs shifted, so it was a dead end. Pete was about to get caught, so I stunned Fawkes."

"Wow," Sirius teased, "never thought you'd be the one screwing up plans, eh, Moony?" James knew that Sirius was joking, that all he meant was that Remus was the smart one. James also knew that it was a bad idea to joke about a werewolf right before a full moon.

"Shut up," Remus snapped. Sirius held his hands up.

"Alright, alright, no need to get all moody."

"Sirius," James warned but it was too late, Remus already picking up his pace much more than he should in his current state to stay ahead of them.

Sirius groaned. "Shit." James patted him on the shoulder.

"He'll get over it. Let's focus on finding Reg, yeah?" A switch flipped in Sirius at that, and he was all but bouncing again.

"Yeah, yes. Let's get Reggie."

Chapter 25: Absolution

Much to his dismay, Regulus had well and truly failed at pretending to be fine. He'd managed alright at first, only having to field the occasional concerned glance from one of his friends, but it seemed the pain was increasing at something of an exponential rate. It wasn't just the mark that burned now, it was his whole arm, screaming at him as though it had been doused in a crucio and left to suffer. That became difficult to play off when he ended up all but bed-bound, barely able to think beyond the pain. He'd still tried to play it off as an illness, though, right up until his need for the bathroom won out, and he had dragged himself, oh so painfully, from the bed.

"Regulus!"

Regulus turned back, his instinct to make sure Evan was alright winning out over the new flash of pain the sudden movement sent through his arm. He winced, but managed to hold the boy's gaze.

"What?" he choked out.

"What do you mean what?" Evan responded, eyes bulging. "Have you seen yourself?"

"Fuck off," he said, teeth gritted together as he shuffled his feet along in a careful attempt to continue his journey to the bathroom.

"Mate, your veins are fucking black." Barty, alarmingly enough, sounded concerned too, which was the reason Regulus took it upon himself to look down at his arm. It was something he'd been avoiding, figuring it was best not to know if anything too grotesque was happening, but the sight of it now made his stomach lurch. Barty hadn't been exaggerating. In place of the usual bluish-coloured veins that stood out against his pale skin, there was now an inky black that was even bolder. Not just that, but it seemed the veins were almost pushing against his arm, trying to break out while something far too viscous to be blood forced its way through them.

He vomited. There was no warning, no making it to the bathroom, Regulus just threw up over the obnoxious green carpet, all liquid and bile that, strangely, blended in quite well. The movement jerked his arm and that only intensified everything, the feeling of the pain and the knowledge of where it came from causing him to retch again.

"Shit," Barty murmured, rushing over to support him as he near collapsed onto the floor. Evan followed soon after, lifting a cool hand to his forehead.

"Fuck." Well, that wasn't the evaluation he wanted to hear. "It's the mark, isn't it?"

"No shit," Regulus groaned.

"What do we do?" Barty asked, voice pitched higher than usual. "What the fuck's happening?"

Evan ignored the question. Regulus was glad. It wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss. He'd already gone over it by himself too many times to count, always and unchanging landing on the conclusion that nothing was all that could be done.

"I told you to be careful," Evan said instead. "Why'd you have to go and be the hero, huh?" Regulus couldn't tell if it was anger or fear lacing his voice. Either way, he didn't like it. It wasn't what Evan should sound like. He tried to think of what Evan used to sound like, but his head was a bit too dizzy for that. What he needed was to lie down.

"Dizzy," he said, hoping that would communicate his needs well enough. And, because Barty and Evan listened — always — it did. Barty shuffled back, making room for Regulus to rest his head on his knee. Evan pushed his hair back where it fell over his eyes. He would've been embarrassed, under normal circumstances, but at present he was far too delirious and blinded by the pain to care.

"Thanks," he mumbled, then promptly passed out.

The next time Regulus woke it was to a loud, continuous banging at the door. For a blissful moment, the pain seemed lesser. Then, he woke fully, and realised it was perhaps even worse than it had been before.

"What?" he shouted. It was only then that he noticed, to his mortification, the dampness surrounding him.

At the ripe age of sixteen, Regulus had wet the bed.

He didn't have time to stew on that, though, because the door burst open, and instead of Barty and Evan like he'd been expecting, it was his brother who sprinted into the room.

"Reggie! I need to— what the fuck happened to you?"

"Thanks."

"Are you alright?"

"What does it look like?"

"Why didn't you tell me?!" That, right there, was part of the reason why. He knew Sirius would make a big deal of it, and that wasn't the sort of peaceful atmosphere he wanted to die in. He didn't want to die at all, but if he had to it was only fair that he was allowed to choose the way he went. "It's the mark, isn't it?"

"What else?" Regulus stared up at the celing, half hoping Sirius would go away and half hoping he'd stay right there for however long the mark took to run its course. He wished it'd go faster, really. Dying couldn't be so scary, Regulus was sure, it was all this buildup that was the issue. And the death, at least, he could justify as being a consequence of his decisions. The stuff it took to get there was nothing of the sort, and the only thing worse than being forced out of this world, in his opinion, was continuing to live in it as the puppet of other people's choices.

"Right. Come on then, we'll fix it."

"What?"

"The mark! Honestly, I thought you were supposed to be smart."

"Sirius, it's dark magic. You can't just get rid of it. I appreciate the gesture, but if you really want to do something, would you just come up here?" Regulus tilted his head up to meet his brother's eye as best he could. "Lie with me for awhile."

"No, no, we can—"

"Sirius."

"There's this sword, you see, and I don't really know how it works, but we've got it. And— well, it'll be easier to see if you just come with us, yeah?"

Regulus wanted to, just to humour Sirius. Unfortunately, he was currently in far too much pain to move. Even if that wasn't an issue, he refused to let his brother know that he'd managed to piss the bed in his sleep, so he didn't even pretend to consider it.

"I can't move."

"You can't— what? How bad is it?"

"Painful enough to keep me here," Regulus admitted. He almost tried to lift his arm to show Sirius, then realised that that would probably lead to him seeing, too, and he really didn't want to vomit again. "I passed out earlier," he offered instead, deciding that would be convincing enough.

"Shit." He couldn't see Sirius, and couldn't be bothered to lift his head again to look, but he could practically hear the pallor seeping into his tone. "I'll go get it, yeah? Just stay put." Regulus snorted. As if he could do anything else.

It seemed to be a long time before Sirius returned. This time, when he did, it was even worse, because he wasn't alone. No, he brought all his stupid friends with him, James included, and was that—

He'd actually brought a sword. Great. Regulus had hoped he'd been joking about that part, but he should've known better than to underestimate his brother's idiocy.

"Right." Sirius held the sword much too nervously, fidgeting with the handle as he looked down at Regulus. "So, do we just, like, stab it?" Regulus was appalled. Even more so when Lupin, the only one of them that he trusted at this point in time, promptly shattered Regulus's opinion of him by nodding.

"What?" he asked. He felt a little more energised, suddenly. Maybe that was their real plan. "Please tell me you're not actually going to stab me."

"Don't worry, Reg, it'll help." Regulus might've liked James Potter far too much for his own good, but at that he decided he hated him, too.

"It's just the mark," Pettigrew clarified. "It's the Sword of Gryffindor. We'll stab the mark, then it'll fix itself."

"You're all insane," Regulus informed them. He didn't try to stop them, though. He highly doubted this would work, but part of him hoped, and that sliver of potential was worth enduring a little light stabbing for. Besides, Sirius and James looked so hopeful, and who was he to crush their dreams? At least they'd have this to remember him by.

"Ok," Sirius grimaced. "Sorry about this." Then, he pulled the covers off of Regulus's forearm — Regulus did his best to ignore the collective gasp of horror — and cut into it, while Regulus focused his gaze on the wall.

Once he was finished, Sirius pulled the sword away, and then everything was quiet. Regulus knew, then, that nothing had changed. He asked anyway.

"Did it work?"

"I don't understand," Lupin said instead of answering, and that was enough to make his heart sink. The Gryffindor's frustration seemed to mount with every word. "That was the answer. It had to be. It helps with pain, the mark causes it. It's a magical artefact, built on principles that oppose everything Voldemort stands for. What's missing?"

"Maybe it worked!" James tried, though he sounded strained even to Regulus in his barely-conscious state. "Maybe we just have to wait, and then it'll get better."

"It obviously didn't!" Sirius had never learned to be quiet about his anger, and he turned it on Lupin, now. "You said it would work! It had to work!"

"Let me think!" Lupin shot back. Sirius, to his credit, didn't argue. "Maybe we did it wrong, maybe we need something else, something—" he paused. "The sword. It absorbs, takes in things it comes into contact with."

"It does?" Pettigrew asked.

"Yes, that's why it should've worked. But maybe it can't absorb this, maybe it needs the antidote. It's something to do with blood, it has to be, looking at the veins, so if we could purify the blood somehow? We need something that's opposite to this… evil. Hatred, I suppose. What's the opposite of hate?" Regulus hadn't taken in half the words that Remus had said. He just wanted to go to sleep, slip away into oblivion.

"Love," James breathed. "Love, it has to be."

"Right. But how can we feed it love?"

"Oh!" Pettigrew realised. "You said it was to do with the blood. It can't get that stuff out, but could it put something else in?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, if we somehow got the blood of someone… feeling love? I'm not sure. Is love something that's in the blood?"

"It has to be," James insisted. Strangely, Regulus agreed. Love, he found, was something far more visceral than any other emotion he'd felt. It was something that seemed to swallow you whole, infecting you like a disease, spreading and spreading and spreading until it could be found in every nook and cranny of the self. It started from the heart, but it grew, flowed around the body with each steady beat.

It was poetic then, he supposed, his pouring out for Sirius now from the wound on his arm. He just hated that this was the only form he seemed capable of expressing it in, tainted with the hatred he'd been too late to set aside.

"That's it!" Remus gasped. "It has to be someone who loves Regulus. A true Gryffindor, as well; that's the only way the sword will let itself be wielded."

"I did that!" Sirius shot back, agitated.

"Not with your blood."

"Oh." And, then, Sirius was standing over him again.

"I hope you don't want to cut me again?" Sirius just grinned in response. Regulus groaned.

"Wait!" Remus called, freezing Sirius in place. "If it's taking someone else's blood, it'll work differently.

"How?"

"It won't just get rid of the mark, it'll change it. He'll be bound to whoever does it."

"What? We can't do that! He has to be free, Remus, not trapped again."

"Surely being bound to you would be better than being bound to Voldemort?"

"I'd rather he wasn't bound to anyone at all!"

"I don't see that we have much choice," James cut it. "Why don't you just ask Regulus? From where I'm standing, it seems about our best option."

"I'll do it," Regulus decided, not waiting to be asked.

"What?"

He snorted. "Come on, Sirius. You may as well try it. And if, somehow, it does work, I wouldn't mind it being you."

"I left you!"

"Not out of choice."

"I hurt you."

"Only because you had to. If I have to be bound to anyone, I'd much rather it be you. I trust you."

"You do?"

"Of course I do."

Sirius moved closer, then, to Regulus's frustration, paused again.

"Wait, you said it had to be a true Gryffindor?"

"Yes," Lupin replied.

"I don't think that's me. James! He should do it!"

Regulus scoffed. "I think you forgot about the love part."

"No, but—"

"You are a true Gryffindor," Lupin said, cutting off the last part of whatever Sirius was about to say.

"No I'm not!"

"Sirius," Regulus said, "you're too recklessly brave to be anything else."

"That's just being stupid."

"No, it's being courageous."

"Regulus is right," Lupin agreed. "You wouldn't be able to wield the sword if you weren't. That's what Dumbledore meant."

"Oh," Sirius replied, sounding far to pleased given that his brother was currently on his death-bed. Regulus decided to take matters into his own hands.

"Would you just hurry it up? Stab me, then leave me alone."

"Fine," Sirius agreed, determined. He hissed slightly as he cut his palm, holding the sword's blade to the blood spilling there. "Brace yourself." That was all the warning Regulus was given before being stabbed for the second time that day.

This one hurt significantly more, a burning sensation developing alongside the regular shooting pain. Sirius must've gone deeper into the skin; he couldn't hold back his grunt of pain.

"You alright?" Pettigrew asked. He didn't bother to reply, too busy gritting his teeth.

Eventually, the burning receded, and Regulus felt… strangely good. Better than he had done since the mark started acting up. There was still the pain of the cut on his arm, but that was nothing compared to what it had been. So, tentatively, he decided to look, jaw dropping when he found his skin completely free of the darkness. Even the mark was gone, replaced by a depiction of a dog, for some reason, the cut from the sword running straight down the middle of it, surprisingly straight. He'd rather a cat, but he wasn't going to complain if it meant the mark was really gone. He stared at his skin, flexing his fingers and watching the tendons work. He felt dizzy again, but a good dizzy this time. He wanted to sink into it, let it overtake him.

"It worked," Sirius whispered, and that was all the warning Regulus was given before he found himself crushed under his brother's weight, injured arm trapped awkwardly at his side. "It worked!"

"What the fuck," he whispered, feeling it was a very balanced response, given the situation.

"I told you we'd figure something out," James grinned, leaning over them. Regulus just laughed, not having it in him to come up with a retort. He was free. He was alive. He wasn't going to die. He wasn't going to die. He wasn't going to—

"Want me to move him?" Lupin — Remus — asked him, eyes twinkling in amusement.

Sirius made a discontented sound against his neck. "No."

Regulus, despite finding it hard to breathe, couldn't help but agree with the sentiment. "It's alright." He squeezed his eyes shut, alarmed to realise they were already wet with tears. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Peter told him. "This was all me, you know?" There was a thwacking sound, and then a strangled yelp.

"Thanks, Peter," Regulus said solemnly. "I knew it had to be."

"Damn right."

"Piss off," Sirius grumbled, no real heat behind his voice. "Let me in. I'm cold, I want to get under the covers." That was when Regulus realised, with far more lucidity than he had earlier, that he'd wet the bed. He'd wet the bed and now his brother was trying to get in it with him.

"No!" He pushed Sirius away, with enough force that he crashed to the ground.

"Hey!" Sirius yelped. Then, "Is that a dog?"

"Holy shit," James said, sounding elated. "It is!" Then, for some reason, the four of them burst into laughter.

"Oh," Regulus realised, after much too long. "That's your animagus, isn't it?"

"Yep," Peter grinned. "It's why we call him Padfoot." Yeah, Regulus should've realised that so much sooner. He was such an idiot. He'd figured out Moony, but the rest? He hadn't listened enough to make the connection.

"Wormtail. That has to be a mouse, then? Or a rat?"

"Yep." James popped the p. Regulus found that more endearing than it had any right to be. He was still a bit delirious, yes, high on the fact that he'd narrowly avoided death, but right now he wanted nothing more than to stride over and kiss James, take his breaths and claim them as his own. Feel them, and know he was alive.

"Prongs, then," he said instead, trying to focus on something else. "What, like a fork?" Sirius dissolved into laughter, the rest of them following soon after. "No." He drew his eyebrows together. "Wait, antlers?"

"Keep going," Peter encouraged.

"A pronghorn?" he guessed.

"A what?" Remus asked, intrigued.

"It's a bit like an antelope."

"Ha! You're an antelope, James," Sirius patted James's shoulder.

"You're the one who gave me the nickname! How was I meant to know there was another animal with prongs?"

Remus snorted. "Have you ever heard of a reindeer?"

"That's, like, the same thing though, right?"

"Oh," Regulus realised, "you're a stag." He looked James up and down critically. "Makes sense. It's not very good for sneaking about, though, is it?"

"Come on, then," James crossed his arms. "We've told you ours. Tell us yours."

"A cat."

"Oh, this is great!" Sirius sprang to his feet. "You're a cat and I'm a dog. I can chase you around, Reggie, when you're being a grumpy little shit."

"You do that anyway."

"I can do it better."

"I can just hide. I bet I'm faster than you."

"Don't worry, I'll find you. I have my ways."

Regulus groaned, banging his head back against the pillow with a smile.

"Right," he said, deciding he'd let this go on for too long, especially considering he was still lying in his own piss. "Out."

"What?" James asked. He looked downright forlorn, and Regulus was tempted to take it back, just for him. He didn't.

"I need to get changed."

"Oh, alright then," James nodded, "we'll wait outside."

"I need to see Evan and Barty"

"We'll come with you," Sirius supplied.

"No," Regulus decided, "you won't." Sirius gave in far too easily. He wondered if it was because he'd nearly died. Maybe he should do that more often.

"Fine. We'll wait here until you're ready, though. You can just change in the bathroom."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't want you here."

Remus laughed at that. He was definitely Regulus's favourite, along with Peter, even despite the whole stabbing thing.

"No." Sirius narrowed his eyes. "I can tell when you're lying, you know?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." Regulus shifted under his gaze. "You're embarrassed, you— oh," Sirius realised, a sharp grin spreading across his face. "Aww! The last time that happened you were eight."

"What?" Peter tilted his head.

"Don't," Regulus warned. Sirius, thank Merlin, decided to take mercy on him.

"Fine, fine, we'll leave you to it. I expect to see you soon, though, yeah?"

"Yeah," Regulus agreed. "Thank you," he said, to Sirius first, then to the others.

"You're welcome," Sirius sing-songed, before shutting the door gently behind him. Regulus stayed still for a while, staring up at the ceiling with an impossibly-large grin. Then, he wrinkled his nose, grimacing as he stood and shuffled over to the bathroom.

Chapter 26: Luck of the Draw

Evan could barely focus. The words on the page blended together, running into each other, and he couldn't make sense of them. He had to make sense of them. Because Regulus was hurting — quite possibly dying — and the stubborn little shit hadn't told them, and this was the only shot they had at doing something about it. They'd been searching for over an hour now, and still hadn't found a single thing to suggest that they could fix this, not one ray of hope amongst the obscene number of books the library held on curses.

All he knew was that they needed to find something. It had to exist, because Regulus couldn't suffer like this. Evan had learnt from a young age that life wasn't fair, and since then he'd managed to roll with the punches. Usually, he came out the other side bloody and bruised, but he accepted it, because life wasn't fair and there wasn't any way out of this fucked-up situation, where all he could think of was surviving the shit that was thrown at him. Bad luck just seemed to stick to him, follow him around and punish him whenever he hoped things would get better. But, then, he had come to Hogwarts. He'd met Regulus and Barty, and he'd braced, at first, for the bad that always followed the good. He'd expected them to leave him, but had decided to cling to them while his luck lasted, and somewhere down the line he learnt to stop bracing for impact. They'd become friends, the three of them, and one of the only good things Evan had that had actually lasted.

Barty and Regulus were his. Before Hogwarts, he'd just survived, but with them, he had grown, and this time his luck wasn't going to run out. He'd let the bad take him in whatever form it wanted, beat him into submission. It could kill him, if it liked, just as long as it left Regulus alone. Evan would make it. It wasn't often he made choices. He'd been taught not to, and the few times he'd stepped outside that box, there had been consequences enough to force him back into it. This time, though? He'd tear it all down, rip it apart piece by piece if it meant he could stop this.

"Do you think we could burn it?" Barty asked. He wasn't doing any better than Evan was. Whenever Evan looked up from his own failed attempts at finding something, Barty would be flicking through pages frantically, practically tearing the books apart in his haste.

Evan shook his head. "That wouldn't work. It's stronger than that."

"I don't mean regular fire. Fiendfyre, right? I could make a smaller version of it, I'm sure I could. Localise it."

"You think it'd work?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's all we've got though, right? We could try it, at least. Something has to work."

"Alright. We'll try it."

Evan wished they'd never made it to this point. If only Regulus hadn't tried to get out. He had to have known this would happen.

The worst part was that Evan was sure he did. Regulus was smart, smart enough that he had to have thought through the consequences. This was his decision, which meant that Evan had to respect it, as much as he wanted to go back to the dorm and scream at his friend for daring to be so stupid. It had always been the three of them, and Evan wanted to tell Regulus that he had no right to make it two, but that just wasn't how this worked, friendship. He could cling on as tightly as he wanted, but it didn't matter if the person he was clinging to wanted to slip away. They would all slip away anyway in the war, he was sure. He'd just wanted more time. He'd expected more time, and it was the worst kind of cruelty to have that hope dragged from him now.

Evan didn't understand, exactly, why Regulus was fighting. Didn't understand how anything could be important enough to leave them for. He was, however, proud of him for making his choice, just as much as he was angry.

He gestured for Barty to come to his side of the table, and Barty didn't hesitate, dropping onto his lap as they searched together for a section on fiendfyre. Evan still wasn't exactly sure what this was between them, but part of him didn't want to ask for a label. They were Evan and Barty, Barty and Evan, and wasn't that enough?

Someone approached the table and he glanced up, shocked to find the same boy they'd left pale and unconscious in his bed barely an hour before, now looking alarmingly invigorated.

"Regulus?"

"Hi," Regulus said, mouth curling up into a grin, and then Evan and Barty were beside him, surrounding him in a tight hug. If they held him tightly enough, Evan thought, then he wouldn't be able to leave, now matter which forces tried to tear him away.

Evan did loosen his grip eventually, giving his friend space to breathe.

"What happened?" Barty asked. "Is it gone?"

Regulus pulled up his sleeve with a barely-concealed grin. Evan tilted his head to the side, examining the revealed skin.

"Is that a dog?"

"Yeah," Regulus replied, sounding strangely proud of it, for someone whose animagus was a cat. Then again, if Evan had somehow managed to erase the fucking dark mark from his arm, he'd be feeling pretty smug, too.

"How?" Barty gaped, gaze transfixed on the skin. He lifted his hand to run a finger along the injury before Regulus pulled away, muttering something about it not being healed yet. "Doesn't look like it was fire."

"It wasn't." Regulus gave him an odd look. "Why would it be fire?"

"That's what we were going to try."

"It was? That's why you were here?" Evan nodded.

"Barty said he could create a more localised version of fiendfyre. We thought with enough control, it might work. What did you do, though? Just cut it open?"

Regulus snorted. "Wasn't that easy, unfortunately."

"Then what did you do?"

"Nothing."

"What do you mean, nothing?" Barty's gaze was still fixed on Regulus's exposed forearm. "How did you get it to go away, then?" Regulus glanced away, almost bashful.

"The Gryffindors helped."

"The Gryffindors?" Evan asked. "As in?"

"My brother. James. Lupin. Pettigrew."

"Alright," Barty nodded. "What did they do, then?"

"And how did they know?" Evan asked, feeling slightly offended at the idea that Regulus would tell some Gryffindors before he told them.

"They didn't. Sirius came to my room with the Sword Of Gryffindor, made it absorb his blood somehow, then stabbed me."

"And that worked?"

"I didn't think it would either."

"Oh!" Barty nodded. "That actually makes sense! Opposites, right? The counter would have to be the opposite." His face split into a grin. "Aww, your brother does still love you!"

"Piss off."

"Nah." Barty looped an arm around Regulus's shoulder. Regulus, surprisingly, didn't pull away. "Just as long as you know we come first, we'll let you have your brother. Right, Evan?"

"Sure," Evan nodded, straight-faced. "Just as long as he knows we disapprove."

"I think he got that part," Regulus assured them. Then, mumbling awkwardly, "I love you." Evan knew that. He didn't need Regulus to tell him. Still, he felt something warm at the acknowledgement.

"Speak up," Barty teased. "Didn't quite catch that, Reggie."

"Fuck you."

"I'm up for it."

"So am I," Evan assured him, "but I think Barty's right. Didn't quite catch that, Reg."

"Stop being a prick."

"I'll stop being a prick when you tell me what you said."

"Fine." Regulus looked straight at him, shoulders tense. His gaze hardened as he forced the words out. "I love you." Evan let himself grin. He laughed, not at Regulus, but the fact that they were all here. They were together and alright and Regulus was being his usual stubborn self and everything was ok again.

"You better," he said anyway. "We had to clean your vomit off the floor."

Regulus groaned. "Sorry about that."

"Oh!" Barty put his hand up, bouncing on the spot. Regulus didn't acknowledge him, but he spoke anyway. "Did you piss the bed, by the way?"

"What?" Regulus's gaze snapped up.

"You did!"

"No, I didn't!"

"Oh, that's such a lie. Evan! You owe me!"

Evan sighed, pulling a galleon out of his pocket and tossing it to Barty as Regulus spluttered.

"You bet on it?"

Evan shrugged, not feeling bad for it at all. Not when Regulus was here and safe, and it didn't matter what they had or hadn't done. "Had to take our minds off of you dying somehow. Not that it helped, really. Don't do that again, and if you do, you better tell us so we can help."

"Yeah," Barty agreed. "I bet the fire would've worked. Well, probably not, but if you'd told us sooner then we could've tested it."

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no thanks." He looked between them. "I do have a proposition for you, though."

"Does it involve fire?"

"No."

"Count me out."

"It does involve your marks, though. Getting rid of them."

Evan shouldn't entertain the thought. He had his place and he stuck to it. Nothing terrible would happen if he just did as he told, and tried not to step out of line. He might not have considered it, had it not been for the letter.

He'd hidden it from Barty when it had arrived, not wanting him to make a comment on it, and Regulus had been begging off sick at that point, so neither of them even knew it existed. And, really, it wasn't any different from the usual. He'd pretty much known what was coming before he'd even opened it. Except, this time, it mentioned Regulus. Told him to stay away. There weren't many things that could make Evan step out of line, but his friends were one of them. He'd originally decided to just ignore it, deal with the consequences when they came, but if there was an alternative? A way out? Well, that terrified him, but it excited him, too. Maybe he'd had enough bad for now, and the good wouldn't backfire this time. Maybe they could all stay together. He'd have to get his brother, of course, but Felix would come with him, he was sure; he could go back for the holidays, pretend to conform and do whatever else was requested of him, then take Felix when he left. It wasn't a foolproof plan, but something about it made him feel good.

So, he decided to ask, to at least consider what Regulus had to say.

"What's the cost?"

"It doesn't go away. You can only transfer control."

"As in…"

"As in I'm bonded to Sirius now, in the same way I used to be to Voldemort. No," Regulus shook his head, "not the same, really, but it would be in theory, I suppose."

"That's it?" Barty asked.

"That's it," Regulus confirmed.

"Great." Barty turned to Evan. "We're doing it."

"What? Hang on, I haven't even thought it through yet!"

Barty scoffed. "Please, what's there to think through? We both know you're fucking miserable. This is your chance to actually do something you want to do."

"This is what you want to do?"

Barty shrugged. "Eh."

"Eh," Regulus repeated, staring at Barty like he'd gone insane. Well, more insane than the usual.

"Yeah, eh. I mean, I'm not fussed, but I want Evan to be happy, so I'm fine with it."

"I can't leave my brother," Evan insisted.

"Well, we'll go back for him, then." Right. It seemed so simple, spelled out like that. Could it really be?

"I…" Evan trailed off, arguments crumbling around him.

"Great!" Barty clapped his hands together, eyes lighting up like he'd just had a good idea, or a very, very bad one. Evan let himself stare, committing the tones of blue to memory so he could see them whenever he liked. He'd done it a thousand times before, but he swore they were different each time he looked.

He offered Regulus a small smile. "Alright. We can bind ourselves to you then, right?"

"What?"

"Oh," Barty gasped, "do we get an animal too? Will it be the same if we're both bound to you? Wait, if your brother's an animagus, is the dog because of that? Will we get cats?"

"Slow down," Regulus grumbled. "For one, you can't be bound to me."

"Wait, what?" Barty asked, sounding just as scandalised as Evan felt. "Why not? That's not fair."

"Yeah," Evan agreed, "I'm only doing it if it's you." He trusted Regulus. He trusted Barty. That was where the list ended; anyone else, and it'd be just the same as Voldemort.

"That's not an option. It has to be a true Gryffindor."

Barty scoffed. "And how's the sword supposed to know that? Is it sentient or something?"

"Probably."

"Well, if it is we can just threaten it or something. Make it agree." Evan tried to picture Barty arguing with a sword, and had to muffle a laugh behind his palm. Barty was stubborn enough that he wouldn't give up, either, so the argument would just keep going until he eventually lost interest.

"That's not how it works." Regulus's fists were clenched in his pockets. "There's rules, Barty. You can't just make it do what you want."

"Watch me."

"Can't we try?" Evan asked. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"We could fuck it up somehow," Regulus said. "Do it wrong. The sword could sense our disloyalty to it and decide to do some lasting damage instead. It could get fed up with Barty's insults, and decide that stabbing him's the best option."

"Hey!"

"Or," Evan reasoned, "none of that's going to happen and we'll be fine." He shrugged. "I think it's worth the risk."

"That's the spirit!" Barty looped an arm around his shoulders. "Two against one, Reg. I think we win."

"That's not how it works!"

"Says who?"

Regulus let out a heavy breath, shaking his head, and Evan knew they'd won. "Fine. You have to sleep on it, though. And if we all end up dead, I'm blaming you."

"Sounds fair to me," Evan decided. Barty whined, burying his head in Evan's neck.

"That's such a long time, though."

Evan huffed fondly, reaching an arm up to tug gently at his hair. "Maybe if you're patient enough, I'll reward you."

"Yeah?" Barty turned his head up, lips ghosting over Evan's jaw. Evan shivered. "Reward me how?"

"If you two keep me up again," Regulus warned, "I'm taking the offer back." He picked up one of the abandoned textbooks on the desk, briefly flicking through it before setting it back down.

"Aww," Barty pouted. "What if you want us to keep you up, though?"

"Trust me, I don't."

"You used to."

Evan gave a heavy sigh. "He's forsaken us, Barty. Abandoned us for his new lover." He grinned at Regulus's scowl. "How are things on the Potter front, anyway? Fucked him again, yet?"

"No," Regulus snapped, something bitter in his voice.

"You want to, though?"

"No." Regulus looked over to a shelf behind them, picking at his nail.

"Oh, you totally do!" Evan winced, Barty's shout having been far too close to his ear.

"I—" Regulus's gaze got caught on something behind them, and he uttered a quiet curse.

"Boys." Ah. Shit.

"We're just going," Regulus told her, voice sweet despite the punishing glare he directed at Evan and Barty. "Sorry for the trouble."

"I suppose I can accept your apology, Mr Black, as long as you don't bring those two with you again."

"But, Irma!" Barty pulled away from Evan, slamming a hand over his heart. "I thought I was your favourite!"

"Not once, Mr Crouch, have you returned a book to its correct location."

"I was reshelving; helping you organise the library."

She didn't budge. "Out."

In the end, none of them really argued with her, least of all Regulus, who had a reputation to maintain. They dutifully returned to their dorm room, and tried, largely unsuccessfully, to sleep through to morning. Evan did manage to drop off at one point, though, and he woke up with Barty curled up into his chest, snoring lightly. He closed his eyes, and let himself enjoy the warmth.

His peace was interrupted by Regulus, ripping the curtains back and looking down at them with that carefully-neutral expression. Neutral to anyone else, at least. Evan had learnt to see through the clouds, to the storm brewing in his eyes.

"Do you still want to do this?"

"I think so." Evan shook Barty's shoulder. Barty didn't wake, but gripped him tighter.

"Barty?" No response. "Baby, come on, we have to get up." Barty cracked an eye open, grin feral, and only then did Evan realise his mistake.

"Baby?"

"Fuck off." Evan shoved him, pushing him to the floor. He scrambled back to his feet, freeing himself from the sheets that had twisted around him in his sleep.

"Hey!"

"Barty." Regulus looked away. "Why the fuck are you naked?"

Barty shrugged. "I run hot." He made no effort to cover himself. Evan wanted to drag him back behind the curtains and mark his exposed skin. It looked so pretty when it bruised. Alas, there were things he had to do, so he forced himself to stop staring at Barty's hipbones and asked the question instead.

"Do you still want to do this?"

Barty snorted. "Is that even a question? I'd look hot with a cat tattoo, wouldn't I?"

"Sure," Evan agreed. He was far from the best judge; he couldn't think of anything that Barty wouldn't look good in.

"Great. That's settled, then. Let's go."

"Barty!" Regulus shouted after him, having made the mistake of turning back around too soon. "You're still naked."

"Am I?" Barty looked down. "Huh, good catch." He rummaged about in his bed, which was at this point mostly just a graveyard of semi-clean clothes, and wrapped a robe around himself. "Let's go, then."

Evan pushed himself off the bed, striding over and tilting Barty's chin up, facing little resistance. "Remember what I said about a reward?"

"Yeah," Barty pouted. "You didn't give me anything."

"I said you have to be patient."

"I was!"

"Yeah?" Evan arched an eyebrow. "Prove it. Get dressed properly."

Regulus mouthed an amused thanks at him as Barty did what he was told, hurrying back across the room to dig out the rest of his uniform. It didn't take long, and soon they were all dressed and ready to leave.

They didn't get far from the dorm before their path was blocked by a prefect. Dorcas Meadowes. Evan hadn't spoken to her in his life.

"Regulus," she said stiffly, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Evan and Barty.

"…Yeah?"

"I admire what you did." She nodded, as though agreeing with her own statement, then spun on her heel, marching back down the corridor.

"Who was that?" Barty asked. "Is she a prefect?"

Regulus shook his head. "I don't understand how we're in sixth year and you still don't know most of our house."

"Dorcas Meadowes," Evan supplied. "Yeah, she's a prefect."

"Huh." Barty didn't say anything else, continuing to drag Evan along, out of the common room and up to Gryffindor tower.

It wasn't until they got there that Evan realised there was a problem.

"Reg?" he asked. "Do you know the password?"

"…No."

"Alright," Barty said, thoroughly unconcerned. "Stand back."

"No, stop it," Regulus admonished. "We'll just ask."

Barty pouted. "You're no fun." He put his wand away, at least.

It wasn't long, luckily, until a Gryffindor pushed past them, muttering a password to the portrait in a whisper and glancing back at them warily.

"Let us in," Evan told him.

"No," he replied, affronted. "You're Slytherins."

"And?" Barty asked. "That a problem?" He took a step forward.

"Not a problem," the boy replied, in the kind of tone that told Evan exactly what he actually thought. "You don't belong here, though."

"Get James. Or Sirius," Regulus told the boy. That, at least, seemed to catch him off guard.

"Potter and Black? You know them?"

"Sirius is my brother, idiot."

He looked Regulus over again. "You're Sirius Black's brother?"

"Yes."

"Then why haven't I seen you before? Does Sirius even want to see you?" Evan expected anger at that. He was impressed when Regulus remained calm.

"Why don't you ask him?"

The boy didn't say anything for a while, then, eventually, gave a slow nod. "Fine. I'm not coming back if he doesn't, though." The portrait swung closed in their faces.

They weren't waiting very long before it opened again, and they were greeted by the same two people Regulus had asked for.

"Reg!" James pulled Regulus straight into a hug, and Evan's eyebrows shot up at the ease of it all. He looked over to Barty, who seemed just as taken aback as he was. It wouldn't have been so strange had Regulus not practically melted into it, letting himself be held. It had taken most of first year before Barty and Evan were even allowed to touch him.

"You're back!" Sirius cried. Evan had been dubious about the whole brother thing, but seeing Sirius now, so clearly pleased just to be in Regulus's presence, he decided they could probably trust him. Especially considering he'd gotten rid of Regulus's mark. They'd owe him forever for that. More so, if this thing worked for him and Barty.

When Regulus finally pulled himself free from James's embrace, Evan was even more shocked to find the boy blushing. He liked to think he knew most of Regulus's facial expressions, a majority of which involved anger in some form, but this? This was new. Whatever it was, there was much, much more going on with James than Regulus had let on.

After he'd stepped away, Regulus let Sirius hug him too; he pulled away from that one much sooner.

"Come up to our dorm," Sirius told him. "Moony and Wormy are still in bed, but they won't mind if you wake them. We—" finally, he looked up, noticing Evan and Barty for the first time. Evan waved. "Oh. You're here."

"Lighten up, Pads." James rolled his eyes, stepping forward to offer his hand. "I'm James. Nice to meet you properly."

"Evan," Evan replied, taking it first.

"Barty." Barty shook James's hand a bit more vigorously. "So, now that's out of the way, what are your intentions with our Regulus?" That was all it took for James to go practically luminous, cheeks painted tomato-red.

"Barty!" Regulus hissed, but he wasn't fooling anyone. Evan saw the way he watched for James's response, barely blinking.

"I want him to be happy?"

"Oh? And how do you intend to do that, Potter?"

"I don't know." James shoved his hands into his pockets. "That depends what he wants?"

"Pussy." Barty didn't interrogate him any further, pushing past into the Gryffindor common room. Evan and Regulus followed close behind.

A surprising number of people were gathered in the common room, especially considering that it was the morning. Nearly every one of them turned to stare, whispers breaking out between the groups. They didn't last long.

"Oi!" James called, coming to stand beside them. "What's the problem?" Nobody responded, every one of them hastily turning back to whatever they'd been doing before the interruption.

"Thanks," Evan offered.

"No problem, Evan," James smiled. "You're Reggie's friends."

"Hey!" Sirius squawked, hurrying over. "That's my name! You can't use that, James."

"Actually," Regulus said, "it's mine." He looked up at James. "Don't call me that, though."

"Sure," James nodded." Sorry." Evan nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. The man was far, far too nice. He wouldn't survive a second in Slytherin. Evan was surprised he'd even survived for so long in Regulus's presence.

"Which way, then?" Barty asked. Sirius reluctantly pointed up a staircase and Barty led the way, hurrying up the stairs and knocking on the first door he came across.

"Um, Barty?" James called from behind Evan. "That's the wrong room."

"Oh, oops." Nobody answered, thankfully. They must've been out. Or still asleep. Barty scooted along and raised a hand to knock on the next door along, pouting when Evan gripped his wrist to stop the movement.

"What?"

"It'll be easier if we just ask, yeah?"

"Fine." He looked back down the corridor. "Which one, Potter?"

"Number six," James called back. With the confirmation, Barty didn't bother to knock this time, pushing the named door wide open and greeting the room with an overly-enthusiastic wake-up call.

"Good morning!" Then, he proceeded to pull back the nearest set of closed curtains.

Remus didn't open his eyes. "Go away."

"But it's morning," Barty said, making no move to close the curtains. Remus started to make another grumbled noise of discontent, then his eyes shot open.

"Why the fuck are you here?"

"Don't sound too happy to see me." He reached out for Evan, pulling him in closer. "Ev's here too. Won't you at least get up for him?" Remus yanked the bright red curtains shut again.

"Sorry, Moons," Sirius called, stepping through the doorway. "Reg's here with them. I wouldn't have let them in otherwise."

"Such inhospitable treatment," Barty complained.

"It's alright," Evan soothed, "we don't need them."

"Actually," Regulus interrupted, "I think we do." He looked between James and Sirius. "Where's the sword?"

"What for?" Sirius asked. Then, a moment later, "Wait, them?"

"Yeah, us," Evan told him, squeezing Barty's hand. "Is that a problem?"

"No." Sirius shook his head, slow. "You just don't seem the type."

"And what type do we seem, then?"

Sirius didn't hold back. "Well you've never seemed particularly upset about your Dark Lord, Rosier. And Crouch seems weirdly into violence."

"Oh, he is," Regulus replied before either of them got the chance. "But they want out. Trust me." Sirius stared at his brother helplessly, before eventually giving in. "Fine."

It was at that moment that Peter emerged from behind his own set of curtains. His blonde hair was messy from the pillow, and he rubbed his eyes in a way that was, objectively, quite cute.

"Oh." He blinked. Rubbed his eyes again. "Hi."

"Hi," Barty replied, mouth curling up, and, honestly, Evan couldn't blame him. He didn't know Peter very well, but he liked what he'd seen so far, and there was only so much you needed to know about a person to want to suck their dick. Well, for Evan, anyway; anything romantic took him a lot longer to be into, but sex? That was just about having fun, and he liked to think he was pretty good at that. Especially when Barty was involved. He didn't think he'd want Barty to do anything without him, and he certainly didn't want to do anything without Barty involved, at this point, but together? They hadn't really discussed it but, as far as he was concerned, it was certainly on the table.

They might have to have that discussion sooner rather than later. Especially if Peter kept chewing his lip like that, pupils blown far more than was necessary, considering the bright sun at the window.

"Why are you here?"

"To see you, mostly," Barty replied. Evan rolled his eyes.

"We're getting rid of our marks."

"Oh!" He looked ridiculously pleased. "That means you won't hate them anymore, right, Sirius?"

"I wouldn't count on it," Sirius grumbled.

"But they wouldn't be evil, right? So we could be friends?"

"Not likely."

"I'll gladly be your friend, Pete," Evan offered anyway, grinning when Peter smiled in response, running a hand through his hair and only managing to flatten it slightly.

"Me too," Barty agreed. "You know, I've got this fun tradition with my friends—"

"Anyway," Regulus interrupted, cutting Barty off with a glare. "The sword? Where is it?"

"Right!" James walked across to Remus's bed, keeping his steps light. He crouched down, dragging a sword from under it. The sword itself was definitely more impressive than Evan had imagined. It wasn't just plain metal: the hilt was decorated with intricate designs, twisting all the way up to the beginning of the blade. It was encrusted with jewels, too, deep red things dotted about, the biggest of which was at the very base of the handle. It was only looking at it now that he realised exactly what he'd gotten himself into. He was going to let Regulus stab him, and put his trust in a boy who'd been all but desensitised to pain telling him that it wouldn't hurt too badly.

At least it couldn't hurt more than getting the mark had. That was something he never wanted to revisit.

James looked around the room. "Who's doing the stabbing, then?"

"Regulus," Evan told him. James nodded and let Regulus take hold of the sword. It didn't immediately jump out of his grip or anything, which Evan thought had to be a good sign that this would actually work.

"Hold on, I thought it had to be a true Gryffindor," Sirius said. "Regulus is a Slytherin."

"Really? I had no idea." Regulus didn't lift his gaze from the sword.

"I mean, it doesn't ask for your house, doesn't it?" Peter asked. "Maybe you just need good intentions." This was why Evan liked Peter.

"Or," Sirius countered, "maybe this will all go terribly wrong."

"Don't worry," James said, trying to reassure Sirius. "It's letting him hold it, right? That's a good sign."

"Besides," Barty added, "if it is sentient, then we can threaten it. I'm good at that."

Sirius held his hands up. "Fine! Try it! But don't blame me if it goes wrong."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Regulus stepped forward, supporting the weight of the sword with both hands to keep it upright. "Last chance to back out," he told them.

"And where would the fun be in that?" Barty thrust his arm out, pulling the sleeve to his elbow. "Do me first."

"Fine." Regulus drew the blade along the back of his own arm, pressing until it drew blood and letting the sword sit in the wound. He didn't flinch. Then, without preamble, he mimicked the motion across Barty's mark.

Nothing happened.

"Aw." Barty's smile dropped. "I wanted— fuck!" Suddenly, the mark was moving, twisting grotesquely where it sat on Barty's forearm, as if trying to escape the wound that had ripped it apart. Barty's gaze remained steady on it, even as he hissed, presumably at the pain. It went on for a beat. Two. Three. Then, just as quickly as the movement had started, it stopped, the mark vanishing completely, replaced with the small figure of a cat, just like they'd presumed.

"Shit," Barty cursed under his breath, twisting his arm around to better admire the new addition to it. "That's so fucking cool."

Evan stuck his arm out, not hesitating anymore. "My turn." Barty moved behind him, looping his arms around his waist. Evan leant into the touch, only objecting when he grabbed his marked arm, holding it steady.

"What's that for?"

"Don't worry about it." Evan didn't have time to worry, because, next thing he knew, there was a blade pressed to his skin, and then the sharp sensation of burning. It wasn't anywhere near as bad as getting the mark had been, but it hurt nonetheless, and he did try to flinch back, only to be held in place by Barty. He grit his teeth and endured, and kept enduring until, all of a sudden, the pain fell to the background, just a dull throb left in its stead. He looked to his arm and, sure enough, the mark was gone.

It was gone.

He laughed, unable to help himself. He probably would've doubled over if Barty hadn't still been there to support him. He thought he'd be scared. Nervous, at least, at betraying everything he'd ever been told to work for and shattering his future. But, right now, Evan felt nothing less than elated. He didn't belong to them. He hadn't before, really, not for a long time, but he'd still had to make himself obey. Now, though, it was just Regulus he was stuck with, and that was a choice he'd have made anyway, mark or no mark. Maybe his luck really was changing.

Or, maybe, he'd just decided to make his own. This was supposed to be his life, after all, and it was about time he started living it.

"We're free." He twisted in Barty's hold, bringing their lips together. He wasn't sure how long they stayed there, but it didn't matter, because he wanted to and so did Barty and so why couldn't they? When he eventually pulled back — not done, not really, but he never was — he marched over to Regulus, wrapping him in a tight hug that Barty joined soon after.

"Thank you," he said. Then, again, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." It wasn't enough, but it was all he had to offer.

"Thank you," Regulus replied, "for trusting me."

"Always."

"Hey," Sirius interrupted. "Don't we get a thanks?"

"You're right." Evan drew back from the hug. "Whose idea was it?"

"Lily Evans's," James supplied. "Remus helped a lot. Pete, too."

"And James," Peter nodded.

"Right," Evan grinned. "Well, thank you then, Pete. And James." He raised his voice a little to ensure it carried through the curtains. "And Remus. And thank Lily for me too, won't you?"

"Will do," Pete agreed. "You can always come visit yourself, though. I'll let you in."

"What?" Sirius squawked. "They're Slytherins!"

"You'd get to see Reg more often," James reasoned. Sirius didn't necessarily agree at that, but it did shut him up. James's gaze slid back over to Regulus when he finished talking. It did that a lot, Evan had noticed.

"Might have to take you up on that," Barty told him, "especially if you'll be around."

"Wouldn't miss it," Peter grinned.

"Hey!" Sirius cut in again. Evan was happy Reg had him back and all, but he really was becoming a trial to be around. "I didn't get a thank you!"

"What for?" Evan asked.

"For being one of the people who found the bloody sword."

"And what exactly did you do?" Barty asked.

"I— well, I—"

"He broke into Dumbledore's office with me," James supplied.

"Yeah! That!"

"And he brought the sword to Reg."

"I did!"

"Fine." Evan rolled his eyes. "Thanks, I guess. Although you could be less of a prick about it."

Sirius crossed his arms. "I don't want you in my dorm anymore."

"Fine by us," Regulus agreed, stepping to the door. "Thanks for lending the sword."

"Wait, I didn't mean you," Sirius hurried to say. "You can stay if you want."

"And we're not kicking your friends out either," James added. "Are we, Pads?"

"But they're Slytherins!"

"So is Regulus," Peter told him. "The sword let them use it, anyhow, so I think it's fine for them to stay."

"Moony needs to sleep!"

"I agree," Regulus nodded, "so we'll get going now."

"But—"

Regulus sighed. "I'll see you later, Sirius, yeah? Come find me."

That seemed to mollify Sirius, and he settled back down. It didn't surprise Evan that his animagus was a dog. He seemed to have almost as much rogue energy as Barty did, and that was saying something.

"Where will you be?"

Regulus shrugged. "Find me. I know you have a way."

"What? How?" Sirius looked to James, then Peter, then back to James.

"James always did." That was enough for James to flush again, and he refused to meet Sirius's eye.

"James!"

"I didn't tell him!"

"You still used it, though! To find him."

"How else was I supposed to?"

"You weren't!"

Evan let the door swing shut behind them, the argument fading into the background. He looked down at his arm and grinned, tracing his thumb over the cat and keeping his sleeve rolled up to his elbow.

"What now, then?" Barty asked, swinging Evan's hand up and down as they walked.

"Anything," Regulus offered.

Anything. Wasn't that a thought?

Chapter 27: Reparations

Notes:

Ok so I may have implied that this chapter was Jegulus-centric
Oops
Next time though - promise! Hope you enjoy this anyway <3

Regulus was used to being scared. He'd learned early on to ignore it, to repress his fear and push it down, knowing it wouldn't do him any good. He had handled it in Grimmauld Place, and he had handled it when the mark had turned against him, doing his best not to think about what the future held. This, though, was a wholly separate kind of fear. It wasn't any worse than he'd faced before, and yet it felt it, since this time he actually had to face it, and didn't have the option of hiding away. Not in good conscience, at least.

He had to apologise to Lily Evans.

He didn't particularly like her, but he could admit that he'd been hating her for the wrong reasons, which meant, as much as it pained him, that he owed her an apology. It didn't help that James was still following him around, too, because Regulus knew that James cared about Lily, saw them together looking so fucking delighted in each other's company. It made him angry, because it meant that James was paying attention to her and not to him, but most of all it made him guilty. Lily Evans was, all things considered, a decent person, good enough to win James's attention, anyway, so putting aside Regulus's personal distaste for her, she didn't deserve to hear the things he'd told her.

He didn't actively search for her. He wasn't that desperate. When he saw her in the library, though, sitting in the seat he'd left open, he took a breath, then made his way over.

Lily looked up when he approached, calm expression switching in an instant to something fierce. Her eyes were a bright green, and while Regulus was sure they usually looked quite gentle, right now they were the opposite, narrowed into slits that seemed to dare him to step closer. And, since he had seemingly long since lost every self-preservation instinct he'd so carefully curated in his youth, he did so, looking right back at her.

"I'm sorry." Her expression didn't change.

"What for?"

"For everything I said to you."

She lifted an eyebrow. "What changed?"

Regulus rolled up his sleeve. "I realised you were right." That seemed to tip her off balance. Just briefly, before she hid her shock back behind neutrality. She muttered something about Sirius he couldn't quite catch, before addressing him again.

"Do you think that's enough? It doesn't change what you've already done."

"No," Regulus admitted, "I know, which is why I'm apologising. I was wrong. I'm sorry I didn't see it before. I'm sorry to you and—" he cut himself off, refusing to think about the other people he'd hurt. The people who'd died. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve it."

"Thank you," she eventually replied. "I can't forgive you for it, though."

"That's fine." He hadn't expected forgiveness. That wasn't what he was here for.

"Alright." She looked back down at the book she was reading. Regulus clenched and unclenched his hands, then spoke again.

"I wanted to thank you, too. For figuring out about the sword."

"I didn't do it for you."

"I know. Thank you anyway." She nodded. "If there's anything you need, then I owe you, I suppose."

She thought about that for a moment, watching him with a calculating look in her eye as he stood in place.

"Tell me why."

"Why?"

"Why you did it. Why you didn't leave like Sirius; why you took the mark." Regulus gritted his teeth. He wanted to leave now, to avoid having this conversation again. He'd suffered through it enough. But, he had said anything, hadn't he? It was his own fault.

"I thought it was the right thing," he told her, doing his best to speed through the story. "My parents said it was, and I believed them because I thought they loved me. I didn't hear any different until Hogwarts, and then it had gone too far to question it."

"What changed?"

"Someone gave me a book about Muggle-borns, and I didn't agree with it, so I started reading more. I started questioning, and nobody gave me a good answer. Then I went home for the holidays and," he shivered, swallowing down bile, "that was the final straw, really. I realised it was wrong."

"Huh. So you're saying you really don't believe in it anymore? Any of it?"

"I don't."

"Alright," she said, offering a hand. "You better mean that. It doesn't make up for before, but if you're telling the truth, it's nice to meet this new version of you, Regulus." Well. He hadn't expected that.

He didn't want to take her hand, but his body moved for him anyway. They shook on it. Regulus still didn't particularly like her, but he hadn't found anything to hate yet, either, so maybe she wasn't all that bad.

"Great. Now leave me alone."

"I was planning to," Regulus retorted, pausing on his way out. He thought it over for a moment, then made his way over to the Muggle section of the library, a place he was becoming strangely familiar with. When he did eventually leave the room, it was with his bag weighed down far more than it had been when he'd arrived.

His next destination was a wholly unusual one, but nowhere he hadn't been before. This time, just like the last, he made sure he was alone before entering, not wanting to be asked any questions. He pushed the door open, its hinges creaky from disuse, and shivered almost as soon as he crossed the boundary, when Myrtle flew right through him.

"Regulus! You're back!"

"Of course I am," he told her, softening almost instantly. She still looked just as young as she had the first time, which wasn't surprising, considering she was a ghost, but it made his heart ache nonetheless.

"Why were you away for so long?"

He grimaced. "Sorry, I've been busy."

"You have? What with?"

"Being brave," he told her, feeling himself smile. "I'm not with the bad people anymore, and neither are my friends."

She squealed, flying up into the air. "I knew you could do it! I told you, didn't I?"

"You did. Thank you." He dragged his bag off his shoulder, dropping it to the bathroom floor. "I've brought some things with me to say thanks."

"You have?" She came towards him again, stopping close enough that they were practically touching. "What is it?"

He knelt down, pulling the first book out of his bag. "How do you feel about stories?"

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up. "What kind of stories?"

He sat with her in her stall, and they ended up getting through much more than Regulus thought they would. They were there for so long, in fact, that he had to use a lumos when the sun sank below the windows, casting them in shadow.

"Am I keeping you?" Myrtle asked eventually, once Regulus had finished reading the end of a chapter. "Do you have anything you need to go for?"

"Not today," Regulus assured her. It was a full moon that night, anyway, so it wasn't like he was going to see Sirius, and Barty and Evan would be more than happy if he left them alone in the dorm for a little longer. They had a lot to celebrate, after all.

She perked up. "Does that mean we can read some more?"

"We can finish the book if you like," Regulus replied, already turning the page.

When the time did come for him to leave, he left a book open for her on the lid of the toilet seat. It was both of their favourites, out of the ones he'd brought back. He wished he'd looked into Muggle literature sooner; it seemed that not having magic only made them more creative, their imaginations stretching beyond anything Regulus had seen in the novels he was used to. The book he left for Myrtle, though, was definitely his favourite. The Little Prince, it was called, and Regulus had had to stop himself crying while reading it. Multiple times.

"The page about the stars, and the friends," Myrtle had told him to leave it on, and so he did. She told him that it reminded her of him. "You're a star, aren't you, Regulus?" she had asked, and when he had confirmed that he was, she had nodded along happily. "It'll remind me of you then, of the stars, until you can come back and visit again. You'll always be my friend, won't you?"

"Always," he promised.

"Good. You'll come back, then. I know you're a star already, but it isn't the same. The sky can't talk back to you."

"I'll be back." He thought for a moment, pausing mid-step. "You might want to try listening to the sky, though. It doesn't use the same language we do, but if you look hard enough, it might talk back."

She tilted her head. "Do you talk to the sky?"

"Not as much as I used to," he admitted, thinking about when he'd used to gaze out the window, not settling until he found his brother there. He had to do that much less nowadays. "It's nice, though, to know you can. The sky's always there."

"Yeah," Myrtle responded softly, smiling back at him. "It is. It's nice when it doesn't have to be, though, isn't it?"

Regulus laughed. He couldn't help it, because she couldn't know just how right she was. He couldn't have gone without his brother's star, but everything was better — so much better — now that Sirius was with him on earth, too. Maybe one day he'd have to look to the sky again, but for now he was content to bask in what he had.

"You're right," he told her. "I'll see you later, Myrtle."

"See you later, Regulus," she told him, waving goodbye as he darted out into the corridor, stopping short when he found himself face-to-face with Professor McGonagall.

He didn't say a word, doing his best to look innocent and pretend he hadn't just come from a closed girls' bathroom. It would've likely been more effective if she hadn't just watched him come through the door.

"Mr Black," she said, drawing out the syllables. Regulus swallowed. "Where might you be coming from?"

"The toilet," he offered, response part-way between a question and a plea.

"And you felt the need to use a girls' bathroom, and an abandoned girls' bathroom at that? I can't think of one good reason for you to be in there."

Shit. He needed a distraction. What did he know about McGonagall? What would get her attention? She'd been a Gryffindor, right?

"Mulciber," he blurted out, cringing even as he did so.

"Pardon?"

"He was… bullying me." Regulus decided to go with it. It probably wouldn't work, but it was better than nothing.

"And why," she asked, "would Mr Mulciber see fit to bully you? I was under the impression that the two of you were on good terms."

Regulus snorted at that. This part, at least, he didn't have to fake. "No, we've never cared much for each other." He pulled up his sleeve, trying to play it off as a casual gesture, and suppressing a grin when her eyes were drawn to it. "Don't quite have the same beliefs, you know?"

McGonagall blinked. She blinked again. "I—" she cleared her throat, eyes still fixed on where Regulus's mark used to be; on where his new one now was. "I see, then. Well, don't make a habit of it, Mr Black."

"I won't."

"Good." She shook her head slightly, as if to clear it. "Do let me know if Mr Mulciber causes you any more trouble."

"I will. Thank you, Professor," Regulus replied, trying to make himself appear as doe-eyed as possible. She continued on down the corridor after that, and he made his way in the opposite direction, humming as he went. He hoped, idly, that Barty and Evan would be finished by the time he got back to his dorm.

Chapter 28: Confessions

James had been happy — more than — when Regulus agreed to study by the lake. He usually only got to see the boy at the library, which he was more than grateful for, but there was something special about seeing him outside of that. It was a confirmation that they were friends, really; that this wasn't just something he was forcing on Regulus, but something that Regulus wanted as well.

It had been going perfectly. He couldn't have asked for anything more. He hadn't thought he'd had a particularly addictive personality until now, but Regulus was on a whole other level. He was a drug, one that James couldn't help but crave, no matter the circumstances. James liked to think his Regulus-induced insanity was something he was doing a good job at hiding, though. It had to be, since Regulus seemed to be so relaxed with him. He had even managed to make him laugh, more than once, and he was pretty sure no other experience would ever top that.

Then, though, Regulus had stretched, and his sleeve had rolled down, and there was a bruise, a dark mark against his pale skin that wasn't supposed to be there, because he was supposed to be safe. And James couldn't help but think that it was his fault. All the others had been, so why not this one as well? He'd stood by while Regulus was hurt before. He'd fucking laughed at his pain, and he still couldn't believe that Regulus had forgiven him for it. He wasn't sure he wanted to be forgiven for it. So seeing another bruise now, after it was all supposed to be ok? Suddenly, he wasn't so calm anymore.

"What happened?" he blurted out.

Regulus frowned. "What?"

"Your arm!"

"Oh." Regulus twisted his arm around, finding the bruise. "I think I banged it on a door frame or something."

James's stomach lurched.

"What really happened?" He pressed.

"Pardon?" Regulus was frowning again, looking far too wary, and James realised he was scaring him. He'd promised never to hurt Regulus again, and he'd messed it up already. Just like last time.

"Sorry," he choked out, looking away.

"It's just a bruise." Regulus shuffled closer, putting a hand on James's knee. It made him feel better right away, and he hated that, because he didn't deserve to feel better. Not when all he seemed to do was make Regulus feel worse. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage. "I'm so sorry."

"James," Regulus said, voice harsh. "Stop it. Whatever this is, stop it."

"I can't," he admitted. "I hurt you, Reg. You didn't deserve that."

"I did."

"No." James shook his head as fast as he could manage, finally looking into Regulus's eyes, bracing against the storm. "You didn't. You made mistakes, but only because you thought you were doing the right thing. That doesn't make you bad."

"Of course it does," Regulus countered, looking genuinely, heartbreakingly baffled. "I still hurt people, James. Hell, I hurt people even when I knew it was wrong."

"You had to," James insisted. Regulus shook his head.

"Do you want to hear about my Christmas?"

James froze. He couldn't bring himself to disagree, because he needed to know. Whatever it was, he needed to know. But hearing about the place he'd let Regulus go back to? The pain he'd caused through that decision? He couldn't bring himself to agree, either. In the end, Regulus made the decision for him. He started talking.

"There was an attack on the Ministry." James's breath hitched. "You remember I mentioned it?" Regulus asked, and James nodded in response. "Good. I was there. I helped—" Regulus took a breath, looking him straight in the eye. "I killed people, James."

The sound James let out was alarmingly close to a whine, but he didn't much care how he sounded. He was too focused on Regulus's words still, and buried his head in his knees, as though that would be enough to block them out, erase them from his memory. Regulus had killed people. He'd had to kill people, and it was all James's fault for letting him go back there.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, apparently having lost all ability to form coherent thoughts. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

A pause, then, "What's wrong with you?"

"Huh?"

"I tell you I've killed people, and your response is to apologise to me? Genuinely, what the fuck, James?"

"It wasn't your fault," James insisted, "you wouldn't have done it if you didn't had to. It's my fault you went back there in the first place, if I'd—"

"Shut up."

"But—"

"Shut up!" Regulus waited for a moment, almost daring him to interrupt again. He didn't. "You need to realise that I have the ability to make my own decisions. Sure, maybe there wasn't much other choice, but it was me who decided to go back there. I was the one who went to the Ministry, and I was the one who made the decisions I did while I was there."

"But if I'd told you to come with me," James argued, "then you wouldn't have had to go."

"And who says I would've agreed?" Regulus held his gaze. The storm in his eyes was nothing short of violent, sucking up all the air around it, James's breath included. "I went back there because I wanted to. I'm the one who makes my choices, not you. Frankly, it's insulting that you seem to think me so incapable of making my own decisions."

"You can't make decisions when you don't have a choice!"

"I did have a choice! I chose to leave, didn't I?"

"That's different."

"No," Regulus shook his head, "it's not. If I chose to leave, then that means I chose to stay, too. You can't have both."

"Even if it was, then," James reasoned. "Even if you chose to stay, it was because all the alternatives were worse. Fuck, you should hate me. I could've made it so much easier for you, Reg. I could've given you a choice, and I hurt you instead."

"I'm glad you did." James gaped. "Because," Regulus continued, growing more and more frustrated with every word, "if you didn't, then it would've been a betrayal to Sirius, knowing what you did. You had no reason not to hate me, James. I don't blame you for it."

"But I hurt you, and I made you have to stay, and I made it so much harder for you. You should hate me, Regulus!"

"Well it's too bad that I fucking love you, then, isn't it?"

Suddenly, James's was breathless for a completely new reason. He was sure he'd made the words up, that he'd finally gone insane, but then Regulus was panicking, trying to backtrack, and James couldn't even remember what they'd been arguing about before. This, here, was all that mattered, because Regulus had said he'd loved him. He'd said it and he'd meant it, and even if this was a dream, James was going to take full advantage of it while it lasted.

"I didn't mean that," Regulus insisted, eyes wide. "I just— I wanted you to be quiet, and it just came out, and I didn't mean it."

"You did, though," James responded, tilting his head. "Didn't you?"

"I'm sorry." James frowned. That was the last thing he wanted to hear right now. "I didn't mean to make it weird. I know you don't like me that way, and that's fine, I didn't mean to say it. Can we just forget about it?"

"No," James said, intending to cut off Regulus's panic, but only succeeding in making it worse. "Wait, no, listen, I do."

"You what?" Regulus snapped.

"Feel the same. I love you."

"No, you don't."

"I—" James blinked. "Pardon?"

"You're just saying that." Most of the time, James loved how stubborn Regulus was. This, decidedly, was not one of those times.

"Regulus, why would I tell you I loved you if I didn't mean it?"

"Because you think it's what I want to hear."

James shook his head. "I wouldn't. Not about this."

"Well, maybe you think you do, then," Regulus said, "but you don't. I'd know if you did."

"How would you know?"

"Because it's you." Regulus waved a hand, gesturing to, well, all of him. "You're ridiculously easy to read. Can't hide your feelings for a second."

James stepped forward, lips twitching up. "Maybe you can't read me as well as you thought, then, love."

"Don't call me that!" Regulus said, horrified. "I would've been able to tell, James. You think you love me, but you don't, and it's not fair to keep pretending you do."

"No," James responded slowly. "I'm perfectly capable of processing my feelings, thank you very much. Besides, if you don't believe me, you can go ahead and ask your brother."

"My brother?"

"Yep. He knew before I did," James stated proudly.

"You can't—" Regulus stuttered, "it's not true."

"Why are you so against this? I thought you said you loved me."

"Because you'll leave," Regulus told him. James's heart just about shattered. "You'll realise you don't love me, not really, and it'll ruin this." He gestured between them.

"Shut up," James mumbled, stepping closer and linking his hands lightly behind Regulus's back. Regulus didn't pull away, which was a good start. "First of all, even if this didn't work out, I'd still want to be your friend. Nothing's going to change that. And secondly," James lifted an arm to Regulus's chin, tilting it up to meet his gaze, "I am very much in love with you, Regulus, so I'd much prefer it if this did work out between us, all things considered."

"Oh," Regulus breathed, fight finally draining out of him as he stared in what James could only describe as wonder. He was dizzy with it, wanted to stare back at Regulus forever, so long as he was allowed to. "You mean it, don't you?"

"I do."

Then, Regulus's mouth was on his, just where it was supposed to be, and it was somehow even better than he'd remembered. Not a night went by when he didn't think back to the feel of Regulus's kiss, but his memory didn't even come close to the reality. James groaned against Regulus's lips, gripping the boy tight, trying to make him stay and whimpering when he pulled away anyway, after nowhere near long enough. Not that James would ever have enough of this. He'd happily spend the rest of his days in Regulus's arms, breathing each other in until the oxygen between them faded out.

"If we're going to do this," Regulus said, voice shaky, "then we need to talk first."

James grumbled, burying his face in Regulus's neck and delighting in the chuckle he felt vibrating under the skin there. He pressed his tongue to it, chasing the sound.

"James." Regulus pulled at his hair, lightly, but enough to get him to raise his head back up. "Talk, first."

"What's there to talk about?"

Regulus raised an eyebrow. "Do you not remember the argument we were having? Two minutes ago?"

James hummed. "Seems stupid now."

"It doesn't," Regulus stressed, "and that's the point. If we're going to do this, then I need you to stop trying to take responsibility for my decisions."

"I wasn't."

"James," Regulus sighed, "that's exactly what you were doing." No. That didn't sound right.

"Alright," Regulus started. "Remember when you broke your arm last year?" James nodded, wincing a little at the memory. "What if I told you that that was my fault?"

"It wasn't, though," James protested. "Barty's, maybe, but mostly mine for not avoiding the bludger. You didn't even touch it!"

"I didn't stop it, though, did I?"

"That's not the same as causing it."

"Exactly," Regulus nodded, seeming much too satisfied with himself. "That's the point, James. You might not have stopped the choices I made, but that's not the same as causing them, is it?"

"It's different."

"Why?"

"Because I could've."

"I could've flown across the pitch," Regulus argued. "I'm fast. You know that. I could've reached the bludger before it even hit you, but I didn't."

"But," James protested, voice sounding weak even to his own ears.

"James," Regulus said, deadly serious. "I need you to let it go. I need you to know that I make my own choices, and that you're not responsible for the decisions I make. Can you do that?"

"I don't know," James admitted.

"Can you try?"

He looked at Regulus, watching the storm settle. This was important, he could tell, which meant he needed to try. It went against everything in his nature, but he would do it. For Regulus.

"Alright," he agreed, "but only if you try to stop feeling guilty for what you had to do."

"I didn't have to," Regulus said. "I could've—"

"And I could've stopped you. But I didn't because I didn't know, and you didn't because you had no better choice. Right?"

"Okay," Regulus finally agreed, after much too long a pause, hands tightening in James's shirt. "I'll try."

"Can I kiss you now?"

Regulus didn't respond in words. Instead, he leant in, meeting James halfway, and yes, this was exactly what he'd needed. He didn't know how he'd gone so long without it, really. The best part was that Regulus seemed to be enjoying it just as much as he was, fisting his hands in James's hair and tugging. James moaned, much too loudly, into the kiss, but he didn't care about the noise, not really. Not when Regulus was using it as an excuse to slot a leg between his thighs and making downright sinful noises against him too.

"James," Regulus panted, pulling away again. "My dorm's empty."

"Fuck." James bit down on his lip. Hard. Then Regulus was grabbing his arm, pulling him along, and there was nowhere else James would rather go.

Except that he shouldn't.

See, James wanted nothing more than to go back to Regulus's dorm, to finally have him on a bed, lay him out just the way he deserved. But, at the same time, he wanted to do things properly. Regulus loved him, and James wanted— no, needed to do this right. Needed to show him just how much he cared. So, as much as it pained him, James wouldn't go back with Regulus. They'd take this slow, and he'd prove that he could be worthy of Regulus's affections.

"I can't," he gritted out. The look Regulus gave in response could only be described as one of betrayal.

"Why not?" he gaped.

"I want to do things right."

"And?"

"And that means taking it slow."

"James, do I need to remind you of all the different times we got each other off in broom closets?"

James shook his head, eyes shut tight. "No, I don't think that'd help right now."

"Then what's the problem?"

"We're dating now, right?" James's eyes shot open. "Shit, I didn't mean to assume anything. Just, you said you loved me, so I thought…" he trailed off, taking in Regulus's smirk.

"Yes, James, we're dating. Which is all the more reason you should come back to my dorm and fuck me."

"Don't say that," James whined. "Why would you say that?"

"I thought it'd encourage you to come with me."

"That's not fair," he pouted. "You can't say things like that. I really mean it."

"Why?" Regulus asked. "I can tell you want to."

"Yes, but we're dating now. Which means I need to do things right, Reg."

"I don't care."

"But I do!"

Regulus stared for a moment. "You're serious."

"Yes!"

"Fucking hell." Regulus shook his head. "How long do you expect me to wait, then?"

"I don't know."

"James."

"Alright. A week, maybe? I want to take you on a date first, at least."

"A date?" Regulus raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, a date. We're dating. It's in the name."

"Fine."

James beamed. He felt giddy. "Friday, then. I'll take you to Hogsmeade."

"Friday?" Regulus groaned. "It's only Tuesday. Wait, how are we getting to Hogsmeade?"

"It's a surprise," James winked. "Don't worry about it."

"That makes me more worried," Regulus admitted. "But, fine, I'll go."

"Brilliant." James pulled Regulus in by the waist, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "You'll love it."

"Sure. Just as long as I get to fuck you after." Then, with a smirk, Regulus disappeared into the castle, leaving James with a newfound inability to form words.

Chapter 29: Patience (Or, the Lack of)

Summary:

Well. This escalated.

Be warned ig??

Regulus had been convinced he could wait. Three days, that was all, and then they'd go on a date, just like James wanted, and Regulus would finally get to have him. Except that it hadn't even been twenty-four hours, and he already felt like he was going insane. It was bad enough when they'd just been friends, but now he knew that James loved him? That James wanted him just as badly? It was all he could think about. Regulus loved James, and James loved him back, and he really, really needed to fuck him about it. Or get fucked about it. He wasn't picky, just as long as he got something.

Barty and Evan, as he should've guessed, laughed when he complained to them about.

"It's three days, Reg," Evan cackled. "It's hardly like he's asking you to die a virgin. Besides, didn't you guys used to fuck in broom closets, like, everyday?"

"It's not the same," Regulus argued. Evan raised an eyebrow. "He said that he loves me, Evan, and now he expects me just to wait? It's not fair!"

"I agree with Reg," Barty nodded. "Three days is a long time to wait."

"That's because you're an impatient brat," Evan shot back.

"You know me so well." Barty wiggled his eyebrows. "Gonna do something about it, Rosie?"

"Stop it," Regulus told them. "What happened to helping with my problem?"

"Is it really a problem?" Evan asked. "You got yourself a boyfriend. And it's kind of sweet that he wants to wait."

"Just seduce him," Barty suggested. "I saw the way he looked at you. It won't be hard."

Evan rolled his eyes, but Regulus thought that was the first reasonable suggestion either of them had given.

"How?"

Barty shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? He's your boyfriend."

"Well, what do you do with Evan?"

"Evan," Barty told him, much too proudly, "needs very little convincing to fuck me."

"Just talk to him, Regulus," Evan sighed. "Tell him what you want."

Regulus was about to tell Evan to fuck off, until he realised that he might not be completely wrong. James did always seem to appreciate his directness, so what if he did just tell him what he wanted? Would that work?

"Alright," he nodded.

"Really?"

"Yeah," Regulus agreed. "I'll give it a go."

"Just to clarify, Reg," Barty said, "what exactly are you going to give a go?"

"I'm going to tell James exactly what I want. Oh, and you and Evan might want to leave for a bit."

"Confident, are we?" he grinned.

Regulus hummed, noncommittal. "I'll let you know how it goes." He paused, then shouted back to them. "Don't come back until curfew."

The first step in his — admittedly loose — plan was finding James. This turned out to be quite easy, seeing as his boyfriend spent a worrying amount of time on the Quidditch pitch. The next step in his plan was made more difficult, though, by the fact that his brother was there, too.

James dived for the ground the moment he spotted Regulus, Sirius following close behind. Regulus wondered whether James had had a chance to tell Sirius about them yet, but his worries were alleviated when, the moment James hit the ground, he sprinted over, pulling him into a kiss which he was more than happy to reciprocate.

"Hey, love," James said, leaning back with a grin. "Good to see you."

"James!" Sirius screeched. Regulus looked past James, confused, only to find his brother marching towards them, practically scowling.

James paled.

"You didn't tell him," Regulus realised.

"I didn't get the chance."

"Then why did you kiss me? In front of him?"

"You're my boyfriend," James replied, looking adorably confused. "I wanted to. Should I not have?"

"It might've helped if you'd told Sirius before kissing me."

"Oh. Right."

Sirius reached them, then, eyes narrowed into slits. "What. The. Fuck."

James tried to grin shakily, fear bright in his eyes. "Surprise?"

"Surprise? You just kissed my brother, James!"

"I know," James responded, grin growing a little more genuine. "He's great, isn't he?"

"He's my little brother! And you kissed him!"

"I wanted him to," Regulus assured him. He didn't know whether his words would be taken as the reassurance they were meant as, or as oil on Sirius's already-blazing fire. Either way, it'd be interesting to watch the result.

The statement had neither effect, initially. Sirius seemed unable to come up with a response, gaze darting between them. Regulus didn't say anything more, waiting for him to gather himself.

"Since when? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't know," Regulus lamented. "Maybe James here doesn't love me as much as I thought he did."

"Regulus!" James squawked. "You know that's not true."

"Do I?" Regulus tilted his head to the side. "Why don't you show me, then?"

"Stop it!" Sirius cut in. "Whatever—" he waved a hand vaguely in their direction — "this is, stop it. And James!" He rounded on poor James again, who now looked torn on where to direct his attention, or indeed what he should be feeling. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't get a chance! It only happened yesterday!"

"And what, exactly, is 'it'?" That, at least, was a question Regulus was happy to answer. He slid a hand into James's, linking their fingers together.

"We're boyfriends."

"You agreed to go out with James?"

"Hey!" James pouted. "Don't say it like that."

Sirius barked out a laugh, looking frantically between them, gaze landing where their hands were linked together. "Sorry mate, I just— fuck, I knew you liked Reggie, but I didn't expect him to reciprocate. You're not fucking with him, are you, Reggie?" Sirius asked, now deadly serious.

"No, Sirius," Regulus sighed. "I'm not fucking with him. I love him."

Sirius's eyes bulged. "Hold on, you what?"

"He loves me," James reiterated, face split in a broad smile that Regulus wanted to press his lips to.

"Merlin. You're not joking, are you? You actually— fucking hell, you love each other!"

"Well done," Regulus deadpanned. "You figured it out. Want a medal?"

"Shut up," Sirius snapped. "Give me a minute to process this."

"And what, exactly, do you need to process?"

"Reg," James pleaded. And because Regulus was stupidly, pathetically weak for his boyfriend, he allowed his brother the unnecessarily long quiet time he insisted on.

"Alright," Sirius finally said, sounding much calmer, somehow. "I'm happy for you."

"I don't care," Regulus replied.

"I do," James countered. "Thanks, Pads."

"On one condition."

"No," Regulus told him. "Whatever it is, no. We don't need your fucking permission."

"Well, you have it," Sirius insisted. "But I do need to know how, exactly, the two of you came to this revelation, because I just know James made an idiot of himself, and that's my favourite kind of story."

Regulus felt himself flush a much-too-bright shade of red.

"Funny story," James started.

"James."

"You see—"

"James."

"But—"

"James."

"Reggie," Sirius whined. "Come on. You're my brother. He's my best friend. Don't I deserve to hear the story?"

"He's right, love," James nodded solemnly. "I think he needs to hear it."

Regulus would have loved nothing more than to argue some more, except he was realising that he was very outnumbered on this particular topic. Sirius and James, much to his chagrin, did share a dorm, so the truth would have to come out sooner or later. At least if he told it himself, he could control what was said.

"Fine," he huffed. "I told James I loved him. He said it back. Happy?"

"Hold on," Sirius said, "you told him first?"

"Yes."

"You, Regulus Arcturus Black, told a man you were in love with him? With no confirmation that he felt the same?"

"He said I should hate him," Regulus grumbled.

"So you decided you had to tell him you loved him?"

"Fuck off."

"No, no, Reggie, I don't think you understand. This has to be, like, a first for the Black family. You, an emotionally-constipated mess, told James Potter, a literal ray of sunshine, that you loved him before he told you."

"I'm not emotionally constipated." Sirius and James, much to his dismay, gave matching snorts of laughter.

"Reggie," Sirius scoffed. "You're a Black. Of course you are."

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately," Regulus admitted. "Now, if you're done, would you go away?"

"What?" Sirius asked. "Why?"

"Do you want to hear about my plans to seduce your best friend?"

"Ew!" Sirius gagged. "What the fuck, no! That's awful!"

"Then you should go."

Sirius gave very little argument after that.

"Seduce me, huh?" James asked, once Sirius was out of sight. "And what exactly does that entail?" He looked far too amused at the prospect, which Regulus decided was something he would have to fix.

"I don't think it'll take a lot." He leant in to kiss James, revelling in the warmth and drawing back when the man's lips parted, looking for more. "I was just going to tell you how badly I wanted you to fuck me. How I have an empty dorm. How I really, really don't want to wait."

"Reg!" James yelped. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because you'll make me want to follow through with them."

"Oh?" Regulus stepped closer, breath ghosting across James's lips. He was pretty sure James was holding his breath. "And would that be such a bad thing?"

James gave in, hands hooking around the back of Regulus's thighs to keep him close and kissing him hard enough that Regulus was pretty sure he saw stars. He pulled back, again, not letting James get too caught up. It was good, yes, far too good, but he needed more.

"James." Regulus kept his voice low, barely a whisper. "Listen to me."

James, perfectly obedient, nodded.

"Here's what's going to happen. You're going to come with me back to my dorm. We're going to do this on a proper bed. Then—" he hesitated, just for a moment, before making a decision. "You're going to let me fuck you, come apart nice and pretty under me. How does that sound?"

The sound James made at that was downright sinful, and almost broke Regulus's resolve to get him back to a bed. He needed James right here, and at this point he couldn't give less of a shit who saw them. But, this was James. Gorgeous, perfect James, and Regulus wanted to take his time with him, to take him apart properly, just the way he deserved.

"No," James shook his head after a moment's speechlessness, swallowing hard. "I— I said we'd wait. I want to do this properly."

"Why?"

"Because! I— isn't that what you want?" James's gaze was still focused on his mouth.

Regulus blinked. "What? Why would you think that's what I want?"

"You're— fuck, you're incredible, Reg. I just— I don't want to mess this up." Oh, he was precious.

"James," Regulus murmured. "Listen to me. What I want is to take you back to my room and fuck you. And we won't, not if that's not what you want, but please don't stop on my behalf."

"Alright," James agreed, lips parted. Regulus wanted to shove his fingers down his throat.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Good boy." James flushed harder at the praise.

It wasn't a long walk to the dungeons, but with James beside him, body heat practically bleeding into him, it was torture. Every step brought with it another reminder of how close he was to having James, and he itched to give in to the urge to touch. He resisted, forcing himself to behave all the way back to Slytherin house, then all the way through the common room, where he pointedly avoided the stares they received. But the moment the door clicked shut behind them, leaving them, finally, alone, it was over.

Without a second thought, Regulus pushed James against the door, hard. James didn't waste time complaining, though, giving as good as he got, and groaning into Regulus's mouth when he reached around to tug at his hair. All Regulus could think to do in response was bite down on his lip, which had James practically keening, and he decided then and there that this was the best moment of his life.

"James," he groaned, trying to pull him along, show him where to go. James didn't listen at first, staring up at him wide-eyed. "Bed." That got James moving, hurriedly trailing behind him until they were close enough that Regulus could just push him the rest of the way, following him down to straddle his thighs.

"Shit," Regulus breathed, having to pause for a beat just to take in the view. Christ, he hadn't even touched James yet and he was practically panting, face flushed and glasses askew. James bucked up, causing them both to groan at the friction.

"Regulus," he whined, and that was all it took to get Regulus moving again, pawing at James's shirt in a desperately uncoordinated attempt to loosen the buttons as he pushed his tongue back into his mouth. James, for his part, wasn't proving any help with the shirt, trying to pull Regulus's jumper off instead. By some miracle, or perhaps just sheer determination, they did eventually manage it, and Regulus spared a moment to trace his nails down James's unfairly sculpted torso, just hard enough to sting, before reaching for his zipper.

"Fuck," James panted, head thudding back against the pillow when Regulus finally pulled his cock free, wasting no time in taking it down his throat.

"Regulus." Regulus loved the way James said his name, although he much preferred it when it was encouragement to keep going rather than a plea to stop. Regardless, he pulled back.

"What's wrong?"

"Was close," James mumbled, not quite meeting his eye. Oh, he was embarrassed. Regulus needed to fix that.

He moved back up James's body, thumbing lightly at a nipple before kissing him again.

"You're so hot," he told him. "So pretty. So good for me."

"Shit." James's hips pressed up again, and Regulus couldn't repress a moan at the contact.

"You like that?" Regulus asked, fascinated by James's reactions, the knowledge that he was the one causing them. "Knowing how well you're doing? How good you're being?"

"Yes," James replied, voice strained.

Regulus rewarded him with another kiss, then a press of his lips against his throat.

"Want me to get you ready, Jamie?" Regulus slid a hand down, teasing at James's rim.

"Wait." Regulus stilled. "How… What do I…"

"It's alright," Regulus soothed, running a hand through James's hair. "Take your time, baby."

James was avoiding eye contact again. "It's just, it's new. I don't know what I'm supposed to do." It took a minute for the words to fully sink in, but when they did, Regulus nearly came on the spot. James, apparently interpreting his silence for something it wasn't, started to panic.

"I understand if you don't want to anymore. I should've told you, I know, but—"

"Shh." Regulus pressed a finger to his lips, quieting him. If he'd taken a moment to think about it, he might have realised that there was a very real possibility that James hadn't been fucked before. Regulus didn't know who he'd been with before, nor did he want to, but he could see how someone like James could be assumed to top exclusively. He was strong, loud, and sporty, so maybe he didn't quite fit into the stereotypical bracket of a man who bottomed. Regulus was so, so glad for the idiots before him who'd stuck to such stereotypical assumptions, because it meant he got to be James's first. Maybe it was a bit possessive of him, but his brain seemed to be stuck on that part. He'd be the only person to have James like this, feel him come apart beneath him. James would be his.

"That's so hot," he told James, once he'd regained the ability to form words.

"It is?"

"Yes," he responded forcefully, mouthing at the boy's neck. "Can't wait to fill you up. Make you mine."

James practically mewled. "Yours."

"Shit." Regulus bit, hard enough to bruise. James squirmed at the pain. "All mine, aren't you, sunshine? Only mine."

"Yours, Reg. All yours."

"Fuck," Regulus cursed, fumbling for his wand to whisper a quick lubrication charm. It'd be enough on its own, but he decided to indulge himself, and brought a hand up to James's mouth.

"Spit."

James did without question, watching, eyes glazed over, as Regulus moved back down to circle his hole.

"Ready?"

"Yeah." James leant up on his elbows slightly, watching as Regulus pushed his finger in, trying to be as gentle as he could.

"James? How does it feel?"

"Weird," James hummed, looking far too composed. "Not a bad weird, though, just… different. Keep going."

Regulus did, biting down hard on his lip when the muscle tightened around him. He pulled out until his finger was back at James's entrance, then thrust forward again, this time deliberately curling it upwards.

James let out a shout, collapsing back against the bed. Regulus worried he'd hurt him for a moment, right up until he spoke.

"Regulus. Please." Regulus ground down into the sheets, trying to remind himself he had to go slow.

"Feel good, baby?"

"Yes," James whined, trying to press down further. "More. Please." There was nothing that could've stopped Regulus heeding that request. He slowly built his pace up, fascinated with just how quickly James seemed to unravel, how easily he begged.

By the time he worked a second finger in beside the first, he'd lost all control of his mouth.

"Merlin. You're so good for me, aren't you, Jamie? My pretty little slut." He hadn't exactly meant to call James a slut, but he didn't regret it; James was shameless, just getting louder in response.

"Yes," he hissed, rocking his hips. "Yours, Reg, all yours."

"You're perfect," Regulus told him, sucking a mark onto his thigh. He wanted to stain every inch of James's skin he could reach, prove who he belonged to. "You like that?" he pushed. "Being so perfect for me?"

"Please," James begged. "I need you in me." That was just about enough to break Regulus's resolve, and if this wasn't James's first time, it would've. He had to remind himself, tell himself over and over that he needed to be gentle. He wouldn't hurt James. He refused to.

"I know," he said instead, practically rutting against the mattress now in search of some relief as he worked up to a third finger. "You're being so patient for me. Just a little more, sunshine. I know you can take it."

James nodded, tears in the corners of his eyes, and that shouldn't have been something Regulus liked. Shouldn't didn't matter, though, because James was crying for him, and nothing had ever been better.

Regulus crooked his fingers just right again, and James's legs shook. "Close," he said, voice strangled. Regulus didn't slow down. "Reg!" James's hands clawed at the mattress. "Stop!"

Regulus did. "Are you alright?" he checked.

James nodded enthusiastically. "Fucking great. I just want to come on your cock."

Regulus couldn't help himself. He crashed his lips against James's, biting into his mouth. "Fuck. I love you so much. Can't wait to be inside you. I just know you're going to take me so well."

"Do it," James told him. "Please." If there was one thing he'd never get tired of, it was James Potter begging for him.

"Alright," he agreed. "I'm going to go slow, ok? Just tell me if you need a break."

"Promise," James nodded.

So, Regulus took a breath, lined himself up, and pushed in. And fuck, it was perfect.

"You're so tight," he groaned, doing all he could not to move too quickly.

James's mouth dropped open, though he didn't seem to be in pain. Cautiously, Regulus inched forward until he was in all the way, and already embarrassingly close to coming.

"Move," James told him. "You can move, please." So, he did, nails digging into James's hips as he did his best to be gentle. After a couple of experimental thrusts, James was urging him on again.

"Faster. Harder. Don't hold back."

"It's your first time, James," Regulus gritted out, admittedly picking up the pace a little and groaning at the heat of James around him.

"I— fuck, right there." Regulus changed the angle a little, following James's instructions, and was immediately rewarded with a downright sinful sound that he had no choice but to lick out of James's mouth. "I want you to fuck me," James panted. "Break me, fuck, make me yours."

Regulus liked to think he'd been doing a good job at keeping ahold of his resolve. At that, though, it shattered, lost in a million tiny pieces scattered across the bed sheets. He gave in to what he was so, so desperately craving and thrust back in hard, nearly coming on the spot.

"Yes!" James practically shouted. Regulus wondered, vaguely, if the other Slytherins could hear. Not that he cared; let them hear, let them know that James Potter was his. "Please. Please, please, please." He didn't know what James was pleading for anymore, only that he looked so pretty doing it, tears spilling down his cheeks as he tried to meet Regulus's thrusts. Regulus was pretty certain he'd ascended to another plane of existence. He hadn't known it was possible for anything to feel this good, and now that he did, he never wanted it to end.

"You're taking me so well," he said, reaching a hand to brush away James's tears as he kept up a brutal pace. "All mine."

"Yes." Then, James was clenching down hard enough that Regulus saw stars, and spilling into the space between them. The sight alone was enough to tip Regulus over the edge with him, and he collapsed onto James's chest as he came, both of them panting as they came down from their orgasms.

"Wow," was the first thing James managed to say, and Regulus laughed a little against his shoulder.

"Yeah," he agreed, "wow."

"We're doing that again."

"Obviously." He tilted his head up, finding James practically beaming.

"Yours, huh?"

"Mine," Regulus nodded, not having the energy in him to feel the slightest bit ashamed.

James hummed. "And are you mine, too?"

"Always," he promised.

"Good."

Regulus knew they'd have to get up eventually. Take a shower, at least. But for now he was content just to lie here, ear pressed against James's chest, listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat. He'd never felt so warm.

Chapter 30: The Order of the Phoenix (Mk 1)

James was usually up early on a Thursday, and this particular Thursday was no different. He should've felt more tired, considering he hadn't gotten back from Regulus's until past Curfew, when Evan and Barty had finally come back to kick him out, but he was pretty sure he was still riding some sort of high. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over it, actually, because Regulus Black had been inside him, and that didn't seem like something that he could just be expected to move past. He wanted to do it again. Preferably, as soon as possible. Or the other way around. Frankly, he didn't care, just as long as Regulus was his.

So, he'd spent over an hour trying (and failing) to work off his energy before returning to Gryffindor House to wake the rest of the dorm up. Usually when he got back, it was to maybe one of his dormmates just about out of bed. It was a surprise, then, when he returned to find everyone fully dressed.

"What's the occasion?" he asked, stuck somewhere between intrigued and nervous.

"We were sent a note," Remus told him, twisting the small slip of paper between his fingers.

"A note?" James asked, frowning slightly as he walked over to where Remus and Sirius were sat. Who would send them a note at this time in the morning?

Come to my office at 8. Bring fizzing whizzbees — Dumbledore

"Huh." James tried to swallow around the lump in his throat. If it was something urgent, then they'd be sent more than a note, he was sure. It was just… well, why else could Dumbledore want to see them? All of them?

"Do you think McGonagall's finally convinced him to tell us off?" Peter asked.

Sirius snorted. "Nah, doubt it. I reckon he's just hungry. I mean, fizzing whizzbees? What sort of a request is that? And why does he assume we'd have some?"

"It's not literal," Remus said, pulling the paper away from James, who hadn't realised how close he'd been to tearing it apart. "That's the password. Doxy floss, remember?"

"Doxy floss?" Peter fiddled with his shoelace. "Was that the password last time?"

"Yeah," James nodded. "I wonder if it's always sweets? Could make it easier to sneak in, if we need to do it again. There's only so many options."

"I hope not." Remus looked a little horrified at the prospect. "That'd make it far too easy to break in. He's got the sword up there, not to mention everything else."

"True," James conceded. "Hey, maybe we should try it out. If it works, we can take the artefacts in his office and keep them safe, since he's doing such a bad job of it."

"You got caught when you tried to borrow one sword, I doubt you'd get away with stealing the whole collection."

"Me and James do not take responsibility for that," Sirius said, arms crossed. "We were supposed to have more time."

"Yeah, yeah," Remus huffed. "All my fault, I know. Maybe next time I should just leave you three to it."

"No!" Peter gasped. "You wouldn't." He looked between James and Sirius. "They'd get me killed."

"Would not!" Sirius protested. "We'd do just fine by ourselves, wouldn't we, James?"

James snorted. "Are you kidding? Without Remus, we'd fall apart in a day."

"See?"

"Alright, fine." Sirius kicked his legs up, draping them across Remus's lap. "I suppose Moony can stay."

Remus bit back a smile. "Well, when you put it like, I'd love to."

The four of them ended up making it to Dumbledore's office right on time. It was unusual, seeing as Sirius usually ensured that they turned up everywhere fashionably late, but all of them were anxious to see what this was about.

When they stepped into the office, though, James was even more confused. It wasn't just them; sat near the desk already were Lily, Mary, Marlene, and, for some reason, a Slytherin prefect. Dorcas, he thought Sirius had called her. She'd seemed accommodating enough at the time, letting them through to help Regulus and everything, but aside from that, James knew very little about her. Marlene kept looking over at her though, for some reason. He wondered if they'd met before, and made a mental note to ask.

"Ah," Dumbledore nodded. "Mr Potter, Mr Black, Mr Lupin and Mr Pettigrew. Please, have a seat." James glanced around, finding nowhere left to sit. Remus, after much effort, sat on the floor. After very little deliberation, the rest of them joined him. It was a bit awkward to look up at Dumbledore from this angle, but it was probably better than standing, at least. Mary snorted at them. He waved up at her.

"I believe you are all aware of the threat Lord Voldemort poses to our society." Everyone quieted at that, watching and waiting for what came next. James crossed his legs the other way, leaning his elbows on his knees to better listen.

After a series of nods, Dumbledore continued.

"I have reason to believe that he has infiltrated the Ministry." James's breath stuttered at that. It wasn't a surprise. He could've figured it out, had he thought it through. It just felt different to get confirmation. It meant he couldn't ignore it anymore.

"For a few years now, we have been running a small group away from Ministry leadership. Our goal is to fight back against Voldemort, in whatever way we can. I have asked you all here today to invite you to join the Order of the Phoenix."

"What would we do?" Dorcas asked, first to speak.

"That depends, Miss Meadows. Part of it involves fighting against Voldemort's ranks directly, although I imagine, to start with, many of the missions will be largely defensive, intelligence gathering and the like."

"You don't know." She nodded. "Ok, but you think it'll work?"

"I can only hope."

"There's a chance?"

"There is always a chance, Miss Meadows, if one only seeks it out."

Dorcas seemed to mull this over for a moment. Everyone else watched her, not particularly wanting to be the next to speak.

"Alright," she finally decided. "I'm in."

"What?" Mary asked, gaping at her.

"You heard me," Dorcas said. "I'll do it."

Dumbledore seemed taken aback by that, albeit only for a matter of seconds. James wondered how much it'd take to really take him by surprise. He suspected more than any of them were capable of.

"Thank you, Miss Meadows. Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated." Dorcas frowned.

"Don't mistake my agreement as enthusiasm. I'm hardly excited about this, it just seems to be the best way to get what I want."

"I see." Dumbledore pushed his glasses up. "And what is it that you want, Miss Meadows?"

"To kill Voldemort," Dorcas replied, not missing a beat. Marlene was practically drooling now, and James had a feeling that, however she knew Dorcas, it wasn't nearly as well as she wanted to know her.

"Very well," Dumbledore acquiesced. "Our goals do seem to be well aligned."

"Fortunately for you."

Remus was next. "I'll do it too."

"And me," Lily added. After that, it was only a matter of time until the rest of them agreed, falling like dominoes into place. Soon, it was only Mary left. She'd watched the rest of them in silence, and was looking between them now, perfectly manicured nails digging in to the underside of her wooden chair.

"You can't be serious." James didn't know which one of them it was directed to.

"I'm definitely Sirius," Sirius grinned. It was the sort of joke that'd usually lighten the mood, but even he had a certain tension about his usually-relaxed posture now, and the quip seemed only to add to the storm brewing around them. James liked storms. He'd decided that since he'd realised just what Regulus's eyes looked like. Except, he'd never felt one quite like this. He was used to the wind working against him, or with, either offering the exhilaration of something to fight against or something to cling to. Now, though, he wasn't quite sure what was happening. The winds seemed to be circling instead of pushing, wrapping them all in a sort of tension they wouldn't be able to walk away from, not until it shattered.

"And you, Miss MacDonald?" Dumbledore's voice was barely above a whisper, but the winds picked it up, wrapping the question round and round them until James wasn't sure where it started and where it ended.

"Of course not," Mary snapped and, as it turned out, that was all that had been needed to shatter the tension. Everything stilled around them, and they watched. Waited. Nobody dared to move an inch.

"I see," Dumbledore replied. Then, just as calmly, "Very well. If that is all, I believe you are all free to leave."

They didn't speak, not even once they were on the staircase, everyone being either too preoccupied with their own thoughts or refusing to be the first to break the silence, James wasn't sure which. He'd been the second one out of the room, ending up only a few paces behind Mary. He was closer to Sirius, who'd followed him out, than her, though. She seemed to switch between speeding up and slowing to meet his pace again, not decided whether she wanted to stay beside them or escape them altogether.

James still wasn't sure, entirely, what the rest of them had agreed to. Dorcas seemed to have asked all the questions she'd needed, but nobody else had said anything at all except to agree to Dumbledore's terms. That wasn't a good thing, he didn't think, though he didn't know precisely why. He didn't even know what he felt about it all.

No matter how James had felt, he would've agreed, obviously. Fighting Death Eaters was clearly the right option, even if he didn't want it to be. He just wished he knew if he wanted it to be or not. The situation was too fresh to have sunken in properly, and he was trapped in a sort of void, where his emotions seemed endlessly out of reach. Everything had moved so quickly, too quickly for him to process.

He wasn't given the chance to think about it right away, either, because at the bottom of the staircase was a tired-looking Professor McGonagall. Frankly, she looked worse than James had ever seen her. She wasn't the sort of tired she got when dealing with their pranks — that was a tiredness built mostly on exasperation, and a hint of care he knew she tried to hide — this was a tiredness that went right to the bone. It seemed to almost radiate off her, blending with the rest of their strange moods.

She watched them all leave the staircase, lips pressed into a thin line. Then, when Dorcas stepped off, leaving them all in the corridor, she spoke.

"Come with me to my office. Please."

"Why?" Peter asked. "We're not in trouble, are we?"

"No, Mr Pettigrew. None of you are in trouble, I assure you."

James looked to Lily beside him. She shook her head a little, clearly as lost as he was. Her eyes didn't stray from Mary.

When the nine of them were finally crammed into McGonagall's office, doing their best to avoid standing too close to the fire, she spoke.

"I assume Albus has asked you to join the Order?" Nods.

"I assume most of you have already agreed?" More nods.

McGonagall let out a long breath, lowering herself into a chair. "I would ask that you reconsider."

"You would?" Mary asked, suddenly seeming much more enthusiastic about the conversation.

"I would," McGonagall nodded. "I gather that you did not agree, Miss MacDonald?"

"I did not."

McGonagall's lips twitched, not into a smile, but maybe into a shadow of one. "Would you care to tell me why?"

"It's suicide," Mary said. "There's no real plan, he wouldn't tell us what we'd need to do. We'd be fighting against an organised army, far larger than us and composed of people with twice our age and experience."

"But we have to do it," Sirius argued, voice taking James by surprise so much so that he jumped a little. "It's our only option, don't you see? Somebody has to stop Voldemort. Who else but us?"

"Anybody! Aurors, people who have trained for this. People who aren't children. You don't know enough to get anywhere if you try to fight, Sirius. You'll just end up dead, all of you, and I refuse to watch that happen."

McGonagall nodded gravely. "I have watched all of you grow up, and I am very proud of how far you have all come." Her voice sounded strained now. "You are all capable young wizards, but you are still young. This war should not be yours to fight, and I do not wish to watch you die in it." A tear slipped free from her eye. She didn't move to brush it away. That, James thought, was the moment the situation really sunk in for him. This wasn't something he could take back, agree to on principle and not follow through with. They were in a war, a war against an opposition who were, on paper, the much more powerful side. There was a good chance he would die, if he went through with this.

He considered that for a moment, letting the weight of the situation sink in. Letting himself drown under his fear. Then, when he came back up for air, he decided to fight anyway. He wasn't sure he'd be able to get over the guilt if he refused, but it wasn't just that. Sheltered as he was, he'd still seen far too much of the damage Voldemort had caused, especially to the people he loved. To Lily, Mary, Marlene, and Remus, who'd all been targeted at one point or another for the blood in the veins. To Sirius, who had lived most of his life as a chess piece in a game he had never wanted to play to begin with. To Regulus, who was only just learning what it looked like to be free. James felt sad for them, but more than that he felt angry, the fire a burning retribution in his veins that felt too purifying to douse. He didn't just need to fight Voldemort, but he wanted to. More than anything, he wanted to make the man suffer, cause him pain in whatever way he was able.

Marlene was the next to speak. "Professor, if there's a chance to fight, then we should take it. We could be the turning point in the war."

"You are children, not weapons, Miss McKinnon. You are all still so young. I only wish for you to consider your options; this is not your only one."

"It is though, isn't it?" Mary stared at Lily, looking haunted as she watched the words spill from her girlfriend's mouth. "I don't think I could make another choice, knowing what I do. Voldemort is a threat to our entire world, and, if he gets his way, it'll be so much worse for every one of us. If we lose this war, then we have nothing. It doesn't matter what we do, where we are, it'll be over for us all. We don't have much, but we do have hope, and all we can do is keep fighting. No matter what."

McGonagall swallowed, sinking slightly where she sat.

"Very well, Miss Evans. I would just ask that you think it over."

Nobody moved.

"You are dismissed."

This time, once they were in the corridor, the discussion was immediate.

"Are we still doing this, then?" Peter asked. He looked a little paler than before. Clearly, like James, he hadn't fully processed what he'd agreed to in Dumbledore's office.

"Of course we are!" Sirius replied, and James watched Remus nod determinedly along with him. "We have to fight."

"Right," Peter agreed, voice coming out a little too high.

"Are you alright, Mary?" Lily asked, gently placing a hand on Mary's shoulder. It barely lasted a second before Mary flinched, pulling away.

"No. I'm not. I told you, Lily, I can't watch you do this."

"It's not your decision. I'm sorry that this is how it has to be, but if I can fight then that's what I need to do, Mary."

"Then I don't know what to do, because I can't stay and watch that happen." Mary's gaze darted wildly, as if an answer would be hidden in the space around them. She didn't seem to find any comfort. Why would she? When had any of this ever been easy? "Don't follow me." Then, she was marching, with purpose, towards the stairs. Nobody followed her. There'd be no point. Words alone couldn't fix this, and James even had his doubts that time could, but he hoped.

He looked to Lily, who was staring after Mary with what could only be described as heartbreak, a desperate mix of love and loss that hurt just to look at.

"It'll be alright," he tried, opening his arms to invite her into a hug. She hesitated, looking back at the spot where Mary had vanished, then complied, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

"I don't know what to do," she confessed. "How can I fix this?"

"Just let her be alone for a while," he advised, hoping he was telling her the right thing. "She'll come around. It's your choice to fight just as much as its hers not to, I'm sure she'll realise that."

"Yeah," Lily said, sounding about as convinced as he felt. "We'll be alright. She just needs time."

Chapter 31: Remember Me

Notes:

Ok so I'm at a conference next week which means I won't be able to upload a chapter then (boo). I will, however, be posting another chapter today to make up for it (yay)! So if you're here before I get around to that, watch this space :)

Pandora didn't have any friends. That wasn't a bad thing: she wasn't lonely, she didn't think. Friendship just didn't seem to be something that was meant for her. She couldn't remember her parents much, and everyone she'd known after them seemed to pass her by, never staying around for long. Or, maybe it was her that was passing through their lives; it made more sense, that way around.

She wouldn't have talked to people much at all, really, if it wasn't for the things she saw.

Mostly, it was in dreams, but occasionally she'd see something outside of them, too, that she knew was important. The majority of the time, the visions didn't make sense to her, but she'd pass on what she saw anyway, hoping it'd make sense to the people she talked to. She was a vessel of sorts, a container that'd fill up with knowledge and then pour it out to those who lacked it. It wasn't a bad thing to be. It meant she'd make a difference to people, even if she didn't always know what that difference was.

Being alone was also the reason she could make sure to follow through on her visions. Sometimes she wouldn't have many at all, but on occasion they would come through almost too quickly to keep up with. This week hadn't been so bad. She'd had one on Monday about some Hufflepuff girl, then she woke up today knowing she had to find somebody else.

She didn't know who yet, but she did know where, and she thought that they'd likely be alone. So, once the time came, she wandered out of the classroom and made her way towards the Astronomy Tower. Nobody tried to stop her anymore. They hadn't in a long time.

No-one was there when she made it to the top of the stairs, so she waited. She sat against the railing and crossed her legs, letting her mind drift as she kept her gaze focused on the stairs.

It took ten minutes, maybe fifteen, until the girl appeared. Her eyes were rimmed with a pretty shade of red, and she had a sheet of paper in her hand, clutched tightly enough that it was starting to crease. She didn't notice Pandora at first, seemingly reading the words over and over. Pandora wondered what was written there. Perhaps if she was lucky, she'd find out.

"Hello," she said, once she felt she'd waited long enough. The girl startled, wild eyes seeming to examine the rest of the tower before they finally settled on her.

"Why are you here?"

"For you."

The girl didn't like that. Her eyes narrowed, and she clenched the paper even more tightly in her fist. That wasn't good. It seemed important to her, and Pandora worried that it'd rip.

"Who are you?"

"Pandora," she replied. "And you?"

"Mary. Why are you here for me? You don't even know my name." Her expression darkened, thick curls casting a heavy shadow over her face. "Did Dumbledore send you?"

"No. He's why you're sad, though, isn't he?"

The girl — Mary — scoffed. "He's a manipulative bastard is what he is. But it's not even that. It's that my friends decided to listen to him, and now they're all— they're going to—" She cut herself off with a harsh jerk of her head. "It doesn't matter. It won't soon. I need to be alone, though. Would you mind?"

"No." Mary blinked, and Pandora realised how that must've sounded. "Oh, I didn't mean that I didn't mind. I meant you shouldn't be alone."

Mary's eyebrows drew together. "And why's that any of your concern?"

"I saw it."

"What do you mean?"

"In a dream. You shouldn't force yourself to be lonely. It won't be good for you."

Mary froze. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not quite sure," Pandora confessed, tracing patterns against the stone beneath her. "I just know I need to stop you."

"Well, you're wrong," Mary told her, determined. "I've decided what I need to do. I don't need you to get in the way of it."

"You do, though," Pandora pointed out. Usually when people were stubborn like this, it meant the vision was an important one. "I dreamt it. I know I need to stop you."

"You don't even know what from."

"Why don't you tell me, then?" she suggested. It was partly because, if she knew, it'd be easier to stop the girl from doing whatever she was going to do, but also just because she was curious now.

"Why should I?"

"Why shouldn't you?" That, strangely, seemed to do the job. Mary watched her with that same wariness for a moment, then caved with a sigh.

"If I have to. You're definitely not a Death Eater, are you?"

"Oh, no," Pandora shook her head. "I don't like them, I don't think. They don't seem very nice." Mary smiled a little then, her features softening into something that felt warm.

"No, I don't think they are very nice. Dumbledore wants to fight against them."

"And you don't like that?"

"He wants me and my friends to join. It'd put them in danger. Lots of it. I don't want them to do it."

"And they do?" she guessed. Mary nodded.

"I don't know how I'm supposed to deal with that. I mean, am I going crazy? Everyone's acting like I'm the strange one for not wanting to be sent on a suicide mission."

"I don't think so." It seemed reasonable, Pandora thought. She wouldn't join something like that if she was asked, but then again she wasn't a Gryffindor. They tended to be a bit reckless.

"What would you do?" Mary asked. "If it was your friends? If you were going to have to watch them suffer, and you couldn't stop it?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I don't have friends."

"Oh." Silence fell around them, uncomfortable and oppressive. She shifted under it, looking for a reprieve, with the distinct feeling that she'd said something wrong.

It was Mary, though, who eventually broke the silence. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's fine."

"Is it… do you not want friends?"

Pandora lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "I don't think I'm the sort of person who has friends."

"What?" Mary shook her head. "That's nonsense. Everyone should have friends."

Pandora didn't like how those words felt. Like she was wrong, somehow. Different. She was happy to be different, knew that she was, but she didn't really like other people telling her that. So, she tried to change the topic back to something more comfortable.

"What are you going to do, then? Are you going to stop being friends with them?"

"I—" Mary looked confused. "I didn't even think about that." She seemed to consider it. "I don't think I could."

"So you'll stay friends?"

"I can't." She shook her head. "I'd have to watch them die. I can't do that."

"What's the other option?"

"I make myself forget."

"Oh. Well, you definitely shouldn't do that."

"Pardon?" At least Mary seemed to be listening this time.

"Well," Pandora started, "that's just the same as stopping being their friends, isn't it? And I don't think you want to do that. I think it's worse, actually, because it means you'd forget everything else about being friends. Wouldn't that be sad?"

"I can't bear to remember, though," Mary confessed, the words whispered like a secret.

Pandora nodded. "Can you tell me why you disagree with them? Is it because you think they're doing the wrong thing, or just because you're scared?"

Mary bristled, dark eyes simmering with flecks of fire. "It's not just anything. My friends, the people I love, are going to die, and I'm going to have to watch it. Of course I'm fucking scared."

"Sorry," Pandora acquiesced, "I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't." Mary nodded, tone melting back to something soft. She shuffled closer, coming to lean against the railing and stare out across the grounds. "There's no difference, though. Whether I disagree with their choices, or I'm just scared about where the choices will lead them, it ends up the same."

"Maybe," Pandora hummed, "but maybe not. The future's funny, you know? You probably have more control over it than you think." She looked down at her hands, frowning. "At least, it feels like you do."

"Are you a seer?" Mary asked. Most of the times Pandora was asked that there was a bite behind the tone, as though the person was just waiting for the right reason to disregard her completely. Mary, though, just sounded curious.

"I'm not sure. I see things, sometimes."

"And you saw me?"

"Yes. You feel important."

Mary let out a heavy sigh, slumping against the railing.

"I don't want to be important. Fuck, I wish I'd never come here at all. To Hogwarts, that is. I've got so much to lose now; it was so much easier before."

"Haven't you gained things too, though?"

"Only things that I'm going to lose."

"If you don't want to lose them, then I think you should fight."

"I can't." Mary shook her head. "No, I refuse to. I won't be a sacrifice; another number lost to war."

"Alright, but do you respect their decisions to fight?"

"I don't want to," Mary admitted, "but I don't think they could make any other choice. And I love them despite it. For it, maybe."

"Alright, then you should help." Mary glared, but Pandora pressed on. "I don't mean fighting. You could heal them. You don't have to work for Dumbledore — it is him, right?"

"Yes."

"Ok, then don't work for him. But you could help them, and make sure they get the best chance they can. Wouldn't that make it more bearable?"

"It's just all so difficult!" Mary's knuckles were white where they were clenched around the metal bars. "If I forget, then I don't have to think about it. It'll be so much easier, Pandora."

"Maybe, but I don't think that's what you really want."

"I want to be happy. I don't want there to be a war."

"Then end it."

"It's not that easy!"

"Maybe not." Pandora twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "But I think that's what you need to do. It might be easier to leave, but you love them, I think, and that's precious. You should fight for it."

"You think so?" Mary's eyes were wet. Pandora wasn't sure when that had happened, whether she'd missed the start of it, but a tear slipped free now.

"I do. It's not my decision to make, though. You should think about it, at least."

Mary's grip tightened even further on the metal, so much so that Pandora worried it'd cut right through her skin. Then, though, it loosened, and she let go of the bars.

"Alright," she breathed, "I'll think about it."

Pandora felt the warm flood of accomplishment pass through her. It was addictive, she was sure, and part of the reason she kept trying to help, no matter how difficult the task was. It was always worth it if she succeeded.

"Brilliant." Pandora stood, forcing her best impression of a bright grin, the sort she saw other people give to each other. "Good luck, Mary."

"Wait," Mary called when she turned to leave. She frowned, glancing back at the ground in case she'd left something behind.

"Where are you going?" What a strange question.

"Back to my dorm, I think. Or maybe the library."

"Oh." Mary looked up at the sky, then back to her. "Would you like to stay?"

Pandora drew her eyebrows together. "Why? Is there something else I can help with?"

"No," Mary said. This time, she was smiling. A real one, brighter than anything Pandora could remember. Mary's friends were lucky they got this all the time. She was sure that if this was something she could reliably induce, then she'd never look away again. "I want to get to know you."

"Why?"

Mary's lips turned down, just for a second, before she forced her expression back to something gentle. "You seem nice. I want to be your friend, I think."

Friend. Pandora didn't do friends. It wasn't something that could belong to her.

But, well, here Mary was anyway, sun shining down on her, and she was offering. Pandora didn't know what the answer was here, but she didn't want to refuse, was the thing. Surely there were no issues with making a friend? Just one? Even if it wasn't meant to be for long, she could keep Mary temporarily, and that'd be enough.

So, for the first time, she stopped walking away. Stopped drifting. Took a step in the opposite direction, back into Mary's life.

"I think I'd like that."

"I'm glad," Mary beamed. She dropped down to the floor, patting at the spot beside her; the one Pandora had just left. The stone was warm, still, when she sat back on it.

"So then, Pandora, what's your favourite thing to do?"

Pandora wasn't practised at conversation like this, where she was expected to take as well as give. It was difficult at first, like stretching a muscle you weren't entirely sure how to flex. She found, though, that Mary made it easier. She loosened up in a matter of minutes, and instead of having to push information out, she learnt to let it flow, when to give but when to take, too. It was nice, offering up that part of herself. It was even nicer receiving the same in return. She hoarded Mary's words like a dragon with a jewel, burying them in her chest, close enough to her heart to warm it. The stuff it displaced, she let spill out, hoping Mary would take it for herself, store it just as Pandora had decided to store the parts of her.

And take, Mary did. She waited patiently, listening, never interrupting except to ask for more, more that Pandora was happy to give. It was the lightest she'd felt in longer than she could remember, and that weightlessness was a heady feeling she longed to cling to.

When they parted, Mary made a promise to remember her, that they'd see each other again soon. Pandora believed it.

Chapter 32: The Start of the End of a War

Notes:

And we have reached the end of part 2!! (part 2 in my head at least)

Regulus wasn't nervous for his date with James. They'd been dancing around each other for so long that it didn't feel like a novelty, just like normality. He was still excited, of course. Giddy, almost, with how much he wanted to see his boyfriend. And with the knowledge that James was his boyfriend, that he could call him that and kiss him and be with him, in whatever capacity they wanted. It was because they loved each other that the date was something to look forward to, not something to fear.

The knock came ten minutes earlier than expected. That didn't bother Regulus, since he'd been ready ten minutes prior to that.

Ignoring Barty and Evan's comments, he pulled open the door, unable to stop his smile when he found James on the other side. As silly as it was, his heart still leapt every time he saw him. Especially at times like this, when James was smiling — the genuine one, not the one he tried to fake — and reaching for him like it was second nature. Regulus met him in the middle, leaning up on the balls of his feet to press their lips together.

James hummed, content. "Hey, love."

"Hey," Regulus parroted.

"Oh Merlin," Evan said, stifling laughter. "Regulus is smiling. James, what did you do to him?" James didn't offer an answer, too busy lacing their fingers together, so Regulus decided it fell on him to answer instead.

"He fucked me." He hadn't said much, really, but James's flush was immediate. Regulus followed it down to the edge of the turtleneck he'd wore, and itched to push the material down further, see how far it really went.

"Then where's my special treatment?" Barty protested with a whine. Regulus's retort died on his tongue when he watched James's pupils darken, grin vanishing in an instant. If he was being honest, he found the expression incredibly attractive. He didn't think he'd mind James being a little violent again, especially now that they knew what they meant to each other. It wasn't the time for that, though, not when James was clearly genuinely on edge. Now, Regulus wanted to soothe him.

"Look at me." Regulus ran a hand down James's arm, pleased when the man's eyes snapped back to him. "That was a long time ago. It didn't mean anything."

"You wound me, Reggie," Barty gasped. "I thought we were in love!"

"Oh?" Evan asked. He didn't sound angry, more amused. "I thought you said you loved me, even then?"

"Oh, I did, darling," Barty assured him, "but I've got plenty of love to go around. I'm a giver."

Regulus scoffed. "Not the way I remember it. I don't think you've changed much, either. I've heard far more than I need to from you and Evan."

James's hand tightened around his, and Regulus's attention was immediately back on him.

"Hey, James, I love you, ok? You're—" he felt his face get hot, but pushed through it anyway. James was important, important enough that he could afford to feel a little uncomfortable. "You're the only one I've ever been in love with."

"I am?" James asked, posture loosening as his signature grin returned.

"Of course you are." Regulus kissed him again. "We're each other's, remember?"

Barty whistled. "Merlin, Reg, he must've fucked you good."

"Better than you ever did," he retorted, loving the way James's arms tightened around him as he let out a pleased little noise.

"Don't worry Barty," Evan said through his laughter. "You're still the best I've had."

"I'm well aware of that," Regulus said over his shoulder. "Do you have any idea how fucking awkward it was to get between you two?"

"You can show me, if you like," Barty suggested. "You've got me curious about James here, now."

"No," Evan and James protested, practically at the same time.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, definitely."

He ignored Barty and Evan's well wishes, keeping one hand interlinked with James's as he let the door slam closed behind him.

"So," he asked, "how are we supposed to get to Hogsmeade?"

"Patience," James told him with a gleam in his eye that was simultaneously a source of fear and of excitement. "You'll see soon enough."

"Fine," Regulus agreed, giving in only because he knew it was true. It wasn't like James was going to blindfold him to take him to Hogsmeade.

His confusion only mounted, though, when James insisted that they had to go up the stairs.

"But," Regulus protested, "Hogsmeade isn't in the air, James. How is going to the fourth floor going to get us any closer to the village?" He paused for a moment, eyes widening. "You don't have an aeroplane, do you?"

He didn't think it very fair when James laughed at the question. He thought it was reasonable, seeing as James refused to tell him why they were going up, and had, after all, promised to take Regulus to see an aeroplane one day.

"I can't believe you remembered that." James shook his head. "My promise still stands, I'll take you to see one someday. But no, I don't have an aeroplane waiting at Hogwarts. Just trust me? It'll make sense soon." James was stupidly wide-eyed, looking hopeful enough that Regulus had no choice but to give in, really.

"Fine," he agreed. "If this is some sort of prank, though, I'm leaving."

"It's not a prank, I promise."

Dutifully, Regulus allowed himself to be led to the fourth floor, further and further away from Hogsmeade. Once they were there, James pulled him into a bathroom, of all places.

James glanced around. "Good," he nodded, "it's empty."

"James, what—"

James pointed his wand at a mirror. Whispered a spell. And all of Regulus's protests died on his tongue.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he said when the mirror swung open, revealing a long, dark tunnel. "How did you even find this?"

"I'll tell you one day," James promised. He swallowed his tongue and nodded. As much as he was curious, he trusted James. If it was a secret, there was a reason for it to be.

"Fine," he huffed, "But you're going first."

"It'd be my pleasure," James told him. He reached down and linked their hands together.

"What's that for?" Regulus asked. "Scared I'll leave you to die in the creepy tunnel?"

"Nah." James shook his head, pulling Regulus closer to the entrance. "You love me too much to let me die."

Regulus took an apprehensive step into the darkness. "Does that mean there's a chance we'll die here, then? If so, I'll pass. I've been far too close to death already."

"Don't worry, it's perfectly safe." The last light in the passage faded, the mirror slamming closed behind them as James repeated his spell.

Regulus didn't hold James's hand all the way through the passage. He definitely didn't tighten his grip as they went on, nor did he nearly scream when a spider web brushed past his cheek. He was of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, even if he no longer affiliated himself with their ideals. It would be unbefitting of someone in his position to fear something as trivial as the dark.

That aside, he was relieved when they finally made it to the other end, drawing in a deep breath of hopefully-uncontaminated air.

"Where are we?" was the first thing he asked, squinting through the dim light. It appeared to be a storage area of some sort. He pulled away, brushing a coating of dust off the nearest box of… stink pellets? "Are we in Zonko's?"

"Yep," James smiled. "Surprise." Huh. Regulus made a note to get the spell from James later; while he didn't enjoy the journey, it could admittedly be a good idea to have a passage straight into Hogsmeade. Maybe he could even send Barty and Evan here from time to time, get the dorm to himself.

"Ok." Regulus looked around. "How do we get out of here, then?"

James's smile widened. "That's another surprise."

"One you'll be showing me very soon, I hope."

James reached a hand in his pocket, pulling out a bulge of lightly shimmering, nearly transparent material. Regulus gasped.

"Is that an invisibility cloak?"

"Yep," James replied, fiddling with the material far too casually.

"What the fuck." He reached out, ran his fingers over the material and marvelled at the strange texture. "How do you have an invisibility cloak? I don't think the Blacks even have an invisibility cloak."

"Dad gave it to me." James pulled the fabric over himself, and in an instant, he was gone, no trace left behind. Then, he pushed his face through the material, making his head the only visible part of him. The sight was so strange that Regulus couldn't help but let out a shocked laugh at it.

"Where did he get it from?"

"Not sure," James replied, "want to join?" He lifted up the edge of the cloak.

"What do you mean 'not sure,'" Regulus gaped, slipping under the fabric. It was far too warm with the both of them. It was a good thing he liked being close to James too much to complain. "Where did he find it?"

"I never asked, I don't think."

"You didn't ask?" Regulus halted, forcing James to stop his shuffling right along with him. "Why not?"

"It never came up. I can write to him, if you like?"

"Of course I'd like. Do you have any idea how rare an invisibility cloak is, James?"

"Based on your fascination, I'm going to go with very."

"Yes, very. Very fucking rare. I expect you to write your father as soon as we get back."

"Yes, love," James agreed dutifully. "Now, can we get on with our date? I'm meant to be wooing you, you know, but I think you're more interested in my dad than me."

"Maybe I am," Regulus agreed with a small smirk, though James wouldn't be able to see that from behind him. "I don't think I've ever asked. What does your father do?"

"Shit," James groaned. "Your favourite subject is potions, isn't it?"

"Why? Is your dad a potioneer?" Regulus paused for the second time, leaving them both still right by the top of the stairs. "Wait, is your dad Fleamont Potter?"

James hesitated. "If I say yes, are you going to leave me for him?"

"Very possibly," Regulus conceded. "James! Why didn't you tell me your dad was Fleamont Potter?!"

"I didn't realise he was your soulmate, my bad."

"He's one of the best potioneers of the century! Ever since Sleekeazy's—" Regulus cut himself off, whirling around under the cloak to stare up at James. "Your dad invented Sleekeazy's."

"He did," James replied, smile playing at the edge of his lips like he knew exactly where this was going.

"You're hair's the biggest mess I've ever seen."

James chuckled. "Thanks." Regulus hadn't meant it as an insult, and it didn't seem that James had taken it as one. He, for one, thought that if James did actually start taming his hair, it would be a tragedy to all of wizarding kind. Especially to Regulus. It was a mess, but a mess in a way that was just so James. Plus, the wild array of strands made it easy to find something to tug on, which was definitely an added bonus. And, actually, that was something he would've done right now, if only they hadn't been hidden under an invisibility cloak in the storage room of a joke shop.

"Why don't you use it?" he asked. "I doubt your dad would charge you, would he?"

James shook his head. "No, he keeps trying to make me use it, even though he forgets to himself half the time. It just feels oppressive."

"Oppressive."

"Yeah. Like, my hair's happy doing what it wants, you know? It feels mean to try and force it to go a certain way."

Fondness tugged, warm and gentle at Regulus's heart. "Only you, James Potter."

"Is that a bad thing?" James asked, infuriatingly earnest. "If you want, I can try to start using it."

"Don't," Regulus ordered. "I like your hair the way it is." Giving in to instinct, he reached up, not to tug — he didn't want to start something that'd leave the both of them frustrated — but just to run his fingers through the soft strands.

"Oh," James breathed, beaming. He opened his mouth as if to say something more, but no words came out.

"Shall we get out of here?" Regulus asked, after leaving James to struggle for a minute.

"Right! Yes!"

It was Regulus's job to push the door open, and he was almost certain that, with his luck, they'd end up face-to-face with an employee. It was a surprise, though not an unpleasant one, when the few people he found on the shop floor were facing away, or not paying enough attention to notice the door resting ajar. Keeping quiet, he and James sidled out into the shop, James pressing the door back closed behind them before they made their way through the front of the shop and out into the open air.

They slipped into an empty alleyway. When the coast was clear, Regulus ducked out from under the cloak, waiting for James to put it away.

"Ta-da." James threw out his arms. "Hogsmeade."

"Great observation."

"C'mon, Reg," James said, dropping his arms back to his sides. "Isn't it at least a little cool that we're here?"

"That depends where we're going." He paused. "I assume you have a plan."

"You know me so well. I've got a reservation, actually."

"A reservation?" Regulus raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know anywhere in Hogsmeade took those."

"Well that's where you'd be wrong. I know you've got a weird obsession with leaf water—"

"Tea," Regulus corrected.

"Yeah." James wrinkled his nose. "I don't know how you can stand it. Anyway," he continued, speaking over Regulus's next attempt at an interruption, "I thought you'd like to go to a tea shop."

Oh. Oh no.

"No," Regulus replied, not willing to believe it. "You didn't."

"Oh, but I did."

"You're so lucky I already fucked you James, because after this? It's never happening again."

"Don't be dramatic, love."

"I'm not," Regulus replied, deadly serious. "I am not setting foot in that place."

"But I got us a reservation," James protested, his distress far too genuine.

Regulus wasn't sure how it happened. He hadn't meant it to, had tried his best to fight it. But somehow, because some stupid part of him revolted against the very idea of upsetting James Potter, he'd ended up here: perched uncomfortably in a pink chair and surrounded by obnoxious pastels, beside a candle he was seriously debating tipping over, just for the pleasure of watching the over-embellished floral table cloth burn. Despite James feeling the need to make a reservation, they were the only ones in the shop.

"What can I get you, dearies?" the woman — presumably Madam Puddifoot — asked. Regulus looked down at the menu, picking the first thing he saw.

"Strawberry rose tea, please," he asked, praying the concoction wouldn't be as vile as it sounded.

"Lovely choice," the woman smiled. He didn't trust her. "And you?" she asked, looking to James this time.

"The same for me, please," James requested. He glanced to the middle of the table, where three sugar cubes sat in a neatly-arranged square. "And could we get some more sugar?"

"Of course," Madam Puddifoot agreed easily, darting off before Regulus had a chance to stop her.

"We don't need more sugar," Regulus told James. "I don't want any, and considering the tea already has strawberries in for some reason, I doubt you'll need any either."

"Don't worry," James assured him, "I'll use it."

"You won't," Regulus reiterated. "It's going to be sweet already, James."

"I like sweet things," James winked. Regulus huffed.

"There's sweet, then there's a cavity in a cup."

James shrugged. "Teeth are easily repaired."

"They shouldn't need repairing in the first place."

"Is this really what you want to talk about on our first proper date?" James asked, leaning back in his chair and very nearly overbalancing it.

"Well, this isn't exactly where I wanted to be on our first date."

"Come on!" James pleaded. "It's kind of sweet. And it does tea! You like tea!"

"Fine," Regulus relented. "I'll reserve judgement until I try the tea, happy?"

"Happy," James agreed, leaning forward and resting his chin in the crook of his palm. "You're so lovely, you know."

"James," Regulus hissed.

"What? I can't compliment my boyfriend on our date? That'd just be rude, love." Regulus needed James to stop talking, or his blush would get to the point where it was embarrassing. He wasn't sure why it affected him so much, but there was something about James being so sweet, so unguarded, that he found difficult to cope with.

"How would you feel if I started doing that?"

"Complimenting me?" James asked. "I'd feel pretty good about it."

"Yes— well—" Regulus stuttered. Eventually, James took pity on him.

"Don't worry, I like working for it. Makes me feel like I've earned it."

Before Regulus could come up with a coherent response, the woman was back, setting a cup down in front of each of them, both a bright pink, which was to be expected, really.

"Enjoy, loves," she told them, winking before wandering away again. Regulus lifted the tea, inhaled a little, and was surprised to find that it smelt quite nice, really. He took a cautious sip, humming as the flavours hit his taste buds. It was sweet, yes, but in a good way, somehow balanced with everything underneath.

He looked up to ask James how his tea was, only to nearly choke on his own when he saw the man pile into the liquid not one cube of sugar, not two, not three, and not even four to prove the need for ordering extra; no, James dumped five separate sugar cubes into his fruit tea, stirring them in without a care in the world.

"You haven't even tried it!" Regulus protested, horrified. No wonder James didn't like tea if this was how he mutilated it.

"You're right," James agreed. He took a sip. "Not too bad." Then, before Regulus had a chance to stop him, added yet another sugar cube, then started to drink again. Regulus gagged, enjoyment of his own tea buried under his horror at James's actions.

"You can't drink that."

"Oh, but I can. It's much better this way, really. I actually quite like this one." He offered the cup to Regulus. "You can try it, if you like."

"Why in Merlin's name would I like?"

James shrugged. "More for me, then." He took another sip. Regulus was surprised he still had any enamel left after that. "Is yours any good?" he asked, nodding to the cup in Regulus's hand.

"It's fine."

James beamed. "Does that mean you approve of the date, then?" Regulus was tempted to say no, just on principle, but James looked so hopeful, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he waited, rapt, for his verdict.

"I suppose," he sighed, trying not to smile when James grinned, punching a fist in the air.

"See? I told you it'd be great, didn't I?"

"I can always take it back," Regulus warned.

"Nope. You've already admitted it."

Regulus rolled his eyes, sipping his tea.

"Evan said he saw you coming out of McGonagall's office yesterday," he said, deciding arguing the point anymore would be useless. "What did you manage to do this time?" James set his cup down, expression suddenly much more serious. Regulus didn't like it. He'd meant the question to be teasing, not whatever this was.

"Ah, she just wanted to talk to us about something."

"Something?" he pushed. He wanted to fix whatever was making James uncomfortable, which meant he needed to know about it.

"Right." James didn't quite look him in the eye. "So, Dumbledore invited a few of us up to his office to give us an offer."

"An offer?"

"Yeah," James nodded. The table was shaking a little, presumably a result of his bouncing leg, but Regulus didn't tell him to stop. "So, there's this club. Or, not a club, I suppose, more of a job? Except you don't get paid, I don't think. I don't know, actually. I mean, presumably—"

"James," Regulus cut him off, growing more and more worried by the avoidance. "Tell me."

"Right." James bit his lip. "So, he said the Ministry's been infiltrated, and asked us to join this group he's set up to fight Voldemort."

Regulus's blood went cold. He let his teacup clatter to the saucer, ignoring the liquid that spilled over the edges. "Doing what?"

"Fighting, I suppose. However we can."

"You said no."

"I—" James blinked. Shook his head. "I said yes. We all did, except for Mary."

"No." Regulus's nails dug into his palms. He was probably bleeding. He didn't care. His vision was blurring a little at the edges, breathing coming just this side of too short. "You didn't. Why did you do that?" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. It's fine. You'll tell him no, all of you."

"Reg." James's eyes were warm, looking at him with something far too much like pity. "I want to do this."

"Why?" he asked, desperate. If he knew then he could fix it. Make it better. Stop this.

"I have to. If there's a way to fight back, I have to take it."

"No," he demanded, louder this time, as if the sheer force of his will would change James's mind. "You won't do it. I won't let you. You're going to go back there, you and whoever else he's got doing his dirty work, and tell him you fucking quit."

"I don't want to do that."

"I don't care," Regulus decided. "It doesn't matter. You can't do it. I won't let you."

"You can't stop me."

He narrowed his eyes. "Can't I?"

"No." James stood from the table. They were both on their feet now, though Regulus couldn't remember when he'd gotten up. "This is my choice, Regulus. My decision to make."

"It's stupid! You don't know how powerful he is, James. There's so many of them, and so few of you. You'll get yourselves killed."

"We'll be careful," James tried. "And I want to do this. I know it's dangerous, but it's the only way I can fight."

Regulus shook his head. "It's not your job. It doesn't have to be."

"I want it to be." Regulus grit his teeth, grinding his jaw as he tried to figure out his next move. He needed them to be safe. James. Sirius. Hell, even Lupin and Evans, and the rest of the idiotic Gryffindors. It was clear, though, that they were too damn stubborn to quit on their own, which left him with remarkably few options.

He made a mental list of them:

Kidnapping

Memory Spells

Getting rid of Dumbledore

Stopping the war

Option number one was his first instinct. He could pull them away from the war, keep them out of it until he could guarantee they'd be safe. This one was problematic for a few reasons, though. He didn't know how long this would go on for, which was one problem, but mostly it'd be taking away their agency. Realistically, it'd probably be a good idea to take away the Gryffindors' capability for making stupid decisions, but he knew what it was like to live without a choice, and he wouldn't force that on the people he cared for. Option two was discarded for a similar reason; even if they wouldn't remember, he'd hate himself for taking away their ability to choose. Plus, most likely, Dumbledore would figure it out and just recruit them again.

He thought about option three for a little while. It made sense: if there was no Dumbledore to recruit them, there'd be no army for them to join. Except that he knew just how stubborn Gryffindors could be. They'd find a way to stick to their convictions, he was sure, even without the Headmaster calling the shots. He wasn't sure if it'd be better or worse without the man, but the point was that they'd still be in danger.

Which left the final option. They wanted to end the war. If he found a way to do just that, then they wouldn't have to fight. He didn't know how, but considering he'd already burned through his other options, this was the only one he had left. Taking a shaky breath, Regulus made a new list in his head:

Find out what Dumbledore knows. Make him give Regulus whatever he had

Find a way to get to Voldemort

End the war before it has a chance to take anybody away

He didn't think it'd be easy. He knew how powerful Voldemort was firsthand. But he was Regulus Arcturus Black, heir (or, at least, ex-heir) to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. His title wasn't something he valued often, but if it had taught him anything, it had taught him how to be powerful, and how to tilt the odds in his favour. He wouldn't let James or Sirius die, and so he would do whatever it took to stop this, and make sure they all survived through the war. Besides, he'd been wanting to get back at Voldemort anyway. At least this was a good excuse.

"Regulus?" James asked tentatively.

"Fine," Regulus said. "I can't stop you, you're right. Tell me, though, what do you know?"

"What do I know?"

"Yes. About Voldemort. What's Dumbledore planning? How are you going to attack? I'm going to help, and I can't do that unless I know."

"Oh." James nodded, relieved. "Right, so there's us and a few Aurors—"

"Who?"

"I'm not sure." Well, that wasn't a great start. No matter. He'd ask later.

"Alright, what else?"

"So, some of it's gathering intelligence, and then some of it's fighting directly."

Regulus huffed, annoyed. "I want to help, James, you can give me the details."

James looked down, fiddling with a thread he'd pulled from his t-shirt. "I, ah, don't really know much else."

"What?" Regulus willed himself to stay calm, sure he'd misunderstood.

"That's all he told us? I mean, it's meant to be a secret, so it makes sense that he wouldn't tell us his exact plans."

"Merlin," Regulus seethed, "that bastard. I can't believe you agreed. I can't believe he had the audacity to ask you to in the first place. How are you meant to fight a war when you don't have a plan? Don't know how the other side operates? If he wants to treat you like children then he shouldn't be sending you to war."

"But—"

"Shut up," Regulus dismissed, reaching for his jacket.

"Is everything alright?" Madam Puddifoot asked, choosing that moment to re-enter the room. "Oh dear." She looked down to their abandoned teacups, then back up to meet Regulus's eye. "Was the tea not to your liking?"

"That's not the problem here," Regulus snapped.

"He's just a bit stressed," James tried. "Thank you so much for the hospitality, the tea was lovely. We'll be sure to be back soon."

"James. We're going."

"Right." James hurried to follow Regulus, who was already on his way out of the door. "Thank you again! And sorry! I've just left your tip on the table, I hope that's alright."

Regulus didn't say much to James as they went back through the passage, though James tried to start conversation a couple of times. He was too busy, too angry, too caught up in what needed to be done to drag his attention away from it. Once they were back in the castle, he said something or other to convince James to leave him alone, promising to find him later, then made straight for Dumbledore's office.

When he reached the gargoyle, he didn't even need to provide a password. He'd been ready to guess, figuring it couldn't be too hard considering the lack of variety in the headmaster's passwords, but instead a spiral staircase stretched in front of him. He stepped on to it, and made his way up to the office, not bothering to knock before bursting in.

"Mr Black." The headmaster greeted, not even making the effort to look up at him. "What brings you here?"

"You know full fucking well why I'm here. You've convinced my boyfriend and my brother to join your war knowing just how dangerous it is. On top of that, you didn't even bother to tell them what they're going to be doing. How are they supposed to survive if you don't give them what they need to fight?"

"I understand that you may be upset that your partner's ideologies don't align with yours—"

"Oh, fuck off. You don't seriously think I'm still a Death Eater, do you? Everyone at Hogwarts knows about me and James. If I was still marked, I'd be dead."

"Mr Black, there is no way for the Dark Mark to be removed, no matter how much you may wish it to be."

"Isn't there?" Regulus raised an eyebrow. Pulled up his sleeve. "What's this, then?"

He revelled in the brief look of shock that crossed Dumbledore's expression, before the man schooled it once more.

"That is simply a glamour, made to hide the mark."

Regulus scoffed. "Remove it, then."

Dumbledore arched an eyebrow. Then, when Regulus made no move to back down, hovered a hand over his arm. Regulus felt the magic brush his skin, wash away without any effect. Dumbledore paused. Did it again.

"That is remarkable," he muttered. "How—"

Regulus shook his head. "I'll be the one asking the questions. You've caused enough problems, and frankly I don't think this is something you should know. I'm going to kill Voldemort."

Dumbledore nodded, the trace of a smile gracing his expression. "I'm glad you've decided to fight with us."

"I haven't," Regulus told him. "I'm not going to take orders from you, and you're not going to be giving them to anyone without my knowing. I know Voldemort best, which means I have the best chance at killing him. I need you to tell me everything you know."

Dumbledore's lips twitched. He looked amused, as if Regulus's demands were no more than a child's tantrum. "Your friends have already agreed to join me. I cannot make you do the same, however it is my responsibility to shape how this plays out."

"Yeah? You think they won't join me instead the moment I tell them I have a plan? They only reason they agreed is that they want to fight. I can guarantee I have a better plan than you do." He paused. "That is, if you even have a plan at all."

"I can assure you, Mr Black, that I have a plan. The situation is delicate. There are many variables at play, here, too many for you to grasp. It would be best if you would learn to trust me."

"Variables?" Regulus scoffed. "What is this? A riddle?" He tilted his head. "You're talking about Horcruxes, aren't you?"

Dumbledore froze. Then, he spoke, voice quiet, laced with something verging on danger. "How do you know about the Horcruxes?"

Regulus smirked, refusing to admit that it'd been a guess. An educated one, but a guess nonetheless. He didn't think anyone could take a look at Voldemort and think the man was still mortal. Still whole.

"I told you, I know far more than you give me credit for. Far more than you do, most likely."

"What is your proposal, then?"

"Tell me what you know first," Regulus decided. "I'll fill in anything I see fit."

He expected the man to refuse, but, after some consideration, he nodded, detailing his suspicions to Regulus. Regulus did his best to keep a straight face through it all, hoping his paling wasn't too obvious when Dumbledore stated that he suspected there were six Horcruxes in existence. That was far worse than Regulus had bargained for, but he couldn't back out now. He'd just have to find a way to cope, and to destroy the Horcruxes too while he was at it.

"Alright," he nodded when the man had finished. He glanced up behind the desk, finding what he needed. "The Sword of Gryffindor. I'll need to take it."

"Why?"

There was no real reason, he supposed. It wasn't like he had any more Death Eaters he wanted to redeem in the foreseeable future, and Dumbledore wouldn't know what to do with it anyway. It just felt safer. Now he knew what the sword could do, he didn't trust it here, with a man who was too cowardly to fight his own battles.

"It'll help me win the war."

Dumbledore paused, considering in that endlessly frustrating way of his again as he watched Regulus through the rim of his glasses. "Very well," he eventually ceded. "You should know, however, that I have a way to call the sword back to me if required."

"How?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You didn't think the hat was only used for sorting, did you, Mr Black?" Regulus rolled his eyes.

"Alright. I'll need the hat too, then."

"No," Dumbledore replied. "The hat stays with me."

"Why? You want to win the war, don't you? I'm your best shot."

"I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you're not the only one with a plan, Mr Black. The hat may prove useful to me yet." Regulus chewed his lip, considering his options.

"Let it decide," he said eventually.

"Pardon?"

"The hat. It can see into minds, can't it? Let it decide who should take it."

"That will not be necessary."

"Why?" Regulus pressed. "Scared it'll choose a Slytherin over a Gryffindor? Your house bias is showing, Albus. I thought you were supposed to care for all your students equally."

"Fine," Dumbledore eventually grit out, and Regulus grinned. The man reached for the hat, setting it on his head.

"Ah," the hat said, the voice transporting Regulus back to the day of his own sorting. He'd known he needed to be in Slytherin, but he couldn't deny it had hurt a little when the hat barely touched him before declaring his house. It had been proof of just how different he and Sirius were, even when they had still lived under the same roof. "Albus Dumbledore. You haven't changed a bit. Still the same Gryffindor I first sorted, unafraid to make the necessary sacrifices."

Dumbledore lifted the hat from his head. Passed it to Regulus. Regulus froze for a minute once it was in his hands, but pushed through the fear and, with all the courage he could muster, dragged it down over his head.

The hat chuckled.

"Regulus Black. Such a Slytherin, just like the rest of your family." Regulus swallowed, pushing through the pain the words still managed to invoke. "You're so like him, you know, and yet so different. There's bravery here, yes, but ambition is much stronger. Tell me, are you willing to make the sacrifices that he will?"

"No," Regulus admitted. "I won't need to."

The hat laughed again. "Very well, very well. I suppose that is a noble enough goal."

"What'll it be, then?" He asked, refusing to break eye contact with Dumbledore, who was simply waiting, with that quiet sort of confidence of somebody used to getting just what they wanted. Regulus glared back with the determination of somebody used to fighting for it.

"Bravery is noble, there is no doubt about it, but one cannot win a war through sacrifice alone." Regulus watched carefully, cataloguing the exact moment Dumbledore's face dropped in his mind. "There is a reason Slytherin house produces some of the strongest witches and wizards. Tom himself was a Slytherin, and it will take the same ambition to stand against him. You, Regulus, are the one who has the chance to end this war."

Regulus lifted the hat from his head. Tucked it under his arm. "Right. I'll be going, then. Let me know if you get any more leads."

"Wait," Dumbledore called after him. "The war will not be over by the next school year. I will need the hat returned for the sorting."

"Not my problem," Regulus replied.

"Surely you wouldn't wish a year of students to have no house at all?"

He shrugged. "Let them decide. It'll be better that way, anyway."

"But how will they know where to choose? They'll be placed in the wrong houses."

"Is there a wrong house? Just because you don't get to pit them against each other based on some stupid set of traits decided hundreds of years ago, doesn't mean the place they choose to be is wrong." He looked down at the hat. "In fact, I think it might be best I keep this once the war is over." He continued out, sighing when he was stopped once again.

"Mr Black, wait! You promised me information. You told me you'd tell me what you knew."

Regulus shrugged. "I lied. Get used to it. You don't win wars through honesty; you of all people should know that." Then, finally, he was out of the office, hat tucked under his arm as he made his way down the staircase, trying to decide the best place to start with it all.

Chapter 33: Mortal Danger

Regulus didn't have to think for long. The next morning, once he'd waved Barty and Evan off to class, he settled down on his bed to plan, only to be pulled from his focus by a sharp crack. Wand at the ready, he whirled around, but his adrenaline petered out once he saw who the trespasser was.

"Who are you?"

It was then that he realised something was very, very wrong. He was used to house-elves being subdued. Patient, as they waited for their next order. He'd never seen anything like this. The elf's gaze darted about the room as though he were looking for traps, expecting danger to leap out at him at any minute. He was injured, too, deep red lines buried in his complexion, drops of blood staining the green rug black.

"It's alright," Regulus offered, trying his best to be soothing as he searched for other injuries. There didn't seem to be much else visibly, but he knew wounds could be far more than superficial. "You're safe here. Nobody's going to hurt you."

Wide green eyes locked with his own, still fogged over with something desperate. "Regulus Black."

"That's me," Regulus agreed. "Can you tell me what happened? Why you're here?"

"Kreacher." Regulus's breath caught, sickening bursts of green flashing through his mind. "Kreacher told Dobby that Regulus Black is a kind man. That Dobby should be going to him if he is being in any danger."

"Right," Regulus choked out. Another drop of blood fell to the floor. "Right." He directed his wand back towards the house-elf, grimacing when he flinched away from it. "Don't worry. Dobby, is it? I'm just going to heal you."

Dobby didn't do much to acknowledge him, but he stayed put.

"Episkey." The wound knitted itself closed. It wasn't a fix, but Regulus hoped it'd at least dull the pain a little.

Dobby lifted a hand to his face, examining his fingers.

"Regulus Black fixed Dobby's wound."

"It's closed, but it's still there," Regulus corrected. "I didn't fix it."

Dobby ignored this. "Kreacher said that Regulus Black was being the good kind of Master, but Dobby did not believe him. Dobby is very sorry."

"You don't have to apologise," Regulus smiled, doing his best to put the elf at ease. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, then, when Dobby didn't try to say anything more, let himself ask the question that burned on his tongue.

"Can you tell me what happened, Dobby?"

Dobby, who'd only just started to relax, tensed immediately, wrapping his arms defensively around his stomach.

"You don't have to," Regulus clarified, "it's only a question. I won't push."

Dobby shook his head, determined. "Kreacher told Dobby that he could be trusting Regulus Black. Dobby is trusting Kreacher, so Dobby is trusting Regulus, too."

It hit Regulus, then, just how little house-elves were spoken of. How little they mattered, from the perspective of most households. If a pure-blood had died, then there'd be no question as to whether other houses knew of it, unless it was to be covered up. A house-elf, though?

Regulus dug his heels into the bottom of the bed frame, trying to ground himself.

"Dobby?"

"Yes, Sir?"

Regulus shook his head. "Don't call me that. Regulus is fine."

"Yes, Regulus Black?"

"Do you know what happened to Kreacher?"

"What happened to him, Sir?" Regulus was tempted to correct the title, if only to prolong the inevitable.

Instead, he nodded. "Yes, what happened to him."

"Is Kreacher ill? Dobby has been wondering why he has not seen his friend recently."

"Not ill." Regulus swallowed. "Dead."

Dobby started shivering again, just a little, round eyes reflecting the yellow lamplight. "Kreacher is dead?"

"I'm sorry," Regulus said. It wasn't enough, but he meant it. He'd say it a thousand times over if it could take back what had happened. What he'd been at fault for.

Dobby let the knowledge sink in for a moment, remaining quiet as Regulus continued to spiral. Before long, though, he straightened again, looking right at Regulus.

"Dobby will miss Kreacher; Kreacher was a very good friend to him. But Dobby wants to thank Regulus Black for being such a good friend to Kreacher, too."

"I wasn't," Regulus admitted, nails curling in to the mattress. "He died because of me." The words were strangled, bitter as he choked them out, letter by letter.

Dobby's eyes narrowed. "Dobby does not think that is being true. Is Regulus Black the one who killed Kreacher?"

"No, but—"

Dobby waved him away. "That is all that Dobby is needing to hear. Regulus Black did not kill Kreacher." He paused. "Who did?"

"My parents."

Dobby nodded thoughtfully. "Does Regulus Black like his parents?"

Regulus shook his head. "I don't live with them anymore. Not after that."

"Good. Then Kreacher dying is not Regulus Black's fault, it is being the fault of his parents."

"I should've stopped them. They killed him because of me."

"Regulus Black cannot change the past, only what is still to happen."

Huh. "That's good to hear. Thank you, Dobby."

"Thank you, Regulus Black." Dobby shifted, bare feet brushing over the spots of the carpet that were still damp with blood. "Dobby will tell you what happened, now."

"I'm listening," Regulus promised.

It took a while for Dobby to recount the story, pausing intermittently to centre himself and to school Regulus's probably-invasive questions. Regulus hated himself more and more each time Dobby's voice hitched, wanted to tell him to stop, that he didn't need to tell him this. Except, with every word the elf spoke, he was more and more certain he knew exactly what had happened. What Voldemort had been trying to hide.

"Master Malfoy said Dobby should only be returning to him if the Dark Lord was finished with his services. Dobby did not know if the Dark Lord was finished with him, so he came to Master Regulus instead."

"I'm glad you did," Regulus told him. "You did the right thing, Dobby." Dobby didn't smile, but he stood a little straighter all the same.

"Dobby is happy to hear that, but Dobby does not know what he should be doing next."

Regulus considered that. "What do you want to do?"

"What does Dobby want to do?" Dobby gaped up at him.

"Yes. You said you didn't have to go back to Lucius?"

"Dobby does not think so, unless his Master calls for him."

"Then don't. Stay here, or go wherever else. Just as long as you don't return to him."

"Would…" Dobby hesitated. "Would Dobby be allowed to stay in the castle?"

"Of course you would. If anyone tries to stop you, tell me. I'll take it up with Dumbledore myself."

Tears glistened in Dobby's eyes. "Thank you, Master Regulus. Thank you."

Regulus shook his head. "I told you just to call me Regulus. And I haven't even done anything to help you."

"Of course you have. Dobby is free, all because of Master Regulus. Dobby does not know how he can thank you enough."

Regulus bit down on the inside of his cheek, pushing through the guilt pooling in his stomach. "About that. I do have a request."

It took lots of convincing to get Dobby to agree to the plan, but eventually they had a deal, and Regulus set off to ready himself for departure. First, he picked one of Barty's necklaces out of his bedside table, going through a couple of quick transfigurations to get it as close as possible to Dobby's description. Then, he scrawled down a few words on a scrap of paper and set off to the lake, knowing that was where Evan was likely to be about this time. Evan didn't have class now, but Barty did, so he usually took the gap as a chance to catch up on some reading.

He found Evan beside his usual tree, staring out across the lake as the cool breeze whipped through his blond curls. Without a word, Regulus plopped down into the spot beside him, making Evan jolt a little in surprise.

"Regulus?"

"Evan."

"What do you want?"

"Can't I just say hello?" Regulus didn't know what was wrong with him. He'd never seen the point in small talk, and liked to get through what he needed to say as quickly as possible. He didn't know why it felt different, now. Why he was trying to put it off.

Evan knew this too, and raised an eyebrow.

"You came to say hello?"

Yes, Regulus wanted to say. "No," he forced himself to admit.

"I thought so." Concern shone in Evan's eyes now, the echoes of greenery in them fading as he turned his focus fully to Regulus. "What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Regulus."

Regulus clenched his hand in the grass, relishing the feeling of the roots tearing from the ground. "I wrote you a letter."

Evan looked down at the offered envelope. He didn't take it, narrowing his eyes as his mouth set in a thin line. "Why?"

"Just in case."

"In case of what?"

Regulus sighed, half way between frustration and fondness. He'd miss Evan, if this didn't work out how he hoped. "I'm going somewhere."

"Where?"

"I can't tell you that."

Evan blinked, expression flickering fast enough that Regulus couldn't pinpoint any emotion in particular. He got the feeling that most of them weren't great.

"You don't think you're coming back."

"I am," Regulus insisted, for him and Evan both. "It's just in case."

"Stop saying that," Evan snapped. His legs, which had previously been stretched lazily across the grass, curled up to his stomach. "If it's dangerous, I'm coming with you. Barty'll want to come, too."

"I know, but there's no room." Regulus smiled a little when Evan's expression soured further.

"Then we'll make more."

Regulus shook his head. "Can't. Just take the letter, Evan."

"No," Evan snapped. He did take the paper, though, and Regulus was relieved for a moment, until the boy drew out his wand and set it alight.

"Evan!"

"What?" Evan asked, the browns of his eyes dancing in the firelight. "You're coming back. You can tell me whatever the letter said in person."

"But—"

"No. I'm not letting you go anywhere unless you promise to come back, Regulus. You have no fucking right to leave us. So either you promise to tell me in person, or you don't go. They're your choices."

"I won't make a promise I can't keep."

"Then keep it."

Regulus ground his teeth together, thinking through his plan. There was more room for error than he'd like, too many variables he knew only partially. Aside from that, though, it was possible. More than. He'd been through worse before, things he was certain he wouldn't come out the other side of, but he was still here, because he'd fought. Because he'd wanted to be, and because he had friends who wanted him here, too. None of that had changed. This wasn't as bad as it could've been. He had more people waiting for him now, and this time he was almost certain he could come out the other side. Which meant, as far as history was concerned, he would.

So, he looked Evan in the eye, doing everything he could to convey earnestness.

"Alright," he agreed. "I promise. I'll come back."

"Good." Evan didn't smile, but he did lean in for a hug, one Regulus accepted despite himself. It was nice, warm in a familiar sort of way. A way that felt like home.

"I'll see you later then, Regulus. When you're back."

"You will." Regulus pushed himself up from the ground and walked back to the castle, brushing off the dirt that had settled on his trousers, and ignoring the streaks it left behind. He considered writing another letter, hiding it, this time, but discarded the idea almost as soon as it came to mind. He'd made a promise, one that he wanted to keep. Evan was right; everything he had to say could be said later, once he was back home.

"Dobby," he called once he was alone, the house-elf appearing with a crack. "Take me to the cave."

"Yes, Regulus," Dobby agreed, voice strained. Another crack, darkness, then cold wind and crashing waves.

"This is it?" Regulus asked, looking at the stone before him.

"Yes." Dobby crossed his arms over his chest, eyes unfocused.

"Thank you," Regulus said, meaning it for more than just the apparition. "Are you ready to go in?"

Dobby opened his mouth to answer, but the words seemed to get stuck in his throat. Right. Stupid question.

"Can you go in?"

"Dobby—" Dobby glanced to the stone with a grimace, then back to Regulus. He took a few breaths. Regulus waited. "Yes, Regulus."

Once he was given the all-clear, Regulus drew his wand.

"Diffindo." He did his best to hold steady as blood dripped down his forearm. He did pretty well, ending up with a cut that only wobbled a little. He pressed his arm to the rough stone, expecting to have to wait a little, but the effect was immediate. The rock started crumbling and Regulus took a step back, instinctively sticking an arm out to tug Dobby back with him.

"Sorry," he said, noticing some blood from his fingertips had seeped into Dobby's pillowcase. "I'll get you a new one."

Dobby nodded, eyes unfocused. Clearly, the blood wasn't his main concern here. Regulus tried to follow his gaze, looking ahead of them, but all he could see was darkness. Perhaps that would've been more intimidating if he weren't so used to it. As it was, though, he took a step forward, pausing when Dobby made no move to follow.

"You can go back if you like," Regulus offered. "I can figure it out from here."

That snapped Dobby out of his thoughts, but instead of taking the out the elf shook his head firmly, resolute. "No. Regulus needs Dobby, so Dobby will help him." Then, hands fisted in the loose material in his sides, Dobby marched ahead. Regulus had no choice but to follow.

"What now?" he whispered, stopping himself before he stepped over the edge of the rock. It was hard to tell the water apart from the ground below him, but just about manageable with the occasional emerald glimmer that danced beneath them, reflecting the eerie light from the centre of the cave. "You said there was a boat?"

Dobby nodded. "The Dark Lord pulled the boat out of the water. Regulus must do the same."

Regulus looked around for a chain, but found nothing. Nothing visible through the darkness, anyhow, so he felt around. That was unsuccessful too, or at least he thought it was, until his knuckles brushed against something solid. Something he knew shouldn't have been there. It was there, though, he was certain; he'd felt it, and it had even glowed a little with his touch.

Tentatively, Regulus wrapped a hand around the chain, shivering at the feel of icy metal. His blood warmed it a little, dribbling down from his arm, but it wasn't long until that cooled too, and the only thing it did was make the chain slicker and harder to pull. Gritting his teeth, Regulus tugged at the metal as hard as he could, ignoring the numbness in his hands and the protest of his muscles, especially on the side of the injured arm. Luckily, it didn't take long until the boat bumped against the shore. It was only then that Regulus thought to cast lumos. The spell didn't make the cave seem any lighter, somehow, the darkness more physical than it was visual, but it did at least mean that they could see.

Nobody in their right mind would get in the boat; Regulus was sure it was seconds from falling apart, and he wouldn't have been surprised if it crumbled at a touch alone. Unfortunately, Voldemort hadn't left any convenient bridges or other modes of transport over to his evil Horcrux island, so it seemed that the perilous-death-boat was the option they were going to have to take.

Dobby, to his surprise, hopped into the boat first. Regulus held his breath as it wobbled, grip tightening on his wand, but it somehow stayed afloat. He lowered himself in much more carefully, each movement still somehow landing him seconds away from capsizing. Still, eventually, they were settled uncomfortably close together in the vessel.

It unsettled Regulus when the boat began to move by itself, but he supposed that was better than having to paddle. Not that he would've paddled anyway — he wasn't stupid — but they'd have to have found some other method of powering the boat, which he didn't much fancy.

Sooner than he would've liked, they reached the island. Regulus climbed out of the boat as quickly as he could. Dobby remained in it.

"Dobby?"

Dobby looked to Regulus, then to the potion, then back to Regulus. "Dobby does not want to drink again." His voice cracked.

"You won't," Regulus assured him immediately, cursing himself for not mentioning it sooner. "I'm drinking the potion, Dobby. I just need you to help me."

If possible, Dobby looked more alarmed at that.

"No!" He shook his head. "The potion is not good for people. Regulus must not be drinking the potion. Dobby does not want to, but Dobby will drink the potion if it means Master Regulus will not."

"No," Regulus insisted. "I'm drinking it. Whatever I tell you, I need you to make me keep going, ok? Don't let me stop."

"No," Dobby refused, staying put in the boat. "Dobby will not let Regulus suffer."

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is the only way. I need to stop Voldemort. I need you to help me."

"Dobby will drink the potion."

"What about when we need to apparate, then?" Regulus asked. "I need you to be strong. Can you do that for me, Dobby?"

Dobby swallowed, gaze fixed on the potion.

"Yes," he agreed finally, stepping onto the island. "Dobby will help Regulus drink the potion, but only because he is needed to get Regulus out of the cave."

"Thank you," Regulus said, offering Dobby a small smile, which the elf made no move to return. He stepped towards the basin, frowning. There was no cup, nothing to help him drink, and based on Dobby's experience, he knew he wouldn't be able to drink it without the elf having a way to keep it pouring down his throat.

"How did Voldemort make you drink the potion?"

Dobby winced. "He conjured a goblet, and made Dobby drink."

"Right," Regulus nodded, fiddling with his wand. The silence grew around them, the only break in it being the occasional sound of dripping water, bouncing off the walls of the cave.

"Regulus?"

"Right." Regulus shook his head a little, trying to clear his thoughts. First, he drew out his replica locket, focusing on the one in the basin and doing all he could to make it as similar as possible. Then, once he was as level-headed as he was going to get, he focused on his spell, forming a small goblet in his palm, hopefully not large enough to be cumbersome for Dobby to use. Before he could second-guess himself, he drove the goblet into the potion, lifting the metal to his lips and swallowing the first cupful as quickly as he could.

Nothing changed. He almost laughed before the pain hit him, blinding and ever-so familiar. For just a second, he thought how fortunate it was that he'd prepared for this, and then he couldn't think of anything anymore. He was vaguely aware of falling to the ground, but couldn't feel any pain at the impact, his nerve endings already far beyond overworked. Just when he was certain it couldn't get any worse, the blurred colours in his vision warped, becoming something far too real.

"James," he tried to gasp, but his throat was dry. He was drowning. Drowning on pain? Was that even possible? If it hadn't been before, it was now, because no matter how much he tried to breathe, the air wouldn't come.

James's expression drew into a sneer, the dim light of the closet casting shadows over him.

"Black," he spat, "Death-Eater scum. Who could ever love someone like you?" If the physical pain was a knife, this was a hammer, driving hard into his very soul. He knew it wasn't real. James couldn't be here. But the vision looked so, so much like him, and Regulus couldn't think through his addled mind.

"You know what you did," James continued. "You're a bad person, Regulus. We all know it. That house wasn't the poison, you were. Why do you think you were alone for so long?"

Regulus wanted to argue, but he couldn't speak. Besides, he wasn't sure he had anything to say. He would be screaming if he could, but his throat was too raw to even do that. Maybe it was because he already was. He didn't know.

"You know it, don't you? Just how worthless you really are. You should just give up now, really. It'd be much easier that way."

"Regulus!" The voice echoed down from the surface. Regulus needed to climb out, he knew, but he was so tired, and it was such a long way. Perhaps James was right. Maybe he should just give up. It'd be easier that way, after all, and it wasn't like he'd be missed.

"Regulus!" Closer, now. Maybe he was swimming. He hadn't thought that he knew how to.

"You're nothing, Regulus, you—"

"Regulus!" Regulus broke the surface, gasping for air. The pain was there, still, but it was a part of him now, something he felt, not something he was drowning in. He drew in a breath, the harsh inhale loud in the cave's silence.

"More," he forced out. "You gave me your word, Dobby."

Dobby was sobbing. Or maybe that was him.

"Yes, Master Regulus. Dobby is sorry." The metal touched his lips again, and once more the thoughts were replaced with agony.

"Crucio." It was his own voice. He was holding the wand, on his feet, somehow. Sirius was the one on the ground, curled up in front of him as his body shook with a pain akin to the one tearing Regulus apart.

"Well done, Regulus," his mother said. He couldn't see her, but he knew she was there. Knew how this went, every time. "This is what you were made for, wasn't it? This is your purpose."

This time, he did manage to scream, he was sure, but it didn't change anything. His father still laughed, Sirius still shook, and he still cast the spell. He'd made his choice already. It was solidified, now, no turning back. He was ruined.

Minutes or hours or maybe even days later, he resurfaced. This time, he didn't ask for the potion, but Dobby pressed it to his lips anyway. Regulus was thirsty, so he drank.

"Avada-Kedavra." A flash of light. That was all it took, and Regulus was alone again. He'd always been, in a way, but he'd felt it less when Kreacher was there to lessen the load.

"You did this," his mother told him, gesturing to the body he couldn't tear his gaze from. He didn't try to argue: she was right. He'd been selfish. It was his fault Kreacher was dead, and he deserved the pain. He was poison, corroding everything he touched. He needed to stay away, far away. He should stay here. He didn't need to go back, not when he'd only make things worse.

"Regulus must wake up," Dobby pleaded. "Regulus told Dobby not to stop, but Dobby does not want to cause Regulus any more pain."

Regulus didn't want to be in any more pain, either. He didn't understand why he'd agreed to it in the first place. It'd be so much simpler if it stopped. If he just stayed here. He wasn't needed elsewhere anyway, and he was so tired. And thirsty. He needed water, and what Dobby was giving him wasn't water. Blindly, still seeing Kreacher in front of him, Regulus tried to move, to crawl his way to what he hoped was the edge of the island. He was pushed back by a firm hand on his shoulder, not with any strength, but enough so that in his weakened state he didn't have any of the wherewithal to resist. Before he knew it, the liquid was tearing its way down his throat again.

"Don't you see?" A voice asked him. See what? Regulus wanted to reply. He couldn't, but he didn't have to, because the voice answered itself soon after. "You belong here, Regulus. You know you do. You were made for the shadows. All you do is dampen the light. Poison it."

Regulus didn't like the words. They felt wrong, but more than that, they sounded right. It made sense, didn't it? He'd hurt so many people, and they'd all have been better off if he'd just left them alone. He should just stay here. If he went back, things would just get worse.

"Now you understand."

A flash, not the red or green from before, but a blinding white, one that looked the same colour his pain felt. "Regulus!" There were screams. Too many screams. He knew them all, knew what they wanted, knew it was his job to save them. But he couldn't. There were too many and he didn't know how. He didn't know where to start. He wasn't made for this. He didn't know how to fix things. He wasn't like them.

They were dying. They were all dying, and he'd be alone again, and it was all his fault.

"Stay, then," the voice whispered. "You want to save them? Then you have to stay."

It was right. He'd hurt them, but not if he stayed here, where he couldn't get to them. This was where he belonged.

"Do you understand?"

Yes, Regulus thought.

"Good." The voice let him go, and he was floating, still under the water, but this time he didn't need to escape. He belonged there.

The pain subsided. Not fully, but enough that Regulus could focus on his throat, on his need to drink. He dragged himself out of Dobby's grip, towards the water.

"Regulus!" Dobby called, trying and failing to drag him backwards. "Regulus, the locket. We needs to go. You can not drink the water."

Regulus shook his head, dragging himself further and further over the rock until, at last, his hand sank into the cool liquid. Gathering as much of the water as he could in his shaking palm, he drew it to his lips. It was ambrosia, and the relief was physical as he felt it soothe its way down his aching throat. Immediately, he stuck his hand back into the water, paying no mind when something scraped against it, just pulling it back up to get another gulp of water. Dobby was sobbing now. Regulus felt bad, but not enough so to pull himself away from this.

The next time he felt the claws, they weren't against his hand, but rather his thigh. More insistent this time. Pulling. Regulus was content to let them. He knew the water was where he needed to be; what he was meant for. Then, though, the strangest thing happened. The claws dug in a little too deep, hurt just a little too much, and his thoughts came back into focus.

This was wrong.

His leg was fully submerged now. He tried feebly to pull back. He couldn't. It was wrong, though, he was sure of it. James. That's what he remembered: James's hand on his thigh, gentle, always.

James.

James loved him. Regulus wanted to be with James, now. He wanted to be with his light, not here surrounded by a darkness he'd tried so hard to be free from. He loved James. He loved his brother, too. And his friends. He'd promised Evan he'd come back, he couldn't break that. More than that, he didn't want to.

Regulus fought harder, panicking when it didn't seem to make much difference. He didn't want to be in the water, that wasn't why he was here. He was here to make things better for them all, and he wasn't going to let anything stand in his way. Especially not some bewitched corpses.

Fire. Light. Heat. Something. he needed to get it away. He couldn't let it drag him under. There were more bodies now, they were everywhere. Shit. How could he have been so stupid? He'd nearly gotten them killed. He needed to think, and think quickly.

Regulus reached for his wand.

"Expecto Patronum." There was no force behind his words, his voice still suffocated from the pain, but he managed to speak them anyway. The darkness remained, and his heart sank. He'd never been able to cast it before, but he'd been so certain it'd work this time. He wanted to live. He was finally happy. How was that still not enough?

Then, just before he was pulled fully under, a blue light burst from his wand, bright enough that even Regulus had to squint at first. He blinked through it, struggling free from the inferius's grip, and using the remainder of his fading strength to pull himself back onto the rock. For a moment, all he could do was pant, and watch as the creature drove the inferi away. Once he realised what it was, he nearly laughed aloud.

A stag. Of course it was. The bastard couldn't stop protecting him, even when he wasn't here.

The thought brought a smile to his face, though that dropped quickly when he noticed Dobby, still curled with his head pressed between his knees, shoulders shaking.

"Dobby," Regulus rasped. "Dobby, it's me, it's alright."

Dobby stilled. He didn't look up. "Regulus?"

"That's right, it's me. We're alright."

Slowly, Dobby raised his head, posture still coiled in tension. Once he spotted Regulus, though, he relaxed, tears springing to his eyes once more.

"Regulus is saving Dobby."

"No," Regulus corrected, "I nearly killed you. I nearly killed us both. I'm sorry."

"Regulus casted a Patronus spell. Dobby has never seen a Patronus before." That made sense. He wasn't sure Lucius had ever been happy. Regulus didn't think he deserved to be.

"That's right," Regulus nodded. "Did I finish the potion?"

"Yes." Dobby shivered.

"Good. Thank you, Dobby. Just give me a minute, and I'll be ready to go back."

Regulus almost toppled over as he tried to stand, but he steadied himself on the rock, and pushed himself to his feet using his bloodied palm. As carefully as he could, he scooped the original locket from the basin, dropping his replica in its place.

He stumbled back over to Dobby, offering a hand. "Ready?"

Dobby didn't reply, grasping tight and pulling them away. The darkness was back, but just as soon it was gone again, and the first thing Regulus noticed was just how warm he felt. He hadn't realised it'd been so cold before.

"Regulus!" Oh. That was Barty. Regulus had just enough time to feel relieved before he felt his body slump, and the world fell dark.

Chapter 34: The Interrogation

James was worried.

He trusted Regulus, and didn't want to be the kind of partner who felt the need to know where his boyfriend was at all times. That was difficult, though, when he was in possession of a map that could tell him exactly where Regulus was at all times, coupled with the frighteningly obsessive urge to constantly check it for his position at any given moment. He tried to tell himself that his reasons were good ones. That it just made him smile when he spotted Regulus's name, and he could imagine all the things the boy might be up to. Even when he was just in the library, James sometimes drifted off thinking about him studying. About that little line that formed between his eyebrows when he was really focused on something. James had been focused on the map even more so, today, because Regulus was angry with him. He'd given him as much space as he could, and now he needed to fix things.

As much as he tried not to appear obsessive, it was hard to keep up the pretence of being normal about Regulus when he felt terror the moment his name disappeared from the map.

Sirius had been the first one he'd told, after keeping his worries to himself for all of five minutes. In hindsight, that hadn't been his smartest decision. Sirius's tendency to spiral was perhaps even worse than his own.

So, the both of them had been growing more and more worried for the best part of an hour, while Peter and Remus watched with increasing exasperation.

"There's nowhere else to go," James said, for what was probably the hundredth time.

"You said you showed him the way to Hogsmeade," Peter pointed out. "Couldn't he have just gone through the mirror?"

"Why would he do that?" Sirius asked. "This is Regulus. He doesn't just randomly go to Hogsmeade."

"Maybe he wanted a change of scenery?" Remus suggested. "Point is, he knows how to get out the castle, and he's able to decide that on his own. Wherever he is, he'll be fine."

"But he's got class," James said. "Regulus wouldn't skip class unless there was a good reason for it. It has to be important."

"Merlin." Pete shook his head. "Can't a bloke just skive for a day?" James wasn't listening anymore, though. Because this time, when he checked the map, Regulus's name was there again, sat in his dorm beside Barty and Evan's. Finally.

"False alarm," he called, already on his way out of the dorm. "Reg's back, he's in his dorm." Then, he took off through the castle, nearly slipping down the stairs in his haste, ignoring the collective groan behind him.

Once he reached the door the the common room, he checked he was alone and slipped the cloak over his head. Then waited. And waited. He was about ready to try and blast through the door himself, when finally a Slytherin girl approached. She offered a password that James forgot to pay attention to, then strode through the door. He followed close behind her, going straight for Regulus's dorm once he was inside.

He knocked at the door.

"Occupied!" Barty shouted. James liked Barty, but not enough so that he'd let the boy stop him from seeing Regulus. He knew Regulus was in there, which meant that everyone was — hopefully — decent. So, really, there was nothing keeping him out.

With that decided, he pushed the door open, marching into the room and searching for Regulus.

Barty and Evan tensed, gazes fixed on the door, for some reason, as it clicked shut behind him. Almost as though they were looking through him.

Oh. Right.

James shrugged the cloak off, laughing a little at their shock.

"What the fuck, James?" Evan gaped.

"Cool!" Barty leapt to his feet. "Is that an invisibility cloak? Can I try it?"

"Sure," James shrugged, "as long as I can talk to Reg."

Barty and Evan shared a look.

"What is it?" James asked. "Is he sleeping? Should I come back later?"

"Kind of," Evan responded. James frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"He passed out," Barty supplied.

"What?" James's nails dug into his thighs through the thinning fabric of his pockets. "What happened? Where did he go?"

Evan's eyes narrowed. "How do you—"

"We don't know," Barty replied. "He told Evan he had something he needed to do, then he left. He passed out as soon as he got back. We don't know."

"He told Evan?" James directed his anger to the man in question. "Why did you let him go?"

Evan rolled his eyes. "I'm not his fucking keeper. Regulus can make choices for himself."

"But—"

"Besides, he wouldn't let me. And I made him promise to come back." Evan's voice softened a little, and James felt the anger drain out of him, replaced by a deep, gnawing worry. He knew it wasn't Evan's fault, not really, that it was Regulus's decision where he went. He just hated that Regulus had apparently been in danger, and he hadn't even known, let alone been able to help.

"Right." James's gaze darted to the drawn curtains around Regulus's bed. "Can I see him?"

Evan shrugged. "I don't think it'd do any harm."

With permission given, James pulled back Regulus's curtain, breath catching when he saw his boyfriend. He looked so pale, even more so than usual, and he had fucking bandages around his arm and leg.

"You didn't say he was hurt." James's voice wobbled, fist clenching in the curtain. Was this his fault? Maybe Regulus would've come to him if James hadn't upset him the day before. Maybe he could've helped.

"Oi, James." Barty's hand settled on his shoulder, firm. Grounding. "He'll be fine. He just needs a little rest."

"Right." James swallowed, unable to tear his gaze away. "His injuries. How bad…"

"Nothing that won't heal."

"Right," he repeated. "Can I…"

"Yeah," Barty agreed. "We'll wait for him together, yeah?"

"Thank you."

"We're just happy someone else cares about our Reg, aren't we, Rosie?"

"I'm just happy we don't have to listen to his pining anymore," Evan replied.

James blinked. "Wait, he talked about me?"

"Still does. All the fucking time." Evan smirked. "For what it's worth, I thought it was sweet you wanted to wait. You know, to have sex again."

Barty snorted. "I thought you were being stupid." James felt his face flare red, and he buried it in his hands with a groan while Barty and Evan laughed at his misery.

"Say, James?"

"What, Barty?" He didn't look up. He had a bad feeling about this.

"Is your dick actually as big as Reg says it is? Or was he just exaggerating?" The noise James let out in response to that question was truly and utterly pitiful.

"Barty," Evan reprimanded, "that's rude." Oh, thank Merlin. "Really, though, how big is it?"

James was going to die. He was going to combust on the spot and vanish into a cloud of ash, never to be seen again. Once Evan and Barty had seemingly calmed down a little, he peeked through his fingers. He didn't want any more embarrassing questions thrown his way, but the fact that Regulus had clearly told them both so much did, admittedly, make him curious.

"…What else did he say?" Barty flashed a grin, and James realised just how stupid that question was. "Not about sex," he rushed to clarify, then paused. "Or, well, maybe." They certainly had no problems in that department on his end, but what if Regulus did, and he was just good at hiding it? If there was something wrong then James wanted to know, so he could fix it. "I just mean what does he say about me? Does he seem happy?"

Barty rolled his eyes with a scoff. "Really? I never would've pegged you for someone with self-esteem issues."

"Oh, I don't—"

"I don't know," Evan said, cutting him off without acknowledging that he'd even spoken. "Nobody can be that self-assured, definitely feels like he's overcompensating."

"I'm not—"

"Maybe you're right," Barty hummed, finally looking to him. "The five worst things about yourself. Go."

Before James had to navigate his way out of that question, a low, pained groan came from behind Regulus's curtains, something that sounded remarkably like a 'fuck's sake', or something of the kind. Immediately, James's brain emptied of any thought other than Regulus. It was a state of mind he was used to by now.

Almost in unison, the three of them sprung to their feet, rushing towards Regulus as though whatever danger he'd been facing was in the present, not the past.

"You fucking bastard," Evan told him, the moment the curtain was drawn. Regulus squinted up at them, palms pressed on either side of his skull.

"I need—"

"On it," Barty nodded, scampering over to the table.

"Do you want spells?" Evan asked.

"What?" James's eyes roved over Regulus's bandaged form. "You didn't heal him already? Why not?"

Evan glared.

"No," Regulus replied, shutting off James's next line of questioning. "Just a potion."

Evan nodded, ducking under the bed and searching for what was, presumably, a potion for the pain. James hated that the place to find one of those was apparently under Regulus's bed.

"Why don't you want to be healed?" James asked, hand instinctively twisting around his wand. "It won't hurt, you know?"

"Leave it," Barty instructed, before Regulus had a chance to formulate his own reply. He pushed past James, water in hand. Regulus reached a shaky hand out for the cup, thanking Barty.

"Easy does it," Barty murmured, keeping a critical eye on Regulus as he drank. Then, to James, "Now isn't the time, Potter."

James couldn't do anything but nod, helpless as he watched Evan and Barty work in tandem to anticipate Regulus's every need.

Once they looked satisfied, and Regulus seemed to be in much less pain, the atmosphere flipped.

"What the fuck, Regulus," Evan hissed. "You said you'd be fine. You promised."

"No, I didn't. I said I'd come back."

"Where the fuck even were you?" Barty asked. He was fiddling with his wand, bending it enough that James worried it would snap. "More importantly, why couldn't we come with?"

"There was only room for one." Regulus's lips twisted, then, without warning, he slid from the bed, rolling his shoulders as he stood upright. James, instinctively, shot his arms out to hold him steady. He realised halfway through the gesture that Regulus didn't actually need help, and was left standing with his arms awkwardly hovering beside the man's hips before he remembered himself and lowered them.

"You should be in bed," Barty told him, and James was inclined to agree.

"I'm fine," Regulus retorted. "Besides, I only want to have to say this once, and I have no doubt that you lot will bother me for information as long as I stay in that bed."

"Fair," Barty shrugged, Evan nodding along with him.

"James, who else did Dumbledore talk to?" Fuck. That wasn't a conversation he wanted to have while his boyfriend was injured, especially considering how it went the last time. Still, Regulus had asked, so he had no option but to answer.

"Sirius," he listed. "Remus, Peter, Lily, Mary, Marlene and Dorcas."

Regulus's gaze sharpened. "Meadowes?"

"Yeah."

"Huh." He seemed to file that away, before reverting to his previous demeanour. "Right. I'll get Dorcas. James, you get everyone else. Except MacDonald."

"Alright," James nodded, "do you want me to bring them here?"

Regulus tilted his head a little, then looked to Evan. "Which is more discreet, Slytherin or Gryffindor?"

"Neither."

"If you had to choose."

"Slytherin, then," Evan decided. "They'll gossip just the same, but not without good reason to anyone outside the house."

"Right. Here then, James. Password's pride."

"On it."

It didn't take James very long to corral the troops. Largely, that was because most of them were in the common room; Remus and Marlene were the only ones in class, and luckily they were both the sort that could be easily convinced to leave. Remus, as a rule, wouldn't skip class for anything he deemed unimportant, but they'd come up with a signal to account for this. If the situation wasn't urgent and they just needed to see Remus outside of class, one of them would make a barking noise in the corridor, which his werewolf hearing would be able to pick up. If it was urgent, they howled.

So, dutifully, James made a howling noise outside the classroom. Barely ten seconds later, Remus came sprinting out, hand clutched tight around the strap of his messenger bag. "What happened? Is it Sirius? Pete?"

"No," James reassured him quickly, "we're all fine." That gave Remus pause.

"What is it then?"

"Regulus was hurt, he went off to do something or other, and now he needs to speak to us."

"Us as in…"

"Everyone Dumbledore talked to."

"Is it urgent?" Remus glanced back to the classroom, where the professor was undoubtedly droning on about some strange thing to do with numbers. James had never understood why they were so important, but at least Remus seemed to enjoy the subject. He and Marlene were the only Gryffindors who'd decided to take it in their year.

Right. Marlene.

"It is," James told him firmly, satisfied when Remus just nodded in acceptance. "One more thing."

Remus sighed. "You want me to get Marlene, don't you?"

"Please?" James asked sheepishly. "I'd do it, only you're meant to be in class and all, so it makes more sense for you to."

"Fine." A minute later, Remus exited the classroom again, followed by a very confused-looking Marlene.

"James? Does Dumbledore want to see you too?"

"Not Dumbledore."

"But Remus said—"

"I'll explain later," James promised, "but we need to get the others."

So, they made their final stop at Gryffindor common room, where they picked up the others — Mary included, much to his delight — before descending all the way back down the castle to the dungeons, slightly out of breath because James liked to walk quickly and none of them had asked him to slow down, so he hadn't.

"Pride," James told the door, leading the group into the common room and pointedly refusing to make eye contact with any of the Slytherins who almost invariably shot glares their way. That was fine. They'd been prepared for it. Just as long as none of them went any further than that, there'd be no real trouble.

Much to his relief, none of them did. The Slytherins kept their distance, and soon they were back at Regulus's dorm, James ushering the rest into the room. There wasn't enough room for everyone to sit on the beds, so James volunteered himself to the floor, leaning against the wall. Regulus stayed stood, hands tucked in his pockets as he waited for everyone to get settled.

"What are we doing here?" Dorcas asked, murmurs of agreement echoing around the room.

"Right," Regulus nodded, "so—" he paused. "Macdonald. Why are you here?"

Mary frowned, lacing her fingers together with Lily's. "You invited me."

"You said yes to Dumbledore?"

Mary lifted a shoulder. "Not really, but I am going to help."

Regulus shrugged, seeming to take that as enough of an answer. "Alright then. So, earlier today I caught news of an item Voldemort was hiding."

"An item?" Sirius asked. "What—"

"Listen," Regulus snapped. To Sirius's credit, he did settle back down at Remus's side, paying attention. "As I was saying, I caught news of an item Voldemort was trying to keep hidden. It turned out to be a Horcrux."

Remus, Sirius, Lily and Evan gasped. The rest turned to them, trying to figure out what exactly a Horcrux was.

"Dark magic," Remus told them. "Really dark. If you kill someone, you can use that to tear off a part of your soul and put it into something else. It means that if one part of you is killed, the rest stays alive."

"Exactly," Regulus nodded. "Thank you, Lupin."

"Do you know where it is?" Dorcas asked, so far forward on the bed that she was close to falling off the edge. "How do we destroy it?"

Regulus's lips twitched a little at the edges, barely perceptible.

Oh.

He'd found it. That must've been where he went. James's heart juddered again in a sort of posthumous fear from knowing just how much danger the man he loved had really been in, but once that cleared up all he felt was pride.

"I found it," Regulus confirmed. James wanted to kiss him.

"Alright," Marlene said, looking almost as invigorated by the prospect as Dorcas. "Let's go, then. Why are we sitting around here?"

Regulus reached into his pocket, pulling out a long silver chain, pendant hanging heavy at the base. James felt himself shiver, knowing something wasn't quite right but not able to tell exactly what. The others seemed to feel something similar, everyone but Regulus growing warier at the sight of it.

"Well," Lily smiled nervously, "that definitely feels like a Horcrux."

"Why does it feel like that?" Peter asked. He'd crossed his arms over himself, as though they could protect him from it.

"Dark magic," Regulus told him. "As far as I've heard, it can only be destroyed with Fiendfyre or Basilisk venom. Does anyone know another way?" Nobody spoke up. "Right, then," Regulus said with a sigh, "Fiendfyre it is." He turned, much to James's horror, as though to exit the room.

"Wait a minute!" Evan called, "you haven't told us what happened to you yet." James wasn't looking at Sirius, but he could practically hear his head whip round. "What does he mean? Something happened to you?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," James argued, "I saw the bandages."

"Bandages?!"

"Sirius, shut up." Regulus ran a hand over his face. "Fine. There was a potion. It made me weak. I touched the water. There were Inferi in it. I scared them off. We apparated away." He looked around the room. "Any more questions?" Pretty much everyone spoke in unison, and the sounds drowned each other out into an unintelligible mess of noise.

"Alright," Regulus interrupted, raising his voice over the noise. He sat down on the floor, opposite James, still much too far away. "Each of you gets one question." He pointed to his left. "Evan, you're first."

Evan and Barty whispered to each other for a few seconds, before Evan asked his question aloud.

"What was the potion?"

Regulus grimaced, eyes drifting down to the floor. James itched with the urge to comfort him, to gather him in his arms and keep him there, but something told him that wasn't what Regulus wanted right now, so he tried to resist the urge, instead waiting desperately for any information the man deemed fit to share with them.

"Emerald Potion. Barty?"

"Hold on," Lily said, "you don't mean the Drink of Despair?" Fuck. James hadn't known what an Emerald potion was, but he really hoped it wasn't that. Not that he knew what a Drink of Despair was either, only that it definitely couldn't mean anything good.

Regulus nodded, then called for Barty's question again. Barty didn't respond; he was looking to Lily instead.

"What's that?"

Lily shuddered. "It's awful. Like the cruciatus in a potion. It makes you see things. Your worst fears come to life."

"Yes," Regulus agreed, "shall we move on?"

"No," Sirius protested, "we need to talk about this. What did you see? It's your worst fucking fears, Reggie, you don't just move on from that."

Regulus met his brother's eye. "I'll talk about it, just not now."

"But—"

"Sirius," James said, "leave it."

"But he—"

"It's not the time," he stressed. He caught Barty's eye, receiving a short nod of approval.

"Anyway," Barty clapped his hands together, "my question. How'd you scare them off?"

Regulus, much to James's surprise, blushed. Not much — he never did — but the flush was present nonetheless, a pretty pink staining his pale skin.

"Patronus."

"You did?" Evan asked, grinning.

"Reggie!" Sirius practically squealed. "You never told me you could summon a Patronus!"

"It's new," Regulus told him.

"How new?"

"First time."

Marlene snorted. "Your first time thinking of a happy enough memory for a Patronus was after drinking a creepy torture potion?"

"Sounds about right," Barty grinned. "Reg's always been an unconventional one."

"And you aren't?" Regulus shot back.

"Oh, no, I'm definitely worse," Barty agreed, "but that doesn't make you any better."

"We should have a party," Sirius decided.

"No."

"Oh, come on, Reggie, we have to celebrate somehow!"

Remus snorted. "You weren't even this excited when you first managed one."

"Wait," Regulus asked, "you can cast a Patronus?" For all his earlier dismissal, Regulus seemed nearly as enamoured by the idea of his brother's Patronus as Sirius had.

Sirius hummed. "It's because of you, you know."

"What?"

"I think about you. When I cast it."

And Regulus just… stared. Mouth slightly agape. It took Evan slapping him on the back of his head to get him to refocus.

"Right." Regulus swallowed. "That's fine, that's— oh, fuck you!"

"Pardon?"

"You can't just say that! Not when— not—" he gestured around, jaw ticking in frustration. Sirius seemed to get it anyway, and grinned.

"Aww. Am I making poor emotionally-repressed Reggie feel things?"

"Fuck you."

"That's more like it." Sirius paused. "What did you think about?"

"None of your business."

"Fine." Sirius crossed his arms. "That's my question, then."

"What?"

"You said we all get a question. That's mine."

Regulus struggled with this for a bit, before finally tilting his head back with a groan. James's gaze, unashamedly, zeroed in on his neck.

"I don't know."

"You have to answer it," Sirius argued, "you said I got a question!"

"I just did, asshole."

"Oh, please, like I'm meant to believe you don't even know your own happiest memory." Regulus squeezed his eyes shut.

"He's serious," James realised.

"No, I'm—"

"Hold on," Lily interrupted with a grin, propping her head above Mary's. "You mean you cast a Patronus from a memory you can't even access yourself? That's so cool. And also slightly worrying, I suppose."

Barty cackled. "I take back what I said before. You might just be worse than I am."

"Can we just move on?" Regulus begged.

"Alright." Dorcas gave him an assessing look, as though trying to decide exactly where to strike. "How did you know about the Horcrux?"

Regulus didn't smile, but he did at least meet her gaze. "At least one of you is asking the right questions. I needed to say this anyway, actually."

Dorcas nodded, not interrupting.

"Alright, so the Malfoy's ex-house-elf told me about the locket, but that's not the bit you need to know. I talked to Dumbledore about the Horcruxes. He thinks there's six."

The room fell quiet, the only sound James's foot anxiously tapping against the floor, though even that was weaker than usual. Six Horcruxes. Six parts of a soul. If killing Voldemort had been difficult before, it was damn near impossible now.

Weirdly, that only made him want to try harder.

Dorcas's fingers curled into the duvet, eyes narrowing. Her eyes were a deep, rich brown. James had thought it was a pretty colour at first, but like this they looked nearly black. There was nothing gentle about her now, and somehow she looked more of herself than she had ever done.

"Dumbledore didn't tell us that."

"There's a lot he didn't tell you." Regulus looked between them. "Look, I'm not going to tell you not to listen to Dumbledore, but you need to know he's playing his own game, and that won't always end with him on your side. Listen to him, by all means, and go along with an idea if you agree with it, but be careful. Just be smart, use your discretion, and say no if you need to. He doesn't know everything, and he's just as capable of making mistakes as the rest of us."

"Can we listen to you?" Sirius asked.

"What?"

"You seem to know more than any of us about all of this. It's fucking insane, actually. I mean, you just have a Horcrux now? You managed to hunt it down by yourself? You should be proud, Reggie, honestly. And I think you're right. I trust you far more than I trust him, so there's that. How about you be our new leader? I know the control freak in you'd like it." James thoroughly agreed, though he may have been a bit biased. Regulus could do pretty much anything and he'd feel the need to worship him for it. This being something that actually was insanely impressive was only an added benefit.

"I don't want to be a leader, I just want you to be smart about who you take orders from."

"I don't know." Marlene crossed her legs over one another, then recrossed them the other way. "Sirius has a point. I want to end this war, but we need a leader to do that. Seeing as Dumbledore isn't our most trusted option, it may as well be you."

"I—"

"How about we hold a vote?" Barty suggested. "All in favour of Reg being our new leader." All hands raised, bar Regulus's own.

"Great!" Barty slapped him on the back. "You're our new leader, Reggie!"

"I didn't agree to that."

Peter snorted. "Who gave you a choice?"

Regulus looked around, as though somebody would suddenly decide to help him. Predictably, nobody did.

"Fine. My first command as leader is for you all to piss off and let me destroy this locket."

"Nu-uh," Marlene argued. "You said we all got a question, so your first role as leader will be to answer mine.

"Fine. Make it quick."

"Thank you. How did you get the Malfoys' house-elf to help you?"

Regulus 's expression turned strained. "Voldemort used him to test the defences, not realising house-elves could apparate out. Dobby came to me because he knew I had been kind to Kreacher."

"Wait, had been?" Sirius asked. "You don't keep in contact with him?"

Oh. James remembered Regulus telling him about this. Telling him—

"Kreacher's dead. Mother killed him for my failures."

"Shit, Reggie." Sirius sucked in a harsh breath. "Are you—"

"Next question." Nobody argued.

"Alright then," Lily said, "what's your Patronus?" That seemed to do a good job at snapping Regulus out of his rumination. A strangely good one, surprisingly, if the way his head jerked up was any sign.

After a moment, he mumbled something, not quite loud enough to be heard.

"Come on, Reggie," Sirius said with a roll of his eyes. "Don't worry, we won't judge you. Even if it's a worm."

"Oh, I hope it's a worm," Barty said, eyes lighting up. "Reg, please tell me it's a worm."

"It's a stag."

James choked on his inhale, spit catching in his throat.

A stag.

Regulus's Patronus was a stag.

As in James's animagus; as in his own Patronus.

Regulus said he loved him, and that was so fucking good, and he still hadn't managed to come down from that high — not that he ever wanted to — but this was somehow even worse. It was confirmation, proof in a way that just couldn't be faked, that Regulus really did feel the same as he did. Proof that they belonged to each other.

James stood, fully intending to go over to Regulus and take whatever he was allowed, kiss and touch until there was no doubt anymore as to who they both belonged to. Somehow, though, the stares penetrated through his Regulus-induced state of delirium, forcing him to recognise that now was, maybe, not quite the time. Still, he couldn't torture himself by remaining so far away, and he had already stood up, so he allowed himself to cross the small space and settle down beside his boyfriend who, much to his delight, leant into him. James brought his hand up, toying with Regulus's curls and fighting the urge to bury his head into his boyfriend's lovely exposed neck and bite until he made his mark.

"Ew," Sirius said, deadpan. Remus chuckled.

"Really, love? Do you want to tell everyone what your Patronus is?"

"No."

Regulus shifted against James's chest. "Come on, Siri. By the sound of it, you have no right to make fun of me. What is Remus's Patronus, anyway?"

Remus grinned. "Oh, it's not mine he's got."

The rest of the Gryffindors, all of whom had watched Sirius form a Patronus, were trying and failing to fight back their laughter. James didn't even attempt to, resting his head on top of Regulus's as he waited for the chaos to unfold, frowning when his gaze caught again on the bandage swallowing the Slytherin's arm.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not the only one with James's stag."

Regulus froze, nails burying into James's arm and threatening to draw blood. "What?"

"Merlin," Peter wheezed, "both of them. Do you reckon it's a Black thing? Regulus," he asked, "be honest. Have you ever seen your parents summon a Patronus?"

Regulus didn't spare him a glance. "Sirius," he hissed instead, "explain. Now."

"Don't worry," Barty huffed, before Sirius, or indeed Remus, had a chance to respond. "It can be platonic too, you know? I looked it up in fifth year when—" he cut himself off, glancing to Evan. Blushing, which James hadn't even known he was capable of. "Well, yeah. Platonic."

"Don't worry, Reggie," Sirius agreed, "James loves you, even if you'll always be second to his true soulmate."

"I hate you."

"You don't."

"Next question," Regulus demanded. He shifted a little further into James's lap, something James definitely wasn't going to complain about.

"Do you need any help?" Mary asked. "With the healing." James smiled. He shouldn't have expected anything less, really. It was why Mary and Lily suited so well. Lily could be gentle, sure, and she was ruthlessly kind, but beneath it all she burned, an unstoppable force that refused to settle. Mary, on the other hand, was the only one that ever could calm her. She listened, took Lily in and knew her — truly knew her. Knew her well enough that she could soothe her with one word. A touch, sometimes. It went the other way, too. When Mary took on too much, twisted herself into knots trying to manage it all, Lily would force the tangle apart: burn it down until only the core remained, and that was all there was left to focus on.

"No," Regulus replied immediately. Sharply. Then, he bit his lip, grimacing a little. "Thank you, but no. I'll be fine."

"Alright," Mary shrugged, looking over to Remus, who was already beginning a question of his own.

"Will you tell us about the next one?"

"Reg," Evan warned, when Regulus took too long to respond.

"Fine," Regulus eventually agreed. "When I find the next Horcrux, I'll tell you."

Remus's eyes narrowed. "As soon as you know about it?"

Regulus glanced up at James, who responded with a minute nod of his head. He wasn't sure what, exactly, Regulus needed his encouragement for, but he was happy to offer it nonetheless.

"Fine. As soon as I know." Nobody spoke for a moment and, apparently, Regulus felt that moment was too long. "Pettigrew. Your question."

"Right, yeah," Peter nodded. His legs were crossed haphazardly over each other, a hand gripped tight around each ankle. "Do you—" Peter hesitated, glancing around the room before finally focusing back on Regulus. He took a breath. "Do you think he would've killed you, if he found you?"

"Obviously," Evan muttered, likely quietly enough that it wouldn't carry to Peter's side of the room.

"Of course he would've," Regulus said, voice thick with confusion. "It's Voldemort. He would've killed me for far less than that."

"Right," Peter nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "That's what I thought, that's— yeah, that makes sense. Of course he would."

"Right." Regulus watched Peter a moment longer before suddenly pushing to his feet. "Wish me luck."

Everyone protested at that, various iterations of commands for Regulus to sit back down and to at least let them come with him, James pointing out that he hadn't actually had his question yet. Dorcas was the loudest.

"Don't be stupid." That caught Regulus's attention. He turned to her, burying his hands in his pockets.

"Stupid? Tell me, Meadowes, how is destroying part of the Dark Lord's soul stupid to you?"

"Please," Dorcas huffed, "you said there's more of them, and that you're not sure how best to destroy them yet. It's stupid to rush it when you have no reason to; it's not going to kill Voldemort any faster if you get rid of this Horcrux now."

"She's right, Regulus," Sirius agreed, followed by various other sounds of affirmation throughout the room.

"Yeah," Barty nodded, "and I want to do the fire. You know how much I love fire, Reg. You wouldn't deprive me of that, would you?"

Regulus made a sound low in his throat, of frustration, or annoyance, or, more likely, both.

"Look," Sirius said. Regulus, reticently, met his eye. "What you've just done? It's fucking insane, alright. In a good way, but also a bad one because you nearly died and I really can't deal with that happening again. But you should be proud. We all know how much you've done, and we're happy to listen to you. But if we listen to you, then you should listen to us too, yeah? And I don't mean you have to do what we say, just that you should listen, at least."

"Fine." Regulus nodded once to Sirius, features softening infinitesimally. "I won't destroy it yet, not until we've done more research. But I'm keeping ahold of it."

"Fair."

Regulus paused, smirking a little. "And I get to do the fire."

"What?!" Barty protested. "You said I could do it!"

"No, he didn't." Evan rolled his eyes.

After a little more argument which, ultimately, ended with Regulus getting exactly what he wanted, the conversation petered out, and they began to disperse. James followed Regulus, obviously, nearly laughing aloud when he realised where they were going.

It was their place, he supposed. The dusty, abandoned corridor where everything had started. The one going nowhere; the one that had led them right where they were supposed to be.

"Going to jinx me again, Reg?" James grinned, laughing when Regulus looked back at him with a smile of his own.

"Probably, if you're still as bad of a dueller as you used to be, Potter."

James gasped, slamming a hand dramatically over his heart. He'd been a little too violent, but he didn't wince, far too dedicated to his craft.

"I'll have you know I managed to cut you, Black."

"And I could've killed you if I'd wanted to," Regulus shrugged. "Count yourself lucky I just left you immobilised."

James hummed. "That was quite nice of you, actually. I should've realised that you couldn't be all that evil."

"Please," Regulus huffed, "I just didn't want to get kicked out of school for hurting the precious Golden Boy."

"Sure, sure." James took a step closer. He could feel Regulus's breath, the warmth burrowing under his skin, settling down and making a home for itself. "And now?"

"Now, I can think of other things I'd much rather do."

That was all it took. The love and pride and fear that'd wrapped together into a tight coil down James's spine snapped, and he surged forward to meet Regulus, who was already moving, a force in himself. They collided, and James groaned in relief, burying his hands in Regulus's hair and tugging closer, closer, closer, ignoring the fact that there was nowhere left to go. He wished there was. He wanted to split himself open, stitch their souls together until they could never again be apart. Until Regulus could never leave him again.

"You're so hot," James babbled between kisses. "Fuck, Reg, you're so smart. And pretty. And brave. And mine, all mine. Can't believe you've got my Patronus. Can't believe—"

"Shut up," Regulus growled, biting James's lip hard enough to make him whimper. James, having lost his train of thought entirely to the feel of it, bit back, until he could taste the iron from their blood mixing together. Neither of them pulled back. He didn't know that he'd ever be able to pull himself away, honestly; he was floating, off somewhere far above his usual sorry existence, and he never wanted to come back down.

It was a bit of a blow, then, when his hand moved to Regulus's arm, only to be met with the soft material of a bandage.

"Shit." James pulled back, nearly giving in again when Regulus tried to chase him. "No, Reg, wait."

"What is it?" Regulus asked, eyes flicking over him, cataloguing him by the atom.

"You're hurt," James explained.

"Hardly," Regulus dismissed, stepping forward again.

"No, wait, just— let me help, yeah? I can heal you."

James might not have noticed the way Regulus tensed, had he not spent so long learning to read him. He liked to think, by now, that he could read Regulus's body as well as his own.

He waited, letting Regulus bring himself back down, watching him flicker between fear and determination and, eventually, resolution.

"Mother made me hide the bruises," he told James, cold as anything, except for the way his lower lip shook, just a little. "She said they were a sign of weakness. I don't want them because they hurt, but—"

"It's a choice," James realised. "A way of separating yourself from them."

"Yes."

"Alright." James ran his tongue over his teeth, resting his hand back on Regulus's arm, careful not to press too harshly through the bandages. "Can I kiss you again?"

Regulus blinked, then laughed, loud and bright and free. "Yes, James, you can kiss me."

"Good." James took one step at a time, walking them both back until Regulus bumped up against the wall of the corridor. Then, he leaned back in, tilting his head down and briefly brushing their noses together before he gave into Regulus's silent demand for a kiss. They didn't come up for air for a long, long while.

Chapter 35: New Beginnings

After the cave, everything happened quickly.

Firstly, they talked. All of them. It didn't take them long to decide to leave Hogwarts — everyone would go, along with Pandora who, apparently, was now a close friend of Mary's. And Lily's, by proxy. Sirius in particular had been wary of letting someone else into their group at first, droning on and on about the dangers of betrayal, but that hadn't lasted very long after they'd been introduced properly to Pandora. James knew well not to judge a book by its cover, having had that drilled into him over and over since he'd been a remarkably trusting (or naive, as Marlene had liked to call it) child. Still, and he was sure the others would agree, there was nothing remotely dangerous about Pandora. She was a little strange, yes, just like the rest of them, but in the sort of way that set you at ease around her, and made it very simple just to give in and be yourself. The part he didn't understand was why she wanted to throw everything away and leave Hogwarts with a group of near-strangers, but it was her decision in the end, and he wasn't going to question her about it.

Secondly, they informed the school of their choice. Barty and Pandora posed the biggest problem here, since they were still sixteen. For the rest of them, the simple fact that they were of age meant that their choices were their own, and nobody else could be informed of them without their consent. Legally, Barty and Pandora were obligated to gain parental permission to drop out of school. They managed to circumvent this due to a very specific set of reasons.

Number one: Dumbledore was actually strangely onboard with the idea, so offered little pushback beyond that he was legally obligated to give.

Number two: Pandora, apparently, had no legal guardians. James was sure that must be down to some floor in the system, and most certainly should not be allowed, but it did mean that she had nobody to make her stay in school.

Number three: Barty was suspiciously good at forging letters, and due to the aforementioned reason number one, Dumbledore did nothing to check their validity.

So, it was no time at all before they were getting ready to head off to their new home. All that remained before that was to talk to McGonagall. While not an essential, James didn't want to leave without saying goodbye, and neither did the rest of the Gryffindors. Meaning that, once again, the group of them crowded into the woman's office, there to give her news she didn't want to hear. There was a little more room this time, since Dorcas had opted not to join them, but James still ended up pressed dangerously close to the fire.

"We're leaving," Remus told her, voice thick with guilt. None of them had wanted to be the one to say it, and it always seemed to be him who picked up the slack.

"Leaving?" She narrowed her eyes. "Leaving where?"

"To fight Voldemort."

A pause. The fire grew louder, or maybe it was just more present, now, considering there was nothing left to drown it out. The group of them shared one held breath, splitting the tension between them but still not managing to soften its edge.

"I see." McGonagall shut her eyes, as though that'd be enough to hide the pain. It wasn't. James could read it in every muscle on her face, the way her hand twitched ever so slightly against the wood of the desk, before curling around the handle of her mug. He could read it in the way a bolt of sunlight shone through the window, settling just to the side of her. In the way she didn't shift to greet it like she usually would, choosing instead to remain in the shade.

It hit him then, just like the last time, exactly how much they'd gotten themselves into. It was absurd. They were insane. More so than last time, probably, because this time they wouldn't even depend on adult supervision. It did feel better now, at least, as far as James was concerned. Because this time it was Regulus they depended on, and James trusted him with all that he was.

Still, he could see McGonagall's issue.

But, after taking a moment, McGonagall smiled. It was hesitant, regretful of itself already, but it was there regardless.

"I see." She took a breath. Shifted to the light, subconsciously James was sure, just like always. He wondered whether she liked the warmth so much because of her animagus, then whether Regulus would like the sun as much. He'd have to ask. There was one room in the house he'd found them that had a tall, arching window, curving out a little to better accommodate the sun between it. He'd thought of Remus immediately, knowing how the man liked to sit by the window with his book, but he might have to reconsider if Regulus would like it as much as he suspected. It'd probably be for the better anyway; Sirius would be with Remus. Sirius preferred to sleep in pitch-black, and it would be hard to find curtains that'd fully block the light out.

"We're sorry," Lily said, "we'd love to stay, truly, but—"

"You have to fight," McGonagall finished for her. "I know, Miss Evans, I would expect nothing less." She shook her head fondly. "Gryffindors, the lot of you."

"Not the lot of us," Sirius piped up. He hadn't had the chance to talk to McGonagall about Regulus yet, but the woman had been there through the worst of his family struggles. She had known, and she had listened, even when Sirius hadn't said it out loud. When even James hadn't known how bad it was. She'd noticed, and cared, as much as proper procedure would let her without anything concrete. Sometimes more. "Reggie's coming, too. And his friends. And Pandora. Oh, and Dorcas, of course."

She did a double take. "Reggie? As in Regulus Black? Your brother?"

"Haven't you heard?" Sirius smiled, twisting a lock of his hair around a finger. "He's good, now."

"So it was real." She stared past them for a moment, before her gaze became clear again. James, instinctively, glanced back to check what she'd been looking at, but nothing was there. "And you are sure about his loyalties, Mr Black?"

"More than," Sirius confirmed. "I'd trust him with my life." He glanced around the room. "With our lives."

"Good," Marlene said, "because that's exactly what you're doing."

Peter barked out a nervous laugh, gripping his left wrist tight with his other hand.

"I can vouch for him too," James added, eager to be included. McGonagall raised an eyebrow.

"If the rumours are indeed true, Mr Potter, then you are hardly a reliable source." A ripple of laughter raised at that, all at his expense, but he just grinned through the heat he felt rise up his neck, winking.

"Ah, but Professor, there's a reason for the rumours."

Sirius's laughter stopped.

"You really want to go there, James? What did you say, again, about how it started?"

"No, no," James rushed, doing his very best to backpedal. "I didn't— never mind, let's just move on, yeah? I'm not a reliable source, got it." To his great relief, after a little more prodding, the subject was dropped, and he could go back to his previous occupation of shifting around a bit, trying not to let any part of his trousers get too hot by the fire lest they set ablaze.

"So," McGonagall said, serious once more. She stood from her chair. "The seven of you are leaving soon, I suppose?" Nodding. "And will not be continuing with your education?" Shaking of heads, this time, Remus and Lily's notably less enthusiastic than the rest. "Well then, I suppose I will have to tell you to return."

"Return?" Mary asked.

"You heard me, Miss Macdonald." A smile. One that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Once the seven of you are done doing whatever it is you feel you need to, you will be returning here to complete your education. As will the others that are leaving with you."

Done. Once they were done defeating Voldemort. It seemed such a distant concept, one James hadn't even let himself consider. All he was was a weapon, and so there was no reason to think of his aftermath, not when it seemed so far away. Despite that, though, the words warmed something in him. He felt like he'd moved into the sun, too. Then, he felt a burning sensation and realised his trousers had, in fact, caught fire. He whispered a spell to put it out, rolling his eyes at his friends' chuckles, and wondered whether that was all the warmth had been.

He didn't think it was.

"Thank you, Professor," he said earnestly. "We'll be back." He meant it. Whatever it took, he was a Potter, and Potters did not leave people behind. They'd do what they needed to do, then he'd drag them back here. Every last one of them.

"I would expect nothing less from you, Mr Potter." She'd said that to him before, mostly out of exasperation with a prank taken too far, but occasionally in transfiguration when he'd managed a spell the others were still struggling to cast. This sounded more like the latter. Praise rather than admonishment, wrapped in the fondness that had always come with both.

Once McGonagall had been informed, all that was left was the actual moving. Some of them decided to tell their parents. Not the full story, but a varying concoction of carefully crafted mistruths. James… didn't. Neither did Sirius. If James's parents knew what they were doing, they would insist on helping, and he refused to do that to them. They were so happy where they were, and both he and Sirius refused to be the ones to drag them out of that bubble. So, they decided that they'd just have to find some way to cover up their absence, and that way eventually came to them in the form of Melissa Jones, a particularly excitable first-year who, much to Sirius's distaste, sought them out each and every time they happened to be in the common room to nurture an impressive fascination with Remus. Remus, being the kind-hearted man that he was, did nothing to discourage her affections, which meant she kept coming to them, no matter how much Sirius tried to make her stop.

"Say, Melissa?" James asked that night. They'd decided to spend it together in the common room. Have a sleepover, of sorts, to commemorate the memories made there. It was nice to let everything slow down for a while, not having to think of anything but the gentle crackle of the fire, and the soft memories that played to its tune.

"Hmm?" Melissa asked. She'd decided to join them, claiming it was so Lily could do her hair, but Lily had finished over an hour ago now, and she still hadn't left. Instead, she had been staring, transfixed, at Remus as he obliviously flicked through the pages of a book. Sirius had been whining to James about how weird it was since she'd started, and he might have been inclined to agree had he not caught Sirius doing the exact same thing startlingly often, now and since long before the two of them were officially together.

"Would you do us a favour?"

"Oh!" Her gaze barely focused on James for a second, before sliding back to Remus, as if pulled by some invisible force. "I mean, would it help?"

"Yeah?" James blinked, confused. Why would he ask otherwise?

Melissa didn't respond, and it took him a moment to figure out why. When he did, he aimed a sharp and not-so-subtle kick at Remus's ankle.

Remus glared over the top of his book. "What?"

James tried to nod towards Melissa. It was difficult, seeing as he was crammed so tightly next to Sirius on the sofa that their heads were constantly a maximum of a centimetre away from crashing into each other. So much so that in practice, the gesture probably looked more like a twitch.

"The favour we need. It'd be a big help, right?" Remus, somehow, caught on, softening his features as he directed his attention to Melissa.

"Right. The favour. That'd be such a big help. We'd really owe you." His voice was barely a step above monotone, and he went straight back to his book when he was finished, lost to the world once more. James was sure it wouldn't be encouragement enough, but it seemed he'd managed to underestimate Melissa's infatuation.

"Alright, I'll do it." Melissa paused, fingers tapping over her knee. "Wait, what am I doing?"

"Well, we're going to be leaving for a while, on a secret mission of sorts. So, if any letters come from our parents, we'd really appreciate it if you wrote back. Me and Sirius can give you copies of our handwriting to work from. You don't have to say anything much, just send some sort of reassurance back if letters come from Effie and Monty."

"Oh." Her bottom lip jutted out. "You're leaving? How long for? Is Remus going with you?"

"None of your concern," Sirius snapped. James was surprised he hadn't stepped in earlier; this had to be some sort of record.

Peter groaned, shifting a little where he leant back against the sofa. He usually preferred to sit on the floor, claiming that was where he did his best thinking, and that certainly came in handy when there were so many of them. Their little corner of the common room offered a cozy atmosphere, but the seating wasn't built to support such a large group. Currently, James, Sirius and Marlene took one sofa, while Lily, Mary and Remus sat opposite. Peter, as mentioned, was propped up against the end of the sofa beside Marlene's legs, and Melissa, on arrival, had taken the sole unoccupied seat, bridging the gap between the sofas.

"Could you not?" Peter asked, looking wearily between Sirius and the first year.

"I don't know what you mean," Sirius dismissed, glaring at Melissa, while she'd turned her attention back to Remus.

"Oh come on, you do this every time. Sirius, Remus is your boyfriend, do you really think he's going to suddenly start taking interest in some random first-year?"

"Hey!" That, finally, had been enough to capture Melissa's attention, her bright green eyes narrowing as she glared down at Peter. It was clearly an attempt at intimidation, but came off nothing but petulant, seeing as she was six years younger than them. James was willing to bet she hadn't even had her first proper duel yet. Peter shrugged in apology, but didn't take it back.

"Fine," Sirius conceded, stretching uncomfortably to rest a leg on Remus's ankle. James readied himself to intervene, half convinced he was going to slide right off of the sofa. Miraculously, though, he managed to stay on, possibly through the use of a wandless spell. "I suppose she isn't worth it."

"Hey!"

"Oh, leave her be," Lily chided. "Remember how you were in first year?"

"Devastatingly handsome and charming?" Sirius asked.

"Woefully repressed and pining?" Mary suggested.

"Embarrassingly and hopelessly besotted?" Marlene added.

"Hm, yeah," Lily nodded, "most of those."

"At least you guys didn't have to live with them," Peter whined.

"Merlin." James snorted. "I mean, Sirius was bad, but it's not like Remus was any better. Remember the time he started going on about that book, Pete?"

"Oh yeah," Peter nodded, "and he said Sirius reminded him of this character, who turned out to be—"

"This lead from a fucking romance novel! So Pete read it, and he said—"

"The narrator was, like, a replica of Remus. So the whole time Remus had been reading this story and—"

"Thank you," Remus interrupted, glaring over at them. James's giggles broke into full on laughter. He threw his head back over the back of the sofa, giddy with the feeling. When he came back down to earth it was with tears in his eyes and nothing but love in his heart. He'd burn the world to the ground for these people, each and every one of them. Except maybe Melissa, but she didn't need to know that.

Luckily, it seemed the new focus of their discussion was enough to put her off anyway. She stood jerkily, brushing down her skirt.

"Right," she said, voice clipped. "I'm going to bed."

"Wait," James called after her, "you'll write back to the letters, yeah?"

"Fine." With that, she was gone, leaving behind an empty chair that nobody moved to fill.

"Wait," Sirius gasped, grinning to Remus. "The book, is that why you wanted me to—"

"Shut up," Remus gritted out, blushing harder than James had ever seen him. He desperately wanted to push but, equally, didn't feel like losing a friend tonight.

"So," Marlene asked, pulling out a bottle of firewhiskey from Merlin-knows-where. "Who wants shots?"

The answer was, apparently, everyone. The rest of the night faded into a comfortable haze of laughter, James doing the best he could to sear every detail into his fuzzy memory and make sure he had something to look back on. Soon, they'd be gone from Hogwarts, but that didn't have to mean that Hogwarts would leave them. It couldn't, even if he did end up forgetting it all. Because this, right here, was where he had learned what the purpose of it all was. Why they had that irritating, unquenchable desire to keep going, no matter the cost. The truth of it was that nobody really lived for themselves. No, they lived for others too, for moments like this one where the joy made you forget all the sadness that had ever come before it. There would be good, and there would be bad, but through it all was love, and that was what it took to hold them together.

That was how James knew they were going to win.

Voldemort may have his own version of power, but it was nothing compared to theirs.

---

It was the first day of spring when they moved in together. Not technically — that had been a few days earlier — but in James's mind it was. The sun was peeking out from its clouded cave, stretching and warming the earth in wake of its winter hibernation. Nothing much was blooming yet, but there were flower buds littering the overgrown front yard, and James knew Mary would care for them until they did. It was the start of something new, something bold, and he took a moment to breathe it all in, exhaling just to feel his breath dissipate into nothingness.

"I call dibs on the best room!" Sirius shouted, charging for the house.

"They've already been decided," James called after him, hurrying to keep up. "And you don't even have a key."

"Ugh, fine," Sirius said with a grin, turning back once he reached the door. "You better not have given yourself the best room, though."

"I'm literally the one paying for this entire house."

"Yeah, thanks for that. Doesn't mean you get the best room, though."

James shook his head, unable to keep the smile off his face. Some sort of plant had grown around the door frame, sagging a little so that he had to push it up so as not to upset it when he pulled the door open. "If it makes you feel better, you and Remus technically have the biggest room."

"You gave them the biggest room?" Regulus called from behind them, crossing his arms over his chest. Sirius paid him no mind, hurrying through the door James was holding open to investigate. He hadn't seen the place before — James was the only one who had — but he'd still been one of the most excited to move in, and James understood why. There was something about the place being theirs that made even the imperfections seem all the sweeter. Anywhere else, and the large crack running through the plaster would've been a problem. Here, in their home, not one of them even thought to mend it, though it wouldn't have taken more than the flick of a wand.

"Don't worry, love," James assured him. "There's a reason I picked ours."

"It's the one with the window, isn't it?" Remus asked, gesturing to a window on the top floor, the one that curved out from the brickwork.

"Yeah," James nodded, looking back to Regulus. "I thought it'd be a nice place for you to read." James rejoiced as he watched a smile flicker across Regulus's expression, before the man schooled it back into neutrality.

"Fine. I suppose it'll do."

"Mhm, sure. I know you love it really." James winked. Regulus rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it, which was a glowing endorsement from him.

"Well, I need to put my stuff down before my arms drop off," Marlene proclaimed, following Sirius through the doorway. "Where'd you say I am again?" James nodded down the hallway, and she wasted no time following his directions.

It didn't take long for everyone to get settled, James doing his duties as host-slash-homeowner and directing them to their respective rooms. Marlene and Peter were both on the ground floor, Marlene to the left of the living area, and Peter to the right. The first floor was occupied by Remus and Sirius (in the biggest room, as requested); Mary and Lily; Pandora; and, opposite her, Dorcas. That left the second floor, which had two bedrooms, one assigned to Evan and Barty, and the other to James and Regulus.

"Here it is, then," James said, spinning a little as he gestured to their surroundings. "Home."

Regulus's expression stayed worryingly blank, as if frozen in time.

"Do you not like it?" James panicked. "Is it because it's not the biggest room? I can swap us with Remus and Sirius. Wait, is it the house? Is it too small? Too big? If you want, we can move, it's—"

"Shut up," Regulus choked out, clearing his throat as if that'd alleviate the strain. It only seemed to make things worse. "It's perfect."

"Oh." James breathed out, letting his shoulders slump. "Good. That's good. That's— why are you crying?"

"Shut up," Regulus snarled, wiping harshly at the tears on his cheeks. "It's just different, alright?"

"Different to…?"

"Grimmauld." Oh. That.

James looked around the room again. It was just as pretty as it had been when he last saw it, just as bright. Ostentatious orange curtains hung across the window, not thick enough to block the light out completely, but enough to dampen it to a muffled haze. The carpet was a bright white, stained from wear in a few too many places, crushed down where the wooden bed frame sat over it. It wasn't much, but it was, James was certain, about as far from Number 12 Grimmauld Place as it got. Which was good, since he'd planned it that way.

Grimmauld was buried in a city. Here, they were out in the country. Grimmauld was, from what he'd been told, dark, and filled with meaningless and elaborate decorations, each carefully chosen to fit what was expected. Here, they didn't have much at all yet, but that meant it was a blank slate, ready to face the questionable decor choices of twelve teenagers with far too much freedom. Grimmauld was a place of order. Their home would be a place of chaos and love, hopefully in equal measure.

"It is, isn't it?" James hummed, stepping forward and lacing Regulus's fingers in his. Regulus kept staring, distant, the occasional tear escaping. When they did, James reached up to wipe them away. "It's yours. Ours."

"Can we—" Regulus hesitated, swallowed, then came back, voice a little bolder. "Can we get some plants?"

"As many as you want, love."

"And a bookshelf," Regulus decided. "On that wall over there."

"Good plan."

"And the bed sheets. Something soft, not… slippery."

"Cotton?"

"Yes, sure, as long as it's soft."

"I'll make a note." James pressed his forehead against Regulus's, and Regulus leaned into the touch, letting out a contented sigh.

"Thank you."

"Anything for you."

"I think that's everything for now," Regulus said. "The rest's up to you."

James raised an eyebrow. "You don't want any more input?"

"No."

"That's a lot of trust to put in me, Reg. What if I mess it up? What if it's not your style?"

"I don't care. I want it to feel like you. Make it bright. Make it messy. Just make it ours." James had to kiss him for that, obviously, backing him up until he tumbled back onto their new bed with a breathless laugh, James following close behind.

"James," Regulus chuckled, trying, unsuccessfully, to hold him at bay. "We haven't put any sheets on, yet. It'll get dirty."

"So what?" James asked. "We can clean it. Who's going to stop us?"

Regulus didn't have an argument for that, and this time pulled him closer, closer, closer, until there was nowhere left to go without completely fusing their bodies together. They lay there for what could've been hours, kissing lazily, holding each other tight, and basking in the fact that they were, finally, home.

Chapter 36: Eye to Eye, Heart to Heart

Regulus was a private person. That wouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. So, he'd expected it to take a while to adjust to sharing his space with so many new people. And it did. He'd all but jumped out of his skin the first time he wandered into the kitchen for a morning coffee, not expecting anyone else to be up yet, only to find Dorcas Meadows leaning against the counter, cup already in hand. He couldn't remember much of the short conversation they had. Somehow, his body had interpreted the presence of another person as a threat, and his focus had narrowed to escaping, preferably as soon as possible. Unfortunately, though, Dorcas was watching, which meant she knew he'd come to the kitchen for a reason, which meant he had to work through the steps of making his coffee before he was able to excuse himself and scamper back upstairs, hot liquid scorching his hand where it spilled over the mug's rim.

After that incident, he'd learned to expect and to brace for human interaction when leaving the sanctity of his and James's bedroom, and so far liked to think he'd done a decent enough job at muddling his way through it. He wasn't wholly relaxed like James seemed to be — Regulus swore the man only grew happier with each new person he bumped into in the hallway, feeding off their energy like some sort of social-interaction vampire — but he was prepared, and that was as close as he needed to get. And if he wasn't relaxed, then he was at least a whole lot better than he had been at Grimmauld Place, for obvious reasons.

His body, though, wasn't used to this sort of relaxation outside of Hogwarts, so once he'd come down from the initial fear of his new housemates, he couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. Things were too calm, probably; too slow, and he wasn't doing enough to change that. They were supposed to be at war, and that meant that he was supposed to be fighting. So, he waited until James left with Remus, Sirius and Peter for the night, the four of them wandering off into the woods for the full moon, and settled down in the middle of the bed, book sprawled open in front of him.

After reading through the chapter a few times to make sure he'd gotten it right, he shifted into a more comfortable position and reached to tug the cold silver chain from around his neck.

He hesitated.

Frowning, Regulus reached for it again, confused when the same sort of mental block appeared, a little voice warning him to keep it there. Clearly, Dorcas's words had gotten to him more than he'd thought. Still, refusing to back down, he pushed through the block, looping the chain over his head and dropping the locket unceremoniously onto the centre of the mattress.

Logically, it'd make sense to do this outside. Fire and soft materials, he knew, were not typically a good mix. This, however, was Fiendfyre, so it in no way conformed to the usual laws of fire, as Barty liked to remind him. It wouldn't help much to put it on solid ground, since it spread through some strange willpower of its own, regardless of the materials it was given to work with. Still, objectively, he should probably bring it away from the house. He would've, had it not been for three very good reasons: People would probably see him. He knew he would be able to control it.

He didn't want to burn down something that didn't belong to him.

The importance of these reasons, in his mind, was listed in that same order. Number one he'd ranked as most important, not because people seeing him leave the house was a problem exactly, but because some of his housemates were particularly likely to attempt to engage him in conversation. This list included Barty and Evan, obviously. Those two he didn't mind so much. But it also included Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon, for some strange reason, and occasionally Dorcas Meadowes, when she wasn't too busy with some sort of project she'd given herself. Conversation in any of these cases would inevitably lead to them questioning where he was going. Regulus was happy to lie, but he didn't know what a reasonable excuse would be, given everyone was already well aware that he tended to create reasons to stay in his room, not to leave it.

So, clearly, any interactions he had on his way out would be extremely awkward, and also potentially give away his plan.

Number two on the list, he liked to think, was the most obvious. He was smart. He knew how to control Fiendfyre. There was no danger of the spell going wrong, because he wouldn't let it.

Number three was hardly relevant. Just a tiny little contingency for worst case scenario. Like if somebody sabotaged him, for example, and tried to interrupt the spell before he was ready to cast it. But, if something like that did happen, he would still rather destroy this house than anything that didn't belong to them, and have to somehow explain how he'd created magical fire to muggle law enforcement in the area. Not that they were very close to any other buildings at all, but still.

Clearly, then, his current plan of staying exactly where he was seemed to be the best option.

Without further consideration, Regulus narrowed his focus, and was about to begin the spell when something happened that he hadn't managed to account for. At first, it was a gentle hissing, one that built and built until it overwhelmed any other thought he had. Then came the visions.

Regulus knew, instinctively, that he shouldn't look up. It was bad — dark. He could sense it, the magic sitting heavy in the room, a shroud dulling the usual brightness. For the first time, he was reminded of Grimmauld Place. The feeling there hadn't usually been as bad as this was, but dark magic had clung to it like a disease, always hovering at the edges, just potent enough that you couldn't forget it was there. Here, he was drowning in it, choking on the force and swallowing it down just long enough to catch a sharp breath before he could taste it once more. And Regulus, second son, a boy who had never learned to be strong like his brother, lifted his gaze.

It was Barty he spotted first. The blood was almost black around his throat, heavy and viscous, coating the hand clutched limply over his wound. It wasn't Barty's own hand trying vainly to stem the blood flow, but Evan's, the boy curled at his side. The paleness wasn't as apparent in Evan's complexion, but was there nonetheless. It wasn't just magic Regulus could taste now, but blood, too, iron and guilt blending on his tongue into something that made him gag. He retched helplessly, trying all he could to get the feeling out.

He tried to look away, to remind himself that it couldn't be real, but each time he did so there was someone new. James. Bright, beautiful James, eyes wide open. Blank. Unblinking. Sirius, the brother he'd just gotten back. Remus. Mary. Lily. Peter. Dorcas. Pandora. Marlene. They were there, all of them, dead, and Regulus knew in the pit of his stomach that it could only be his fault. He didn't notice his hand curling around the skin of his neck, not even when he started to draw blood. First, just a hint of it, then a steady trickle. He'd failed. He'd tried to save them, and had damned them all instead. It was his fault. Hisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthisfaulthis—

"Regulus?" Regulus jerked back, head slamming against the wall behind him, hard enough that he saw stars. When his vision cleared, he found Pandora in the doorway, mouth agape as she stared down at him. Pandora. Wasn't she—?

He looked back, searching the bodies. They were all still there, all except for her. Regulus shook his head, trying to make sense of it.

"Oh," she murmured softly, then he felt a weight on the edge of the bed. He didn't know where to move, caught between flinching away and leaning towards it, seeking warmth. Seeking any sign of life. "Regulus. Listen to me. It isn't real."

It isn't real. It had to be, didn't it? Regulus had put them there. Except, he didn't remember how. What happened? Why couldn't he—

He gasped, a bolt of pain searing through his skull and dimming his thoughts down to an indistinct buzz. It hurt. He wanted it gone, not just the pain, but the guilt, too. He couldn't handle it. He wasn't strong enough, wasn't built for it.

"Regulus!" Hands on his shoulders. He hated it, hated the touch, but it made him stop. Made him listen, fighting to make sense of it. "It's the Horcrux. It isn't real."

Oh. Pandora was here. She was alive. Because Regulus hadn't killed her, but he hadn't killed it yet, either.

"The spell," he asked, thoughts clearing. "I need the spell."

"You're sure?"

"Yes. Quickly."

"Alright." Her hands dropped from his shoulders as she reached for the book. "Pestis Incendium."

Regulus breathed. Pretended the blood wasn't there, that he couldn't taste it.

"Pestis Incendium." A flash of light. One that didn't go out, but grew until it was all-encompassing. Until the flames stretched out to brush the ends of his socks, not quite setting them alight. A scream, and then silence.

The first thing Regulus did when the darkness was gone was suck in a breath, watching Pandora relax beside him too.

"Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," she told him, smiling warmly. Then, "are you going to put the fire out?"

Regulus bit down on his lip, the pain helping him focus, and willed it away, envisioned the fire sinking and evaporating until, finally, the reality followed suit and they were left alone, nothing but a destroyed Horcrux and some bloodstained sheets for company, marked where he'd unconsciously dug his bloody fingers into them. He'd have to change them before James got home, though there was very little he could do about his neck itself.

"So," Pandora said eventually, taking it upon herself to break the tension, "one down, then?"

"Yeah," Regulus agreed, half way between a sigh and a laugh. Then, checking the room once more, and finding it still empty of corpses, he laughed again, delirious and grateful and just so glad the Horcrux was gone, feeling lighter than he had done since the cave.

"Good," Pandora decided, "I didn't like having it around."

"Me neither."

"Everything's much nicer now it's gone, don't you think?"

He nodded. "I didn't realise it was the Horcrux, but… could you feel it too?"

"Of course I could." She tilted her head. "I don't think anyone else did, though. They weren't close enough."

"And you were?"

"No, I'm just different." Regulus wanted to ask for elaboration, but she wasn't offering it, and that had to mean something. She didn't owe him an explanation. In fact, he was the one who owed her.

"Thank you," he said again, meaning it. "If you hadn't come to find me…"

"Well, that's why we're here, isn't it?" She didn't wait for his reply. "That's why I asked Mary if I could come along. Everyone here's better with each other. I've never seen anything like it. I know you're powerful alone, but that doesn't compare to how you are with them." Pandora curled her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on top of her flowy blue skirt, which had piled up a little in the middle as a sort of cushion.

"I think you might be right," he allowed, picking up the empty Horcrux and twisting the remnants over in his hand. "I'm not sure how it would've gone, had you not interrupted. I'm glad you're here, Pandora."

She blinked up at him, eyes so dark they were nearly black. The kind of blackness that held galaxies, hidden just beneath the surface. "Thank you."

Regulus snorted. "What's there to thank me for?" He held his palm out, seared metal crumpled in the midst. "Would you like to keep it?"

She reached, instinctively, then hesitated, hand hovering just beside his. "Why?"

"You're the reason it was destroyed," Regulus explained. "Besides, you left school to join this mission. I like to think it's a good reminder that there was a purpose to that."

"Oh, that's not why I left," Pandora said, fingers tentatively curling around the metal anyway, nails brushing against his palm. "But thank you. It means a lot."

Regulus tilted his head. "Why did you leave, then?"

She looked at him for a long time, long enough that he started to get a little uncomfortable, shifting in an attempt to avoid her scrutiny. Finally, her expression smoothed.

"The same reason as you, I think."

"The people?"

"The people." She looked away, watching something out the window, then looked back, pushing her hands deep into the sheets behind her and holding herself straight. "Would you be my friend?"

Regulus was a private person, not used to wearing his heart on his sleeve. But, when she asked, he didn't hesitate.

"Of course I will," he agreed, "if you'll have me."

It was strange living with so many new people, but that didn't make it bad. Not when there were moments like this, smiles framed in the light of the sunset, two hearts reaching out to each other, and finding somewhere to land.

Chapter 37: Burning the Memories

Easter wasn't usually Evan's favourite time of year. It meant that he had to go home, play nice with his family, and pretend that every inch of him wasn't screaming to run as far as possible from the manor. Despite his new situation, this year was no different.

He didn't have to go anywhere this time, technically, but he wouldn't let himself be kept away, either. Because, despite all the shit waiting for him, there was his brother, too, and Felix was not something he was willing to leave behind.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come?" Barty asked, hands rubbing up and down his arms with enough friction that it almost hurt.

"We've been over this, Bee. Your father works for the Ministry, and you don't even have a mark to prove your loyalty anymore. You'd only get us in trouble."

"I know," Barty pouted, "but at least we'd be in trouble together. I don't like the idea of you going back there without me." Evan smiled, pressing a kiss to Barty's forehead.

"I'll be back for tea, yeah?"

"Alright," Barty agreed, squeezing his wrists tight before letting his grip fall slack. "Give 'em hell, Rosie."

"You know I will," Evan grinned, offering a mock-salute. He gave himself a moment more, memorised the lines of Barty's face enough to keep them while he was gone, then closed his eyes. The next time he opened them, he was at a manor. Not Rosier Manor, but Malfoy Manor, where the Death Eater event of the season was apparently being held.

In long sleeves and a pristine white shirt — the only one he still owned without stains — Evan felt uncomfortably like his old self, which meant that he was, hopefully, still capable of playing his usual part. The apparition wards had let him in, at least, which was a good sign, and meant it was unlikely that he was suspected of anything at the moment. That was something that would more than likely change at the end of the night, however this ended up going.

He avoided eye contact as he made his way inside, subtly flicking his gaze around the crowded hallway in search of his brother, not stopping until a woman walked up to him and forced his attention away.

"Evan," she greeted, lips curling up into a thin smile. "I am glad to see you have returned to us."

"I am glad to see you too, Aunt Druella," he replied, subconsciously tugging at his sleeve, though it hadn't made any effort to ride up.

"I must say, I was sorry to hear about your friend, though I am glad to see that he didn't infect you with his… misguided ideas."

"I am no longer in contact with Regulus Black."

She laughed. A little too loudly, he thought. "Of course you aren't, dear. He's dead."

"What?" Evan's first instinct was panic. Somehow they must've found out, gotten to the safe house, and killed Regulus. He quickly brushed that aside, though, working through the problem logically. He'd seen Barty barely five minutes ago. Even if the Death Eaters had, somehow, discovered their location, the mission wouldn't be over yet. Which meant that Druella didn't know, and that, most likely, this was the rumour that was being spread.

"Yes, dead." She frowned at him. "Didn't you hear? The Dark Lord himself killed him."

"I didn't," Evan told her truthfully, not averting his gaze as he reached for a glass of champagne. It was, according to his family, one of the few muggle inventions that was actually worth indulging in, and it appeared that the Malfoys shared a similar view. Not that he was complaining.

"Well," Druella whispered, leaning in conspiratorially. She had a glint in her eye, the same familiar madness that he was used to seeing in Bellatrix. "Regulus Black, foolish boy, tried to betray the Dark Lord. He failed, of course, and paid for his crimes. Cygnus says it was Walburga's fault, that he'd always known her incapable of raising proper heirs." Druella drew back, sipping at her own champagne, cast under the shadow of candlelight. "I wouldn't know, of course. Bellatrix and Narcissa have never acted out as those boys did."

Evan wanted to ask about Andromeda, but decided that was a topic best left for after he got what he needed.

"Have you seen my mother?" he asked, keeping his expression that same pure-blood impassive. "I haven't managed to find her yet, I'm afraid."

"Near the stairs, I believe," Druella told him, "but you know Seraphina, always has to be the centre of attention. Wouldn't surprise me if she's ended up elsewhere."

"Thank you, Aunt Druella. It was lovely to see you again."

"It was lovely to see you too, Evan. You're growing into a fine young man."

He nodded, suppressing a smirk, then weaved expertly through the crowd of bodies, still searching for the only one he cared the slightest about. It didn't take long to find his mother — it never did — but he stayed out of her eye-line, only searching around her to try and find Felix. He wasn't with her, which didn't much surprise him, but did make his mission a little more inconvenient.

Evan spent another near half an hour avoiding, and occasionally interacting with, family members, before he concluded that Felix probably wasn't in this room. He couldn't have been in the bathroom all that time, either, not unless something had gone terribly wrong. So where would he be?

It was then that Evan remembered the Malfoys had a library. Felix was no Regulus when it came to reading, but he did especially enjoy browsing when it came to books, claiming, to Evan's confusion, that that was the best part. And even if that didn't factor in, Evan knew his brother would much rather read than be stuck forcibly socialising with various distant family members.

Hoping to remain inconspicuous, he hurried up the stairs, not turning to see who might be watching. He didn't know exactly which room the library was in, but remembered the vague direction well enough from the ball they had here a few seasons ago, so it only took him a few failed attempts (and one scarring interruption of one of his distant cousins and the man's partner) before he found the right door.

Evan held his breath slightly as he pushed the door open, exhaling when he found the room apparently empty. He shuffled in further, leaning against the door to push it shut behind him. The room was much dimmer than the ballroom had been, with none of the exaggerated grandeur pure-bloods liked to put on for show, but it was impressive nonetheless. Shelves stretched up to high ceilings, tall windows covered in curtains that had to be at least five people high. The space itself, however, seemed to be taller than it was broad, and while the bookshelves were dense with volumes, there weren't altogether that many of them to fill. He was glad for it, because it meant it took him hardly any time at all to spot Felix, the singular dynamic point in the room, up a ladder and stretching out so far that Evan was worried he'd fall off. To that respect, he held his tongue until his brother's position looked more stable, happy enough to wait now he knew where Felix was.

"Felix," Evan called, once the boy was better situated on the ladder. It seemed he'd been right to wait. His brother jerked at the sound of his name, foot slipping on the ladder before he re-positioned it on the rung. His book, though, remained held tight in his grip.

"Evan?!" Felix craned his head back to look at him, then practically slid down the ladder, bounding towards him for a hug. Evan met the gesture easily, wrapping his arms tight around his brother and bending over to rest his forehead on the top of the boy's carefully slicked-back hair, which had been drawn into a tight bun at the back of his head.

"Where were you?" Felix asked, pushing himself back to better look up at him. "What happened? Why didn't you come back at the start of Easter? I tried asking mother and father, only they wouldn't tell me what happened." Evan's hands clenched at his sides, guilt bubbling in his chest as his brother's voice started to shake. "I thought you'd left."

"I'd never leave you, flower," Evan assured him, pulling him back into his arms. "I told you, didn't I? I'll always be here, whenever you need me."

"You're home for Easter, then?" Felix asked, hopeful.

Evan hummed, noncommittal. "How would you feel about coming home with me?"

Felix shook his head, drawing back. "I can't," he frowned. "Mother said I had to stay until the end of the party." Evan wasn't surprised. It was something she'd always done, no matter how young they'd been, forcing them to stay into the early hours of the morning. It hadn't been so bad for Evan in the later years, when he'd developed into a nocturnal teenager anyway, but he'd hated watching his brother struggle to stay alert, and pretend to want to talk to the countless relatives that were sent to greet him.

"I don't mean back with her. I've got somewhere else we can go and stay with my friends."

"Oh." Felix frowned. "Would you go there without me?"

"Never." Evan grimaced. This was the part he hadn't told Barty. "If you want to stay, I'll stay too, I promise. But I think you'd like where I am." He lowered his voice. "We're near a forest, you know? Lots of interesting animals around to find. It's a muggle area, so there's nothing magical, but—"

"Muggle?" Felix took another step back, still clutching that same book to his chest. Evan couldn't make out a title, the gold lettering buried under his arm. "What are you doing with them?"

Evan rolled his eyes. "I've seen what you read. Mum and dad might not recognise any of it, but I'm not stupid. I know you don't believe in that shit."

"Oh. Right." Felix nodded, paused, then nodded again more determinedly. "I want to go with you."

"Yeah?" Evan asked, unable to stop the grin tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Yeah." Felix looked around. "So, how do we get there?"

"I can apparate us," Evan assured him, "we just need to get out of the house."

"Right."

"Do you want to take that with you?" Evan gestured to the book his brother still hadn't dropped. Felix looked down to follow his gaze, eyebrows furrowing.

"Oh. I… I don't know. It feels strange." Well, that couldn't be a good thing, especially not in a place like this. Evan frowned, stepping forward and running a finger over the cover, not entirely sure what he was looking for.

Oh.

It was dark magic, some of the strongest he'd ever felt. In fact, he'd only felt something similar once before. It was a Horcrux, he was sure of it.

"Yeah," Evan laughed, breathless. Regulus would be happy with him; the man hadn't known where to start looking for another, and Evan had just solved one of his five remaining problems. Or, Felix had, more like. If the boy hadn't come to hide in the library, who knows how long it'd have taken them to find the book. "We're taking it with us."

"Why?" Felix asked, letting Evan take it from him anyway.

"It's—" The door opened again, and Evan's heart dropped. He whirled around, hoping for — well, he didn't hope for anyone here really, but preferably someone who couldn't run as quickly as them. He found Narcissa standing in the door frame, glaring down at them. That wouldn't have been too much of a problem, except Evan knew that she must know exactly what it was that they had. It was clear in the purse of her lips, the way her gaze didn't waver from the book, even as she addressed them.

"What are you doing with that?"

Evan was many things. He was brave, he liked to think, not in the reckless Gryffindor-y way, but in the way that counted when it mattered. Smart, not so much as Barty and Regulus, but able to think for himself nonetheless. Kind, too, not to everyone, but to the people that earned it. Usually, he liked to think that he was the one that could stay calm in a panic. Unfortunately, though, it seemed that too much proximity to Barty had done something to change his usual balance, so instead of thinking his way out of the situation like he should have, or even fighting his way past Narcissa, he did the first thing that came to mind.

He set the book on fire.

Not the normal kind of fire that'd calm down once it lost fuel. No, Evan, in his panic, decided to use one of Barty's favourite and least predictable spells, the one that Regulus had told them would work on Horcruxes, only at the expense of everything else in the surrounding area.

"Run," he told Felix, knowing they had to get out of the room, and get out of it fast. He locked eyes with Narcissa. She held his gaze. Then, slowly, as if she were unaware of the danger he'd unleashed (which he was certain she wasn't), she moved to the side, chin still tilted up and expression marked with a passive emptiness that Evan recognised as remarkably similar to the one Regulus liked to wear. Now that he thought of it, it wasn't just Regulus. It seemed to be common amongst a startling number of the pure-blood population. They presented themselves as either cold, manic, sickeningly upbeat, or they ended up worse off than they had been to begin with. Evan had followed in the footsteps of his parents by adopting the latter, really having little choice with all the forced sociability. He'd done his best to appear happy at each new face he had to converse with, largely in an effort to draw attention away from his brother. He liked to think it'd been as effective a strategy as it could have been, but he wouldn't miss it.

Maybe there had been some good to come of it long-term, though, since Narcissa didn't stop them as they dashed passed, even though she had every right to. If she'd chosen, she could've had every name at the ball after them. They'd have been stopped before they even took a step out of the room. Evan thought, at first, that this mercy must be a result of the talks they'd had. He couldn't remember ever connecting with her on anything other than a surface level, but maybe his words had touched her more deeply.

Then, though, his brother gripped his hand more tightly, trimmed nails harsh against his palm, and he realised that he was flattering himself far too much. Narcissa Malfoy was a Black through and through. Not in the way that Sirius had been a Black, but in the way that Regulus still was. She didn't show mercy, not out of some flimsy sense of duty or morality. If she was letting them go, it was a deliberate choice; she was playing a longer game, one that Evan didn't have a chance at guessing. If he had been Regulus, he might have stopped. Might have tried to figure it out, turned the problem over and over in his head until he could see it differently. He was Evan Rosier, though, and so he couldn't care less about what she had planned, just as long as it wouldn't touch his brother.

Shocked exclamations followed them as Evan dragged his brother out of the doors to Malfoy Manor. They were nothing, though, compared to those that started once they were outside. As Evan reached the property's boundary, he heard screams, screeching sounds, cutting swiftly through the night air. He looked down into his brother's wide eyes, smiled in what he hoped was a comfort, then tightened his grip, picturing their home.

It was barely a second after he arrived, not long enough to get his bearings, and just long enough to check Felix was alright, before Barty was on him, and he fell back onto the mattress. The bed let out a dangerously loud squeaking sound, but Evan just laughed, letting it ground him. He was back. He was home. He had his brother.

"Shit," Barty said, not sounding remorseful in the slightest. "Didn't think I'd manage to push you over."

"I'd just apparated, you prick." Abruptly, he shoved Barty off, remembering where he was. "And watch your language!"

"Oh, please, I'm sure he's heard worse," Barty huffed, pushing up from his knees to his feet.

"I have," Felix replied. He smiled a little at Barty, shifting, arms clasped behind his back.

"That doesn't make it ok," Evan chastised. He let it drop fairly quickly, though, since that was far from what he wanted to focus on for now. "Anyway. Barty, this is Felix. Felix, Barty."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Felix stretched an arm out, tilting his head up to look Barty in the eyes.

"You too," Barty nodded, then hesitated, hand halfway extended. "You know, I'm not really one for all the formality. Can we hug? I'm good at them, promise." Felix stiffened, gaze flicking helplessly over to Evan. Evan's instincts urged him to step in, to offer comfort, but he forced himself to wait, relaxing a bit when the tension in the boy's posture softened a little, contradictory to his hardened expression.

"You may," Felix said. He made no move towards Barty, but that didn't matter, because Barty didn't give him time to reconsider. Remus had mentioned Muggle cameras before, and Evan hadn't really gotten the point of them, reasoning that if something wasn't worthy of him taking a moving photo of, he probably didn't need to remember it at all. Now, though, he certainly understood. He wanted to live in this moment forever, would happily let time pass by and rot in it just as long as he got to stay right here while it did. A moving photograph would be nice, sure, but it was much more difficult to study and capture the details of. One frozen frame would mean he could stare at this exact point in time for ever, retrace the jagged edge of Barty's grin, record the sharp flicker of surprise in his brother's eyes, and catch the precise moment it softened.

Felix certainly wasn't relaxed when Barty pulled back, and Evan knew that he wouldn't be for a long time. But, there was something more gentle about the way he moved, as though Barty's warmth had at least done a little to round out his more jagged edges.

"So, tell me everything," Barty demanded, crossing his legs and sitting in the centre of their rug, a fluffy green thing that Evan was sure contained some sort of magnet to attract all the dust in the room towards it. No matter how often they cleaned it, it remained untrustworthy.

"Alright." And, true to his word, Evan did. Not long into the story, Felix tired of standing, and came to sit on the bed beside him, feet dangling just above the floor as he listened to Evan's retelling of events. It was only when he got to the fire that Evan hesitated.

"Do you have it with you?" Barty asked, gaze stretching to the corners of the room as though Evan had somehow had a chance to hide the diary from him.

"No," Evan replied, and Barty deflated, nodding anyway in acceptance.

"Evan burned it," Felix said, the first he'd talked since the story began.

"He did?" Barty gasped. "Did you use Fiendfyre?! I didn't know you could control it properly!"

"He didn't," Felix responded. Evan would have complained, but he hardly had room to deny the statement.

"Oh." Barty ran his tongue over his teeth. "You know it's only Fiendfyre that works, right?"

"I did use Fiendfyre," Evan argued, indignant. "I just didn't control it."

"I mean, you did, or else the entire manor would've burnt down."

Evan bit his lip. Barty's expression, remarkably, lit up once he realised.

"You burnt down Malfoy Manor!"

"I didn't mean to!"

"Oh, you did it, though," Barty cackled. Evan wasn't sure how he managed to keep going for so long. The man didn't pause for breath, not once, lungs seemingly expanded by the joy he took in Evan's unintended destruction. To Evan's shock, Felix even joined in, giggling along at his expense.

"Yeah, yeah," Evan rolled his eyes. "At least I didn't kill anyone." He didn't think he had, anyway. Although, thinking about the party's attendees, the likelihood was that any sort of murder would have had quite a positive outcome. "You'd have been worse."

"Nah," Barty decided, "wouldn't happen to me. I can't believe you guys just unintentionally found and destroyed a Horcrux. Reggie's going to be so happy."

"Maybe he'll be happy enough to magic up an extra room," Evan mused. "We've got more occupants now, after all."

"Yeah, no," Barty dismissed. "Muggles can still see this place, I'm pretty sure they'd notice if an extra room just appeared."

Evan huffed, not really having any way to argue back.

"Oh." Felix looked around the space, eyes wide. "I'm sorry. I didn't know there wasn't any space. I didn't mean to intrude."

"You're not," Evan and Barty assured him, speaking in unison.

"We'll take the floor," Barty decided.

"No, I can—"

"Felix," Evan scolded. "We're taking the floor. You need a bed."

"So do you."

Barty shook his head, catching the boy's attention. "Trust me, we don't. I prefer sleeping on the floor anyway. The bed gets too warm for me. I drag Evan out of it too, most nights. Just gives me an excuse to do it more." It was a blatant lie. Barty was practically an icicle when they slept, and had, on more than one occasion, woken Evan up when his freezing toes brushed against warmer skin. He felt warmth swell in his chest. He couldn't understand it, how people so often failed to see the good in Barty. His moral compass might be a little different from most, sure, but he stuck by his principles with the kind of tenacity Evan envied, and would be stupid not to adore.

"Are you sure?" Felix bit down on his lip, hands shoved far into his pockets.

"Positive," Evan replied. "Why don't you go have a shower? The bathroom's just opposite. I know it'll help you relax. All my stuff's in there, too, in case you need to wash your hair."

"Thanks. I'm glad you came to get me, Evan." Without waiting for a response, he was out the door, leaving the two of them alone.

"So," Evan groaned, rolling his shoulders. "We're relegated to the floor, then?"

"Apparently so." Barty clicked his tongue. "Your fault for bringing him here."

"Please, you like him."

"Yeah, I do."

Evan held Barty's wrists loosely, tugging him in and knocking their foreheads against one another.

"So," Barty said, after they'd spent a few moments taking it all in. "I guess we're going to have to find somewhere else to fuck."

"Yeah," Evan agreed, wrinkling his nose up. "That's my brother's bed now."

Barty hummed in contemplation. Then, a grin spread across his face, and Evan knew something bad was coming. Something very bad, and something potentially very, very fun.

"Do you think Pete'd let us fuck in his room?"

Evan felt his lips curl upwards.

"We can always find out."

Chapter 38: Take Off

Notes:

Ok so it is Halloween tomorrow!! Yippee!! I am also ridiculously busy so have a slightly earlier chapter <3

Full disclaimer: idk what happened here (that's a lie, it was the prosecco). If you are expecting plot, don't. If you are expecting thousands of words of chaos, then you are in the right place.

Enjoy!

Dorcas wasn't used to being around so many people.

The girls in her dorm at Hogwarts hadn't liked her, which had been fine because she hadn't liked them more. They'd tried to talk to her in first year, after watching her in class, and had told her that she was different to the other Half-bloods. She'd hexed them for it. They'd apologised, but only out of fear, and had stayed away from her since. After that, she quickly realised that their attitude was the standard in Slytherin house, and since she hadn't cared much to expand her horizons to the rest of Hogwarts, it left her pretty much alone for the extent of her education. Even at home, it was just her and her granddad, and nowadays he wasn't as lively, either.

All that to say, it was very different for her, moving into a house with so many other people that she actually enjoyed talking to. She'd very quickly decided that she liked it.

She had someone to talk to in the mornings, now, in the form of Regulus Black. He wasn't the most sociable, and had been downright uncomfortable around her at first, but she liked to think that he was growing more relaxed around her. It was a necessity, really, when they both seemed to end up making their coffee together almost every morning.

The next person she saw in the mornings was usually a toss up between James and Marlene. Mary and Barty tended to be up quite early, too, but stayed in bed a little longer for their partners' benefits. Breakfast began once the six of them were together, but instead of being a regimented affair like it was in Hogwarts, the meal drew on. They picked at their food and talked until Remus, who was usually the last of them, came down nearly two hours later, and proceeded to shovel toast into his mouth with very little grace.

This morning, though, went a little differently.

The first change was that, when Dorcas proceeded down for breakfast, it was to find Regulus already there. That wouldn't have been such a surprise in and of itself, if it weren't for a very tired-looking James Potter, with whom he seemed to be partway through an argument.

"I'm fine, James," Regulus huffed. "It's over now. I destroyed it."

"You could have died! I wasn't there, Regulus. What if it hadn't worked?"

"But it did."

"But you shouldn't have taken the risk!"

"Hi." Dorcas waved awkwardly, feeling very out of place in the doorway. She wasn't used to James being upset. Or, indeed, Regulus being so expressive.

"Dorcas," Regulus greeted, schooling his expression immediately. James had no such luck.

"Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"James," Regulus scolded. "She didn't. I didn't tell anyone."

"But Pandora—"

"Found me," Regulus sighed. Dorcas got the feeling he'd been through the same thing many times already. To be fair to James, though, if Regulus had nearly died, and that wasn't just a construct of his dramticism, she thought he had a right to be upset.

"What's going on?"

Dorcas turned to look behind her, finding Marlene McKinnon, halfway through a yawn as she rubbed sleep from her eyes. She was gorgeous. Dorcas didn't know how it was possible for someone's hair to look so neat when they'd only just woken up, but Marlene's didn't seem tangled at all. She was sure she would be able to run her fingers all the way down it without ever reaching a knot. Dorcas wanted, desperately, to try it, and then preferably to take it upon herself to try and mess it up. It'd be a challenge, evidently, but she was more than up for it. And that wasn't even the worst part, because Marlene was wearing some baggy shirt that Dorcas itched to lift her hands under, and fucking shorts that showed off her ridiculously long legs. She was strong, and it showed, muscle rolling under just the slightest bit of softness that Dorcas ached to dig her teeth into.

"James is being dramatic," Regulus told her.

"Of course he is," Marlene snorted, making for the coffee machine. Dorcas did her very best to avoid looking at the woman's ass.

"I'm not being dramatic," James hissed. "Regulus almost died!"

Marlene shrugged, and Dorcas knew right away that had been the wrong thing to do. James's jaw clenched, eyes narrowed to slits. "He's alive though, isn't he?" Marlene asked, gesturing to where Regulus stood, leaning against the counter. "So it's all good."

"It's not all good! He put himself in danger just to destroy the stupid fucking Horcrux that we would've gotten rid of anyway. And he didn't tell me! I didn't know, Marlene."

"Wait," Marlene paused, turning from where she'd been reaching for the mug. "He destroyed the Horcrux?"

"Yes, I did," Regulus responded drily. "Though James here seems to think that's a bad thing." Dorcas had to take a moment to process, thrown off by Regulus's nonchalance.

He'd destroyed it. Part of Voldemort's soul.

One down, five to go.

Marlene grinned. "Good job. What's that, only five more left?"

"What's wrong with you?!" James burst out, knuckles white against the edge of the counter. "Regulus could've died, and you care about some stupid object more than his life."

"Look," Marlene sighed. Dorcas was surprised she was keeping so calm. Maybe she'd seen James like this before. "Regulus is alive. The Horcrux is gone. In my books, that's a win."

"Stop being so fucking dense, Marlene."

"James!" Regulus and Dorcas snapped in unison, Dorcas already halfway towards him before Regulus grabbed his arm, glaring at her, for some reason. Marlene didn't react much at all, just raising an eyebrow as she took a sip of the tea that had made its way into her mug at some point in the conflict.

"I get you're upset," Regulus told James, "but Marlene didn't deserve that. If you need to be angry at someone, be angry at me."

James deflated a little, and Dorcas, against all her best instincts, held her tongue.

"But she said—"

"Exactly what I did." Regulus laced their fingers together, holding eye contact. "I'm sorry I worried you. The locket was bad for me. I wanted it gone, and I'm glad that it is, but I didn't mean to worry you."

Instead of shouting back, like Dorcas was convinced he would, James started crying. It wasn't a slow build up, rather something that came all at once, heavy tears rolling down his cheeks.

"You could've died."

"But I didn't," Regulus soothed. Dorcas looked away, feeling like she was intruding. Marlene clearly felt the same way, because she shuffled across the room to join Dorcas instead, and— oh. Their arms were touching.

It was pathetic, how the barely-there contact managed to send Dorcas's heart into arrhythmia, but she had no means of preventing it from doing so.

"I'll let you know next time, ok? I'm not going to die, James, not after making it this far."

James sniffled. "Promise?"

"Promise."

There were footsteps, and James leapt away from Regulus at the sound, brushing furiously at his cheeks. A few seconds later, there were three figures in the doorway, two that Dorcas recognised, and one that she didn't.

"Felix?" Regulus asked, first to speak.

"Regulus," the child greeted, standing a little taller. "It is an honour, as always."

"Pssht, you don't have to be so formal," Barty told him. "Reg won't mind."

"Right," Felix nodded, not looking much more comfortable.

"When did you get here?" James asked.

Evan replied for him. "Last night. I went to get him."

"You were careful, I trust?" Regulus tilted his head in question. Barty grinned, nudging Evan with his elbow.

"Yes," Evan replied, glaring at Barty, "I was."

"Sure, sure. Hey, we don't get the paper, do we, Reg?"

"Why?" Regulus asked, already pulling his wand out.

"Oh, you know. Reasons."

Evan sighed in defeat, taking a seat at the table and burying his head in his arms. Now Dorcas was really curious to find out what was going on.

Soon enough, the paper was in Regulus's hand. He'd barely glanced at it for a second before—

"You burned it down?" The question couldn't be described as shrill, exactly, but it was certainly closer to being so than Dorcas had imagined Regulus Black capable of.

"I didn't mean to," Evan tried. Barty was in hysterics, and the kid — Felix — wasn't far off himself.

"Burned what?" James asked, peering over Regulus's shoulder. "Oh. Oh, wow."

"Well, don't keep us in suspense," Marlene demanded. "What did he do?"

"He burned down Malfoy Manor," Regulus told them.

That… was not what Dorcas had expected. Though, she supposed it couldn't really be anything she could've suspected, if it was enough to make it to the front page of the paper. Still, burning down an entire building seemed a bit extreme.

"Why?" she asked, the question the only thing coming to mind.

"I said I didn't mean to." Evan's head was still on the table.

"Don't worry, Reg, you'll be happy once you hear his explanation," Barty assured an irritated-looking Regulus.

"Well?" Regulus addressed Evan.

"There was a Horcrux."

Dorcas gaped, the rest of those in the kitchen, bar the party of three, having similar reactions. They couldn't have gotten so lucky. How did Evan find it? If he was right, if it was really destroyed, then that was two down already.

Only four left.

Four left, and he'd be mortal.

Four left, and they could kill him.

"Oh, look!" Barty exclaimed, having snatched the paper back from Regulus. "You're dead, apparently, Felix."

"I am?" The boy looked down at himself, then shrugged. "Good for me."

"Hold on," Regulus interrupted. "You destroyed a Horcrux?"

"Yep," Barty agreed. "What's that, five to go?"

"Four. The locket's gone."

"Even better! We should throw a party. Can we throw a party?"

"No," Regulus told him. "That'd only be a reward for you, and you didn't destroy any of the Horcruxes." Barty pouted, but argued no further.

"Hold on," James said, narrowing his eyes at the group by the table. "Where are you sleeping, Felix?"

"Evan's bed," Felix replied. Dorcas frowned a little, but felt nothing compared to James's horror.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, attention directed wholly to Evan now. "I would've gotten a bigger house!"

Evan glanced around their, admittedly sizeable, kitchen dubiously. "Do they do bigger houses? I think it's a manor, at that point."

"Then we could've gotten a manor! My mother would kill me if she knew I was letting people sleep on the floor as a host."

"It's fine." Evan rolled his eyes. "We're comfortable enough."

"But—" James's argument was interrupted by a new selection of visitors. Much to Dorcas's surprise, it seemed that everyone in the house was up now, which had to be some kind of record. She'd have felt guilty for waking them up, except that she was sure 8:30 was a reasonable enough time for a weekday.

One glance at Remus's bedraggled expression was enough to convince her otherwise.

"What's going on?" he grumbled.

Mary marched to the centre of the room. "I don't know what's up with this lot," she said, gesturing to them dismissively, "but me and James have news."

"We do?" James asked, as all eyes turned to him.

Mary groaned. "Don't tell me you've forgotten. You literally begged me to get the tickets."

"Tickets?" James cocked his head. Then, his expression lit up. "Oh! Tickets!"

"What tickets?" Regulus asked, gaze flicking dubiously between James and Mary. James didn't answer him, just looping an arm around his waist, waiting for Mary's clarification.

"We're going on an aeroplane!"

"We are?"

"Wait, what's an aeroplane?"

"Is that a Muggle thing?"

"Is it a Horcrux?"

Oh, Jesus Christ. Sometimes, Dorcas thought pure-bloods weren't all that different to herself. Others, she didn't know how they'd been raised on the same planet.

"Is that a party?" Barty asked, eyes lighting up. "It sounds like a party. I told you we deserved one!"

"I doubt you've done anything that deserves celebrating, Crouch," Sirius said. While the two's relationship was much better than it had been, mocking remarks more than likely made in a joking way, now, Sirius and Barty still had their fair amount of friction. The problems had started when Sirius had discovered Regulus and Barty's romantic history, and had refused to come terms with the fact that Regulus held just as much fault for it as Barty did.

Barty paid the jab no mind. "Reg and Ev have, though. They destroyed Horcruxes!"

"You did?" Peter gasped, grasping onto the door frame for balance.

"They did," Pandora confirmed from the back of the group.

"Pandora helped," Regulus said, smiling at her.

"Barty didn't," Evan added.

"I did, though," Felix piped up, shrinking at the attention he drew to himself. Dorcas sighed and leaned back against the counter, ready for another round of explanations.

Once everyone was relatively up to date, and appropriate congratulations had been offered an inappropriate number of times — enough so that Dorcas was getting sick of hearing them, and none were even directed to her — Mary sent them off to pack for their flight. Dorcas thought the request a little ridiculous. They were only going down the country, then apparating back, and the whole process would be a few hours, maximum. Still, she dutifully shoved her wand in her bag, along with some Muggle money in case it became necessary, and made her way down to the kitchen to wait.

Most of the house was down with plenty of time to spare before they left. Felix was among the missing, but he'd apparently decided aeroplanes weren't something he wanted to partake in, which Dorcas thought was fair enough. Regulus and James took a little longer than she had, Regulus apparently having to remind James to pack only the essentials, but they were still in the kitchen with time to spare. As the minutes ticked by, Dorcas grew more and more bewildered by the continued absences of Barty, Evan, Remus and Sirius. She wasn't naive, and would've thought that they simply got caught up in each other, except that she just couldn't see that happening for either couple at this point in time. Barty was far too interested in the prospect of an aeroplane, which Dorcas was still convinced he thought was some kind of nightclub, to let himself get distracted, and Remus was far too exhausted to let Sirius distract him. So, she hoped that they wouldn't be fucking, she just didn't know what else they could possibly be doing.

Her question was answered when a heavy thumping sound began from the stairs, soon followed by Barty and Evan, each dragging a suitcase behind them.

Dorcas just sighed, refusing to get involved and sharing a look with Lily. Marlene had no such reservations.

"The fuck are you bringing them for?" She asked. "Our flight's, like, an hour long."

"She's right," Mary agreed, "and we're apparating right back. You hardly need luggage."

"Oh," Evan said, glancing dubiously at the handle of his suitcase. Barty scoffed.

"You can never be too prepared, Mare. This is my first aeroplane! I'm an aeroplane virgin!"

Mary was saved from having to respond to whatever that was by the appearance of Remus and Sirius in the doorway. They hadn't had the same issue with the thumping, which Dorcas had assumed was due to Remus's skill in knowing what an aeroplane was and therefore packing accordingly. She couldn't have been more wrong.

Remus himself wasn't carrying anything at all, wand shoved into a pocket of his jeans. Sirius, on the other hand, had a suitcase that was easily half his height, and seconds away from bursting at the seams.

"Sirius," Lily groaned, "what the fuck?"

Sirius grinned, offering no further response.

"Remus?" Dorcas asked. "Why?" Remus met her eye, expression unchanging.

"You want me to convince Sirius Black not to do something? At eight in the morning?"

"It's nearly nine, now," Marlene chirped, knocking her knee against Dorcas's which was, frankly, unfair.

"Same thing," Remus grumbled.

"You know what, fair enough," Dorcas shrugged. She'd question it further if it was any other couple, but she could see where Remus was coming from. Sirius was a force to be reckoned with at any hour, and while that made him a challenge at the best of times, she could only imagine how much worse it'd be for a sleep-deprived Remus.

"Can we go yet?" James pleaded. "The plane's in, like, three hours."

"Well," Lily explained, "we don't need to go just yet. Two hours is pretty much the earliest we'll need to be there."

Regulus frowned. "Why did you make us get ready now, then?"

"Well," Mary replied, "Lily's right, for the most part. But we are a group of twelve wizards, most of whom have never flown before. I think we should give ourselves a little more leeway."

"Fair enough," Lily conceded, Dorcas nodding along. If the state of their packing was anything to go by, some extra leeway wouldn't hurt, and would likely prove a necessity.

So, once a consensus had been reached, they apparated together to Edinburgh. Dorcas hated apparating on principle, but had grown accustomed enough to it by now that she could steady herself relatively easily on arrival. It didn't stop the creeping nausea, though, a sensation she hoped wouldn't be worsened by the plane. At least they had some time before take off.

"Right," Mary said. "Before anyone runs off, you'll need these." She set about handing them all a passport, the documents apparently a result of her own magic.

Dorcas was dubious. Airport security wasn't known for being easy-going, and faking a passport would definitely not go over well, if they were discovered. While she trusted Mary, she wasn't sure the woman would've taken absolutely everything into account when it came to faking passports. It wasn't just something that had to look real. It had to scan too, she was sure, and appear on some sort of system. But, over the past few weeks, she had been learning to give up control, finding that sometimes tightening the reigns was the worst thing that she could do. Maybe this was one of those times.

So, she shoved the fake into a pocket alongside her real, thanking Mary and resolving to use the former. What was the worst that could happen?

"Thanks, Mary!" James grinned, practically bouncing on his feet. He wilted a little when his gaze landed on Marlene, to Dorcas's satisfaction. James wasn't a bad person. She didn't dislike him. But snapping at Marlene? That was something he would have to apologise for, and Dorcas wouldn't be forgiving him until he did.

Speaking of Marlene, the woman's outfit was barely an improvement on the pyjamas from before. They were flying from Edinburgh to London, and yet Marlene looked all but ready for a beach holiday, shorts practically moulded to her body, and shirt cropped just a little above her waistline. Just enough so that, when she stretched, or even just lifted her arms a little, it rose up to show a thin sliver of skin that Dorcas ached to feel under her palms. It taunted her, a constant reminder of just how easy it'd be to slide her hands under the shirt and follow it upwards.

She was going to ask Marlene on a date. She needed to, she just hadn't found the right time yet. She wasn't sure that she would find it any time soon, either, as much as the anticipation was killing her. They were in a war, and that was hardly a breeding ground for romance. And if she had to wait to make sure she did this right, then she would. As long as it took. Because Marlene, she was certain, was worth it.

Dorcas followed Mary into the airport, looking back to make sure the group was still following.

They weren't.

What a surprise.

They were trying to, at least, which was better than she'd expected. Apparently, though, doors proved too much of an obstacle. Revolving doors, anyway.

Wisely, most of those in the general public who'd been aiming for the same entrance diverted course, some watching the situation with amusement, while a few others others glared in irritation. Dorcas did her best to offer apologetic smiles through the glass, though she wasn't sure how appreciated her efforts were.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Mary buried her head in her hands.

Sirius had been following right behind them, except now he was still stuck in the first section of the door, along with Barty. Both of them, seemingly, refused to budge. Along with both of their suitcases, there was barely any room for movement, and the door, attuned to the lack of space, refused to spin.

Dorcas sighed in relief when Remus stepped forward, yanking Sirius back onto the street, and letting Barty proceed with only the occasional hitch when he got too close to the front of the door. Sirius, pouting, went next, Remus with him. The pair of them, along with the suitcase, was still a tight fit, but Remus was sensible enough to manage it. James and Regulus came through next, Peter, Evan, then Pandora trailing behind them. Lily and Marlene took the rear, having cleverly stayed back to shepherd the rest through.

"Can we go again?" Peter asked, eyeing the still-spinning door with interest.

"I'll race you," Sirius agreed, before any of them could say otherwise.

"Hey! I want another go, then," Barty decided.

It was another five minutes until they moved away from the doors. Dorcas kept offering silent apologies to passers-by, the gesture seeming to mean less and less the longer their group held up one of the airport's main entrances. Honestly, it was a blessing that security hadn't come to kick them out yet. She wouldn't have blamed them if they had, not in the slightest.

Eventually, with the help of the trouble makers' boyfriends and, in Peter's case, Evan's coaxing, they managed to move a little further into the actual airport. It was slow going still, even the less hyperactive pure-bloods seemingly astounded by the wide, empty space, but at least they were making progress.

"Alright then," Mary told them, "we'll need to go check our luggage in. We would've done it online, but some of us decided to bring their whole livelihoods along with them."

Dorcas didn't mind, really. She'd be relieved to get rid of the suitcases, and they had plenty of time to kill anyways. As long as they were moving, rather than making a nuisance of themselves, that was enough for her.

"What does checking our luggage in mean?" Peter asked her, grip tightening on the handle of the small bag he'd decided to bring with him. "Will they look through it? What if they find out we have magic?"

Evan scoffed. "They don't know what magic is, Pete. They wouldn't be able to tell from our luggage." He ran his tongue over his lip, stilling and turning to Dorcas with wide eyes. "They wouldn't, would they?"

"No, they wouldn't," she confirmed. "Peter won't have to check his bag in here, anyway. He can take his on the plane."

"I can?"

"I can't?"

"No, Evan, you can't bring your suitcase on with you. It'll have to get carried underneath."

"So I won't get it for the whole flight?"

"No."

"What if—"

"You get it back when you land."

"Well then what's the point of bringing it?" he asked, exasperated.

"There isn't one," Dorcas sighed. She was sure that she should be the one who was frustrated, considering they were bombarding her with questions, but she was starting to find amusement in their cluelessness. When they weren't being complete menaces to society, at least.

Evan grumbled something about Barty, squinted at one of the airport signs, and froze.

"Wait, what happens if I have a bomb?"

"Well, if you had a bomb, you wouldn't bring it on a fucking aeroplane, would you?" Dorcas asked. That at least, she was sure, was something he could have figured out himself.

"And if I did…?"

"Does it matter?"

"Um, kind of. Yeah."

"How about this: don't bring a bomb to an airport, and you won't have to find out."

"Wait," Peter interrupted, eyes narrowed at Evan. "Was that what Barty gave you?"

Evan nodded. "He said it was for safekeeping. I didn't know—"

"Hold on," Dorcas interrupted, desperately hoping she was misinterpreting their discussion. She had to be, surely. They were clueless, but they hadn't been complete idiots, last she'd checked. At least not the kind of idiots who would be so calm about a literal bomb. Well, Barty, maybe, but that was a trait that she hoped remained pretty unique to him. "Evan. Please tell me you don't have a bomb."

"…I don't have a bomb." Evan was a good liar. When he needed to be, anyway. Apparently, he didn't consider this situation serious enough to be worthy of his skill.

"What the fuck, Evan?!" She scanned the area as quickly as she could, trying to find somewhere they could be away from other people. Somewhere that the boy wouldn't be noticed taking a literal bomb out of his suitcase. Unfortunately, in an airport situation, those locations were — likely intentionally — limited, the whole room littered with cameras.

"I didn't know!"

"It's not a difficult rule! You should've—" she cut herself off, taking a breath. Now was not the time. Their priority now was getting rid of the bomb, not debating its origins, hopefully without any sort of conflict with the muggle population, who weren't exactly known for being lenient towards bomb threats.

She strode towards the rest of the group instead, yanking Barty back towards them. Nobody batted an eye, not even at the insistent squeak of his soles against the clinically white floor.

"Barty," she demanded, "get rid of the bomb."

To his credit, Barty didn't argue. He did, however, roll his eyes, as though Dorcas's request that they didn't get arrested was just her being dramatic. She let it go, only because Barty dealt with the bomb quickly, vanishing Evan's suitcase with a flick of his wrist.

"It wouldn't have actually exploded, you know."

"That's not the point. Why would you decide to bring a bomb, anyway?" She could easily see the man bringing it just to be contrarian, but he was a pure-blood; he didn't know the rules of an airport, and so Dorcas didn't know how he could possibly have found anything to be contrarian against.

"I heard Remus tell Sirius that he didn't care what he brought as long as it wasn't a bomb. Wanted to see what happened if I did bring a bomb." Right. Of course. She glared half-heartedly at Evan and Peter, who were both muffling giggles at the explanation. Dorcas had come to the conclusion, back in school, that no set of people could be worse together than Evan and Barty. Yet somehow, when Peter was thrown into the mix, that was exactly what they were.

Sirius and Barty were the only ones, now, who had to check their suitcases in. It was a shame, considering Sirius and Barty were also the two who were most likely to argue about checking their suitcases in.

"What?" Sirius screeched, dragging his suitcase behind him, both hands gripping the handle firmly. "I'm not giving some stranger my stuff! It's coming on the plane with me."

"I hate to agree with the idiot," Barty said, nodding towards a red-faced Sirius, "but he's right. I need my shit for the journey."

"Look," Remus said, looking to Sirius, though Dorcas was sure the message was applicable to them both. "This is how the muggle world works. You can either hand it over, or they won't let you on the plane. Your choice." Sirius seemed to contemplate this for a long while, turning his extremely limited options over in his head for longer than Dorcas thought necessary.

"Fine," he eventually conceded with a pout. "I'll let them take it."

"Good," Remus told him.

"Where will they put them?" Barty asked, looking between the conveyors and his own suitcase, which was now somehow missing a wheel.

"Under the plane," Dorcas replied.

"What?" His eyes widened. "How do they stay there?"

"There's a compartment. A room. The suitcases go in it."

"I want to see this… compartment. I don't trust it."

"Tough. You can't." Shit. Dorcas slapped a hand over her mouth, horrified at her choice of language. If there was one rule, one thing you did not do around Bartemius Crouch Jr, it was tell him he couldn't do something. That'd been how he'd gotten twelve OWLs, and since he'd followed through on that particular challenge, she was scared to test how far he'd go.

"Watch me." Before anyone could stop him, Barty strode up to the desk, boarding pass in hand. She couldn't hear their conversation from here, and neither, she was sure, could anyone else. Regardless, she knew the others were just as terrified as her.

Shockingly, the interaction seemed to go well. Normally, at least, which was a synonym for pretty damn well where Barty was concerned. The man nodded, gesturing to the conveyor. Barty lifted his suitcase, setting it on the belt. Then, Barty climbed up too, joining it.

Wait.

"Barty," Lily called, rushing forwards. As if words would stop him. As if this was a mistake, and not his full intention.

Predictably, he ignored her. The man at the desk, however, didn't, head turning from her to Barty quickly enough that Dorcas worried he'd get whiplash. Poor guy. She wasn't sure what she'd do in his situation, either. It could hardly be something that you trained for, some madman trying to make himself luggage.

In the end, it took physical force to get Barty off the conveyor, which just so happened to come in the form of James Potter, a man who was worried that Barty would get swallowed by, as he so eloquently put it, the scary-dark-hole-thingy.

Barty grumbled about the separation, but eventually let it go when Sirius bravely let the machine swallow his luggage as well. Mary began to direct everyone towards their next station — the security checks — but Dorcas noticed that James and Marlene hung back. It looked to be a private conversation, but she had a feeling she knew what it'd be about, so she stayed back too. Not as far as they did, but just a few paces in front, so that she would be able to overhear. She felt a little guilty at intruding, but quashed the feeling as soon as it rose up. Marlene deserved a proper apology, and Dorcas would make sure she got one.

James, who hadn't so much as looked Marlene in the eye since shouting at her, started, his words spoken quickly enough that they struggled not to blend into each other, and Dorcas had to use quite a lot of her brainpower to pick them apart.

"About earlier, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to shout at you. I was being stupid, and you didn't deserve it even if you weren't as worried about Reg. I know you don't know him as well as I do, and I shouldn't have gotten upset because that's ok, but I was just worried and I guess I took it out on you because it felt easiest. I'm so sorry, though, I won't do it again, I promise. And I understand if you can't forgive me—"

"James," Marlene interrupted. "It's fine. I forgive you. You hardly did anything wrong, anyway." She scoffed. "I can handle a little arguing."

"Really?" Dorcas rolled her eyes. She was glad they were making up, but she had sort of hoped it'd be at least a bit more complicated than that. James was a good guy, but he had definitely been in the wrong, which meant he should've had to work to be forgiven. And, yes, Marlene had been a little callous about Regulus's safety, but one wrong was not an excuse for another.

"Yeah. I kinda did it on purpose anyway, so no harm really. And it was quite refreshing to see you lose your shit for once."

"Wait, hang on, what do you mean on purpose?" Good question. One that Dorcas very much wanted answered, too.

"I get like that sometimes, too. I could tell you needed to vent."

"I shouted at you!"

"I didn't mind."

"But—"

Marlene huffed. "It's fine. No biggie. If you really want to make it up to me, just let me shout at you some other time, yeah?"

"Really?" James didn't sound put out by the idea, as Dorcas had half expected. He sounded almost in awe, as though getting shouted at was just what he'd always wished for.

"Really. I get it."

"Thanks, Marls."

"Anytime." Well, Dorcas supposed she had to forgive James after that. She wondered if Marlene would shout at her, too. How did she ask for that without sounding insane? It wasn't that she particularly wanted the woman to be angry at her, it was just that she was certain Marlene would look hot when she was pissed off, and if Dorcas had to endure a little shouting to see that, she would do so happily.

She hurried to catch up to the rest of the group, not wanting to look like she'd been listening in. As soon as she got there, Mary dragged her into the mess, volunteering her as another person who could help explain just what they were about to face. She did her best, but it didn't matter. Words would not prepare them for the challenge ahead. She could've spent years detailing every expectation she could think of, and it still wouldn't have been enough.

Barty went first. Surprisingly, he wasn't the worst. He was given an odd look as he offloaded his wand into the tray, and held up the queue for far too long trying to remove his iron piercings (bar the one he apparently had on his dick, which security, thankfully, informed him would be unnecessary), but apart from that he made it through relatively unscathed.

Until his carry-on was sent down the wrong path.

Usually, Dorcas wouldn't think a rejected bag a big deal at an airport. This time, her heart dropped. This was Barty. A man who'd brought a bomb to an airport. And his luggage was about to be thoroughly examined.

Barty leant an elbow on the counter, complying easily as a member of staff asked him to open the bag. Dorcas wasn't at an angle where she could see its contents, so she waited with bated breath. She couldn't see what either of them were saying, but the woman examining the bag turned a sudden shade of red, so she braced herself for security, trying to decide just what Barty might have that was so incriminating so that she could think of a way to talk them out of it. Shockingly, though, the bag was quickly shut again, handed off by a still-red-faced staff member to a grinning Barty. Dorcas was curious. She was also smart. She decided not to question it.

Sirius decided to go next, dragging a still-exhausted Remus behind him. Dorcas had hoped their excursion would help wake the man up, but he seemed no more alive than he had at the kitchen table.

Remus was awake enough, at least, to re-explain protocol to Sirius, and make sure he followed it. Dorcas sighed in relief when the two made it through, Remus promptly sitting straight down on the other side.

Evan and Peter struggled, especially with the trays, but could conceivably pass as Muggles who had never flown before, in Dorcas's opinion.

With what she hoped was the worst of it behind them, she, Lily and Marlene made their way past security with no issues. They, like Barty, got strange looks at the wands, but that was the extent of their issues.

James and Regulus were more difficult. James did his best to follow instructions, but he got a little confused, trying to bring the tray with him through the person-sized metal detector. Regulus remembered this rule, and stopped him before security had to, but was downright disgusted when the woman at the desk told him he'd have to take off his boots, since they had metal in them. Dorcas groaned, sure he was going to refuse, until James, by some miracle, convinced him of the necessity. That, though, didn't mean their troubles ended there.

The couple's first solution to Regulus losing his shoes seemed to be not to let him touch the ground at all. With some manoeuvring, Regulus clambered onto James's back, settling into the position rather easily. By this point, Sirius was howling with laughter, and Dorcas wasn't far off herself. The clinical airport setting and the sheer confusion of the staff, combined with James and Regulus's complete obliviousness to the hilarity of their actions, made their manoeuvring one of the most entertaining sights she'd seen in a long time.

That plan was quickly foiled when they tried to go through the scanner together, only to be told that it was built for one person at a time. After careful deliberation, Regulus seemed to come to the conclusion that Dorcas had expected one of them to a long time ago, and stole James's shoes to make it through security. That did mean that James was left in just his socks, but it didn't seem to be such an issue in Regulus's mind, and the two made it through without further quarrel.

Then, the only people left to join them were Mary and Pandora. Dorcas let out a sigh of relief, doubting that much could go wrong now. Mary, of course, was a Muggle-born, and already knew how airport security worked. Pandora hadn't been on a plane before, as far as Dorcas knew, but the woman was sweet enough that she'd be able to adapt without problem. She had no worries, at least, about Pandora arguing with the staff, like she had Barty and Sirius.

A minute later, Dorcas was cursing her previous convictions. She should've known that something bad was coming, with how easily the rest of them had made it through security.

Mary set her bag on the conveyor, and all was fine until the security guard pulled a pink bottle of perfume out. Dorcas couldn't quite hear what she was saying from her vantage point, but she could guess well enough, seeing as the bottle was certainly full enough that it wouldn't have made it through security, even if it had been in a clear bag. She'd expected Mary to concede the point, letting the guard take it, or at least apparating it home and leaving her none the wiser. Instead, she started arguing. Dorcas groaned, burying her head in her hands.

The next time she deigned to peep through her fingers was no better. It wasn't just Mary now, but Pandora, too, arguing with the woman, who seemed to grow more and more frustrated by the second. After spending far too long watching, she gave Evan a nudge, telling him to get her when it was over, or when it escalated, and turned away, deciding to spend the time distracting Marlene instead, who had made her way over to a bench and was sitting beside Lily, engrossed in conversation.

Whatever the discussion had been about, she knew, had changed when she interrupted them, but they seemed to adjust to her presence easily. Lily even shuffled over, offering her a seat beside Marlene, which Dorcas was happy to take without hesitation. It left her far too close, close enough to smell the woman's vanilla perfume, which was still just as pungent as it had been first thing in the morning. Dorcas did her best to disguise the way her chest rose and fell as she took breaths that were far deeper than necessary.

It took less time than she had expected, though, for Evan to return, eyebrows furrowed as he did his best to recount how Mary had been eventually let through, perfume still in hand. It had been Pandora, apparently, who had made sure the bottle wasn't taken, confusing the staff enough that they had eventually decided to let the women through, no further examination required. Dorcas asked whether it had been a spell that Pandora used, but Evan had denied it, swearing up and down that it had simply been Pandora's natural talent. Having no reason to doubt his story, Dorcas decided just to be glad that Pandora was on their side, rather than Voldemort's.

There was over an hour left before they had to board once they made it through the airport. Marlene had suggested heading to the bar, a plan that had received unanimous agreement, but once they made it to an area with windows, Regulus practically sprinted off, babbling something or other about flight. James was after him before Dorcas had a chance to question it, the pair hurrying over to the window, faces pressed against the glass.

"James," she heard Regulus gasp, "they're flying!"

To which James responded with an equally enamoured, "I know! How are they doing that?"

Dorcas would've tried to explain aerodynamics to them, but she got the feeling that logic wasn't the important thing here. If the pair were happy to simply spend their time gazing at the planes taking off, then who was she to take the fun out of it?

Time passed, and still neither Regulus nor James moved from the glass. Various pure-bloods joined them between drinks, asking equally insane questions about the mechanics of aeroplanes, but none were quite as fixated as those two were. Or, at least, they didn't appear as such. In Sirius's case, though, Dorcas was sure that was just the effect of Remus's presence, luring the man back to the table, no matter how often the aeroplanes coaxed him away.

Barring Regulus and James, the rest of them dedicated the hour to getting as drunk as they could on a Tuesday morning. Which meant, when their gate was finally called, it took Peter pointing the letters out on the screen for the rest of them to register that it was, in fact, their plane that was being discussed, and that they did have to leave the bar, as unfortunate as it seemed.

Luckily for Dorcas's sanity, they made it through the gate without any issues at all, their passports easily accepted as ID with no further questioning. The group made it down the stairs together, and out onto the concrete stretch leading up to their plane. It was there, she thought, that the rest of the pure-bloods fully caught on to how exciting the journey ahead seemed.

James and Regulus, as they had been before, were bouncing their excitement back and forth, babbling nonsense about the plane that Dorcas didn't have the energy to address. Neither did any of the other Half-bloods or Muggle-borns, she presumed, from the lack of correction the pair received, even about their wildest claims. Soon enough, Pandora involved herself in the discussion too, offering an explanation of aerodynamics that sounded like something out of science fiction but, the more Dorcas listened, held a startling resemblance to real engineering principles.

Sirius's energy hadn't dwindled, and he still hadn't managed to impart much of it onto Remus, which left Remus stuck nodding along to Sirius's musings, some of which were about aeroplanes, and some of which Dorcas couldn't imagine an inspiration for. Barty seemed to follow a similar train of thought on her other side, but Evan, at least, seemed happier to entertain him, offering his own inputs when appropriate to spur his boyfriend on. Peter wasn't contributing much to the conversation, but walked alongside them all the same. Mary and Lily were behind the rest of them, and Dorcas could hear the occasional snicker as they listened in to the others' strange ideas about air travel.

Which left Dorcas to walk with Marlene. She was nervous, understandably, but it was an opportunity she refused to waste, so she forced herself to start a conversation. She was relieved to find that, as always, her nerves quickly took a back seat, submerged under layers of interest and entertainment and calmness and all of the other lovely feelings she got when talking to Marlene. She wasn't one to struggle with conversation, but even so, talking to Marlene was remarkably easy. She was sure she could listen for hours and never get tired of the way the woman talked, able to build suspense with a lilt of her voice and break it at just the right moment. Addiction was the only way Dorcas could come close to describing the feeling their conversations gave her; she was hooked, desperate for the next hit.

They boarded the plane, took their seats — Dorcas ending up in the aisle beside Marlene, which she was inordinately happy about, Evan taking the window seat at Barty's insistence. Barty, much to Evan's amusement, had spent too much time securing Evan's seat to get a window seat himself, and had ended up in the aisle seat across from Dorcas. Currently, he was bickering with Sirius, Remus stuck in the middle of the two but managing to block out their argument with his headphones, eyes pressed closed.

Behind those three sat Regulus, who James had fought to secure a window seat for, James (naturally) beside him, and Lily in the aisle seat. She and Mary had been the last to take their seats, meaning Mary was in the aisle seat across from her (behind Dorcas) with Peter in the middle and Pandora at the window. Dorcas hadn't know Peter and Pandora to talk much, but they were barely pausing for breath in their conversation now. It made sense, she supposed. Pandora's emotions seemed to be infectious, no matter what they were, so it was only natural that Peter was feeding off of her excitement, and making it his own.

"Fuck you, Barty," Sirius declared. Dorcas twisted around, trying to identify the number of small children on the plane, and their proximity to the man. She didn't have much luck, considering how close the chairs were to each other. Hopefully, at the very least, there were none with parents likely to make complaints.

"If you ask nicely," Barty responded. Dorcas watched Remus push his headphones further in his ears, before looking purposefully away. If those two were going to get themselves kicked off of the plane, she didn't want to seem like someone who associated with them.

"Nah," Evan replied, leaning forward so his voice could better carry. "If you're fucking anyone, Barty, it'll be Pete."

"There's children on this flight," Mary whisper-shouted, just before the flight attendant, who'd been narrowing his eyes towards them, had chance to intervene. "Be quiet."

That seemed to put an end to most of the trouble. Peter said something to Evan through the chair — something Dorcas wasn't close enough to hear, but Marlene likely was, considering the face she made — and Evan laughed, but kept any responses to himself. Dorcas wasn't quite sure what was going on between the three of them (Barty, Evan and Peter, that was), whether the jokes had progressed beyond that, but equally she didn't much want to know, so didn't bother asking any questions about it. Whatever it was, it was their business, just as long as they could keep from traumatising children with their comments.

The flight attendants walked them through the safety procedures, some listening more intently than others, and then it was only minutes before the plane started to move.

"Are we in the air yet?" Evan asked, forehead practically glued to the window.

"Not yet," Dorcas told him, "you'll know when we are."

Sure enough, when the plane tilted, taking flight, it became extremely obvious that they'd made it into the air. Not just because of the change in angle, but also because of the various exclamations from their sections of the plane, overtaking any noise that might've come from the children on the flight.

Even Regulus, who Dorcas hadn't known to get excited about much at all in school, was gasping, babbling to James about being in the air. She looked over to the seats across from her, surprised and mildly thankful to find that Sirius and Barty weren't fighting anymore. The latter had taken off his seat belt, which he was sure to get reprimanded for by a flight attendant at some point, but for now he had shuffled past Remus and was sitting practically on Sirius's lap, the two staring together out of a window that was barely big enough for one. Dorcas looked back, catching Mary's eye and sharing a smile with her.

Then, she turned to Marlene, both of them breaking into giggles at the sight. She was glad that Sirius and Barty seemed to be getting along for once, but that didn't change how odd it was that this was what brought them together.

It hit Dorcas, then, just how strange and just how wonderful her life had turned out to be. Here she was, sitting on a plane with seven Gryffindors, three ex-Death Eaters, and a Ravenclaw, a group she never could have imagined would come together, but a group of people that she loved with her whole heart all the same. They were going to kill Voldemort. They were going to get their happily ever afters. But, perhaps best of all, they were already happy. It was important, of course, that they ended the war, but while she'd used to be certain that happiness couldn't exist while the fight continued, now she knew different. Dorcas was happy, happier than she ever had been. Maybe that was why she wanted to fight. Not to find her joy, but to protect it, so that she could keep living every day just as she lived this one.

She took Marlene's hand. Squeezed tightly. They shared a smile, small and gentle and just for them.

Chapter 39: Family Jewels

Regulus groaned, burying his face in James's shoulder as daylight, harsh and unforgiving, spilled through the cracks between the curtains. The gaps were there on purpose. Their curtains were blackout, and Regulus knew that if he pulled them fully closed in the night then he would lose all motivation to get out of bed in the first place. And as much as he hated the daylight, the moments before he got up were some of his favourite. He could press close to James, close his eyes and sink into the warmth, revelling in the opportunity to listen to the man's breathing and knowing that he was allowed to stay here for as long as he wanted.

He didn't usually stay in bed for all that long, though, and today was no exception. Carefully extracting himself from James's grasp (and ignoring the man's sleepy complaints), he shuffled to his feet, stretching before setting about readying himself for the day. He took the opportunity to straighten James's glasses on the bedside table, making sure they'd be in reach for when his boyfriend needed them, then pulled the curtains open a little more, staring out across the ocean of greenery that greeted him. Their window looked out on to the front of the house, meaning that he didn't have a view of the garden, but they were rural enough that it hardly mattered. Nature filled his view everywhere, regardless of the direction he looked in.

It had been long enough now that living here felt natural, far more so than it ever had in Grimmauld. Sometimes, when Regulus was especially anxious, he still found it difficult to bump into people when he didn't expect it, and had to put his mask back up to deal with the discomfort. Those times, however, were far fewer and further between than they had used to be, and had given way, for the most part, to something like contentment, or the closest he had ever been to it, anyway.

Because more and more with each passing day, Regulus loved living here, even amongst all the noise. He loved the house, of course. He loved how comfortable it was, the cluttered decoration and soft lighting that was further than he had known possible from Grimmauld's towering ceilings and dark corners. He loved how easy it was to find people, most of the time. Mealtimes especially, when they all came together with no expectations beyond simply being. Those had grown to be one of his favourite parts of the day. He loved the garden too, how messy it was and how easy it was to lose himself in the chaos, and hide away with a book almost any time he liked.

Sometimes, it rained, and at those times outdoors wasn't as much of an option. But Regulus almost preferred it then. Because James had gotten them a room with a window seat, one with arching windows and a little reading nook that was perfect to curl up in, and to listen to the rain patter against the glass from. He wasn't a fan of water as a rule, especially after the locket expedition, but it was different in the form of rain; not so overwhelming.

This was home. It was, as strange as it felt to say, family. He smiled at that thought. He wondered what his parents would say if they could see him now: reconciled with his brother, friends with Muggle-borns, in love with a blood-traitor. Regulus toyed with the idea of telling them, twisting it about in his mind until he could see it for what it truly was. Then, he shook it away. He had left for a reason, and by now he needed his parents' disdain as little as their approval.

They were going back to Grimmauld today, he and Sirius. Regulus could choose to seek his parents out if he wanted to, but he wouldn't. He refused to. He and Sirius would sneak in while Walburga and Orion were out at the Death Eater meeting, check Orion's office for Horcruxes, then leave. That was all they had to do.

The morning passed in much the same way as those previous. Not yesterday's, when they had gone to the airport (and flown in a muggle contraption, which Regulus was still half convinced was a dream), but those before. No timelines, no stress, just friends sharing in the day's beginnings. Then the afternoon came, and he and Sirius spent the time finalising their plan, interrupted only by the occasional concerned face, poking and prodding at their strategy to ensure that nothing had been overlooked. It was tiring, answering the same questions over and over, but Regulus found that he appreciated the concern regardless.

Six o'clock arrived far sooner than he'd expected it. They left it half an hour to ensure the house would be clear, then apparated to the edge of the grounds. Next came the first step of their plan, which also happened to be the one with the least chance of success. It was the reason he and Sirius were the ones to do this in the first place, though Regulus knew they would've both fought for the responsibility even without their presence being a necessity.

They had to make it through the wards.

In all likelihood, they would be blocked from entering. It would've been a certainty, had Walburga and Orion valued blood less than they did. What he and Sirius had done, in the eyes of their parents, was unforgivable, but the need of the House of Black to produce an heir meant that even the unforgivable could be excused in the right circumstances. Maybe. If they were still in the wards, then it wasn't love that was keeping them there, Regulus made sure to remind himself. It was pride.

"Ready?" Sirius asked. He appreciated the question. They had gone through every imaginable detail of the plan time and time again, but being here was a different matter altogether. It was here that they shared some of their worst memories, as well as, strangely, some of their best. Regulus didn't know how to feel about being back, but he did know that he was glad for Sirius by his side.

"Ready," he confirmed. His hand slipped into his brother's, and he held on tight. The last time he'd been here with Sirius had been when their family was torn apart. It felt fitting that they came back mended.

Once through the wards, Regulus realised just how little he'd expected their plan to work. They'd planned as though it would, of course, and logically he could list all the reasons why he and his brother would still be keyed in to the wards, but something deeper, more instinctual, had been committed to failure. Only now that they were through did it rear its head, the success hitting him like a punch to the gut. It tore through his defences, leaving him to choke up the air in his lungs, unable to keep it down.

They wanted him back: here was the proof. They were his parents, and he'd left them. He'd been trying so hard to rid them from his mind, but none of it had worked. They were still there, and that felt important.

he reminded himself, more forcefully this time. It wasn't important. He wouldn't let it be.

"Reggie?" Sirius asked, fists clenched at his sides.

"I'm fine." Regulus straightened his posture, jaw clenching.

Sirius nodded, more solemn than Regulus had ever seen him. "Weird being back, isn't it?"

"It's fine."

"Right." Sirius shook his head, a gesture reminiscent of his animagus form. "Right. Let's go, then." Regulus hurried to follow. Swiftness, he supposed, was essential to the mission, but seeing as Walburga and Orion would be out for hours yet, he hardly thought it as important as Sirius made it out to be. The man strode onwards, refusing to let anything slow him down, even his own brother.

The door to Grimmauld slammed behind them. None of the candles were lit. They continued on anyway, neither of them pausing for even the simple comfort of a lumos charm. It wasn't necessary. They both knew the building well enough to reach Orion's office with little trouble. Neither of them had ever been invited in, of course, but they were aware of it regardless. Regulus had fixated on the room as a child, spending his time wondering what sort of things his father could possibly keep in there, hidden away. He wondered whether Sirius was the same, or whether his brother had seen through the facade even then.

The office door creaked a little as it was pushed open. Regulus was surprised his father allowed such a state of disrepair. He stepped carefully over the threshold.

"Lumos."

The room was smaller than he had expected. He didn't know what he'd thought his father would keep in here, and if he considered it, the space was around the right size for the items he could list, but as a child he'd expected more, and that had apparently carried over to his adult mindset. Sparse bookcases lines the walls, split up by the desk between them, mahogany stretching practically from one end of the room to the next. It was a space built for utility, not comfort, and consequently one that Regulus despised as much as he did the rest of the house.

"Anything look like a Horcrux to you?" Sirius asked, stepping further into the room.

"Not sure," he replied. Nothing was standing out to him at present, apart from the frankly disturbing amounts of dust coating some of the surfaces, but he'd need more time to be certain. Returning here was not an option, so they had to be sure.

Sirius hummed, pushing aside some of the books on Orion's shelves. Regulus decided to start with the desk, pulling out one of the draws and rooting around for anything that seemed unnatural. Finding nothing that stood out, he moved onto the next draw, then the next, determined to do this properly.

His best intentions flew out the window at the sound of a harsh crack. His head jerked up, and he found not one parent, but both of them, staring straight back at him.

"You were supposed to be gone," he blurted out, nails curling into the wood of the desk.

His father said something in response but Regulus was glued to the spot, thoughts whirring past far too quickly to process anything more. He'd been avoiding thinking of Kreacher until now, had blocked out the memory from his mind as best he could. Seeing his parents, though — the people who had killed his friend — brought it all flooding back. The day was at the forefront of his mind again. Fear. A flash of green. Quiet. Pain. He should've taken the Cruciatus. Would've begged for it, a hundred times over, had there been a chance of sparing Kreacher.

Dobby's words came, unbidden, to mind.

He couldn't change the past, only what was still to happen.

He raised his wand.

Walburga spoke first. "Cruc—"

"Avada Kedavra." Sirius was faster.

Their mother was dead.

Regulus looked at his father. Not at the man that had raised him — that, of course, had been Sirius — but at the man that had ruined him. Orion Black didn't know love, or if he did, he had never shown it to his children. Not how they deserved.

"Av—" Regulus's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. Through it all, his father stood. Waiting. "Avada Kedavra."

It was quick. Easy. Orion made no noise, staring straight back at Regulus as the spell hit him in the chest. There was no struggle. Regulus had meant it, and so seconds later, his father fell to the ground. Lifeless. Empty.

Regulus dropped his weight to the desk, breath coming faster than he asked it to. He looked to Sirius, but his brother was frozen, eyes fixed where their mother had fallen to the floor.

He couldn't much remember what passed, between Orion dropping dead and his own resurfacing, but he could remember the after.

"You alright?" Sirius asked, voice shaking. His gaze still hadn't moved.

Regulus swallowed. "Are you?"

"Yeah." Sirius looked away, but not to anything in particular. Without anything else to focus on, his gaze darted about the room, unfocused. "No."

Regulus tried to laugh. He wasn't sure how well it worked.

"It's— fuck." Sirius laughed properly, then, likely a better attempt than Regulus had made at one. "They're dead."

"They are."

A pause.

"I feel empty, I think."

"Empty?" Regulus asked. Emptiness was far from what he felt. He felt stuffed full, like someone had filled him with all the emotions in the world and had forgotten to leave a map to help him navigate them.

"Yeah. I've been angry so long, and now they're dead. Where's it supposed to go?" Sirius looked to him then, eyes pleading. It was an expression Regulus was ill-equipped to handle. Before Sirius had left, Regulus had always been the one looking for advice, staring up at Sirius in hopes that his brother's age would grant him some hidden wisdom. He understood now, though, how little their age mattered. Sirius was a year older than him, his big brother, and yet he was still just as lost as Regulus, looking for advice from the child he'd practically raised. Regulus didn't have the answers, but that didn't stop him from trying.

"Does it have to go somewhere?"

"No. Maybe. Yes." Sirius looked back to the corpses. Regulus avoided doing so. "I think I need something bigger. Something to make it feel final."

"Let's finish here first," Regulus suggested, trying to formulate some form of order, "then we can decide."

With a short nod, Sirius returned to searching. They both did their best to avoid their parents' bodies. Regulus pressed his shoe against his mother's side once, just to confirm that what he was seeing was real, but past that he kept his distance.

A few minutes later, they were done. There was no Horcrux here, and so it had all been for nothing.

No, not nothing, he corrected himself. If nothing else, it had been for Kreacher. Thinking of it that way, Regulus felt a whole lot better about the situation. His parents had brought this upon themselves, just like the line of Blacks before them. This was where it ended: him and Sirius, and a house filled with a history not to be repeated.

They owned Grimmauld now, Regulus realised. They could do whatever they wanted to it. They could turn it into a home or, more favourably, leave it to decay. Or—

Well, Sirius had wanted finality, hadn't he?

"Sirius?" Regulus asked, running a finger over the grooves of his wand.

"Yeah?" Sirius met his gaze, looked back to him, just like always.

"We own Grimmauld now."

"I suppose so." Sirius grimaced. "Do you want it? I'm happier where I am."

"I don't." Regulus had found his light now, and he would not return to the dark.

He flicked his wand, a small flame appearing at the end.

"I've got an idea."

It wasn't much of a surprise when Sirius turned out to be onboard with his plan. At its core, the idea was far more aligned with his brother's character, after all. As far as Regulus was aware, none of the Marauders' pranks had gone quite this far, but had Hogwarts burned down one day, he knew who he would blame for it.

"On the count of three," Regulus ordered.

"Got it." Sirius was smiling. Even if this all went terribly wrong, at least he'd have that.

"One," he started. They'd put shields up to protect the houses around them, but he was still nervous for the result. At worst, they'd have to put the fire out, but Regulus didn't much like the idea of that.

"Two," Sirius said, tucking his hair behind his ear. Regulus had never been allowed to have long hair. Maybe he'd give it a try.

"Three," he finished, deciding he was quite happy with his hair as it was, actually. There was no reason to look too much like his brother.

"Incendio," they called in unison, twin flames, twisting towards the house.

The fire was small, at first, and would've vanished in an instant had it been Muggle. Fortunately, with a little focus, it spread relatively quickly, happy enough to remain within the boundaries they'd set. Soon, flames arched up into the sky, edges brushing against the clouds. Regulus hoped the charms that kept the house hidden worked with flames. He wasn't sure what excuse he could give otherwise for standing and watching the place burn.

"Fuck you!" Sirius shouted from beside him, loud enough to make him jump. He turned to glare, but couldn't hold the expression when met with the sheer glee on Sirius's face, the type he used to have as a child, when they'd sneak into the garden or make up stories, both curled up on the bed in one of their respective rooms.

"Come on, Reg," Sirius pressed, knocking their shoulders together. "You know you want to."

Regulus stared into the fire, let his emotions climb break back through his careful compartmentalisation. He felt sadness, grief, and what could, once upon a time, have been called love. Mostly, though, he felt rage, tearing through him like the flames themselves.

"Fuck you," he echoed, not quite as loud as Sirius had been, but that didn't matter. They didn't need to have the same reactions to share in their loss.

Sirius cheered, sending another bout of fire at the crumbling building. Regulus followed.

They stayed until Grimmauld was all but ash, the smoke choking them with a sensation that Regulus revelled in. It was Sirius who suggested leaving first— only, of course, if Regulus was ready. Regulus, who had been ready for a while, was quick to agree, and that was that.

Moments later, they were home.

The first thing Regulus noticed was that someone had been boiling orange peel. Lily, presumably, as she was the only one he had ever noticed do so. He grimaced, far more aware of how much they stank here than he had been back in London. The second thing he noticed was James Potter, leaping up from his seat.

"What happened? Are you ok?" He looked them both over, careful gaze scanning them from head to toe, expression tense.

"We're pretty great, aren't we, Reg?"

"Yeah," Regulus laughed, "we are."

"You are?" James repeated. "Then what's with the…" he waved his hand towards them.

"Just getting our vengeance," Sirius told him.

"Vengeance?"

"Well, you see, our dearest parents decided to show up when we were rooting through the office, so—"

"We killed our parents. Burned the house," Regulus clarified. He loved his brother, truly, but didn't have the patience to listen to his rambling explanation today. Not when James was here and he was more than ready for a long nap, wrapped in his boyfriend's warmth. A sleep, if he could manage it.

"You did?" Regulus braced for the questions that were sure to follow. "Thank God! I'm so proud of you guys."

"You are?" He and Sirius asked in unison.

"Of course I am." James furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you not? You don't feel bad about it, do you?"

"No," Regulus replied. It wasn't quite the full truth, and he was sure there were parts of him that still ached with guilt, but on the whole, he was feeling quite positive about the situation.

"Great," James beamed.

"So," Sirius started, "you'll never guess—"

"Can we go to bed now?" Regulus interrupted, addressing James. "I'm tired."

"Of course, Love," James replied, the both of them pointedly ignoring Sirius's exaggerated gagging sounds. "Whatever you need."

With one last look over his shoulder to his brother — whom he definitely did not stick his tongue out at, because Regulus Arcturus Black was not that immature — he and James made their way up the stairs to their room, light from the dimming sun cascading through their windows. He didn't like to waste daylight, but they had all the time they needed, and the sun would be back for them tomorrow.

Chapter 40: The Chamber of Secrets

Barty knew they weren't at Hogwarts anymore. He knew, too, that going back to school was technically a danger and technically put the integrity of their mission at risk. But, while he was many things, Barty was not stupid. He liked to think himself fully capable of keeping his presence at Hogwarts a secret. 

Had it been a normal situation, he would've found somewhere else to go for a change of scenery. There were, however, a couple of circumstances that meant he wasn't yet ready to let Hogwarts go.

The first of these was the ease with which he could enter the castle. Sure, there were lots of places he could go that would be just as easy to get to, but Hogwarts' layout was just enough of a mess to keep him entertained, and there were few other easily-accessible places that could match that boast. And, due to the circumstances of his absence, there was nothing to keep him from entering the castle. After all, he just needed to say the word and he'd be welcomed back to study right away.

Obviously, he couldn't be seen as himself while he wasn't studying here, but that was an issue that was easily rectified.

"Good afternoon, Professor," Slughorn nodded to him. Barty returned some of his own pleasantries, keeping them intentionally vague. The Divination professor never had been all that talkative, which suited him just fine. The most he'd ever heard her say was when she was on her way out, rambling half-heartedly to him about how she was needed in a warmer climate. Barty had nearly suggested to her that she could just wait until the summer, but he'd had a better idea before he could do so, and found himself encouraging her to take her absence as soon as possible instead.

It was only when she mentioned handing in her letter of resignation that he started to object to her plans.

"You don't want to do that," he'd assured her.

"Why not?" she had asked.

"Because you won't be paid anymore, of course," he'd responded.

It did, admittedly, take a little work to convince her that he was capable of keeping the galleons flowing to her account, but as soon as she'd believed him her qualms had vanished, leaving only gratitude in their place. The next morning, she was gone from school grounds, hat pulled down over her ears to protect her from the cold that had apparently been the root of all her troubles. Barty had watched from the window, one very full jar of hair in his grasp. He hadn't much liked the idea of drinking it, but he quickly found that with enough firewhiskey he had little opportunity to taste anything other than the burn. 

Which left him where he was now, a flask of Polyjuice tucked in one pocket and a flask of firewhiskey in another, on his way to teach divination to a bunch of third-years who could barely see themselves in a crystal ball. The job was easy enough, particularly since he was only expected to attend about as much as the actual professor had, which he had determined generously to be once a week. How she hadn't been fired was a mystery. He only hoped that, whichever warmer climate she found herself in, it would be somewhere with a very lax policy on workplace attendance.

Class passed as uneventfully as usual, his only respite from the boredom being convincing some kid that the friendly-looking dog in the bottom of his teacup was actually a sign of imminent doom. Really, it was the boy's fault for being so naive. While he wasn't sure that everyone he lived with would find as much amusement in the story as he did, he was pretty sure Evan would, and since he was the only one aware of this particular adventure of Barty's, that was all that mattered.

Usually Barty would take the time he had free after class to explore the castle, maybe go to the hidden room for a bit to check up on the diadem — his Horcrux. He wasn't keeping it a secret, per se, it was just that he knew it'd be safe there, and his achievement of finding part of Voldemort's soul would be valued much more highly when it was the only one they had left to destroy. The longer he kept the diadem hidden, the better the inevitable dramatic reveal would be.

Today, his destination was a little different. Regulus had mentioned Myrtle the other night. Barty had never sought her out himself, mostly because he thought there would be very little point to such an exploit. She wasn't known for her conversational abilities. Except, apparently, to Regulus she was. They were friends, or something like it. Which meant that Barty was curious and, naturally, when he was curious his first instinct was to satiate said curiosity.

Which was why he found himself at the door to an abandoned girl's bathroom, poised to enter. Glancing around, he took a quick swig of Polyjuice, then a larger one of firewhiskey, before stepping through into the room.

He'd expected sobbing. Strangely, there was none.

"Myrtle?" He called. 

No response. He was in the right place, he was sure of it. Maybe she was out? But where would she even go?

Then, just as he was about to give up hope, "Who are you?"

"I'm—" Barty hesitated. Which version of himself was the right one? "Barty," he decided. Even if he wouldn't convince her by being himself, Barty at least had the virtue of being Regulus's friend.

"Who?" she repeated.

"I'm a friend of Regulus's." That, she didn't question. In a flash, Myrtle was in front of him. Her eyes seemed to gleam despite their translucence, though maybe the sun was just catching on something behind her.

"Regulus sent you?"

"He's my friend," he repeated. "He told me about you."

"He did?" she grinned. "Did he tell you we were best friends?"

"What?" Barty gasped. "Did he tell you that?" It was a lie, surely, or at best some product of an overactive imagination. Barty and Evan had been Regulus's best friends — his only friends — since first year, and there was no chance that he was letting the ghost of some dead girl usurp them.

"Mm-hmm," Myrtle nodded. "He even left me a book. Do you want to read it?" Barty didn't have a chance to decide one way or the other before she was flying off back to the stall she'd come from. Dutifully, he followed.

Myrtle showed him the page. He read it. 

It was... well, it was fucking beautiful, really. Barty hated it. Regulus had never given him a book. What did that mean? Was this girl a really better friend than he was?

No. She couldn't be; he wouldn't accept it. Barty would simply go on as he had been before this revelation, back when everything was right in the world. Then, later, he could complain to Evan and Pete about it.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was happening between them and Peter at this point — except that there was a whole lot of tension going on — but, whatever it was, he was definitely into it.

"So?" Myrtle asked eagerly.

"It's nice," he replied, voice stilted. It was the most he was prepared to give her.

Apparently, that wasn't enough. "You're not like Regulus," she pouted.

"Hey! I'm fucking cool, I'll have you know." Realising his mistake, he slapped a hand over his mouth. "Shit, how old are you? Can I swear in front of you?"

Myrtle didn't reply to the first question, but she gave a nod to the second, shrugging. "I don't mind." She bit her lip. Or, well, pushed her non-teeth through it. "Do you like me?"

"What?" Barty asked. He hadn't expected the turn in conversation. Especially after she'd just insulted him.

It didn't matter what he'd expected apparently because she didn't let up, looking to be on the verge of tears.

"I like you," he promised, panicking. "You seem great, and Regulus left you a book, right? You've gotta be nice if Reg left you a book."

She didn't exactly smile, but it seemed to bring her further from tears.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He stood for a while. She didn't say anything. Which, unfortunately, left it his job to fill the gap.

"Soooo…" he trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets. "What brings you here?"

If he'd thought about it, it wouldn't have been his question of choice. He was aware of how stupid it was to ask. It was just that he had nothing else to say, and the stubborn imposition of silence made it such a relief to think of a question in the first place that he hadn't stopped to consider who he was addressing it to.

There was nothing now to stop the ghost bursting into tears.

He edged towards the door, then stopped, something twisting in his chest as she watched him through her fingers. It wasn't like he cared, but she was Regulus's friend, and he didn't want to leave her with a bad impression of him, was all. Especially since she was competition, and it wouldn't do him well in Regulus's eyes to upset her.

"Do you want me to tell you a story?"

"A story?" she sniffled.

"Yeah, um, how much do you know about Regulus?"

"You'll tell me a story about Regulus?"

"Sure. Whatever you want to know." Absently, he was aware that offering to tell the girl all he knew about his friend probably wouldn't stand him in much better stead with Regulus than just leaving her upset, but it was Regulus's fault for telling Barty about Myrtle in the first place.

So, he talked. He told her about how Reg had gotten the mark. About how he'd gotten them out of it. He didn't go into the details, of course, but she seemed happy anyway, listening intently.

"Are you one of them, too?" she asked at the end of it, curious.

"One of…?"

"Pureblood."

"I am," he nodded. "Why?"

"You're nicer than him."

"Than Regulus?" he asked. In general, it wouldn't have been a very shocking statement. While Barty wasn't all that nice in general, oftentimes Regulus came off as colder than he was through sheer disinterest, making Barty the easier to talk to of the two, though less so recently. But this was the girl who'd just claimed to be Regulus's best friend.

"No, than the boy who killed me."

Oh.

"Was he a Pureblood?" Barty asked gently, not wanting to push too far. Myrtle nodded, then shook her head.

"I think so. His voice sounded like… but he didn't have those eyes."

"Eyes?"

Myrtle hummed, distant. "Bright, glowing yellow eyes."

Yellow eyes. Why did that…

"That was what killed you? The eyes?" Myrtle shrugged, curling in on herself.

"What did his voice sound like?" Barty asked.

"It was—" she cut herself off, voice cracking. He waited. "Hissing. It sounded like hissing."

Holy shit.

"Are there any snakes in the bathroom?"

"No," she replied, blinking. "Do you want there to be?"

"I don't mean real snakes," he clarified. "It could be anything. Decoration, a drawing, anything you've seen that looks like a snake?"

"I don't think so. Oh! Wait!" Myrtle flew past him and Barty followed, again. She paused by one of the sinks, looking down at a tap.

It did not, to Barty's disappointment, resemble a snake.

"I—"

"On the side. Is that what you mean?" Barty crouched. Sure enough, there, etched into the copper of the tap, was a snake. It was barely there, a little detail that would've easily been overlooked had you not been searching it. Or, in Myrtle's case, been in the room for years.

"Shit." Barty nodded. "I think I know what killed you."

It wasn't a surprise when, after Barty revealed his suspicions to her, she insisted that he couldn't go down there. Because the basilisk could come out into the bathroom again and, more surprisingly, because it could hurt him, a concern he found strangely endearing from a girl he'd met barely an hour before. Children, he was starting to realise, were a little like animals: far less irritating than most adults.

Eventually, he managed to convince Myrtle that he was a great and powerful wizard who would be fine. Mostly since he lied to her about having previously slain three basilisks, but also, he liked to think, partially through his own merits.

Barty cracked his knuckles, casting his mind back to one of the books he'd taken from the restricted section. It had been more challenging than most of them (not a high bar), which meant it had stuck in his head a little better.

He'd have to experiment, not being a native speaker and all. This was the entrance to something big. He liked to think of his life as a story, and only a really shitty author would go for the most obvious answer.

Barty, for lack of a better word, hissed. He started with, what he hoped, could be roughly translated to 'open'.

It worked.

His disappointment only lasted a moment before fascination usurped it, and he watched in glee as the upper half of the structure lifted away. He would've preferred the lower half to do the same — as interesting as it was to have pillars on a sink, the circular design felt inherently odd — but he would settle for what he could get.

He turned to Myrtle, hoping to find her sharing in his success. Instead, she was staring at him, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"…Surprise?"

"You're like him." She shrank back. The sun sank low enough to reach the windows, casting a blinding light between them.

Barty stepped forward. Stopped before he reached it.

"I won't hurt you. I promise."

"I don't believe you," she told him.

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Barty stepped across the light, away from the sinks. He half expected it to reveal something to them both, burn him in recompense for his sins.

It didn't.

Maybe in the light of the angels Barty would've been cast into the shadow, but here he was not. He was his own judge, his own witness, and by his own declaration Barty Crouch Jr had done nothing wrong. Let others judge him how they wished, but he would not feel ashamed of the choices he had made.

"I'm not like him. I don't give a shit that you're a Mudblood, and I'm definitely not planning on killing you again for it. I've told you my plan. And, quite frankly, I don't care if you don't believe me. That's your choice. I've made mine."

Barty spun on his heel, clambering up onto the cold tunnel's ledge.

"Wait," Myrtle called. He turned back.

"Be careful." Barty nodded, then pushed himself into darkness.

He didn't mind the cold, or the damp. The animal bones were to be expected, but he pocketed a few anyway as souvenirs. The only thing that gave him pause was the shed layer of skin, simply due to its magnitude. It was to be expected of a basilisk, but seeing it so clearly differed from how it seemed in texts. Still, he didn't allow it to slow his progress for long.

Soon, he came to another door.

He hissed at it.

It opened, just like the last one had.

For something so taboo, nobody had spent very long developing a security system. Although, he supposed that you could count the basilisk itself as security, in which case the system was really quite thorough.

The room was huge. Silent. His lumos barely did anything to counteract the encroaching darkness. He could hear drips of water in the distance, but couldn't see over to where they were coming from. Not having the least idea where the creature could be, he decided it probably best to bring it to him.

"Hello?" he called. "Anyone home?"

There was, of course, no response. That was until a series of events happened in very rapid succession.

A creature lunged from the darkness, every bit as big as Barty had expected. He couldn't see its eyes, since his gaze was trained on the ground, but he knew what they'd look like. He took quick account of its trajectory, the positioning of its body that he could see. It was, presumably, lunging at him, coming from above, which meant its eyes would be just about—

"Avada Kedavra." Barty braced for impact. It came, but not in the form he'd prepared for. Instead of the sharp pain of fangs, venom squeezing its way under his skin, there was a loud, echoing thud, the creature dropping before him.

Phew. That'd been a close one.

The chamber, which had seemed so imposing before, now only seemed rather depressing. It was hardly somewhere fit to be a home, in any case, what with all the damp and darkness and lack of any real food sources. Maybe the basilisk would be happy to have been put out of its misery.

Not knowing quite what he wanted to achieve, Barty stepped up to the creature, running a careful hand along its scales. He wanted to take one as a souvenir, but he didn't much fancy going to the effort of cutting one out, and he hadn't the least idea how far into the skin it was proper to go for that sort of feat.

Eventually, he settled on taking a fang instead. Retrieving it wasn't much easier, but he found it a simpler process to work through, only two clear steps necessary: cut and pull. He debated taking more, but decided the one would be enough for him to carry. It'd make a nice trophy, and he was sure he could find some use case for basilisk venom. He'd definitely read about it before, but couldn't remember exactly which context that'd been in. If it ended up being important, he could always come back here for more.

Deciding there was little point in staying much longer, he made his way back towards the tunnel's entrance. He reached the slide, then realised his problem.

"Fuck."

After some creative destruction of property, Barty had something that was somewhere between a ladder and a staircase, not something anybody would want to use on a daily basis, but stable enough to work this once. With a little effort, he was back in the bathroom, the entrance sliding shut behind him.

"You're back!" Myrtle, who looked to have been sobbing, shot towards him, stopping to survey his figure. "Did you kill it?"

"'Course I did," Barty grinned. "I said I would, didn't I?"

He didn't expect the feel of Myrtle's ghostly arms, and shivered at the hug she gave him. Still, he did his best to reciprocate.

"Thank you."

"No worries." He glanced through the window. "I've got to get going now, though."

Myrtle nodded, solemn. "Tell Regulus I miss him."

It was a fair request. Regulus had, apparently, been coming to the bathroom quite often before they'd left. Barty was still a little bitter that he'd called the girl his best friend, and was tempted to refuse her request. In the end, though, he gave in with a sigh.

"Will do. See you around."

"Thanks, Barty," she replied softly. "See you around."

His victory over the basilisk had been swift enough that he wasn't in too bad a state, but he knew he'd looked better. That became apparent when he apparated back home, straightening his robes, and the first thing he heard was Dorcas's reproval.

"What happened to you?"

"Hey!"

She shrugged, crossing her legs lazily in her armchair. Nobody else seemed to be with her.

"If you must know," he told her, "I was killing a basilisk."

She raised an eyebrow. "Were you?"

"Yep. I can prove it." He pulled the fang from his pocket. he would've thrown it to her, only he didn't fancy having to handle the repercussions if that went wrong.

Dorcas's second eyebrow joined the first, both arched high on her forehead.

"Jesus fuck, Barty."

"Told you." He took the seat opposite her. It was a little close to a lamp for his liking, but let him see her expressions more easily.

"Shouldn't have doubted you," she chuckled, still eyeing the fang. "You going to give it to Reg?"

"What? Why would I?" Barty frowned. "I won it."

Dorcas held up her hands. "Hey, I'm not going to make you. Just seems like he's in charge of this whole Horcrux business."

"Horcrux?" Barty tilted his head, alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind. "What's this got to do with Horcruxes?"

"Wait, that wasn't why you killed a basilisk? What the fuck were you doing, then?"

"Answer the question, Meadowes."

"Fine, fine," she said with a roll of her eyes. "Basilisk venom can destroy Horcruxes. Stab it with the fang, and poof."

"Oh shit." He ran a finger over the fang, twisting it to better catch the light. "I can use it on the diadem, then?"

"Diadem?"

Crap. She didn't know about that. Right.

"Never mind."

"Barty."

As much as Barty liked the idea of building suspense, he also liked the idea of telling Dorcas he'd found another Horcrux. And he wasn't the best at avoiding direct questions, anyway. Slytherin as he was, chaos and distraction had always been his weapons of choice, not the more subtle mind games his peers liked to try and play.

"Fine," he huffed. "I found another Horcrux."

"You did?" She gasped, leaning forward. "Where?"

"Doesn't matter."

"But—"

"It doesn't matter." He wouldn't lie to Dorcas, but he also wouldn't let her stop him visiting Hogwarts. Not when he had so much fun doing so.

"Alright, fine," she agreed. "I won't ask, but you need to go and destroy it. Now."

"Or I could—"

"Now, Barty. This isn't a game."

"You're no fun," he pouted. He disapparated anyway, off to do what he was told. The suspense was ruined now. At least Regulus would be proud, still. Maybe it'd elevate Barty in the friend rankings.

Killing the diadem was really quite an underwhelming process. It fought back a little, but he'd hoped for more. At least being done so quickly gave him ample time to return to the chamber, find himself another few souvenirs, and say a quick hello to Myrtle. Soon enough, he was back at the house, fangs and a destroyed Horcrux under his arm. This time, everyone seemed to be waiting for him.

"There you go," he proclaimed, dumping the fangs and the diadem on the carpet. "One dead horcrux, three Horcrux destroyers."

"Are those Fangs?" Felix asked, stepping forward from where he'd crowded himself into the corner of the room.

"Yep."

"Where were you?" Regulus demanded.

"What? No thank you, Reg? You wound me."

"Thank you, Barty. Really," James told him. "It's amazing. Reg was just wondering how you did it."

"I am, too," Peter piped up. "Did you really kill a basilisk?"

"Sure did."

"And did—"

"Where did you go?" Regulus demanded again. Then, petulant, "why didn't you tell me?"

He was so clearly put out by Barty's leaving without him that Barty almost felt bad. He might've, had Regulus not had a best friend he had so easily declared to be above his first one.

"None of your business," Barty sniffed. "It's not like we're best friends."

"We're not— what do you mean?"

"Did you guys argue?" Evan asked, looking between them with a crease in his brow.

"No, we didn't. But apparently Regulus has a new best friend he's giving books to. One he prefers to us."

Regulus groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

"You do?" Sirius asked. "Why didn't you tell me you had a new friend, Reggie?" Regulus, if possible, buried his face further in his hands. James, who so clearly had no clue what was happening, looped a comforting arm around his shoulder.

Figuring his secret was out anyway, Barty thought he may as well declare the betrayal to the class. "Regulus has decided that Moaning Myrtle is a better friend than me and Evan."

"That's not her name," Regulus snapped.

"Wait," Mary gasped, "you don't mean the ghost in that abandoned bathroom?"

"The very same."

Sirius cackled. Regulus pointedly turned away from him.

"She seems nice," Pandora hummed.

"Not nicer than me," Barty protested.

"Jealous, Crouch?" Lily asked, perched on the arm of the sofa, Pandora at her feet.

"What? No, I'm not—" he made a frustrated sound, giving in. "He gave her a book, ok?"

"Which one?"

"I don't know. The Little Prince, or some crap like that." Lily frowned at the title. Marlene, though, joined in with Sirius's laughter.

"He didn't!"

"What…?" Evan asked, looking from face to face. "What does that mean?"

"That he likes her more than us," Barty said, interrupting before Marlene could offer whatever explanation of the book she was going to give. He didn't care about that. He'd seen enough of it to know that it was clearly meaningful to Regulus, and that was all that mattered.

"I can have other friends, Barty."

"Not other best friends." He toed at the now-defunct Horcrux. "She didn't kill part of a soul for you."

"You're my best friend, Barty."

"You sure about that?" Remus asked Regulus, head resting on Sirius's shoulder, arms looping around the man's waist. "Sounds to me like Crouch has been replaced."

"For fuck's sake," Regulus grumbled. "She's my friend, yes, but you're my best friend. Happy?"

Barty thought this through, looked for the truth in Regulus's expression, then supposed that, maybe, he could settle for that.

"Fine. But you're getting me a book."

"Whatever."

"Me too," Evan added, frowning. "I'm your best friend too, right?"

"Yes, Evan, you're my best friend too. Can we talk about the Horcrux, now?"

To his satisfaction, everyone seemed suitably impressed with Barty's story. Impressed enough that they even agreed he could keep going back to Hogwarts, though he suspected that might have something to do with the fact that he'd told them he wouldn't stop, regardless of their opinions. Later, when they were curled up on the carpet of their room, he felt Evan chuckle into his shoulder, vibrations settling nicely under his skin.

"What is it?" He twisted as best he could, wanting to see his boyfriend's face.

"Just thinking. We've both destroyed a Horcrux now. Reg, too. There's definitely some correlation here. You reckon if we get rid of a few more Dark Marks then the lot'll be gone?"

"Ha, probably," Barty agreed. "Maybe one of us should get the mark again, so we'll get rid of another one next time we betray Voldemort."

Evan hummed. "We've been through enough though, don't you think? Someone else should get it."

"Yeah." Barty stretched, snuggling back into Evan's chest. "Who do you think it'll be?"

"I don't know," Evan admitted. "Pete, maybe? You reckon he could be a Death Eater for a while?"

"Maybe," Barty responded with a yawn. "I don't know. Can we sleep now?"

"Of course we can." Evan's arms drew more tightly around him, and Barty hummed in contentment. The carpet had never been so soft.

Chapter 41: Meet and Greet

Summary:

Fun fact: if you go somewhere cold you will be cold
(I have had to buy a scarf for the first time in my life and idk what I'm doing, everyone knows I'm a fake scarf wearer they can tell)

James's favourite mornings were the ones when Regulus stayed. He woke up whenever Regulus left — one of them was always holding on tightly enough that any kind of subtle escape attempt was impossible — but most of the time Regulus was gone before James was awake enough to actually leave bed and start the day. Today, he had hit the jackpot, because not only was Regulus still curled up against him, arms gripping tight, but he was moaning as well, soft sounds in James's ear that went straight to his dick. Safe to say, James's little issue was growing rapidly, especially considering that Regulus was moving, too, little sleepy thrusts against James's thigh that he was sure were enough to drive him insane.

"Regulus," he prompted, brushing the man's hair from his face and pressing his lips to the little wrinkle that had formed on his forehead.

Regulus hummed a little at that, but didn't open his eyes, just continuing his lazy rhythm.

"Regulus," James tried, louder this time, rubbing soothing circles onto Regulus's ribs through his shirt's thin material.

"What is it," Regulus responded, words slurred with the remnants of sleep.

James pressed his thigh closer, hoping that'd get the message across.

"Oh." Regulus's eyes blinked open and, much to James's horror, he began to shift back, a flush high on his cheeks. "Sorry."

James looped his arms tight around Regulus's waist, keeping him right where he was supposed to be. "Don't apologise." He grinned. "Just thought you'd want to be awake is all, love." Regulus's flush deepened.

"James," he protested, no real weight behind the words.

"What? It felt good, didn't it?"

"…Yes."

"Then by all means, go ahead." Regulus didn't move at first, and James had just about resigned himself to accepting the refusal when he pressed forward again, a small, hitched sound falling from his lips.

"That's it," he encouraged, hands carefully sliding downwards to cup Regulus's ass, encouraging his movements along when the man didn't protest. "You're doing so good for me, Reg."

"James." Regulus tried to make his name sound like an admonishment, but James knew him far to well to take it as such.

"I know," he hummed, "feels nice, yeah?" By now James was full mast himself, aching at the lack of pressure on his own cock, but he let the ache fade into the background, far too focused on Regulus's pleasure to care.

Soon enough, Regulus was worked up enough that he stopped trying to disguise his whines, panting into James's ear and rolling his hips more roughly against his thigh.

"More," he choked out, "more, James, I need—"

"Shh," James soothed. "I know, I've got you, sweetheart. I'll make you feel good, I promise." True to his word, he shifted back a little (despite Regulus's attempts to stop him) and slid a hand under the waistband of the man's boxers, wasting no time in wrapping it around his dick. Regulus keened, thrusting up, breath still hot against his skin.

"You like that?"

"Yes. Yes, please, James—" Regulus cut himself off with a moan when James flicked his thumb over the head of his dick.

James kept working his hand, eyes fixed on Regulus's expression as the man grew closer and closer to the edge. He liked to get off just as much as the next person, but there was something about watching Regulus fall apart, desperate and pleading and undeniably his, that felt just as good, if not better. It took his breath away.

"C'mon," he breathed, speeding up his movements. "You're close, yeah? Reckon you can do it, baby? For me?"

"I—"

He didn't give Regulus a chance to respond. He didn't need to. They'd done this enough now that it was second nature. He knew his boyfriend's body as well as his own, and knew just how to drive him over the edge.

"Come for me, Reg," he said, one final flick of his wrist enough to send the man careening over the edge that James was so desperate to see him fall from. Cum coated his hand and Regulus's boxers, something he couldn't bring himself to give a second thought to, not when Regulus looked so gorgeous, eyes scrunched together and lips parted wide.

"That's it. You did such a good job for me, love. So perfect."

"Stop it," Regulus grumbled, shuffling closer nonetheless.

"Sure," James hummed, having absolutely no intention to follow through. Regulus's thigh brushed against him, and he groaned at the movement, more than pent up from the events of the morning.

Regulus noticed, of course, lips curling as he slotted a leg between James's thighs. "Do you—"

"James!"

Fuck.

"Not now, Pete!" he shouted back, praying that'd be the end of it.

"James, you need to come downstairs."

"I said not now. I'm busy." Regulus chuckled. James didn't know what part of the situation could be amusing to him.

"Trust me, you want to be here. It's important."

"How important?"

"Full moon." Shit. He couldn't ignore that, as much as he wanted to.

He wiped his hand on a tissue, rolling himself off of the bed.

"You made me sticky," Regulus complained, nose wrinkling as he took in his own cum-soaked boxers.

"You made yourself sticky," he retorted, struggling to pull a loose pair of trousers over his boxers before slipping the shirt he'd discarded the night before over his head. He hurried out the room, not bothering to wait for Regulus. The man would catch up when he was ready, and if this was as important as Pete claimed, it wasn't something that could wait.

James thudded down the stairs, brain flicking through all of the terrible things that could've happened. What if someone was hurt? What if it was Sirius? Or Remus? Or, fuck, what if it was both of them?

None of James's horrible scenarios, it turned out, were anything near what awaited him at the bottom of the stairs.

His parents, it seemed, were currently engaged in conversation with Peter, sweet smiles on their faces that James knew would drop the moment they saw him. Maybe it'd be better if he gave them some time. Carefully, he began to back away, eyes not straying from the entryway. He'd almost made it, but just before he was out of sight completely, his parents' gazes snapped up, almost in unison, two sets of dark eyes burning into him. James scratched at his neck, trying to distract from the overwhelming feeling.

"James Fleamont Potter," his father said, crossing his arms over his chest. "We've been worried sick!"

James swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd notice."

"Didn't think we'd notice?" his mother muttered something under her breath. It sounded like Spanish. James didn't bother to listen too closely, knowing that, whatever it was, it wouldn't mean anything good for him. "Where's Sirius?" she asked sharply. "He's with you, yes?"

James nodded.

Knowing from experience that arguing would get him absolutely nowhere, James wisely chose to hurry back up the stairs, knocking what could be considered an unreasonable number of times on Sirius and Remus' door. James, knowing firsthand what the wrath of Euphemia Potter felt like, was tempted to knock some more, just to make sure they heard.

"What is it?" Sirius whined, still sounding half-asleep. James heard Remus in the background. Somehow, he sounded worse.

"Parents."

That got Sirius moving. James heard various panicked grumbles and thuds as Sirius tried to make himself presentable.

"Which ones?"

"Ours."

"Fuck."

Less than a minute later, Sirius was in the doorway, hair sticking up in about as many angles as James's did on the regular, eyes still messy with last night's eyeliner.

"How did they find us?"

"I don't know."

Sirius huffed. "I bet Melissa told them. I didn't trust that girl for a moment."

"Let's just ask, yeah?"

"Sure. If you can get a word in, that is."

So, James and Sirius went back down the stairs. James had barely opened his mouth when questions were thrown at them, his mother and father's voices overlapping in a way that was rapidly driving him towards a headache.

"Does anyone want tea?" Peter cut in, voice raised enough to capture James's parent's attention and distract from the questioning for a moment. James let out a breath, offering the man a grateful smile.

"That'd be lovely, sweetheart," his mother replied.

"Yes, that sounds perfect, thank you," his father said.

Peter left soon after. James didn't have a chance to mourn the loss, though, because then they were being questioned just as vigorously as before.

"What are you doing here?" his father gestured wildly about him, as though there was nowhere in the world that would be a stranger place for them to inhabit.

"Funny story—" Sirius began, only to get cut off by his mother.

"Why didn't you tell us you were leaving?"

"Well," James tried.

"We thought you'd been in an accident, or put under some kind of curse!"

"Dad—"

"You owe us an explanation," his mother declared.

"That's what I'm trying to do!"

A beat passed. Nobody spoke.

"Alright," his father nodded to himself, taking a deep breath that James did his best to mimic. "How about we sit down, and you two can tell us what's been going on?"

"Sounds good," Sirius agreed, voice only shaking a little.

So, that's what they did. James ushered them awkwardly into the living room and they sat opposite each other — he and Sirius on one sofa, his parents on the other. Peter returned briefly to leave them tea, then saw himself out, presumably unwilling to be dragged into the crossfire.

"Right," James began. It was then that he realised he didn't know where to start. So many things had happened, all different strands of the same tangled ball of string, and it was hard to know which was the right end to unravel from. He looked to Sirius.

"We're hunting Horcruxes." Ok. Straight to the point then. James knew that, realistically, his parents wouldn't leave until they'd been given a solid answer, but the admission still made him feel guilty. After everything Regulus had been through, he at least deserved to have his discovery kept a secret, especially when the rest of them had practically forced themselves into his narrative.

"Horcruxes?" his mother's eyebrows pulled together. She set her tea down on the coffee table.

"We're trying to kill Voldemort," Sirius elaborated. "He split his soul. We need to find all the parts before he can be killed."

"That's possible?" his father asked, looking considerably paler than he had done when he'd arrived.

"Yeah."

"Why you?" his mother asked, looking between them.

"Who else?" James replied. "The longer he's alive, the worse things get. We need to stop him. Quickly."

"You're only children."

"I know."

"This shouldn't be your responsibility."

"It shouldn't."

His mother's lips parted to say something more, but James saw her breath catch in her throat. She nodded, swallowing it down and shifting on the brightly-patterned sofa.

"You didn't tell us," his father said.

"We didn't want to worry you," James tried.

"You disappeared!"

"We didn't think you'd notice." At the time, James had thought there no better solution than leaving Melissa to construct their responses to their parents' letters. Now, he was beginning to realise all of the flaws that came with that plan. Even if she did get their writing to look right, which he doubted seeing as she was only a first year, the other important part of authenticity would be writing responses that sounded like them, and she certainly didn't know them well enough for that. "How did you find us?" he asked, not wanting to wait for his parents to confirm just how stupid the idea was.

"You're our child, James, and you bought a house. The goblins didn't want to tell us at first, but it didn't take much convincing for them to break."

James doubted that. If there was anything goblins were known for, it was their integrity. He didn't, however, doubt the persistence of his mother. He could see it in his mind, clear as day, her storming into the bank and refusing to leave until her son's whereabouts were disclosed to her. She must've found some loophole about access to relations' accounts, he supposed. He smiled a little at the visual, then pushed it aside, bringing his focus back to the matter at hand. They were still in trouble. Right now, top priority should be minimising the fallout.

His father leaned forward, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was the same expression he used to wear when reading letters from McGonagall detailing the 'inappropriate' behaviour James and Sirius had gotten up to that term. She'd always liked to save those for the holidays.

"So, let me get this straight. You've decided to search for pieces of Voldemort's soul?"

"Yep."

"And how exactly are you planning to go about that?"

"Probably just how we have been." His father gave him a flat look.

"It's going well," Sirius added. "We're making progress."

"By progress," his mother said, voice low, "I hope you don't mean you're getting closer to him."

"Him? No. His Horcruxes? Yep."

"How would you know?" His father asked.

"Well, we've destroyed three of them."

James couldn't help but laugh as his parents struggled to process Sirius's words, pride flaring up behind his ribs at just how much progress they'd made. It wasn't that he felt especially proud of himself, considering he hadn't exactly been the main proponent of their destruction, but it was almost sickening how much he felt for the family they'd created here. He'd gladly shout it from the rooftops if there was anyone below to listen.

"You've—" his father gripped onto the edge of the sofa, cooling tea long forgotten. "You've destroyed parts of Voldemort's soul? Are you quite sure?"

"Positive," James confirmed.

"How—" his mother shook her head, eyes squeezing tight. "I don't think I want to— they're not houses, are they?"

James blinked. "What?"

"These… Horcruxes. Are they buildings?"

"…No?"

She nodded, relaxing a little.

"Why?" Sirius asked, frowning.

"Well, with the manor burnings in the papers, I just wondered—" She looked between James and Sirius. Neither of them were ever very good at concealing their guilt. She sighed, the sigh of a woman who had been tasked with the misfortune of raising not just one Marauder, but two of them. "That was you, wasn't it?"

"Um, well—" Sirius started.

"I should have known. Especially considering that one of them was your old house." She nodded to Sirius. "You know what, I don't need to hear anything else. I don't want to. You're being safe, yes?"

"Yes," they responded together.

"We can't talk you out of this?"

"No."

"I thought not." She tried to smile, but couldn't quite maintain the expression. "What—"

His mother looked up, eyes widening at the wall behind them. James turned, only to find that the wall was not a wall and was, in fact, his boyfriend, who had no right to be wandering around in his fucking hoodie. And not just any of his hoodies, but the one with Potter stamped on the back that he knew made something possessive in James rear its head every time without fail.

"Oh." Regulus's eyes widened, and he stared desperately at James. "Hello."

"Hello," his mother said, first to recover. His father followed soon after with a greeting of his own. Regulus's gaze didn't budge, and James gave a little shrug, unsure of what exactly he could do to change the situation. At least they'd already got the Horcrux stuff out of the way, and the big revelations were coming sequentially rather than in a confused lump.

"Regulus, I presume?" his mother asked.

"Yes." Regulus finally dragged his gaze away, hands clasped behind his back as he looked towards James's parents. "It's an honour to meet you."

"You too." She gestured to the sofa, to the space that'd been left by Sirius, who had instinctually moved to make room the moment he'd spotted his brother. "Would you like to sit down?"

"Sure." Regulus's movements were stiffer than James had ever seen them, as though his joints were fighting back against the commands he gave his limbs. Soon, though, he was sat between Sirius and James, his rigid posture making him seem about the same height as the latter, despite the significant gap that usually remained between them.

"I'm not sure where to start, really." His mother laughed nervously. James fought the urge to groan aloud. If she started being awkward too, then there was no hope for any conversation between her and Regulus. "I'm sorry."

"What?" Regulus finally softened a little, confusion temporarily overwhelming his nerves.

"We didn't know that you wanted to leave," James's father explained. "We would've helped you."

Oh. James felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes, which really shouldn't have been happening, considering none of this was about him in the slightest. But still. He never forgot just how good his parents were, but the confirmation always overwhelmed him regardless. He was the luckiest man alive to have them. He moved a hand to Regulus's knee, squeezing a little in an attempt to help him through the emotions he knew the man must be feeling.

Regulus's hand shook as he moved it to cover James's own, keeping it there. "You couldn't have known and you don't owe me anything. There's no need to be sorry." Sirius had caught on and was leaning his head on Regulus's shoulder, pressed against his side. It said something that, for once, Regulus let it happen without complaint.

"Oh, sweetheart," his mother replied. "You're just a child. We should've gotten you out of that place the moment we saw what it did to Sirius."

James was alarmed, but not surprised, when Regulus started crying, tears running down his cheeks with absolutely no sound to accompany them. Regulus didn't like to be vulnerable, but there were too many feelings in this room not to be overwhelmed by, no matter how hard you fought to remain stoic. James looped an arm around his shoulders, trying to make his warmth permeate through the hoodie's fabric.

James's father smiled, not missing the motion. "I do hope you feel the same way about our James, or I'm afraid he's going to be very upset when you break the news."

"Dad," James complained. The statement didn't do any harm, considering he'd already told Regulus just how in love with him he was in many, many ways, but what if he hadn't done that yet?

Regulus's lips quirked into a small smile. "I am deeply in love with your son." The line was delivered in that flippant tone of his, but was enough to make James's heart jolt, enthusiastically enough that he worried his arteries and veins would get tangled together. He'd never get tired of Regulus telling him he loved him, but in front of his parents? That only made it worse. Or better. Yeah, definitely better.

"Oh!" his mother gasped, and James was sure her tears were for a completely different reason now. "James! Why didn't you tell us?"

"I mean, it's kind of complicated."

"He didn't tell me, either!" Sirius protested.

"Sirius, you live with us."

"I meant at first."

"Well at first we weren't—" James cut himself off, realising his parents were quite literally a few feet in front of him. "It's complicated," he repeated.

"I used to be a Death Eater," Regulus decided to clarify, rolling up the sleeve where his new mark was proudly on display. "It used to be a secret, as you can imagine."

James's father, having about as much concept of personal space as his son did, stood from the couch, crossing over to them and leaning down to get a closer look at the mark. "You said you used to be a Death Eater?"

Regulus nodded, grimacing.

"How did you remove it?"

Regulus smiled, looking to his brother. "I had some help with that part."

It wasn't until sunset that James managed to convince his parents to leave. They were still angry at him and Sirius, though that had been replaced partially with worry, and what he hoped was a little bit of acceptance after their explanation. Since Regulus had none of the expectations that James and Sirius did, though, he received none of their anger and all of their affection as they made him promise to visit for anything he might need. There was also a concerning amount of gratitude offered to him for loving their son, enough so that James had to, on more than one occasion, point out that he and Regulus were in a loving, two-way relationship, and that it wasn't some form of charity on Regulus's end to date him.

His parents' affection spread to his friends, too, each one of them greeted with just as much enthusiasm as introductions were made. Even Barty, the very image of teenage rebellion, was greeted with a hug dramatic enough to sweep him off his feet. James was just glad Evan had dropped Felix off the day before, left him safe with a secret girlfriend, apparently. If the boy had still been here, he was sure his parents would've started pushing for adoption.

When his mum and dad finally left, it was with what everyone hoped to be a very real promise that they'd all stay safe. It'd been nice to see his parents again, but intense enough that James only managed to relax once the door clicked shut behind them.

"You alright?" Regulus asked, linking their hands together.

"I'm good," James nodded, leaning his head on Regulus's shoulder.

Chapter 42: Introductions

Notes:

And we have reached the end of (what I consider as) part 3!

(sorry)

If it's any consolation the next chapter will probably be out earlier than usual, I have to get a plane on Thursday and refuse to bring my laptop with me for the weekend.

Marlene hated being bored. She wasn't sure anyone liked it, really, but it seemed to get to her more than most. Which was why, once she and Lily could conclude with relative certainty that their spell was effective, she was the first to volunteer to test it out. Dorcas had tried to argue, but Marlene had apparated away before the woman could say much of anything. She'd been stuck in the house for far too long, and would take any out she could get.

Hogsmeade, admittedly, was a better out than most. Marlene had missed it, not just the place itself but the way it made her feel. For years she had come here, Mary and Lily at her side. Even when the two had started dating, it had still been a place for the three of them, somewhere where they could bask in one another's company without the worry of deadlines or practice or whatever else was going on in the outside world. Coming here was like stepping into a bubble, insulated and warm, even in the throes of winter. She'd worried it'd be different coming back, that the distance would have changed the way it felt, but she was glad to find that the same familiar swell of warmth wrapped around her chest almost the moment she arrived. Like she still belonged here, no matter how long she'd spent away from the village.

She let herself take a moment to breathe in the scent of home and let it settle in her lungs, the air washing away the ash that'd settled there. When the oxygen flowed freely once more, her body revelling in the chance to stretch its legs, she waved her wand, focusing on getting the movements just right.

"Tenebris Revelio."

The change was instant. She felt it under her skin, a forceful tug beckoning her along the path. Marlene wasted no energy trying to fight it, and instead matched its pace, breaking into a near sprint. A laugh bubbled to the surface as she let the spell guide her. They'd tested it, and they'd known that it should work, but feeling it like this was something different altogether. It was all of their work coming to fruition, no longer a mere experiment but something real that would help them to end this war for good.

It was unexpected when the spell lead her to Three Broomsticks. In her mind, Voldemort had never been the kind of man to have friends, let alone the kind of man to actively socialise with them. Maybe that'd been the plan, to hide his Horcrux somewhere nobody could possibly associate with him. The reason didn't matter, though. All Marlene needed to know was that this was where the dark magic was — where the Horcrux was — and so this was where she needed to be.

Anticipation thrumming in her veins, she pushed the door open, catching it with her shoulder to keep it from falling closed. The spell was working in overdrive now, almost burning, urging her onwards, towards—

Oh.

Her breath caught in her throat. She tried to back away, to go unnoticed, but there were too many of them. One of them would look up. They had to. And they did. Just as she was easing the door back open, silently begging it not to creak, one of the masked figures looked up, dull eyes meeting hers.

He laughed. It was familiar. She knew it, had heard it at Hogwarts before, the harsh sound passing her by in corridors. She wasn't sure exactly which one this was, had never really spent any time trying to tell them apart, but knew it had to be one of the Slytherins. Regulus had told them that Voldemort cared little for age, but she hadn't quite processed what that might mean until now, and she found herself stuck under the Death Eater's gaze, at a loss for her next move.

She managed to duck the first curse and hit him back with a body-bind that sent him toppling to the ground. Now, though, the attention was on her, each Death Eater turning in their seat to send curses her way. She wouldn't be able to overpower them, not when there were so many, but she didn't let herself think about that. She was a McKinnon, and she would not go down without a fight.

Marlene managed to incapacitate three Death Eaters, in the end, before they hit her. She was still focused on her latest target when an Expulso came from behind, sending her careening into the wall. The impact was enough that she had to take a moment to get her bearings, something wet trickling down her forehead. That moment turned out to be too long, because before she could open her eyes again her legs were locked, and her wand was sent flying to the other side of the room.

Marlene stared up defiantly, unflinching as the dark figures strode forward, surrounding her on every side. Her vision was still blurred from the impact, but it wouldn't matter if it wasn't. None of them were identifiable, all cowering behind their masks.

The first man she'd hit (Mulciber, if she had to take a guess) was on his feet again, hovering far too close to where she sat. She spat, the saliva landing on his trousers. A sharp crack sounded, and her head twisted harshly to the side as a sting bloomed across her cheek, vision swimming even further. She did her best to blink the irritation away and appear unfazed, though she wasn't sure how well it worked.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the half-blood McKinnon. What were you thinking, coming here?"

"That I could take out three of your men." She couldn't see his face, but she was sure that, if she could, it would be twisted in a sneer.

"That was only because you caught them off guard," he snapped. Before she could respond, he was shouting something else. "Newbie! Come here." A gap formed in their self-made semi-circle, and a man stepped through it, hands buried in his pockets. He seemed familiar, but she didn't think he'd been one of the Slytherins. "I'm feeling generous. You can take care of this one." Mulciber slapped him on the back and the boy stuttered forward, stopping just before her with his wand half-raised in his right hand.

He nodded, hand only shaking a little as he raised it higher.

"Furnunculus." Marlene flinched, curling her hands into fists as she felt the boils take root, throbbing under her skin. She knew that voice. She'd known it for a long, long time.

A few scattered laughs. A reprimand. "You can do better than that, newbie."

Marlene looked up, meeting familiar blue eyes. Her fear, she was sure, was clear now. She felt vulnerable, stripped bare of her carefully-constructed defences.

"Crucio."

Marlene couldn't feel much of anything at all, then. Nothing excepting the blinding pain, white hot as it tore her apart, every nerve alight and begging for a relief she knew wouldn't come. She was screaming, she was sure, though she couldn't feel or hear it, her mind unable to process anything other than the pain. It was all there was; all there ever would be, consuming her whole until nothing remained.

It took her a while to process that it'd stopped, to come to, tear-tracks cool against her burning skin, body shivering on the ground where it had curled in on itself. There was more laughter now, enough that she gagged on it, wanting it out, out, out.

"You reckon you can take it from here, newbie? We've still got a message to deliver."

Marlene barely processed the squeaked sound of assent before she was being kicked out the way, figures shoving past her and through the door. Only one remained.

"P—"

"Crucio."

If Marlene had been able to think through the pain, she might have noticed the fear, sharp and wild in the man's eyes. She might have noticed the way he shook. She didn't, though, because the pain was too much, the pain put there by a man who had been one of her closest friends. They'd known each other for as long as she could recall. One of the first memories she had was of scraping her knee, tears fat and heavy on her round cheeks as they dripped down to mingle with the blood, stinging as they landed. It had been him who'd stopped for her, crouched down by her side and promised, with soft words, that everything would be ok. She'd believed him, because he was her friend. Because he always told her that she was brave and she always told him that he was kind. Because they had promised to never hurt each other, no matter what.

There had been times she had worried she would break that promise, snap and say something she couldn't bring them back from. He'd stayed with her, though, through it all. Never could she have imagined that, one day, it'd be the other way round. That Peter — soft, brave, kind Peter — would be the one to ruin them. Part of her still didn't. The evidence was all there, painted in excruciating detail before her eyes, and yet she still hoped it wasn't true. Because the boy she'd loved, the one she'd grown up with, could never be so cruel.

"Stupefy."

The world fell dark.

And, some time later, it grew bright again.

Marlene didn't recognise her surroundings at first, upon waking. She'd grown too used to her home comforts, and was shocked to discover herself resting anywhere other than her mattress. Still, after a brief moment of confusion her instincts kicked in, and she scrambled for her wand. She didn't think about where she was, or the fact that there was no barkeep in the room anymore, or the fact that she was alone in the pub. She didn't have the time; somebody would be back for her at any minute.

Eventually, she realised her wand had lodged itself in the space between her and the wall at her back. She sighed in relief, not sure how it got there but grateful that it had all the same. Then, she apparated, doing her best to stay focused, not wanting to splinch herself in the process. The sensation hurt her head even more, squeezing around her throbbing skull, but she remained steady, knowing just where she needed to go.

"Marlene!" She looked up at Lily, the woman's red hair floating in her fuzzy vision.

"Hey, Lils," she managed, before the world fell dark once again.

Chapter 43: Pretty Like the Sun

Notes:

Is it another short chapter today?
...yes
Next one will be longer though, promise!

Dorcas hadn't left Marlene's side since she'd come home. Lily had tried to move her, as had Evan, but she'd refused to listen. Marlene could wake up any minute, and when she did, Dorcas wouldn't let her be by herself.

Mary said that the injuries weren't permanent, that Marlene would recover just fine, but that wasn't enough to reassure Dorcas. Something had happened. Marlene had been hurt, and that was enough for all of her other priorities to seem meaningless in comparison. She shouldn't have let Marlene go to Hogsmeade alone, should have taken her place. Would've done anything not to end up here, sat at the woman's bedside, helpless as she waited for her to come back to them.

Dorcas was still stuck in the same train of thought, mulling over everything she could've done differently, when Marlene's eyes opened. She didn't notice at first, not until the woman spoke.

"Hey."

Dorcas jumped "Mary!" she called, eyes roving over Marlene's figure. She wasn't certain what she was searching for. She knew there wouldn't be any new injuries, but it felt like, now that Marlene was awake, Dorcas should be able to tell how she was doing, and spot anything that could be causing her pain.

"Why do you want Mary?" Marlene asked, brows pulled together. "Don't you like me?"

"Of course I like you," Dorcas responded, shocked that it had ever been in question.

"Ok, but do you like me or do you like like—"

Mary arrived then, out of breath. "What is it? Is Marlene—" She looked over to the bed, grin forming on her expression, making her seem far more alive than she had since Marlene had returned. Dorcas felt a little guilty that she hadn't noticed Mary's worry sooner, having been too wrapped up in her own concern to see anything outside of it. "You're awake!"

"'Course I am," Marlene replied, smile just a little too wide.

"Ah," Mary said, addressing Dorcas. "She might be a little out of it still, but it shouldn't last too long. Side effect of the potions."

Dorcas nodded. "She's alright, though?"

"Yeah," Mary sighed. "Yeah, she is."

"Hey!" Marlene interrupted, waving at them with both hands. "I'm here! Don't ignore me!"

Dorcas snorted at the gesture, unable to help herself. "Sorry, sorry. I'm listening."

"Good." She expected Marlene to say something more, but the woman just stared, her expression something between interest and a flat-out scowl. "Are you an angel?"

Dorcas choked, and Mary burst into laughter beside her. "Pardon?"

"You know," Marlene elaborated. "Pretty. Big wings." Her hands were still spread wide, and she used the position to make a flapping gesture, presumably mimicking wings.

"Ah, no. I'm not an angel."

Marlene frowned. "Are you lying?"

"I don't think so?"

"Right!" Mary clapped her hands together. "Call for me if you need anything, but Marlene should be fine from here. We just need to wait for the side effects of the potions to wear off, and she'll be good as new. She shouldn't be feeling any pain now, so let me know if she mentions any."

"Wait, you're not staying?" Dorcas asked.

"I'll speak to her later. Besides, I don't think it's me she wants to see right now." Then, Mary was gone, door closing behind her before Dorcas had a chance to argue. Not that she would, anyway. As long as she was with Marlene, she didn't much care who else was there.

"You good?" Marlene asked, head tilted just a little too far to the side.

"I'm fine," Dorcas assured her. "Better now that you're awake."

Marlene nodded firmly. "Good." She leaned over, pressing a finger hard against Dorcas's nose and giggling. Her hair was in disarray, strands sticking up in every direction from the bed rest and lack of attention it had received. She was pale, too, the colour not having quite returned to her skin yet. Dorcas was sure she was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. "Were you worried about me, Meadowes?"

"Yeah," Dorcas let herself admit, voice a little hoarse, eyes still locked on Marlene's. "Yeah, maybe I was, McKinnon."

"Oh." Dorcas watched the realisation set in. Watched Marlene's mouth fall open, her eyes widen. Watched her grin grow, slow, gentle, stretching wider and wider until it had nowhere left to go. "You were worried about me."

"I was," Dorcas hummed, more confident now, unable and unwilling to hold back a smile of her own. "Is that alright?"

"Yeah, that's— that's— you were worried about me."

Dorcas laughed, letting herself reach out and brush a strand of hair from Marlene's face. "I was worried about you," she repeated. She'd say it as many times as she needed to, as many times as she was allowed, wanting nothing more than to keep Marlene right where she was, giddy and smiling and looking at her.

"We should kiss," Marlene blurted out.

"That sounds nice."

"Can we, then?"

"When you're feeling better," Dorcas promised.

Marlene pouted, lower lip jutting out. Dorcas wanted to bite it. "I feel great!"

"I'm sure you do, but the potion's still wearing off."

"Fuck the potion. Kiss me."

"I want to," Dorcas assured her, trying to convey just how true the statement was, "but the first time I kiss you you're going to be fully present for it."

"Ugh," Marlene groaned, flopping back against the pillows. "Fine."

As much as she loved the current avenue of conversation, Dorcas was aware there was something else they needed to discuss. Something that was going to be far less enjoyable. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, trying to decide how best to ask.

"What?" Marlene questioned, looking up at her.

Dorcas sighed, giving up her attempt to sugarcoat it. This was Marlene, after all. She was many things, but fragile was not one of them.

"What happened in Hogsmeade?"

Just as she'd worried, Marlene's expression fell, tension returning to her frame. She sat up on the bed, eyes still a little hazy but far more focused than they had been before.

"Is Peter here?" she asked.

Dorcas blinked. "I think so," she said, not sure how best to respond. She didn't have enough context to even try to guess at why Marlene was asking.

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes," she replied instinctively, then paused, taking a moment to think it over. "Maybe not today. Why? Has something happened."

"I—" Marlene glanced to the door, fists curled in the sheets. "You can't tell anyone."

"What? Tell anyone what, Marlene?"

"You have to promise."

"Why?"

"I need you to trust me."

Dorcas exhaled. Nodded.

"Right." Marlene shifted, tugging at her hair. "I think Peter's joined the Death Eaters."

"What?"

"Peter. I think he's joined them."

"What? No. He wouldn't." Dorcas hadn't known Peter for long, and certainly not for as long as Marlene had, but the boy was the furthest thing from the pure-blood ideology she'd been exposed to in Slytherin. If anything, and contrary to most Death Eaters she's known, he thought about things too much, seeming to consider the repercussions of his actions from every angle before making a move. He was kind, and beyond that, the sort of person who took pains to differentiate between right and wrong. And besides that, his friends were here — the people who loved him. Why would he give that up?

"You weren't there, Dorcas."

"Where? What happened?"

"I followed the spell. It led me to the Three Broomsticks. And the rest's a little fuzzy, but I remember his eyes. I saw him. He knew me, I'm sure of it."

"What did he do?" Dorcas asked, long nails curling into her palms as her heartbeat quickened, and she fought the urge to flee.

"He was with them. He hurt me, I— fuck, I think he used the Cruciatus."

"What?" Dorcas rasped, swallowing. The drip of her own saliva only made the churning feeling in her stomach worsen.

"I think he's with them. I'm almost certain."

"But— then— why aren't you telling anyone? They need to know. I can't keep this a secret."

"Because what if I'm wrong?" Marlene was looking between her eyes, at one and then the other, as though she couldn't choose which to focus on. "My memory's fucked. What if it was someone else who looked like him? What if he wasn't there at all? I mean, I know what I saw, or what I thought I saw, or what I— but it's Pete, Dorcas, he wouldn't, but he did, and I can't—" Marlene cut herself off with a gasp, tears spilling from her eyes, dripping down to soak the duvet cover. Dorcas shuffled closer, reaching a hand out and letting Marlene hold tight, not caring about the loss of blood flow.

"It's alright," she soothed. "I won't tell anyone, I promise. We can figure this out together, yeah? I trust you, Marlene, and I won't let you get hurt again, ok?"

"But what if it is him?" Marlene asked, eyes stained red, voice shaky. "I don't— it can't be him, but it can't not be, and it hurts, Dorcas."

"I know," Dorcas said, hating how she had nothing else to say. How she couldn't make it better. "You've got us, alright? All of us. We love you, and we'll help you however we can."

Marlene screwed her eyes shut. Took a breath, sharp and deep enough that Dorcas felt it where their hands were joined.

"Right," she started. "If it is him, we need to stop him before anyone else gets hurt. He won't come back here, not now, so we'll have to find him."

"And if it isn't?" Dorcas asked, still trying her best to cling on to the possibility. It was a bad habit she'd grown into, expecting the best, refusing to consider the worst, even when it wasn't something she could control.

"I suppose we'll see."

"Right," Dorcas agreed, grasping Marlene's other hand in her own. "We'll figure it out, whatever's going on."

Chapter 44: From the Ash

It was only getting worse.

He should've known. Ask anyone, and they'd tell you just how deceitful the Dark Lord was. Even the Death Eaters would agree. They boasted about his Slytherin nature and about how, the moment you turned your back, he would strike. Dig his teeth in. Drive his poison through your blood. Peter had known, he was sure, even at the start, but what else could he have done? When it was put how it was, between his parents' lives — and Voldemort had their address, knew their habits, knew just when they'd be home — and a small favour, the choice was obvious.

Then, it had been something else, something just as inconsequential. He'd just needed to play lookout, was all. Make sure nobody interrupted their meeting.

But the favours grew, the price hanging over him just the same. Soon enough, before he was even aware of it, he had the mark.

At that point, he should've left. Should've asked for help, gotten it removed like Regulus, found a way to move his parents to a safe house. He should've told the truth. But Peter wasn't like them. He wasn't brave, he wasn't ambitious, and he wasn't clever enough to plan ahead. He was sure that the sorting hat had only placed him in Gryffindor because he'd asked for it. He didn't belong anywhere and had nothing going for him apart from his friends. He envied them as much as he loved them.

So, he'd decided that the easiest option was to stay. Voldemort didn't know that he had lived with the others, he'd been careful of that, and he wasn't strong enough to do much real damage anyway. So what if he had the mark now? What did it matter, as long as his families stayed safe?

Yesterday, though. Yesterday had been bad. He still couldn't believe it was his own hand that did it, his own wand that had cast the curses. Marlene had gotten out, he knew. He'd waited until she was gone to make sure of it. That didn't change the fact that he'd hurt her. Irreparably. Marlene who had been his first friend, who was still one of his closest. Marlene who he'd been convinced he was in love with as a child, only to realise that the feeling was just what friendship was supposed to be. She'd been there for him, never faltered, and he'd never been able to thank her enough. And now he'd hurt her and ruined them.

She knew now. And if she knew, then they knew. They'd be looking for him: wanting answers and wanting him dead, most likely. He didn't blame them. That didn't stop him from being terrified.

Peter was irrefutably and irreparably stuck, hovering in a restless limbo. He had nowhere left to go and nobody left to help him. His lack of decision, though, didn't stop the world from carrying on. Voldemort had summoned him without a care in the world, the mark burning until he had responded. He'd never been the best at apparition, but he'd managed not to splinch himself on the way, and that was enough for him.

He'd bowed, dropping to a knee as always, and Voldemort had greeted him with that familiar indifference, the kind that still sent a shiver down his spine. Soon, he was being handed a cage. A snake. He was given a location to leave it, and sent there without a chance to ask questions. It was one of the stranger tasks he'd been given, but all in all, far from one of the worst.

So, here he was, standing before a building that may have, once upon a time, been habitable. The state of it now didn't imply as much. It was buried beneath vines, the stalks digging into it and claiming it for themselves, daring human visitors to try and break through them. He wouldn't have spared the house a second glance had he been afforded his own decision-making capabilities, but alas he'd long since signed them away. So, with the snake cage held out in front of him (Voldemort had assured him the creature wouldn't strike for him, but seeing as he was Voldemort, Peter kept his distance anyway), he approached the house. He had to set the cage down for a moment to spell vines away from the doorway, wincing as spiders came out from between the cracks and clambered away from their old homes. Once that was done, he was pushing the door open, coughing immediately at the dust that followed his inhale.

He considered announcing himself, but if any human had ever lived here, that had been a long time ago, and the house didn't seem to care for his presence one way or the other. It didn't bother to make room for him but was equally as uninterested when he battled through it himself.

Once he deemed himself far enough into the shack, Peter set the cage down, opening the door and stepping back. He half expected the snake to lunge right for him, but it didn't so much as acknowledge his existence, making a beeline for the opposite side of the room, where it curled up into itself. Curious, he stepped forward, wary of the rotting floorboards underfoot. The whole place smelt like damp, its structure withering away into the ground. It'd be gone in no time at all, returned to the domain of the many insects that had already made it a home.

He moved further and further forward, unsure what it was compelling him. He shouldn't have wanted to investigate the snake's behaviour, but he'd never seen a creature act like it. There was no reason it should favour one spot so strongly over any other, and yet whatever Voldemort had done to it had seemed to pull it here on instinct. There was a reason. There had to be.

On his next step forward, the floorboard cracked underfoot. He didn't have time to pull back before his leg fell through, sharp splinters digging through his trousers and drawing blood. He cursed and tried to pull the limb back up, but it was still caught on something sharp. After assessing the damage, doing all he could to remain calm, he used a severing charm to cut away the wood trapping his skin. He was careful not to disturb the snake, which was watching him idly, seemingly waiting for him to do something. What it could want, he had no idea.

After his best attempt at a healing charm (he'd gotten better at them, since being alone), Peter looked back down at the wood. It was no newer than the rest of the house, and was almost certainly riddled with things he didn't want anywhere near his bloodstream. Were there spells to protect against infections? There had to be, he was sure, but he hadn't learnt any. Shit.

He drew his knees up to his chest, testing his weight on his bloody leg. It felt fine. The wound wasn't that deep, and the only real concern would be the infection. He didn't know how long it'd take to set in, if it was in his blood. Or how he'd be able to tell. Why wasn't that something they were taught? He'd much rather know how to avoid his own death than learn how to fly around on a bloody broomstick.

Peter moved to stand, then stopped, a glint from under the floorboards catching his eye. It was just a stone, except it had somehow avoided the deterioration that had marred the rest of the property, shining far more than any rock he'd ever seen on the street. It was like it had been washed over by the ocean and, upon the water's retreat, simply decided to keep the sheen that'd been cast over it.

Curious, he shifted onto his stomach. His jumper would be ruined, but that was alright. It'd be easy enough to spell better. He reached into the gap left by his clumsy footsteps, strained to reach far enough. His fingers brushed the rock.

The snake lunged. Jaw gaped, teeth bared.

"Stupefy!"

It stopped. Centimetres from his face, close enough that he could practically feel the fangs hitting home, tearing their way under his skin. Then, it thudded to the ground, twisting grotesquely. Its weight fell on the arm he still had buried beneath the floorboards.

He'd almost died.

If Peter hadn't had his wand in his other hand, not wanting it to break it by keeping it in his pocket when he bent, he would've. He let out a breathless laugh, shaking as his body tried its best to catch up to the threat of danger while simultaneously processing his newfound safety.

It was clear now that, whatever the snake's purpose was, it had to do with the stone. Nothing else made sense. It had curled itself up on the floorboards right where the rock sat and cared for nothing else until Peter had tried to reach for its treasure. He wondered if snakes and dragons were related, and if so whether they had the same instincts to protect what was theirs, or whether this was all just a result of whatever Voldemort had done to it.

Would it be ethical to rennervate it after he'd taken the stone? The poor thing would probably drive itself mad searching for its treasure, or worse come to seek him out. He didn't know how close he had to be for the snake to feel the stone's presence, but he didn't want to risk it.

He lifted his wand, then hesitated. He couldn't kill it. He wouldn't mean it, considering he felt nothing but pity for the creature. Maybe it'd be fine. Even if it wasn't, at least he wouldn't be there to see the aftermath. Peter was a coward, after all. He'd always taken the easy way out.

Nudging the frozen body to the side, he reached out again, this time finally managing to wrap his fingers around the rock. He buried it in his pocket, and apparated away before he had to see the snake come back to life.

His flat was nothing special. He could've afforded more, but he was finding that the more he spent, the more on edge he felt, like he was being followed. Like there was some deity monitoring him, summing up his virtues and sins, and that the indulgence of his comfort would add to the toll of the latter. Voldemort could find him here if he so wished, he was sure of it. He wasn't smart like James was and didn't know the proper spells to keep himself hidden. All Peter had keeping him safe was the hope that the Dark Lord wouldn't care enough to seek him out.

Operating under that assumption, he perched on the edge of his chair and withdrew the stone from his pocket. It even felt strange, the texture far smoother than it should've been, gentle as he ran his thumb along the edge. Then, his nail snagged, digging into a gap in the rock he hadn't noticed before. Eyebrows drawing together, he traced the crease along. It seemed to wrap almost the whole way around the rock, splitting the thing right through the centre. He dug his nail in further. It moved.

Holding his breath, Peter tightened his grip on the thing, then tried to pull it apart. There was no protest, not even any stiffness in the hinge. The box opened easily, revealing a thick gold ring settled in the centre and another — far smaller — stone settled where a gem would usually be. He tried to pull that stone open too, just in case. It didn't budge. It was then, though, when he touched the ring, that he realised just why the snake had been so determined to protect it. It had a pull to it, all but begging him to put it on and let himself be consumed by whatever magic was buried under its surface. Peter almost gave in, but he heard Regulus's voice in his head telling him, in far too much detail, why he needed to avoid situations just like this. At the time, he'd hated the conversation, and been convinced that he was being given far too much detail about a problem he'd likely never encounter. Now, it was just enough to drag him out of his trance. Peter slammed the box's lid shut, the adrenaline left in his system shortening his breaths. At least, he hoped it was the adrenaline. There was still the possibility that he had an infection, although he remembered Mary saying something about the wound's site looking odd, and his leg looked pretty normal for something that was still bleeding.

He tightened his grip on the box, doing all he could to make sure it remained shut as he sorted through his options. His heart sank when he realised just how simple the choice really was; what he would have to do.

His first priority had to be his parents. They would be in danger, if he went through with this. He'd have to make his friends listen and get them to promise to get his parents to safety. They had managed to keep their house a secret, so there had to be a way to do the same for the Pettigrews. Peter was far from a brave person. He'd never be the type to make sacrifices. This way, though, there was still a chance for things to work out, and that hope was enough to spur him on.

So, he'd tell them about his parents, then he'd tell them about the ring. They'd be able to destroy it and get rid of another Horcrux; to come one step closer to beating Voldemort for good.

And after that…

Well.

After that was something Peter didn't want to spend too long dwelling on. Couldn't, if he wanted to convince himself to do the right thing. He couldn't think about seeing Marlene's face, her knowing he was the vessel for her torture. About James's disappointment, the boy who had never once hesitated to stand up for what was right, and who had always told Peter that he was capable of just as much. About Evan, who'd fought against every aspect of his upbringing to get him and his brother to safety, only to watch Peter choose to follow the same bloodstained path.

He couldn't. He needed to act, do it before he talked himself out of the it. Again.

Harnessing all he could of the Gryffindors he'd spent his years alongside, Peter tightened his grip on the box, shut his eyes, and apparated.

He took himself to the doorstep. It had seemed like a good idea before he'd apparated, because it meant that he'd have time to take a breath before anybody came to the door. Now, though, he was certain it had been the wrong thing to do, because it meant he had to continue his little burst of courage and actually announce his presence. Still, he did so before he could think too much about it, then waited, forcing himself to breathe as the muffled sound of footsteps echoed from inside.

The door opened to Remus. Peter's heart sank, though he knew it would've done the same with anybody else. Inside the house were the people who mattered to him the most, all of whom he'd betrayed in one fell swoop.

They'd always been a team, he and Remus, just like Sirius and James had. It was how they kept equilibrium. Sirius and James would come up with their mad ideas, and he and Remus would reign them in. It was Remus, mostly, especially on the technical aspects — making the plans come to life — but he didn't think there was a single prank that Remus hadn't asked for his input on. Even when he'd had nothing to give, Remus would just smile. Nod. Assure him that it was alright.

It wasn't alright anymore, and it never would be again. Peter had broken his promise.

He squared his shoulders and tilted his chin up, preparing to find disgust in Remus's expression. What he hadn't prepared for, what really disarmed him, was when Remus just smiled down at him as though nothing had changed.

"You alright, Pete? Where've you been?"

Peter swallowed, hardly trusting his voice. "Is Marlene here?"

"Ah, you've heard." Remus stepped aside, welcoming Peter into a home that, by all rights, was no longer his. "She's still a bit shaken up, obviously, but she's doing alright. Dorcas is with her in her room, I think. I'd say you were definitely right about those two; Dorcas refused to sleep until Marlene woke up. She's lucky it didn't take very long."

"What— what exactly happened? What did she tell you?"

"Probably not much more than whatever you know. She went looking for a Horcrux and stumbled in on a Death Eater meeting instead. The bastards tortured her. She managed to land a few hits on them though, by the sound of it, so there's that. And she seems to be doing alright. I'm just glad she managed to get out of there."

"Did she mention any names?"

"No, they were all masked I think. Didn't recognise them, but she thinks Mulciber was there."

That didn't make sense. Peter had watched Marlene recognise him, seen her disappointment clear as day. She had known. She'd nearly said his name. Would've, if he hadn't stopped her.

What if she'd forgotten?

He felt a guilty sort of relief at the thought, quickly followed by dread. It didn't matter now, he realised. Even if he wanted to hide it, even if she'd forgotten, she was sure to remember once his secret was out. He'd have to tell the story, watch as they learned of his betrayal. Selfishly, he wished she'd done the hard part for him and that he could go in knowing he couldn't make things any worse, rather than knowing that he was about to make nearly everyone he cared for hate him in one fell swoop.

"Right. I need to talk to you. All of you."

"Is… is everything ok, Pete?" Peter gave a shaky laugh at that, one that certainly did nothing to help the look of concern Remus levelled him with.

"No," he admitted. "It's my fault. I need to tell you something, and I'd prefer if we could do it all together."

"Alright," Remus nodded. "Do you want tea?"

Peter shook his head. If he drank anything now, it'd come right back up. "No. No. Can I hug you?" Remus would regret it in a few minutes. Be disgusted that he'd let Peter near him. But Peter was finally doing the right thing, so part of him thought he deserved to take a few moments to do the wrong one first.

"Yeah, of course."

Remus held him. Peter squeezed his eyes shut and did everything he could to take the feeling in. He couldn't prevent his sobs, but he tried his best to keep them quiet, not wanting Remus to pull away too quickly. The man smelled just like always: tobacco, parchment, and something else he couldn't name. Something he'd come to learn was just Remus. There were lots of parts of life, Peter found, that you were supposed to be certain of: right and wrong, what you wanted to do, who you wanted to be. The best things, though, always existed in the in between. They were a bit fuzzy, just like that smell. Just like their home had been, a messy blur of personalities that had no reason to work together but somehow just did. The world would be a much better place, he was sure, if more people bothered to look past their assumptions about what things should be, and rather looked for what they really were.

Remus pulled back, and Peter forced himself to let it happen, uncurling his fingers one by one from the man's jumper, each movement one step closer to the inevitable precipice he'd tried so long to avoid. He felt calmer about it, now that he was here and looking at the rocks below. Or maybe that was just Remus's hug, a sensation he'd learnt to be synonymous with safety. Either way, he was ready.

"Get the others. Please."

Remus nodded. It was a bit of a blur, after that, but Remus did as promised, and his friends came filtering in, each one tightening the noose he had placed around his own neck. Marlene and Dorcas were last. Peter looked at Marlene, watched her steps stutter as she spotted him. She knew.

"You," Dorcas snarled. She lunged. Peter braced for impact, but it never came. Remus had conjured a shield, he realised, keeping them apart. He wondered how much it'd take before it dropped.

"Dorcas," Lily gasped, "what—"

"Wait," Marlene interrupted. Dorcas did, fists clenched at her sides as she looked back to Marlene. "I want to hear what he has to say."

"Marlene, he fucking crucioed you. I don't want to hear a word out of his filthy mouth."

That landed about as well as Peter could've hoped. The room fell silent, all eyes on him, nobody uttering a word. It went on long enough that he considered breaking it himself, even knowing he could only make things worse. Instead, he forced himself to look, catalogued the expressions on his friends' faces. He very quickly came to the conclusion that this was far the worst way they could've found out. Not because of the hatred — that'd be there either way — but because of the disbelief. It was as though they were waiting for the punchline, to wake up from a dream, for Peter to tell them that he couldn't possibly betray their trust like that. Peter wanted, more than anything, to reassure them, but he couldn't, could only stand and stare as their faith whittled away until all that was left was anger.

"I trusted you," Marlene told him, voice cracking. "Why would you do that to me? To us?"

"I'm sorry," he pleaded, dam breaking. "I'm so, so, sorry Marlene. I didn't— I— I need you to listen, just once more. I know it's unfair and I know I betrayed you and—"

"Talk," Regulus told him, voice cold. "Tell us what you did, but don't bother asking for forgiveness."

"Right," Peter agreed, swallowing. It did nothing to soothe the tension in his throat. "I need you to keep my parents safe. I deserve whatever punishment you see fit, but they didn't do anything wrong. Voldemort's going to hurt them if you don't."

"Is that it?" Regulus asked, unimpressed.

"Reg," James said quietly, shifting to look to Peter, who did his best not to flinch back. "We'll get your parents to a safe house, I promise."

"Thank you, James, thank you so much."

"I'm not doing it for you," James told him. "They've done nothing wrong. They shouldn't be punished for your actions." He crossed his arms over his chest, lip twitching in a way Peter couldn't quite interpret. "Why did you do it, Pete?"

"He threatened them. Said he'd kill them if I didn't. Said he'd—"

"You could've come to us," James argued. "You've done it now, you could've done it then."

"I know. I was a coward. I was weak. I should've gotten out at the start, but it didn't seem so bad, and he didn't ask for much, but then it got worse and I was stuck and then—"

"Then you tortured me," Marlene continued, flatly.

"Yeah," he admitted. "And I deserve whatever punishment you want to give me, Marlene, I won't argue. I'm so, so sorry."

"Why now?" Remus asked. "What changed? Why did you come to us?"

"I found something." He drew the stone from his pocket, holding it out. "There's a ring in here. It's a Horcrux. I need you to destroy it."

"How do we know this isn't a trick? That Voldemort hasn't put you up to this?" Sirius stepped forward anyway. He took the stone.

"I don't expect you to. Take whatever precautions you need, just destroy it. Please."

Sirius flipped the stone over in his hands, then, without hesitating, he opened the box.

"Wait," Peter warned, eyes wide. "Don't put it on."

Sirius ignored him, reaching for the ring. It was only Remus's intervention that stopped him. He slapped Sirius's hand with enough force to bruise, sending the ring careening across the wooden floor, where it came to a halt upon hitting a wall.

"Well," Remus said drily, "it definitely seems like a Horcrux."

"Yeah." Sirius shook his head, looking a bit like he did as Padfoot trying to dry himself off.

"I don't understand," Marlene said, looking between Peter and the ring. "Is it just the ring that brought you here? Do you even feel guilty for what you did?"

"Of course I do."

"You have to mean it, Pete. It wouldn't have worked otherwise. You wanted to hurt me." Peter moved forward, wanting more than anything to reach out and hug Marlene and to pretend that he was capable of healing the pain he'd caused her. Dorcas glared, stopping him in his tracks.

"I didn't want to hurt you, you have to know that. I never would. I was scared, and it's no excuse, but I knew if I didn't then they'd hurt you more. And I was scared for myself too, I s'pose. If they found out I didn't mean it, we'd both be dead. I didn't want to hurt you, but I wanted to stop them from doing worse. I'm so fucking sorry."

"You knew I'd seen you." It was a statement more than a question. He responded anyway.

"Yes."

"You let me go."

"Yes."

Marlene pursed her lips. Nodded.

Barty waved a hand, drawing Peter's attention to him. He and Evan had been silent the whole time. He couldn't imagine what they were thinking.

"So, you're done with the whole Death Eater thing?"

"I don't want to hurt anyone else."

"That's a yes then, right? Cool. Glad you're back."

That was… it?

"We've been using your room still," Evan added, looping an arm around his boyfriend's shoulder. It's been quiet without you, though. It'll be nice to have you there again."

"What the fuck?" Dorcas snarled. "He fucking betrayed us, left us for Voldemort, tortured Marlene. And you just want to welcome him back to live with us?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Barty nodded.

"No. No, I'm with Dorcas," Sirius said. "That's not something you can just come back from."

"Isn't it?" Evan asked, pulling his sleeve up to show his mark. "I'd say it's pretty doable."

"You know that's not what I meant. You weren't given a real choice, Evan. He was."

"Sirius," Remus cut in. "I'm not saying we have to trust Pete straight away. And I think if that's anyone's choice, it's Marlene's. But people make mistakes. You should know that more than anyone." Sirius clearly caught on to what Remus was referring to. He ducked his head, falling quiet.

"I believe him," Pandora said, much to Peter's shock. "He's telling the truth."

"But he still did it," Lily argued, hand laced with Mary's. "And even if he doesn't want to go back, this is Voldemort we're dealing with. How do we know he's not Imperioed? Here on orders?"

"He's not," Regulus determined.

"But how—"

"Trust me. He isn't."

"He still hurt Marlene, though," Mary said, seemingly taking Regulus at his word.

"He did," Marlene agreed. "But I think he knows that. Pandora says he's sorry, and I trust her. He didn't have to tell us the truth. He could've told us he was being imperioed, but he didn't. You hurt me, Pete, but I believe that you're sorry. And, hey, at least we got another Horcrux out of it." She gestured to the Horcrux, making a shaky attempt at a smile. "If you're going to come back, though, I need you to do something."

"What?" Peter asked, breathless. He hadn't dreamed that they'd take him back after his betrayal, would do anything it took to be home again.

"You're taking my mark."

He looked about the room. Nobody seemed to object, just waited for his response.

"Of course I will. Thank you, Marlene, thank you so much."

Marlene nodded, lips pursed, then turned to Regulus. "Where's the sword?"

"Upstairs. I'll get it." James went up with Regulus, making some excuse about helping him to carry the sword. Peter suspected that it was just his clinginess talking. The two would be sewn together if James had it his way.

While they were gone, the room was silent. Not the sort of silent they used to have, where Dorcas would have her coffee and Remus would read and Lily would occasionally peek over his shoulder at whatever page he was on, but the sort of silence that came between strangers, when neither party knew just how long it was supposed to last. He supposed that, now, he was closer to being a stranger than he ever had been. They'd thought that they'd known him. He'd proven them wrong.

Eventually, Regulus returned, James on his tail. It was James's footsteps that were the loudest, even though Regulus was the one holding the sword. He passed it to Marlene, who nodded her thanks, before stepping forward, determined.

She didn't flinch as she cut herself, eyes remaining fixed on him. He didn't look away. He offered his arm, forcing himself to look at the mark if only to watch as it was destroyed.

Marlene gave no warning before she cut through it. She wasn't violent, but she wasn't careful, either. Peter had watched Regulus's mark get destroyed, Barty and Evans', too. Even so, he hadn't been prepared for the pain and let out a strangled yelp, resisting the urge to drop to the floor at the burning. He stayed standing, though, letting himself feel the burn, then breathing through it. He watched with fascination as the mark warped, the ugly skull shape shrinking down and becoming something far more palatable. Peter had never much liked the idea of tattoos, but if he had to have one, this would definitely be his preference.

He tried to turn his arm around to get a better look at it, wincing at the ache. "Ever wondered what your animagus form would be, Marls?"

"Depends. What is it?"

"A bear, I think." He held his arm out, letting her have a better look.

"Huh," she smirked. "I might have to learn one day. That's pretty cool."

"It is," Peter agreed. "Not as good as a rat, though."

"Shove off," she snorted. "You know full well mine's cooler."

"Well, I suppose there's worse things to have on my arm."

"You mean like the mark I just got rid of for you?"

"Yeah. Like that." Peter bit his lip. "Look, I owe you one. More than one. Merlin, I owe you my fucking life. If there's anything I can do to begin to make it up to you, tell me."

"I'll hold you to that," Marlene agreed. "How about you start by cooking dinner?"

"You trust me not to poison it?"

"Hmm. You make a point. You'll have to have some too, then. Just to make sure."

"'Course," Peter grinned. "Any other requests?"

"I'll let you know if I think of any."

Peter nodded. Marlene smiled. They weren't back to how they used to be, nowhere close, but he hoped that, eventually, they could get there. The tree they'd cultivated together had burned to ash, but it'd left an acorn behind. If he took the time to nurture it, who knows how tall it would be able to grow.

Chapter 45: No one Mourns the Wicked

James was amused, but far from surprised, when Barty interrupted breakfast with a shout. The man tended to make his reaction to any particularly controversial piece of news known, and seeing as he had his nose buried deep in the Prophet, it was only a matter of time before he decided that somebody had to listen to his opinions.

"What is it?" James asked. He was one of the only ones who hadn't, as of yet, given up asking when Barty got like this.

"My dad," Barty responded. Now, that confused James. Not because there was an article about Bartemius Crouch Senior in the Prophet — considering the man's position in the Ministry, his making the news wasn't all that uncommon — but because, for once, Barty actually seemed happy to come across his father.

"What?" Evan asked, head snapping up as his fork clattered to the table.

"He's dead."

"Oh." Was all James managed. Mostly because he wasn't sure how to respond. He knew well enough that Barty hated his father, but it still felt wrong to say anything positive about a man's death.

Evan, Regulus and Peter clearly had no such qualms. The three of them grinned in unison and offered various levels of cheering.

"Fuck yeah!" Pete clapped his hands together, looking about as overjoyed as if someone had just told him that Mrs Norris had been removed from school grounds. For him, that was a very high bar. James's eyes caught on the man's new mark, and his stomach twisted. He looked away.

Regulus had been trying to make him talk about Peter's betrayal. So far, he had managed to circumvent the topic.

"How'd it happen?" Evan asked, leaning forwards on his elbows. He had a manic sort of glint to his eye, one that wouldn't be out of place on Bellatrix Lestrange. Not that the two were anything alike. Evan, James had learned, was surprisingly kind under his slightly-rougher exterior. Stripped of all his Slytherin cunning, he wouldn't be out of place at the Hufflepuff table, somewhere that Bellatrix would certainly never be found dead.

"About time," Regulus said, almost in unison with Evan's question. He stretched his arms up above his head, and James did his best not to stare too long at the sliver of exposed skin the motion revealed but, well, he was only human. A human that was very, very weak when it came to anything relating to Regulus Black. "Tell me it wasn't Avada? It'd be far too kind. Hell, I used to consider asking mother for it."

Sirius turned a little green and James was sure that, if he could see his own reflection, it wouldn't be much different.

"Oh, piss off." Regulus rolled his eyes, noticing his brother's reaction. "She was just as bad to you, and you don't see me getting nauseous about it."

"Explosion," Barty told them, still reading through the article. "Confined to his office, somehow. Must've been targeted."

"Did it kill him right away?" Evan asked.

Barty took another moment to read, then shook his head, grin widening. "Nah. Says here he was in hospital with the burns a while before they finally killed him off. I wonder if it was a curse or something."

"Hope so," Evan mused. "A really awful one would be nice."

Barty sighed, closing his eyes to — if James had to guess — better visualise his father's death. "Wouldn't it?" Then, he sprung up from the table, waiting until he had everyone's attention. "We're going out tonight."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Are we?"

"C'mon, Moony," Sirius pleaded, looping an arm around the man's shoulders, then leaning into his side. "It'll be fun."

"I'm with Remus," Regulus decided. "That sounds like a bad idea."

"And I'm with Sirius," James responded, grinning at his boyfriend's scowl. "We've been cooped up in here for far too long. It'd be nice to stretch our legs."

"We've got a perfectly good garden to stretch our legs in."

"It's not the same though, Regulus," Marlene argued. "I bet you've never even been to a muggle club."

"Why would I have?"

"Because it's fun!"

"It's not all that bad," Evan agreed. Regulus twisted to stare at him. James, having been parted from Regulus's warmth for far too long, dropped a hand on the man's knee.

"Evan, when the fuck did you go to a Muggle club?"

"When Barty asked me to."

"Of course," Regulus muttered, huffing.

"No need to be jealous, Reg," Dorcas assured him, "I'll show you the ropes."

"We're not going!"

James looked around to each of his friends, trying to gauge the general opinion. Remus still looked put out, though more so in his resigned, I've-accepted-that-I-have-to-do-this way now. Everyone else seemed fine with the idea. Even Peter, who had once dramatically declared dancing to be even worse than flying, seemed to be in agreement. Maybe that was just because he still felt guilty about the whole betraying his friends for the Dark Lord thing, but James didn't have it in himself to question it.

"Sorry, love," he told Regulus, ignoring Sirius's exaggerated gagging at the pet name. He knew the man's disgust was a charade by now. It was far from consistent, only seeming to rear its head when Sirius had nothing better to do and wanted to make it their problem.

"I'll break up with you if you make me go to a Muggle club," Regulus told him flatly.

Lily gasped, slapping a hand over her heart. "Regulus Black! I thought you'd gotten over all that pure-blood bullshit.

"All I said was that I don't want to go to a Muggle club," Regulus protested.

"And why not?" Mary asked, happy to mimic her girlfriend's indignation. "Do you think we're dirty? Below the rest of wizarding kind?"

"Of course I don't."

"Prove it, then," Lily challenged. "Come with us, or I'll know you've been lying about this whole reformation thing."

Regulus spluttered. It was entertaining at first, but James started to worry that the man really would feel pressured into going along with Barty's plans, so he took pity and leant in to reassure him.

"They're just kidding," he told him, voice low enough not to carry across the table. "You can stay here if you want, nobody will be upset"

"You're going, aren't you?"

"Yep."

Regulus slumped in his chair, groaning dramatically. "I suppose I'll have to come with you, then."

Barty cheered, high-fiving an amused-looking Evan.

"Well then, I better start getting ready," Sirius declared, standing from the table to abandon his mostly-eaten breakfast. Mary nodded, joining him.

"Me too. I'll come with." James watched in amazement as the two vanished up the stairs. He checked the clock, just to make sure he wasn't the one going insane.

"They do know it's, like, at least twelve hours until we leave, right?"

"Yes," Lily and Remus responded in unison, sharing an amused glance.

"Mary likes to get started as soon as possible," Lily explained. "They'll be gossiping more than anything."

"For twelve hours?" James had shared a dorm with Sirius, and the man had never taken so long to get ready for a party before. Although, he supposed, they rarely had the whole day free beforehand.

"It won't be the whole time," Remus assured him. "Not for Sirius, at least. He'll be back down in an hour or so, probably."

"Right." James shook his head, still bewildered.

"Will you help me get ready later, Panda?" Regulus asked. James gaped, nudging Regulus to try and gain his attention back. It didn't work.

"Sure," Pandora agreed, lighting up, and James's protests died on his tongue. He couldn't complain about the betrayal, not when Pandora looked so happy at the offer. He'd just have to accept his inevitable loneliness.

Breakfast lasted a little while longer before everyone filtered off to their own rooms. After that, James wasted most of the day away failing to annoy Regulus into abandoning his books and paying attention to his boyfriend. He spent a little time with Remus, but then Sirius had interrupted them. The way Remus had stared had made his intentions towards the man more than clear, and James had decided that his presence definitely wasn't necessary for what came next.

He got ready himself half an hour before they left. The process barely even took ten minutes, leaving him with twenty to sit about and wait. He tried to think of other things he could do, even going so far as to consider using Sleakeazy's in his hair before he remembered Regulus's frown the last time he'd suggested it. How anybody could spend hours getting dressed, he'd never understand.

Though it hadn't taken him long at all, James felt pretty good about his outfit. His red shirt was a tight enough fit to show off the muscles he'd gained from Quidditch practice, and his jeans complimented his figure better than any he usually wore. All thoughts of his own outfit, though, went out the window when he wandered downstairs, only to find his boyfriend deep in conversation with Pandora, oblivious to just how unfair his own choice of clothing was.

James's gaze was, first, drawn to Regulus's ass. He couldn't even feel bad about it, given that the jeans barely gave him another option. They flared wide at the bottom, tightening as they climbed up Regulus's legs, to the point they may as well have been painted onto him. The torment didn't even stop there, though, because Regulus's shirt was just as bad. It was a simple button up, black to match his jeans, but wasn't quite long enough to fall to his hips. As a result, a line of pale skin was left bare, separating the two. James desperately wanted to bite it.

"Hi," he managed, Regulus and Pandora finally noticing his arrival. It made him feel a little better that Regulus clearly appreciated his outfit too. He wasn't subtle, eyes trailing slowly down James's body like he had all day to take in the view.

"Hi," Pandora replied. She looked lovely, though James couldn't help but worry about all the white she was wearing going into a club. She'd spill something on either the top or skirt by the end of the night, he was sure, and they wouldn't be able to use any magic to clean it until they were home.

Oh well. Not his problem. He stepped over to pull a pleased-looking Regulus against his chest, relaxing at the contact. What he really wanted was to take his boyfriend up to bed, and while he wasn't entirely sure Regulus would be opposed to the idea, they had agreed to go clubbing, and he didn't want to let anyone down.

Soon enough, they were all gathered in the lobby. James had to admit that Sirius and Mary's efforts hadn't gone entirely to waste. They had, somehow, found a tasteful way to apply glitter. Seeing this, Pandora and Barty both asked for some of their own. Pandora ended up with a blue-coloured heart sparkling on her cheekbone, one Mary spent careful effort applying for her. Barty… well. James wasn't quite sure where Barty had planned to apply glitter, but at this point most of the man's skin was green and sparkly.

Luckily, the bouncer at the club Mary showed them to didn't seem to care about the judicious application of glitter, waving them through with barely a glance at their forged identities. And, once they were inside, the night went largely as planned. James, at least, found himself having a great time: there was fireball, which was, in his opinion, far superior to firewhiskey, dancing, and most importantly his gorgeous boyfriend to do it with. Regulus had tried to stay in a corner at first, but James had watched him looking over a few too many times after he'd had a couple of drinks, and after a little convincing had managed to pull him over to dance. Regulus was by no means any good at this type of dancing, but James frankly didn't care, and used the pretence of teaching him mostly as an excuse to slip his fingers under the hem of that stupid, obscene shirt.

Eventually, Regulus felt confident enough to dance even away from James, who left him with Pandora to get them more drinks. He ended up crammed between a man and a woman at the bar. It was way too warm to be so close to people, but he didn't want to risk hanging back, losing his spot, and spending any more time away from Regulus. It took long enough to catch a bartender's eye as it was.

During his wait, his gaze snagged on Barty, the man's glitter practically turning him into a disco ball. He wasn't surprised to find him dancing with Evan, and only slightly more so to find that Peter had joined them. The three were definitely far too close together to argue that the interaction was just friendly and—

Oh.

Well, he supposed if Peter could handle being a secret Death Eater, he could probably handle Barty and Evan as well. Either way, that was a relationship James wanted no part in, so he averted his gaze, relieved to find that someone was finally ready to take his order.

"Two drinks?" The woman beside him asked, listening in as he rattled off his and Regulus's requests. "Are you here with a friend?"

James hummed something noncommittal, fingers tapping against the sticky wood of the bar.

"That's good of you, then." She shuffled closer. James tried to pull away, but he was still blocked by the man on his other side.

He glanced back to the man making his drinks, relieved to find that he was almost done.

"So," the woman asked, placing a carefully manicured hand on his arm. "What brings you here, then?"

James hadn't seen Regulus approach. In fact, he only noticed the man when his arm was yanked back, out of the woman's grip and towards the figure standing behind him.

The bartender set their drinks down in front of them, paying them no mind and moving on to the next customer.

"Don't touch him."

James couldn't help but shiver at that voice. Low and commanding, sharp in the same way it was when Regulus ordered him about in more private contexts.

The woman held her hands up, stepping back. "Sorry. He said he was here with a friend."

James swallowed, feeling Regulus's grip tighten on his arm. He wondered whether it would bruise.

"Did he, now?"

Before James had a chance to react, he was being dragged back from the bar, drinks abandoned. He didn't complain, though, just followed Regulus, not sure where he was going but soon finding himself pressed into a corner, Regulus's gaze far more focused than it should be, considering the amount they'd both had to drink.

"I'm your friend, then, am I?" Regulus asked, hand trailing over his throat while James resisted the urge to arch into it, wanting to seek pressure.

"I didn't— I wasn't listening," he tried, pleading. "I didn't mean to, Reg, I'm sorry. I love you."

Regulus softened for a moment before he brushed the apology off, eyes narrowing. "Who do you belong to?"

Fuck. James didn't want to be hard in public, but Regulus didn't seem to be giving him much choice in the matter. It wasn't fair. Even angry like this — especially angry like this — he made James feel so wanted in a way that got to him every time. He could barely breathe with how full it made him feel.

"You," James promised, voice cracking. "Always."

James watched Regulus's lips part, the pressure on his neck tightening a little. "I've had enough. We're going home."

James was pretty sure he had a good idea of what home entailed, and it was certainly not something he wanted to miss.

"Yeah," he agreed. Regulus's hand dropped, and James mourned the loss, but then he was being pulled through the crowd, to the door, away—

"Wait," he called.

"What?" Regulus snapped, glaring back at him, the flashing lights casting a blue shadow across his face.

"We need to tell someone. We can't just disappear."

Regulus huffed something too quietly for James to catch through the music but let him go regardless. James wasted no time, pushing through the crowd until, finally, he found Sirius and Remus.

"We're going home," he shouted.

"What?" Sirius asked.

"Home. Me and Regulus. Now."

"What?"

Remus leaned over to say something in Sirius's ear. James assumed he was telling Sirius that he and Regulus were leaving, so took that as his sign that his duty was done, and practically sprinted back to where Regulus stood, arms crossed over his chest.

"Finished?" Regulus asked.

"Yeah," James grinned, slipping his fingers between Regulus's. "Let's go."

Regulus, as always, made sure that James's choice was not one he regretted.

Chapter 46: In With the New

Notes:

Guess which aromantic asexual let themselves be kissed by a work colleague at the Christmas party!

(I was very very drunk)

(How tf do I deal with this I hate conflict and also awkward situations)

Regulus sipped his coffee, watching the chaos unfold around him. It had been a bit of a surprise when Remus hadn't been the last one to breakfast, but after James's explanation of what he'd seen the night before, things made a lot more sense. Enough so that he wasn't blindsided when Barty, Evan and Peter emerged from their room long past midday, all sporting an impressive number of bruises on their bared skin.

"What happened?" Pandora gasped, before Regulus caught her eye. Then understanding began to dawn across her expression. "Oh. Congratulations, then."

"Thanks, Panda," Barty said, leaning across the table to pluck a dry piece of toast from the stack.

"You three finally together, then?" Dorcas asked, adding a healthy serving of butter to her own bread.

"I mean, not exactly," Peter replied, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Pete's forsaken us," Barty said, "refused to be our lover."

Evan rolled his eyes, smacking his boyfriend lightly on the back of his head. "What he means to say is that our relationship isn't romantic."

Sirius frowned. "What is it, then?"

"He just wants us for our bodies," Barty lamented, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead.

"I'm aromantic," Peter explained flatly.

"You never told us that," James pointed out, frowning.

Peter shrugged, looking away. "There wasn't a reason to, really."

James recoiled a bit at the words, frown deepening. Regulus reached over to grasp his hand, running a thumb over the veins on the back of it, trying to soothe him. Being as loud as he was, James could sometimes forget that not everyone was so inclined to share every detail of their life, and saw it as a personal failing when information was kept from him. He suspected it hurt more coming from Peter, too, considering what the man had hidden from them all not so long ago.

Regulus didn't much like the fact that Peter had betrayed them either, obviously, but he believed that the man was sorry for it, and as such wouldn't betray them again. He wasn't all that close with Peter, which probably helped him get over it, but he was also better equipped to see the grey areas between light and dark, considering how aware he was of what true darkness looked like. Peter hadn't hurt people because he'd wanted to, and that, to Regulus, was the important thing. Plus, they'd gotten a fourth Horcrux out of it, which meant that if they could trust that there were six (excluding Voldemort himself), they were over half way there.

Only two to go, and then they'd be able to kill him. He couldn't wait.

"Hey, Pete, can I talk to you for a moment?" Mary asked.

"Sure," the man shrugged, following her out the room.

Regulus didn't have to wonder about their conversation for long. Soon enough, Peter's whispers changed tone and were audible through the door, frustration leaking through his words.

"I'm fine, Mary."

More whispering.

"Merlin, they're not abusing me!" Evan choked on his cereal.

"I thought Mary liked us!"

"She's just worried about Peter," Marlene explained, sending a worried glance to the door. Barty raised an eyebrow.

"And are you?"

"No. I know well enough that Peter can make his own bloody choices." She sighed. "Mary just wants to make sure he's not getting himself into something he can't get out of."

"She thinks we're a problem, then?"

"I think it's just because Peter's so quiet, usually," Marlene explained. "Not around you two, obviously, but he's not really one to speak up."

Barty's eyebrows flew to his hairline. "Really? Because last night—"

He paused, tensing a little as Mary and Peter came back into the room. Mary looked around, shoulders sagging.

"You heard us, didn't you?"

"Sure did," Barty told her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Look, I'm sorry, it wasn't anything against you guys. I just wanted to make sure Peter was alright."

"And?" Evan asked.

"And I think you both make him very happy." That seemed to mollify Barty, and he sent her a curt nod. "Fine."

The room was still a little more tense than usual, but breakfast continued mostly as normal. Regulus, who'd been done eating hours ago, leant back in his chair, propping his legs up on James's, concern burrowing in his chest when he noticed that the man's grin was weaker than it typically was.

He only had one guess at why that could be.

James still hadn't spoken to Peter. He had been avoiding the man whenever he could, and ignoring Regulus's advice to just talk to him. Regulus wasn't sure what the precise problem was, but he was going to figure it out before it could do James any more damage.

He tugged on the Gryffindor's sleeve, drawing his attention.

"Can I talk to you?"

James blinked, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah, of course." Regulus pushed away from the table and offered their excuses to the rest before guiding them upstairs. When the door to their room shut behind them, he muttered a quick locking charm, just to make it a little more difficult for James to run from the conversation this time.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," James replied, far too quickly to have actually thought the question through.

"James, I need you to talk to me."

"I'm fine!"

"Yeah? So if Peter came to talk to you right now, you wouldn't avoid him?"

"That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow. "He's one of your best friends. I'd say if you can't have a proper conversation with him, then something's definitely wrong."

"Regulus, you know why I can't talk to him."

"No, actually, I don't." He took a breath, picking his words carefully. "I understand that you feel betrayed, and that you're angry, and that's completely normal. But I think both of those are feelings that would be best worked through by talking to Peter."

"I don't want to talk to him."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't talk to me."

Regulus blinked, confused. "Explain."

"He didn't come to me, didn't trust any of us to keep him safe as much as he apparently trusted fucking Voldemort to. I thought he was my friend, but he's made it pretty clear that he isn't, or he wouldn't have kept that from me."

"He made a mistake, James."

"But why would he?" James pressed, frustration mounting. "He would've been safe here, he just needed to ask for help. What was stopping him?"

"I think," Regulus said softly, "that that's something you should ask him yourself."

"I don't need to," James snapped, backing towards the door. Regulus didn't know whether it was a conscious decision, or just instinct. "If he doesn't trust us, then that's fine, but I'm not going to start begging him to pretend to be my friend again."

"Keeping secrets doesn't mean he was pretending. You kept me a secret, didn't you? Even from Sirius."

James faltered. "No, that was different. I had a reason."

"Maybe he did too. You won't know if you don't ask him."

James's jaw clenched, and he looked off towards the window. Finally, after what felt like an age, he spoke again.

"If I talk to him, will you stop bothering me about it?"

"As long as you do it properly," Regulus promised. "Let him explain, even if you don't like what he's saying. I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm asking you to listen."

"Fine," James agreed, gaze still focused pointedly away from him. Regulus didn't want to wait for the man to back out and so, after getting James to promise to stay right where he was, he strode back down to the kitchen.

"Peter."

Peter looked up, eyes wide, still chewing a bite of some pastry or another.

"Yeah?" he asked, swallowing.

"Come with me."

Peter didn't argue, and Regulus was lucky that Barty and Evan trusted him enough not to try to, either. He led the man up the stairs, only stopping when he felt a tug on his arm.

"He's still angry, isn't he?"

"He is," Regulus agreed, seeing no point in lying. "But he's willing to listen, too." That seemed to be the right thing to say, because Peter's face set in determination, and he gave a firm nod. There was something very Gryffindor about it all: accepting the bad but refusing to turn away regardless; choosing to fight through it instead.

"Good luck," Regulus offered, when they made it to his and James's room.

"Thanks." Peter grimaced. "I'll need it." The Gryffindor steeled himself, then marched through the door without turning back.

When he emerged again, a long while later — long enough that Regulus had started to worry — it was with a small smile. Things hadn't been fixed yet, and maybe they would never be back to how they were. They were going to get better though, he was sure of it, and that counted for an awful lot.