Chapter Text
“James! James, please don't do this!” Regulus screamed and thrashed against the magical binds, chair scraping against the wooden floor, squeaking like a cornered animal. ‘You bastards !” he growled. James squeezed his eyes shut tighter, maybe this way he wouldn't have to see the way Regulus looked at him, with nothing but betrayal and hatred. James breathed, as if it was the last time he would, he’d never felt helplessness like this before.
“James, I will NEVER forgive you for this. Never! I hate you, I hate you so much! You don’t get to just erase my mind, erase me!”
James looked at Regulus, face red and streaked with furious tears, wrist raw from fighting the binds, lips trembling with rage and something even worse underneath.
Fear. The kind that bubbles up from being betrayed by someone you love. James choked out, “Do it, Sirius. Please. Before I change my mind…”
Sirius’ eyes softened as they looked at James; instead of the usual playful silver, they were full of pity and sadness. “Prongs, this is the only way, you know it is.”
“I hate you, I hate you. You’re a lying manipulating son of a bitch Sirius.” Regulus barked
Sirius raised his hand.
“No-NO! WAIT!” Regulus thrashed again, desperation taking over. “Don’t do this, don’t take him from me, Sirius, please. Please, I’m begging you . James. JAMES! Look at me! Please don’t let him.’
“I’m sorry, Reggie,” Sirius interrupted. I promised you I would keep you safe, and I intend to keep it. I failed, I know that.” His voice broke in the middle. “You won't remember why, but you'll be able to walk away; you’ll be alive, Reggie.” Regulus looked at Sirius, then at James. This time, all the love he knew existed in Regulus had faded; James couldn't see anything that reminded him of his Reg. All he saw was hatred. In his last moments, Regulus hated him. Regulus had stopped screaming; instead, it was quiet sobs and moans. James couldn't watch. He was standing in the corner like a ghost, breathing, but barely there. He wanted to scream, to rip Regulus off the chair, pull him into his arms, and scream, ‘We’ll find another way!’ Instead, he turned around.
'You're a coward,’ Regulus muttered. He shook his head, throwing it back to stare at the ceiling. ‘You never loved me, I see that now. You promised me you would never let anyone hurt me again, James. Do you remember? You lied. You’re a lying liar who LIES, ” Regulus snarled.
“Please”, James begged, spinning back around, “Reg, please don't say that, I’m doing this because I love you…”
Regulus laughed, a wet, sob kind of laugh, “Ha. Of course you are.” Teeth snarled, “Fuck you Potter”
Sirius raised his wand again, and James watched Regulus clench his jaw, eyes locked, his whole body trembling.
“Obliviate”
A flash, a blinding light, soft and merciless. James didn’t breathe, he couldn’t. As Sirius lowered his arm, he looked at Regulus like a boy might look at a dying star. Something beautiful, something lost, and now something too far away to reach.
Present day: Regulus
“... and before everyone leaves, make sure you mark where your easels are. We will come back to finish off your paintings at the same time tomorrow! The painters tape is on my desk, please share it out, I don't have enough for everyone!” Mrs Grant tailed off, “and please, please, please don't forget to send in your submissions for the ‘Stories Unspoken’ gallery show. Remember! The winner will have their art displayed in the Tate Modern alongside other exceptional artists.” Turning to Barty, Regulus shuffled his bag under his seat,
“Hey, I’m gonna stay a little while longer, I have to finish this project before our assessment next week. If I’m going to get critiqued, it better be about something I’m proud of.”
“Alright, you neek”, Barty scoffed as he stood up, tidying away his materials, “I’m meeting Evan tonight, but come round when you're finished, yeah?”
Regulus smiled, turning back around and putting his headphones on. Regulus had met Barty during freshers week, they had stumbled back to their accommodation together after attending a party organised by god knows what society on campus. There were so many events happening that evening, Regulus couldn’t remember which ones he did, or in his and Barty’s case, didn’t attend. Ever since then, Regulus hasn't known a day without him. At this point, you couldn’t find one without the other; in fact, the only moment of peace Regulus ever got was right here, during his 5 pm colour and form seminar. As students emptied the room, one by one, he smiled at Mrs Grant, as she nodded and left, following her students. Mrs Grant always let Regulus stay after class on a Thursday, it was his only time alone. He took in a deep breath, The classroom smelled like turpentine and wet paper; afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, casting soft, golden light over his easel. Regulus swapped out his paintbrush sticks and an empty canvas.
Every week, he tried to finish this stupid assessment, and every week, he failed. He hated everything he had started, disposing of it the following week. He’d cycled through almost a dozen canvases by now, never quite reaching the perfection he was so desperately searching for. But today, something tugged at him. Some feeling he couldn’t quite name. It has been restless in his chest all morning, coiling under his ribs like smoke. So he picked up his charcoal, straightened up and started.
This part he knew by heart; the canvas began in shadows. Charcoal grey swirls like smoke or fog, thick and consuming. His world as he knew it. He could paint this with his eyes closed. Darkness was something that clung to him like a second skin; it whispered in the shape of expectations. But for the first time in a week, something didn't let him stop there. His hand moved without thinking, instead reaching for the white charcoal. He drew it bleeding through the dark like cracking open a wounded chest. Like it belonged in places it shouldn’t, and suddenly, the light began to take shape. Broad shoulders, dark hair, olive, beautiful skin. A crooked smudge of warmth in a place that only echoed darkness. There was a strange familiarity in it, something safe, almost infuriatingly bright, like sunlight against his cheek after a week of frostbitten winter. He couldn't stop, almost guided by this warm light, he painted it, reaching out, not fighting the dark, but holding it, shaping it, warming it. And somewhere, quietly, something inside him ached. An invisible, painful ache. He couldn't name it, he just kept painting like the answer might show itself, maybe one day, the light would explain why it was not afraid of the darkness.