Chapter Text
James had never thought of himself as the type of person who would jump at a letter. Never.
Why would he? The only letters he ever got at hogwarts were from his parents, and sure those were fun, but they were all kinda the same. All “I miss you” and “tell be about your classes” and “how’d you fail herbology?”
But there he was, in the Gryffindor common room, the warm fire heating cold hands and the soft whispers of conversation swirled around him. It was nearly midnight, way past curfew, and the moon barely visible through the windows. It was a full moon, and he couldn’t help but feel bad for his werewolf friend, Remus. He was hunched over his Transfiguration homework, pen tapping absently against the page.
He'd been exhausted for weeks, his thoughts always tangled with too much. Homework, the war, the students who had disappeared, and worst of all the weight of it all pressing down like a boulder, crushing him and his hopes slowly but surely. His friends were good company, but even Sirius seemed to carry a heaviness lately, one that made him more distant, more brooding. His confidence seemed to dwindle, which made James worried about him. They were all so tired.
And Regulus? Regulus had left him. God knows where he’s gone—probably to join the Death Eaters full time. He seemed more… distant recently in private. James tried to forget him, but one can’t really forget someone they’ve pined over for years at the drop of a hat, especially if they’d managed to get with them. It wasn’t public of course, but he seemed so genuine in private that James couldn’t help but understand. But still, he tried to forget him. And tonight, it almost worked.
Until he looked the table to the side of him.
The sealed envelope appeared on top of the oak tabletop as though it had always belonged there.
His heart gave an odd lurch.
At first, he assumed it was a joke. Maybe Sirius had decided to play a prank. That wasn’t uncommon for him. It couldve been Peter, too. Or perhaps it was someone else’s letter—it wasn’t even addressed. He just had a gut feeling, and it wasn’t a good one.
The wax seal was deep green, marked with an intricate Black family crest. The same one Regulus had always worn on his sleeve. The same one Sirius burned off his clothes, and the same one that was so respected in the slytherin house, hell, even in the whole school.
"Regulus," James whispered to himself, a strange shiver creeping up his spine. He hadn’t heard from him in days, not since that last heated argument in the library. He decided this letter was better read alone, so he crossed the room in two strides and grabbed it, and started towards his dorm.
The moment he touched the paper, he realized how cold it felt. Not just from the chill of the night air, but from something deeper. Something that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.
Once he got to his room that was (thankfully) currently empty due to Remus dealing with his full moon, Sirius probably helping him, and Peter was who knows where, James broke the seal. His fingers were trembling with uncertainty while unfolded the letter. His eyes darted across the familiar handwriting, but the words made his stomach twist with an uncomfortable tightness.
“James,
I’m sure by now, you’ve convinced yourself I’ve either joined the Death Eaters, ghosted you, transferred schools, or perished. You might even be hoping it’s the latter. I’m not dead. At least not yet.
I’m writing this to you because I’m sure I’ll never say it out loud. I never could. You always seemed so sure of yourself. So confident, cool, collected, and honestly, perfect. And I was never sure of anything, not in the way you were.
You probably don’t even think about me anymore. That’s fine. I don’t blame you.
But I wanted you to know something. You always tap your quill four times before you write something brave. Something you shouldn’t, or just a risky answer to an essay question. I never told you that. But I saw it once, in the library, when we were still pretending we were nothing but enemies.
You were right. I’m not what I thought I was. But you, James, I wanted to believe in you. For a while, I did. I might still now.
If you’re reading this, it’s because I’m gone. I don’t know how, but I’m sure that’s the case. I’ve spelled this to arrive to you at the time of my passing.
I’m sorry, for everything I didn’t say, and for all the things I did say that I shouldn’t have. If you hate me, I understand. But I wanted to leave you with this. So you’d know, at least, that I didn’t mean to be this way.
Love, yours truly, Love, Regulus Black.”
James sat back on the edge of his bed, the letter frozen in his hands, but almost as if it weighed more than it should have. His breath caught somewhere between his ribs, and he stared at the parchment, willing the words to rearrange themselves into something more understandable.
Gone?
He wasn’t sure what to think. The cold creeping through him wasn’t from the night air anymore. It was a chill of something he couldn’t name. Something gnawing at him, pulling him backward through time, back to the moments when he could have made things different, said something more. Something that would’ve prevented this sudden, jarring emptiness.
Regulus couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t be- he was too determined, and beautiful, and most importantly, too young. He couldn’t be gone-
What made him shudder is in the letter, regulus at first signed “love” at the bottom of his paper. And worse, he crossed it off. He rewrote it of course, but if Regulus had any second thoughts about that…
But what troubled him more than anything was the fact that Regulus had known him, had seen him. Really seen him. He knew how he liked his coffee. He knew how he liked to be held while sleeping and he knew all of Jame’s plans with him for the future. James, for the first time in forever, isn’t sure what to do with his future.
James stared at the empty space where the letter had been, his pulse racing as his mind tried to wrap around the implications.
He stood up, pacing, turning the letter over in his hands, as if it would change, and if there was any explanations on the back saying it was all a prank and he was just sick or something. But there were no answers.
The room felt too small, too quiet. Everything felt out of reach. All he had was this letter. And the unbearable feeling that Regulus was gone. Gone and he hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye…
No. He couldn’t let himself think that. Not yet.
“Regulus...” he muttered under his breath, his heart thudding in his chest. His hand clenched around the parchment as if holding on would bring him back.
It came to James later, after the fire had burned low and the dormitory was dark, the letter still clutched in his hand like something that might vanish if he let go.
A memory: unexpected, soft at the edges, and wrapped in spring light.
It had been late April, sixth year. A Saturday. One of those freak warm days that made the quidditch locker rooms stink up the whole yard, even up to the forbidden forest (that wasn’t so forbidden.) James had wandered down to the edge of the greenhouses alone, needing a break from Sirius and the constant noise. That’s where he found him.
Regulus Black. Sitting beneath the apple tree that leaned against the translucent glass of Greenhouse Three, basking in sunlight. A transfiguration textbook sat open in his lap, but he wasn’t reading it. He was feeding the squirrels nuts, and seemed at peace for the first time that James had seen.
“You’re in the wrong part of the castle,” James had said, trying for casual. “Sunlight isn’t exactly your thing, is it?”
“Maybe I’m looking for a tan,” Regulus didn’t look up. “Company isn’t my thing either, but here you are.”
James had hesitated, but Regulus didn’t tell him to leave. So he didn’t. He just sat down next to him, and unlike how he thought it’d be, it wasn’t awkward silence.
They sat like that for a while. James threw a few pebbles into the pond ahead. Regulus started to read—pretended to read. The air was thick with apple blossoms and the hum of bees, and there was something about it. There was something that made James feel like the world had paused just for them.
“Do you ever wish you’d been someone else?” Regulus asked suddenly, voice low.
James blinked. “What, like… Polyjuice? Or actual different life stuff?”
Regulus didn’t answer right away. He just plucked a blossom from the ground and turned it over in his fingers, slow and careful, like it might bruise if he touched it wrong.
“I mean,” James tried again, quieter, “sometimes I wish I could go back and fix things. Say something at the right time. Not be such a prick to people who didn’t deserve it.”
Regulus smiled, barely. “You weren’t a prick to me.”
James looked at him then. Really looked. “I have though, haven’t I?”
Regulus met his gaze, and for a second, something passed between them. Not quite understanding. Not quite affection. Something in the middle. James felt his throat go dry.
Regulus looked away. “You always think you’re the good one in the story,” he murmured. “But even good ones miss the point.”
“What point’s that?” James asked.
But Regulus just shrugged and stood, brushing petals off his robes.
“Nothing,” he said. “Forget I said anything.”
And James had.
Until now.
He wouldn’t be able to forget him though. And he wanted to go back in time, and relive that moment. And say something different. Spend more time with him, any amount of time with him. He’d spend millions of galleons for another minute.
But there was no going back. Not this time.