Chapter Text
After dinner, the corridors had fallen silent. Most students had either retreated to their common rooms or wandered off to the library. Only two figures remained in the empty stone hallway.
Regulus and Barty sat perched on a marble step against the wall. Their bodies were turned toward each other, legs tangled lazily as if they were lounging in their own room, not the middle of a corridor.
Barty had been circling around the same subject for half an hour.
“Come on, just one night,” he said, wearing an expression he probably thought looked innocent—though innocence never quite suited him. “If you vanished for just one night… I’d finally have Evan all to myself in that huge room. And of course, his… breathtaking beauty.”
Regulus rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
“Vanished?” he echoed, feigning offense. “I didn’t know you were so sick of my presence. How very kind of you, Crouch.”
Barty leaned in at once, words tumbling out in mock desperation.
“No, nooo… your presence always blesses us.” He reached out, catching Regulus’ fingers. “I always prefer a threesome, you know that, but—ow! That hurt!”
Regulus had pinched the back of his hand. Barty let out a theatrical groan when Regulus’ bored eyes slid his way. “Just one night, Reg! Just one!”
Regulus arched a brow, ready with a retort, when footsteps echoed from the far end of the corridor. Both of them turned. Lily appeared first, storming forward, impatience rolling off her shoulders. James Potter followed close behind, trailing after her like an eager dog, still talking.
The exasperation carved across Lily’s face was like staring into a mirror for Regulus. James’ excited voice bounced around the empty corridor, but Lily’s expression was icy.
Regulus and Barty met each other’s gaze. Their lips curled in unison—one sly, the other amused—as they silently shared the moment.
Lily’s voice rang sharp through the hallway:
“James, you’re exactly one sentence away from snapping my patience. And you know what happens after that, don’t you?”
She swept away, her footsteps fading until only James remained, shoulders slumped. He stood frozen for several seconds, then let out a heavy sigh.
Barty leaned in toward Regulus, nearly draping himself over him, eyes fixed shamelessly on James. A wicked grin split his face.
“For Salazar’s sake… just one more sentence, Potter!” he laughed. “Mudblood would’ve hexed you into oblivion—”
James’ hand shot to his wand. He raised it in one swift movement.
“Say ‘mudblood’ again, Crouch,” he ground out between his teeth, “and it’ll be the last word you ever speak in this corridor.”
Barty folded his arms dramatically, giving a mocking shiver.
“Ooo, I’m so scared!” he said. “Regulus, save me from the big bad Gryffindor, darling.” He dropped his head against Regulus’ shoulder, and James’ gaze flickered, almost against his will, to Regulus instead.
Regulus looked him over slowly. James Potter: the insufferable, arrogant, handsome Gryffindor Captain who had clung to Sirius’ side for six years. The boy who had stolen his brother away. At least, that’s what Regulus used to think—until Sirius left home for good and Regulus’ emptiness only deepened.
He rolled his eyes and shoved Barty off his shoulder.
Straightening his robes, Regulus fixed James with an icy stare. His voice dripped with disdain.
“Honestly, Potter, I thought even you had at least a teaspoon of pride.” His lips curved into a merciless smirk. “But clearly, even with expectations that low, I’ve still been disappointed.”
The words cracked through the air. James froze, caught somewhere between fury and disbelief, as if struck by an invisible blow.
Barty burst out laughing, slinging an arm around Regulus’ shoulders. He shot James a final look, lips curling as he echoed mockingly:
“Dis-ap-pointed.”
*
James entered Gryffindor Tower with his shoulders slumped. The common room was buzzing, laughter ringing in front of the fire, but he barely offered a faint smile to those who greeted him before trudging upstairs. He pushed the dormitory door open and found the usual sight.
Sirius and Remus were perched by the window, sharing a cigarette. Peter had conjured a tiny bubble charm around his face to block the smoke, nose buried deep in a book. Just another post-dinner evening in the Marauders’ room.
Remus looked up when James came in, and Sirius’ brows immediately knitted at the tension on his friend’s face. James threw his robe onto the bed with an angry flick, and Sirius exhaled smoke through his teeth. “Evans again?” he asked.
Peter snorted, eyes still on his book. “Most likely. He probably trailed after her again after dinner,” he muttered.
James’ jaw tightened. He hesitated. Because when it came to Regulus, Sirius was always too protective. Outwardly it looked like anger and insults, but all the Marauders knew: if anything ever happened to Regulus, Sirius would burn the world down.
Remus stubbed out his cigarette, his voice softer, sharper.
“This time it’s not Lily,” he said, watching closely. “Something else happened, didn’t it?”
Sirius immediately crushed his own cigarette and crossed the room to him. Those puppy-dog eyes of his made it impossible for James to lie. At last, James gave in with a terse answer.
“Regulus.”
Sirius’ brows furrowed at once.
“And of course with that bastard Crouch,” James added, sharper this time.
The room fell quiet. Whenever Regulus was the subject, Sirius always had the first word.
“What did they do?” he asked, his voice hardened with deep-rooted rage.
James dropped onto his bed. He pulled off his shoes, but his mind was still ringing with Regulus’ words.
“‘I thought even you had at least a teaspoon of pride. But clearly, even with expectations that low, you’ve still managed to disappoint me.’”
He repeated the words with a laugh, though there was no joy in it. The sting was obvious. James Potter had never been a disappointment. James Potter and the word “disappointment”? An impossible pairing. And yet Regulus’ words had cut deep—so deep he didn’t quite understand why.
Sirius saw the strange hollowness on his friend’s face and swore under his breath.
“That little snake…” he growled, pacing back and forth. “They must have spoiled him rotten after I left home.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Right. Because you never spoiled him yourself,” he said dryly. His gaze slid to James, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Unless I’m remembering wrong? Didn’t you let him sleep in your bed until he was eight? Am I right, James?”
Sirius’ glare turned to ice. James only shrugged, clearly unwilling to get dragged into it.
“Mm-hm,” he said dismissively, shoving his bag under the bed with his foot before retreating quickly into the bathroom.
Sirius hurled a pillow at Remus in frustration. Remus caught it against his chest, laughing, while Peter giggled behind his book, delighted by the scene.
When James returned, toweling his damp hair, Sirius suddenly sobered. He nudged James, voice low. “It’s time we teach Regulus… and those two bloody snakes… a lesson.”
A heavy silence followed. Peter closed his book against his knees, hesitant.
“I thought Regulus was off-limits? You made it a rule the day he came to Hogwarts—”
Sirius cut him off sharply. “That rule applied when he was still a baby.”
Remus smirked. “Oh, really? What about last year when he duelled Peter and Mary? Guess he was a baby then too. Funny, I didn’t know babies could cast body-binding spells.”
Sirius shot out of bed and launched himself at Remus, pinning him down with a growl.
“You’re shutting up now!” And without hesitation, he crashed his mouth onto Remus’.
A loud groan came from Peter. “Ugh, you’re disgusting!”
James buried his face behind the towel, pretending nothing was happening, though the red creeping up his ears was impossible to miss. Peter snatched up a box of chocolates and hurled it at the pair. It bounced off Sirius’ shoulder, making them break apart in laughter—but as always, Sirius stayed pressed against Remus, not moving an inch away.
James tossed the towel aside. Wet, messy strands clung to his forehead. He exhaled heavily, dropping onto his bed. Staring at the ceiling, he muttered,
“Padfoot… seriously, leave it. Don’t go after Regulus because of me. He already looks at me like I disgust him. I don’t need Baby Black spitting more hate my way on top of it.”
Sirius lifted his head, lips curling in disdain. “What harm is his hate?” he said carelessly. “What, is he going to breathe Fiendfyre at you?”
Peter bolted upright, pointing at his leg.
“Actually, I know exactly what kind of harm! Thanks to the spells he hit me with last year. This scar on my leg didn’t fade for nearly two months!” He jabbed at the spot, face scrunching in annoyance.
For a moment, Sirius’ face darkened. He looked away. Regulus had grown bolder, cockier, thanks to the safety of knowing his brother and his brother’s friends wouldn’t openly attack him. With a sigh, Sirius slumped back against Remus.
Without hesitation, Remus wrapped his arms around him. His smile was sly, voice smooth and cunning.
“Well… then let’s think of it as just a little prank.” A mischievous light flickered in his eyes. “How about a pinch of Itching Powder?”
-
The plan had been childish—something they’d have outgrown by second year. A few handfuls of Itching Powder sprinkled over the Slytherin dormitory; by morning, Regulus and his gang would be writhing in discomfort, humiliated for everyone to see.
To the Marauders, it seemed like harmless revenge.
Peter was the one to carry it out—both because of last year’s grudge and because his Animagus form let him slip in and out without anyone noticing. When he returned, his face was twisted in both amusement and disgust.
“Barty and Evan were sleeping together…” he said with a snicker, then grimaced. “Ugh. Same bed. Two snakes. That image is burned into my eyes forever.”
That night, it was still just “a little prank.”
But by breakfast, Regulus and his friends were nowhere to be seen.
The four Gryffindors sat at their table, eyes flicking constantly toward the Slytherin table. One class passed. Then another. Then a third… still no sign of them. The silence dug deeper with each hour. James felt a knot growing in his throat. Fear was plain now on Sirius’ face. Peter kept shoving food into his mouth as if chewing could drown the unease. Remus’ patience was fraying fast. If they didn’t show up soon, he would tell a professor.
He never got the chance.
At lunch, the Great Hall doors burst open. Marlene stood there, pale as chalk, eyes wide with horror. Her gaze locked instantly on Sirius, and she ran straight to them.
“Sirius!” she cried.
The four boys leapt to their feet. From the next table, Lily and Mary strained to listen.
“I heard from Dorcas…” Marlene’s voice shook. “They found them… in their beds. Regulus too… they’ve been poisoned!”
The Marauders moved as one. Chairs clattered, plates crashed to the floor. Sirius surged ahead, James, Remus, and Peter right on his heels, with Lily, Mary, and Marlene chasing after them as they tore out of the Hall.
The infirmary doors slammed open. Sirius stormed in, yanking aside curtain after curtain without pausing for breath. But every bed was empty. None of them were there.
His eyes blazed as he whirled on Marlene, about to demand an answer—
“What are you doing here?!” Madam Pomfrey’s sharp voice cut through, her expression thunderous as she approached.
Sirius stepped forward, ignoring her anger. “My brother,” he said, his voice breaking with fury. “Where is Regulus?”
For a moment, her stern face faltered. She hesitated, then laid a hand gently on his shoulder.
“Ah…” she said quietly. “We had to send them to St. Mungo’s.”
Seven young faces froze. Sirius’ complexion drained of all color. Someone’s hand brushed his arm, but he couldn’t tell whose.
Madam Pomfrey went on:
“I can’t say for certain how it happened. But the mixture I found by their beds… it contained Mandrake Leaf Extract, Rosemary Sap, Itching Powder, and Elder Root Dust. Together, it forms a potent poison. Their nervous systems were shutting down, their minds collapsing. There was nothing more I could do here.”
Her words sank over them like a crushing weight.
James swallowed hard. Remus’ face turned pale. Peter’s eyes went wide, breath catching in his throat. He was the one who worked with mandrake leaves almost daily. He had prepared the rosemary sap. They had no idea how the elder root dust got involved—but the picture pointed directly, damningly, at Peter.
Sirius’ gaze darkened to black. Slowly, he turned his head toward James.
And there, behind him, Peter stood frozen—eyes wide with panic, tongue locked uselessly in his mouth.
-
Three days had passed. Since that night, Regulus, Barty, and Evan were still at St. Mungo’s. News was scarce, and the uncertainty hung over them like a heavy fog.
The Gryffindor dormitory had carried the same air for three days: tense, hushed, restless.
Whenever he had the chance, Peter mumbled apologies to Sirius, but each time he was met with silence. Sirius knew Peter hadn’t meant for this to happen, of course—but until he saw his brother alive and well, forgiveness would not come easily.
James felt just as guilty—if not more. If he hadn’t repeated Regulus’ words to Sirius… maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe Sirius wouldn’t have taken it personally, maybe that stupid itching powder prank never would’ve been pulled. Regulus would still be across the Great Hall at the Slytherin table, shooting them his usual disdainful glares. Instead, everything had grown unbearably heavier.
The only one who could soothe Sirius, even a little, was Remus. At that moment, Sirius was leaning back against Remus’ chest, his legs stretched out on the bed while Remus idly traced patterns along his arm, wordless comfort in every touch. Sirius smoked in silence, and Remus half-listened to Peter fumbling through an essay at the foot of the bed. Every so often, Peter cast a nervous glance at Sirius, only to look away quickly whenever he was caught.
The door burst open. James stumbled in, breathless, a grin spreading wide across his face—the first in days. “I’ve got news from my dad!” he said, excitement tumbling out.
All three of them straightened at once. Sirius’ eyes widened. James’ father had been trying to pull strings through his contacts at St. Mungo’s for days, but the Black family had kept the condition of their last heir tightly sealed.
James dropped onto the bed with them, still catching his breath.
“Dad finally got through to a friend at St. Mungo’s,” he rushed out. “Regulus woke up. He’s fine.”
Sirius exhaled a shaky breath, collapsing back against Remus’ chest. His eyes glistened. James went on: “He has to stay a little longer… but he’ll be back at school on Monday.”
The tension in the room eased at once. Sirius let out a laugh—small but genuine—while James’ smile softened with relief.
Remus’ fingers combed gently through Sirius’ hair as he leaned down with a quiet smile.
“Well then,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “We’re going back to the second-year rule. From now on, fighting with Regulus is forbidden. The first and only rule.”
-
Monday morning, the Marauders woke with a strange kind of anticipation they weren’t used to. They all but ran down to breakfast, but the Hall was still empty. The long tables were untouched, plates lined in neat rows. The four of them sat, waiting.
Minutes passed. Gradually, the Hall filled; students poured in, scattering to their tables.
And finally… the doors opened. Regulus appeared. Barty and Evan at his side.
Sirius shot up before he even realized it. James and Remus followed a heartbeat later. But Regulus wasn’t alone. The Slytherins flanked him—tight, solid, unyielding. Sirius faltered, frozen for a few seconds, then sank back down. The others mirrored him.
Regulus took his place at the Slytherin table, his back turned to them. Barty sat at his right, Evan on the other side. Barty’s arm sprawled lazily behind Regulus, his head tilted toward Evan as the two laughed over breakfast as though they hadn’t nearly died from poison a week earlier. Regulus, meanwhile, was quiet. He picked at his plate, occasionally exchanging a few words with Dorcas across from him.
James couldn’t look away. Regulus’ pale skin looked even whiter than usual—the toll of a week in St. Mungo’s still etched into his face. The sight tightened something in James’ chest, a lump rising in his throat. He’d thought seeing Regulus awake would ease the guilt. It didn’t.
His gaze drifted, catching on Barty’s casual closeness, that arm draped possessively behind Regulus. The question slipped out of James’ mouth before he could stop it: “Do you think… there’s something going on between him and Barty?”
Beside him, Sirius bristled. His chair creaked as he sat bolt upright. “What are you on about, Prongs? Regulus is just a kid!”
James tilted his head toward him, but Remus leaned forward, his voice calm, almost amused.
“We were the same age when we started dating, Sirius,” he said with a faint smile.
Color flushed Sirius’ face, his brows pulling tight. “That’s different,” he muttered, glancing at his brother again. “He’s still… little.” His voice carried the edge of defense.
James turned back to Regulus, studying him. Sirius wasn’t wrong—Regulus did look small. He was shorter than James, barely reaching his shoulders. His frame was slim, delicate, like he could break with a touch. James knew better—he’d seen him in Quidditch matches, he wasn’t fragile—but he wasn’t strong either. Maybe that was why Barty and Evan always flanked him like shields, claiming him as theirs.
Breakfast wound down. Regulus suddenly pushed his plate away and stood. Barty and Evan leaned toward him, saying something, but he ignored them and headed for the doors.
Sirius was on his feet instantly. He followed him out into the corridor, voice ringing before Regulus could disappear.
“Reg!”
Regulus stopped. Slowly, he turned. His gaze swept not only over Sirius, but also James a step behind, and Remus and Peter lingering at the doorway. His eyes moved across each of them in turn, his brows knitting, impatience shadowing his face.
For the briefest moment, those grey eyes locked with James’ brown ones. James’ chest lurched. Guilt—there was no other explanation. Up close, there was no mistaking it: Regulus was pale, almost translucent, the veins faint beneath his skin. The shadows under his eyes were deep, the haze in his gaze still marked with hospital fatigue.
And yet… he was still the same. Perhaps even more striking than before.
His hair fell in perfect curls over his shoulders, a few strands spilling into his eyes. It had grown longer during his days in St. Mungo’s, tied loosely at the back of his neck, giving him a new weight, a maturity. For a fleeting moment, James thought of Sirius—the resemblance was sharper now. But Regulus’ features were softer, finer.
That cold Black beauty was still there: the sharp cheekbones, the flawless pale skin, the lips ready to curve into a sneer at any moment. His silver-grey eyes, distant and empty, made him seem untethered from reality. A silver chain with the family crest glinted at his throat, while a ring spun idly on his finger. James’ eyes caught on the motion of those slender hands.
“What do you want, Sirius?” Regulus’ voice was flat, tired. “I’ve no patience for your nonsense.”
Sirius took a step forward. His voice wavered but rang with sincerity. “No… I just… How are you? Are you better? You look pale.”
Regulus let out a sharp laugh. “Pale?” he repeated, mocking. His eyes darkened further. “For Salazar’s sake, why do you think that is? Maybe because I was nearly poisoned to death? Because I’ve been lying unconscious in a hospital bed for a week? I don’t know, were you aware?”
“Of course I was aware, Reg!” Sirius surged forward, hand reaching out—but Regulus recoiled instantly. “I couldn’t get word from you… mother and father never—”
“Mother and father?” Regulus cut in, voice cold as steel. “They’re not your parents anymore, are they?”
Silence dropped heavy in the corridor. Sirius flinched, refusing to touch that wound.
“I couldn’t get word,” he said instead, voice rough. “No matter how hard I tried, no one would tell me anything. I waited for days for you to come back.”
A new voice sliced through, sharp as ice. “As if you care.”
Evan Rosier, with Barty at his side, stepped into the corridor. Both moved to stand beside Regulus, forming a wall. The air thickened instantly.
Sirius’ eyes flared at Evan. Once, long ago, he’d liked him. Before Hogwarts, Evan had been calm, clever, always smiling kindly. Sirius remembered begging his parents to let him sleep over at Evan’s house. But those days were long gone. The moment the Sorting Hat placed him in Slytherin, everything had changed. Just as Sirius had chosen James as his brother, Regulus had chosen Evan and Barty. Family meant battle lines now.
Before Sirius could speak, James stepped forward. His voice cut firm.
“This is a family matter, Rosier. Stay out of it.”
Evan’s lips twisted into a cruel smile.
“A family matter? There are only two families here, Potter. Allow me to clarify.” He gestured between James and Sirius, his voice dripping with scorn. “There’s you two: the brothers.”
Then he turned, laying a hand on Regulus’ shoulder and winking at Barty.
“And then there’s us. Me and Regulus. No other family exists.”
Regulus stood silent, lips faintly curled at the edge, as if Evan’s words were nothing new—only a truth he’d long since accepted. His gaze shifted to Sirius. The look was empty, his voice sharp as a blade.
“I don’t need you playing the concerned brother. I’m not your brother.”
For a heartbeat, Sirius’ face went blank—like he’d been struck in the chest by an invisible blow.