Chapter Text
“Have you ever thought about death? Where you want your body to be buried?”
“That’s pretty much the only thing we think of nowadays, Barts.”
“Shut up, Reg. You know what I meant.”
…
“I want to be cremated. I want my ashes scattered in a field of flowers somewhere in Scotland.”
…
“That’s beautiful, Evan. That sounds so lovely.”
“Everything’s lovely to you, Barts.”
“That’s because there’s so much to love, Rosier. You should try thawing out your stone cold heart sometimes.”
“My heart isn’t the cold one, Crouch. That honor is reserved for Regulus.”
“Nah, he’s a big softie inside, innit Reg?”
…
“Reg?”
…
“You ok?”
…
“What about you?”
“What?”
“Where do you want to be buried, Barty?”
“Oh. Going straight for the throat, aren’t you Regulus?”
“You asked.”
…
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
…
“Clinsbury.”
“Isn’t that…?”
“Mum’s hometown.”
“Oh.”
“I want two graves. One in- one in Godric’s Hollow. Where Grandmum and Grandpa are and- fuck- one in Clinsbury. Next to Mum.”
…
“I think that’s lovely too, Barty. I think that’s really lovely.”
The drive to Clinsbury takes the longest out of them all. It’s a remote fishing village, out in the middle of absolutely nowhere. They barely stop too, except for sparse bouts of where they hunker down at one rest stop or another whenever James gets too hungry or when Regulus’ hands quite literally start shaking from driving entirely too long, and he has to pull over for the sake of road safety.
James doesn’t protest though, like the angel he is. He looks worriedly at Regulus whenever he pushes himself to drive for long hours, or when he catches him turning over the vial of Reminiscor potion in his hands while eating or resting. But, he doesn’t say anything. He just softly kisses Regulus when his grief catches up to him. He carefully holds him through the one night they spend in a run-down bed-and-breakfast on the roadside, whispering I love you’s and You’re brilliant’s into his hair.
Regulus just burrows his face further into James’ cool shirt, and presses his fingers over his heart.
Thump-thump-thump .
That’s another new thing: whenever James catches Regulus looking at him like he’s going to disappear, or whenever he asks James why he loves Regulus of all people, he just smiles. He smiles, he quietly takes Regulus’ hands into his own and presses the pads of his fingers against his own chest.
Thump-thump-thump .
Then, he looks at Regulus. Still smiling at him like he’s something worth loving, something worth cherishing.
“See? It’s beating for you. My heart beats for you.” He says, his eyes filled with obsidian and sunlight and love.
And then he kisses Regulus, soft and warm like everything he does.
Regulus can’t help but melt into him. He can’t help but slot their bodies closer and closer , until they’re almost a single being, fused together by love. Pushing and pulling against each other.
It takes hours of driving, until they finally reach it- Clinsbury.
The day they arrive, there’s a storm brewing on the grey horizon. The howling gale kicks up dirt and dust everywhere, and damp petrichor weaves through the swift currents of wind. A rumbling quiet envelopes the whole village. Not even the tides from the sea, lapping at the sharp cliff faces leading up to the village, can be heard.
Even the air seems to be quivering in anticipation of what’s coming.
Regulus and James barely manage to park the car on the side of a deserted road and duck into a dilapidated tavern before the rain rips through the dawn sky, pummeling the rotting walls of the pub with resounding strikes. The noise has an almost drum-like quality to it. The decaying wooden panels in the walls creak dangerously.
The pub itself is unremarkable, though there’s a depressing air to everything. The lanterns suspended from the dark ceiling of the, probably supposed to make the interior look cozy, only works to make the atmosphere similar to that of a dungeon cellar.
“Fuck, this thing looks like it’s gonna collapse at any second.” James hisses to him as they slip through the practically empty tavern.
Regulus smirks, carefully seating himself at a table in one of the many shadowed corners. “Scared, Potter?”
James is a little less graceful, and practically falls into the seat across from him. The thick wooden legs of the chair make a vicious screeching noise, which Regulus grimaces at. If they hadn’t attracted attention before, everyone has definitely noticed them now.
“I have my tongue down your throat like, at least ten times per day. I think we’ve moved beyond Potter , Black.” James tries to smirk, but the whole suaveness of it is ruined when he breaks out into a goofy grin instead.
Regulus snorts. “You’ll always be Potter to me, Potter. Even if you’re my boyfriend.”
James’ eyebrows raise dangerously high. Honestly, they might disappear into his hairline if they travel any further. “Oh. I’m your boyfriend ?” The smile on his face turns positively shit-eating.
Despite the fact that James is very obviously teasing, Regulus can’t help the momentary panic that flashes through him. “I mean- I didn’t mean- fuck - I didn’t mean to presume but- I thought- we did the whole dramatic love confession bit- but- Salazar’s shit- do you- do you really not want to?” He finishes pathetically, his cheeks burning and his shoulders hunched.
James blinks dumbly at him for a moment, before he practically lunges across the table to tangle Regulus’ fingers with his own. “Oh Merlin - Reg, love, I was joking. Of course we are. I don’t want to be anything less with you. I want to be your boyfriend a hundred times over, and I want you to be mine.” His cheeks are flushed with earnestness and his eyes are glimmering under the old oil lanterns swinging from the pub’s ceiling.
He feels his heart swell, the love in it threatening to boil and explode in a hundred different ways and in a hundred different colours. He thinks he might become a puddle of sticky, Regulus-flavored goo if James goes on looking at him like this and talking at him like that .
“Okay.” He says, and then they’re just sitting there, looking at each other and blushing. It, frankly, should be embarrassing. They’re acting like bloody teenagers again.
But, he can’t find himself to care. Not when James is grinning at him, and he’s smiling right back like the fools they are.
“Well, if this isn’t a sight for sore eyes.” A voice above them grunts.
James and Regulus jolt in their seats, whipping their heads up with mirrored looks of surprise.
Regulus kind of wants to hex James’ hair pink. There was no way they would’ve been interrupted if he had been a little more discreet when he sat down instead of screeching up a racket with those abysmal table manners of his.
Standing above them is a wizened old man, his gnarled features oddly reminiscent of the twisted wood panels that the pub’s built with. His nose is beaked, and his blue-gray eyes peer down at them from a mass of pale, wrinkled skin. The whole scene is strangely familiar. The flowing, grey beard he’s practically drowning in rings a multitude of alarm bells in Regulus’ head.
He can swear he’s seen someone like this before, someone very important.
“Aberforth?” James’ jaw is gaping wide open.
Regulus freezes. Fuck. Fuck . Of course.
“Aberforth Dumbledore?” Regulus half-shouts, his tone incredulous. What in Merlin’s saggy balls is Aberforth Dumbledore doing in a small muggle village in the middle of fuck-knows-where?
His expression must give him away, because Aberforth smirks at them. Or at least, smirks about as well as he can when he’s just about two centuries old and he’s got more than a few teeth missing. “Nice to see you boys too. Potter. Black.”
“What- what are you doing here?” James is breathless. He’s blinking up at the old man like he’s going to disappear any second, like a bloody mirage. Or maybe he’s going to turn into a snake and eat them.
Both of those possibilities seem more plausible than whatever’s actually happening.
Aberforth laughs at them a bit more. “Could ask you two the same thing.” He grunts, still grinning.
James opens his mouth to explain, probably, but is cut off by the infernal old man. “Could also ask the two of you why you two are eyeing at each other like bloody fifteen year olds, but it doesn’t take a detective to figure that one out.” His blue eyes twinkle, in a way that seems so similar to Dumbeldore’s that Regulus finds himself white knuckling at the edge of the wooden table.
Across from him, James also seems to be having similar difficulties, because his mouth is still hanging open .
Regulus swallows. “When the fuck did you become friendly? What the fuck are you doing here?” He says, his tone painfully blunt.
James snaps his jaw shut and turns to Regulus, glaring pointedly at him. What the hell are you doing? He seems to be saying.
Regulus just rolls his eyes and turns back to Aberforth, who’s raising an eyebrow at their silent conversation. “Well?” He demands. James makes a choked sound next to him, most likely trying to stifle the urge to apologize.
Aberforth just laughs again, the slimy bastard. “I became friendly when I realized people give you more money when you’re nice to them.”
Regulus bites down a grin at his response. Maybe this old man wasn’t as bad as his brother used to be.
Aberforth’s eyes darken. “And to answer your other question, Black, I have my reasons to remain here, as I assume you and Potter do yours.” Suddenly, all humor is drained from his voice. There’s a complicated expression etched into his worn face, something that Regulus is entirely too familiar with from looking at the mirror every morning.
Something like empathy pangs in Regulus’ chest. He narrows his eyes. “We do. Have our own reasons, I mean.”
Aberforth seems satisfied enough to take that as the answer. His entire demeanor seems to have shifted in a matter of a second. His eyes, which had previously been glimmering with mirth, have grown solemn. There’s something tired and broken about him. Something that makes Regulus’ heart ache for the man in a rare bout of compassion.
“I’ll get you two some drinks.” Aberforth grunts tonelessly. His voice is heavy with unnamed and uncountable burdens- burdens from the war, burdens from before the war. “This storm’s real nasty. Might rain us out the whole day and some more.” He adds, almost as an afterthought, gazing out through the cloudy pub windows.
James looks like he wants to protest, but a single look from the old man shuts him down. “I’m getting you both two drinks. On the house. Don’t bother arguing.” He turns and limps off towards the bar, which is empty save for a few other stragglers, who also seem to be waiting out the storm.
Regulus turns to look at James, who’s still staring at Aberforth, his gaze tight with conflict. When he turns back, his mouth is set in a troubled frown. Immediately, Regulus reaches across the table, taking James’ hand in his, squeezing lightly.
“You can’t save everyone, you know. People will always have burdens.” Regulus murmurs, his voice quiet.
He knows what James is like. The compassionate bastard will pull himself apart to solve everyone’s problems. He’ll give everything between one breath in the next to help others.
James’ eyes are still crinkled with worry, but the tautness in his face relaxes when he meets Regulus’ solemn gaze. “I know,” He whispers. “I know, but I try anyway.”
Regulus smiles, real and soft, and squeezes his hand again, tighter this time. “I know James. I know.” It’s one of the things I love about you.
James grins too, the final bits of tension melting away from his features. Regulus finds that he likes this look on him a lot more. “I know you know.”
They leave the tavern when the rain finally lets up in the afternoon. Aberforth bids them farewell with a quiet twist of his lips, which they barely see under his silvery beard. He still looks subdued, but both Regulus and James know better than to try and cheer him up.
Scars as deep as the ones Aberforth carries aren’t so easily healed. Maybe they never heal at all.
The walk to the graveyard is entirely too short. It’s only a little ways from the pub, and it takes them barely any time at all to reach it.
Whatever good mood had stolen upon them that afternoon has entirely disappeared. James' face is pulled tight with equal parts concern for Regulus and grief for Barty.
Regulus almost cries right then and there. Both because the memories of Barty that he’s been doing his best to repress throughout the entire journey are rushing back in a deluge, and also because James seems like he’s mourning Barty like he was his own friend. Like he was a person James himself knew and loved, rather than someone he’s known only through others.
By the time they reach the entrance to the graveyard itself, Regulus can barely walk by himself. He’s leaning against James, clutching at his arm.
James looks at him, his liquid-black eyes shining with worry. His brows are furrowed, and he’s gently stroking Regulus’ fingers where they’re tangled in the forearm of James’ jumper. “You’re shaking, love.” He murmurs, his voice soft.
Regulus swallows dryly. “Sorry.” His throat is hoarse, and he thinks he might start crying at any moment.
Shaking his head, James distangles one of his hands from Regulus’, and uses it to cup his jaw. Regulus leans into the touch, taking a shuddering breath. Merlin , he wishes he could stay here forever, wrapped in James’ warmth.
“Don’t apologize. Do you want me to come in with you, or do you want to do it alone?” He says, his warm breath puffing against Regulus’ skin.
Regulus tugs at his arm. “Come with me. Please.” A dull sort of panic is settling into him. His chest is so fucking raw again. Raw like it hasn’t been for years. Raw like his spy days, his days as a false death eater.
He feels like a gaping wound.
James must see some of the terror on his face, because he pulls him close immediately, making gentle shushing noises. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll go with you anywhere, Regulus. You just have to ask.”
Regulus nods and clamps his jaws shut before he can cry. Both from the weight of his grief for Barty and also from the extent of James’ love.
Before he can change his mind, he carefully extricates himself from James’ embrace, making sure to keep their hands twined together between them. Without pausing he begins walking forwards, setting a brisk pace. James follows without question, squeezing warmly at his hand as he does so.
Regulus feels a bit pathetic, really. Here he is, a man who’s willingly walked to his own death dozens of times. He’s a man who has seen death everywhere for years, lurking at every corner, violating his every breath.
Yet, here he is, practically collapsing from a panic attack just from seeing his best friend’s grave.
He doesn’t let his rapidly declining thoughts slow him down. He keeps walking, weaving through the rows and rows of headstones, James trailing behind him.
The wind is picking up again. The cold is bone deep, but he can’t find it in himself to shiver. James shudders behind him, and Regulus squeezes his hand gently. They’re almost at the edge of the graveyard.
Then, he sees it.
‘Matilda Crouch. Beloved Wife, Mother and Sister.’
He freezes. Fuck. Fuck . He feels James come to a halt beside him as well.
Oh Merlin , he can’t do this. He’s already visited Barty’s grave once, in Godric’s Hollow. A second time might kill him.
“You’ll come with me, right Reggie?”
“Always.”
“James-” His breath hitches. “James, drag me over there if you have to.”
James makes a wounded noise. “Are you sure?”
His eyes flutter close. The tears are threatening to spill. He has to do this. He has to. He promised Barty- fuck. Fuck .
“Please.” He’s choking on grief. His chest is splitting open and Salazar help him , he might just bleed out. He might just break open. “I have to.”
He feels the tug at his fingers, and he doesn’t try to resist. James is moving ahead of him, dragging him along like he promised. His eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. Deep sadness lines his face.
They come to a stop.
“Regulus, you have to look.” James sounds like he might start crying at any moment. “Regulus, please. You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t.”
“James please . James-”
“You’ll be alright. It’ll be alright. Just look up. It’ll be ok. I’m right here.” James is pleading, begging him.
He looks up.
The gravestone itself is unremarkable, practically indistinguishable from his grave in Godric’s Hollow. The stone is worn at the edges, already eroding from the salt-laden sea winds. There is a bouquet of crushed red flowers at the foot of the grave. Roses.
Evan probably left them for him.
‘ Bartemius Crouch Jr.- Beloved son and lover.’
Regulus can’t help the primal half-scream that tears out of him. He would’ve collapsed, if it wasn’t for James holding him steady.
He clutches James like a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder. James is holding him, rubbing circles into his neck softly. He’s crying too, if the salty warmth soaking Regulus’ hair is anything to go by.
Hours seem to pass in the matter of a few seconds. His chest aches even harder, even more deeply than it did before.
Dizzily, he wonders if it would’ve been easier if Voldemort had indeed taken him instead. Then, he wouldn’t be left with the burden of living. Of moving on when half of your soul has been ripped away.
With great difficulty, he untangles himself from James, and walks forwards towards the grave. With every step forwards, the ache in him spreads, until every part of him is on fire.
“Hey, Barts.” Regulus says. His voice is choked with the burden of memory. “You’re an asshole, do you know that?” The tears are still running down his face, and he thinks that he might never stop crying.
“You- you left. We were supposed to- we were supposed to be the ones on this trip. Me, you and Evan. You were supposed to- fucking hell - you were supposed to marry Evan. You were supposed to marry Evan after the war ended and I was supposed to ask James Potter out on your wedding day to ruin your moment.” He takes a shuddering breath, which quickly turns into a sob.
“You were- you asshole- you were supposed to be there to celebrate with me- you fucking promised to throw me a party when I finally grew the balls to ask James out.” He hears James let out a half-laugh, half-sob behind him. “We were supposed to- we were going to buy a car. We were going to buy a car and you and Evan were supposed to have three cats and a horde of kids and you said I would be the Godfather of every single one of them.” He’s crying even harder now, and his head might just collapse in on itself.
The wind is a wild beast around them, kicking up dirt and dust and making his hair whip around him. The cold is sinking its serrated claws into him, draining him of everything.
“You were supposed to teach me how to drive. We were supposed to go to Scotland together. You’re a piece of shit, you know that? You’re a fucking asshole Barty Crouch.” Regulus is sagging against the gravestone by now, his hands white-knuckling the calloused, cold stone. “You left us. You left me and Evan. You- you should’ve- why did you save me?” He wants to yell, he wants to scream. “You had- you had Evan waiting. You left so many people. Why were you so kind? Why did you never think for yourself?”
He’s shuddering, he’s spilling his blood and flesh and heart outwards and out of his chest. He’s giving everything. He’s bleeding himself dry.
James sets a gentle hand on his shoulders, and he almost starts crying again, right there and then.
He feels a blade of heat cut across his forearms. When he manages to look up shakily, he sees the clouds receding. The sun’s flooding the graveyard with golden warmth. It falls across Barty’s grave in thick, dusty bars, turning the stone pale with yellow.
Regulus takes a deep, rattling breath. He pushes off of the ground, using James’ hand to pull himself up into a standing position. He clutches James’ fingers in a death-grip. James squeezes right back, their shoulders and legs pressing against each other’s.
James is a line of heat against him, much like the sunlight pooling across the ground and suffusing warmth through their skins.
He takes a breath. And another. The ground steadies under his feet. Because the world doesn’t stop for one man who’s falling apart. Because something always comes after the collision and the fall. Because after one breath, there should always be another.
Regulus’ eyes flutter shut.
“I love you, you asshole. Thank you- thank you for everything. Thank you for saving my life. Thank you for being my best friend, thank you for loving Evan. Thank you for being- thank you for being you. You saved us both, I think. Evan and I were never the best at loving. You showed us how.” Regulus is smiling, and it doesn’t hurt. He’s smiling and it doesn’t hurt, and he thinks Barty would’ve loved that.
He turns to look at James, whose eyes are red from crying. The sunlight is framing him thick strokes of gold and amber. When their eyes meet, James smiles faintly too. Regulus’ grin grows bigger, even with the bleeding in his chest.
“Guess what, Barty?” He lets out a helpless little laugh, half-choked with unshed tears. “I finally grew the balls to ask James Potter out.”
He’s grinning helplessly at James and James is smiling right back and the sky is blue and cloudless behind them and winter is singing around them and they’re painted with gold and love and he thinks Barty would’ve loved that.