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Chapter Text

Regulus

Chilling my bones, I’m losing my feelings
Feeling alone, can everyone hear me?
Can nobody hear me?
It feels like I’m screaming underwater
You know no one sees me sinking to the bottom
Baby, there’s no use in trying harder
It feels like I’m screaming
It feels like I’m screaming underwater

5th November 1979

To the Dark Lord,
I know I will be dead long before you read this but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that, when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more.

R.A.B.

Regulus Arcturus Black had a flair for the dramatics, it seemed.

Snorting derisively to himself as he crumpled the damp note into a ball, parchment soggy against his cold palms, he couldn’t help but laugh at the thoughtlessness of his past self.

Regulus knew he was the type of person to crave praise for his achievements, the bruised ego of a youngest son encompassing his last few scraps of sanity but leaving a note for the most dangerous and inherently feared wizard in the world really was the last nail in the coffin.

Maybe he had lost his mind, after all.

The truth was, Regulus had walked into that cave with his heartbeat rattling the prison of his ribs, dread surging through his bloodstream like a poison injected into his body because he truly had believed that he was going to die.

Of course, he had set into motion a plan of action for his survival, every breath a gulp of hope and every command spoken to Kreacher firm and precise. But Regulus had always prided himself on being a man of unshakeable practicality; someone who accepted that the worst was bound to occur, no matter how many times he prayed otherwise.

Hence the suicide note. Regulus was determined to survive, simply because he didn’t want to let the Dark Lord win which was something he knew would happen if he was stupid enough to let himself be dragged underneath the expanse of slick waves that were an almost sickly green in the eerie light of the cave.

But, if he was to perish (which, though terrifying, was something he wouldn’t have minded, in retrospect), a small part of Regulus believed that it wouldn’t be completely in vain if he detailed his betrayal to Lord Voldemort.

That small part of him was now laughing mockingly because he couldn’t even imagine the repercussions if Regulus had actually left that note in the fake locket, practically painting a target on his back in his selfish need for acknowledgment of his efforts.

Honestly, it had been the creepy thought of the Dark Lord finding his cold, dead body in the cave that had enabled him to realise he wanted to survive. Because, as it turned out, Voldemort was just as dramatic as Regulus with his impenetrable security so was bound to be notified of the measures being breached.

Which meant that leaving a note with his literal fucking initials scrawled at the bottom wasn’t the best plan that Regulus had come up with in his eighteen years in the world.

And so, that was how Regulus ended up hastily snatching the note from the replacement Horcrux, shaking fingers stuffing it into his robes pocket as he dragged himself up from the floor of the cave, boneless and trembling with his throat red raw from screaming at the top of his voice.

The potion had ripped at his body, burning his very insides and Regulus had been conscious of Kreacher’s bony hands forcing the liquid into his quivering mouth as he begged for a release, for Death to envelope him in a cold embrace and put an end to his suffering.

It wasn’t like anyone was going to miss him, anyway.

Tears had blinded his vision as his worst memories had swam before his eyes. Phantoms of Sirius staring at him with hatred deep within his stormy grey irises on the day when he had reluctantly revealed the Dark Mark scarring his left forearm.

Crippling pain paralysing his form as he writhed underneath his mother’s Cruciatus curse. The blank and lifeless eyes of Caradoc Dearborn whom Regulus had been forced to kill as the man in question was pleading at his feet, bound and bruised in Malfoy Manor’s basement.

But he had somehow managed to finish the potion, throat aching and gaze wandering longingly towards the waves licking at the mouth of the cave, water crashing against the rocks ominously.

For a single, heart-stopping moment, Regulus had found himself almost entranced by the water, weak hands scraping against the stone underneath his weak form to crawl towards the only source of hydration. However, before he could even pull himself to the edge, Kreacher’s bony fingers had clasped down on his wrist and realisation had punched through Regulus as if he’d been socked in the stomach.

“Master Regulus said Kreacher must not let him drink the water,” Kreacher had insisted firmly, eyes shining with determination and Regulus had collapsed into his house elf’s arms, allowing the sobs of relief to rack through his body before he had stumbled to his feet, teetering off balance but still somewhat strong enough to dispose of the note into his pocket.

“Take me home, Kreacher,” he had rasped, cheeks damp from tears and limbs shaking uncontrollably.

It had taken days for him to recover. Upon returning to 12 Grimmauld Place, Regulus had proceeded to throw up all over the porch, thanking the heavens that Walburga was absent, staying with his dying father in a private ward of St Mungo’s.

Then it had been a slow traipse to his bedroom, where Regulus had collapsed into bed and not moved until the weekend, when the reality of his situation had woken him from his half-conscious state with a thudding heart and a pool of dread gathering in his stomach.

He’d done it. He had defied his master, the man he had been forced to serve since he was sixteen, and he currently had the heavy weight of a Horcrux in his bedside drawer.

Holy shit.

“I’ve done it,” Regulus had muttered in slight disbelief, hands pushing his unwashed curls off his face, climbing out of bed to regain some slither of humanity that he had been so close to letting slip out of his grasp.

Once he had felt relatively okay, Regulus had burnt the note with a quick flick of his wand, watching the parchment curl into black tendrils and a heap of ash on his desk with a flash of satisfaction in his grey eyes.

That brought him to now, a suitcase packed by his feet and a lump inhabiting his throat.

Because Regulus Black was many things but he wasn’t stupid.

He had felt the power of the Dark Lord’s security around that cave, had known better than to underestimate that the wizard wouldn’t have some sort of alarm to inform him when the barriers had been infiltrated.

And Regulus was aware of the danger he was in, the suspicious finger that would surely be pointed in his direction because his house elf was the only one who knew of the cave’s location and what it had previously protected. It wouldn’t take too long for Lord Voldemort to put two and two together and hunt Regulus down, ensuring a more painful death than the one he would’ve suffered in the cave.

So, Regulus was going to take a leaf out of his brother’s book and run away.

Except he was much better than Sirius because he wasn’t going to hide away in a household of another family, pretending to be one of them. France seemed like an ideal place for him to flee to, safe in his knowledge of the language to get by and possibly blend into the Muggle world.

Just to reconvene, until Regulus could work out how to destroy the literal piece of Voldemort’s soul he was just casually carrying around like a bloody souvenir.

Regulus wasn’t a Seer - he didn’t know how long this war was going to drag on for. But it wasn’t like anyone would notice if he just disappeared into thin air.

Let them think that he died, let them mourn him because it wasn’t like Regulus had actually existed since being branded. The very last part of himself that he had been clinging onto, in the wake of Sirius’ abandonment, had been lost over the Christmas holidays before his sixteenth birthday. When he had been forced to step up to his duties, the duties that were in further demand after Sirius had brought shame upon their family.

It had all been about what he was required to do. No one had bothered to ask what Regulus wanted.

Luck of the draw only draws the unlucky, after all. And Regulus had been too far gone to dream of begging with the universe to throw him a gracious dice or grant him the ace he needed to get out of the living hell he had found himself thrown into. It was time that he made his own decisions, his own choices and left everyone else behind in the dust.

He was sick of screaming underwater and sinking to the bottom, watching everyone else continue living whilst he struggled for breath. Regulus just wanted to break the surface of his restrictive life for once, to take a gasp of relief and do the right thing for a change. If that meant he had to leave everyone wondering what happened to him, then so be it.

Maybe if he disappeared, they’d all realise they should’ve cared a little more, asked after his wellbeing when the very life had drained from his eyes.

Maybe Sirius would be sorry he had left him behind, maybe Barty and Evan would regret prioritising the cause over their friendship, maybe, just maybe, someone would think about Regulus Black’s feelings for longer than a split second.

Regulus hoped so.

Chapter Text

James

Early twenties fighting for their lives

From dusk to dawn on the front lines

They sold their youth to take up arms

Broken bodies, broken hearts

Their friends that used to cheat on tests

Now twenty one cheating death

Go out for drinks and laugh before

Losing their lives to settle scores

31st October 1981

In all honesty, James Potter didn’t know how to feel about Regulus Black. 

He knew that he should feel some element of gratitude for the youngest Black, for the way he had appeared in the flat that Sirius shared with Remus, after nearly two years of being presumed dead.

Sirius had practically had a heart attack, convinced he was hallucinating and, seeing as Remus had been unfortunately under the full moon’s curse that Halloween night, had instantly called James over to help him out. 

A call which had saved James’ life. 

An absentminded kiss to Lily’s forehead, a ruffle of Harry’s hair and an Apparation CRACK later, and James had arrived, stunned to see that Sirius had not been lying, his supposedly dead brother sipping at a cup of tea with something like amusement in his expression.

Though he knew how dangerous it was to step out of the Fidelius Charm, James would never refuse a Sirius in distress, much to Lily’s chagrin as she had frowned worriedly at him. 

“I think I’m going mad,” his best friend had whispered faintly, reaching out to clutch at James who humoured him tiredly, observing Regulus with creeping suspicion.

“M’afraid you’re already well past the pinnacle of sanity, mate,” James had mumbled, causing Regulus to snort before he gathered himself, becoming rather severe.

Of course, James being James, had thoroughly grilled Regulus about what he was doing in Sirius and Remus’ kitchen when the Daily Prophet had published his obituary not too long after Sirius’ 20th birthday. 

Much to James’ surprise, Regulus had been willing to tell his entire story, spanning from his Death Eaters defection to discovery of what was keeping Lord Voldemort alive and immortal (Sirius’ head had crashed onto the kitchen table at the revelation that Voldemort had made Horcruxes - Regulus had originally thought there was only one but, in his two years playing dead, had evidently discovered another obstacle).

He had then detailed his years away, hiding under a fake name and backstory in the countryside of Southern France, and how his research had led him to requiring a talk with Albus Dumbledore. 

“What, you think Dumbledore will be able to help?” Sirius had spoken up with a scoff, breaking the silence that had fallen in the wake of Regulus’ mind blowing story.

The younger Black brother had scowled before accepting a chug from the bottle of Firewhiskey that James had begun to pass around during Regulus’ explanation, brain hurting from the overload of information and the whiplash of emotions he now felt about Sirius’ little brother. 

Ever since Sirius had run away from home and been essentially adopted by the Potters, James had hated Regulus by proxy for the way he treated Sirius, in the aftermath. Initially, he had been worried sick alongside a hysterical Sirius who had begged Dumbledore to get Regulus out of Grimmauld Place (the Headmaster had simply shrugged infuriatingly and said the situation was ‘out of his control’).

However, following Regulus’ dark looks and hissed insults at Sirius in the term of their sixth year, James had inwardly thought that there was no help to be found for him. He was too far gone. 

How the tables turned…

“Trust me, Sirius. If I thought I could do this on my own, I would. I hate the man but, unfortunately, he is the only match for the Dark Lord,” Regulus had said after swallowing his mouthful of Firewhiskey with a grimace, silently passing it to Sirius who had looked like he wanted to down the entire thing, hands tugging through his long locks agitatedly. 

“You-Know-Who,” James had found himself correcting Regulus without thinking, wincing a little when Regulus shot him a dirty look (he had forgotten how much Regulus despised him for ‘stealing’ his brother).

“I beg your pardon?” Regulus asked snappishly, his polite manner still kicking in despite his irritation with James, who felt a flicker of humour. 

“Only Dark wizards call Voldy the Dark Lord. And seeing as you’re one of us now–”

“I am not one of you–”

“Well, you’re trying to defeat You-Know-Who, mate, so you kinda are. Sorry to break it to you,” James had shrugged, feeling an inner triumph at how riled up Regulus was becoming, a grumpy disposition taking over his features and mannerisms.

Merlin, James had missed being an annoying little shit. The stresses of the war, fatherhood and being in hiding had really sucked that part of his personality out of him like a Dementor. 

Speaking of…

“James, shouldn’t you be heading back?” Sirius had suggested, a tired smile tugging at his lips, “I don’t want you being out of the cottage for too long,” the concern had seeped into his best friend’s tone and James had felt a sigh of resignation weighing his body down.

For a free spirit like James, being in hiding was like entrapping a wild animal in a zoo - it was unnatural, restrictive and downright boring. 

At least he had Lily and Harry to keep him company or else he thought he might’ve just about died. 

“Alright,” James had stood up, cracking his back and stretching before gripping Sirius’ shoulder affectionately, “Will you be okay?” he asked quietly, tilting his head towards Regulus who was doing a very bad job of pretending not to listen but blatantly eavesdropping.

“Somehow, yeah. I think I will,” Sirius had had a strangely sentimental look in his eye - James couldn’t even imagine what he was going through. 

If his parents, who had passed from Dragon Pox just before Harry’s birth, suddenly showed up on his doorstep, alive and well, he probably would’ve thought he was going mad, just like Sirius had when he saw his brother. And that was without taking into account the whole added factor of Regulus switching sides and actively trying to take down Voldemort. 

“Why’re you in hiding, anyway?” James had heard Regulus ask, just as he was about to step out of Sirius’ wards to disapparate, his ears ringing with his best friend’s promise to call via mirror if any problems with Regulus arose.

He had paused, grip freezing on the door handle, whilst winking cheekily and saying, “That’s for me to know and you to find out, Baby Black,” before disapparating with a loud CRACK!

After that moment, nothing was the same as it was. 

James knew something was wrong before his surroundings even cleared and the cottage came into sight. It was something like dread twisting at his insides, poisoning the previously content feeling that had been lying dormant there after teasing Regulus.

And in the split second as his feet steadied and his eyes flickered open, James Potter’s world flipped upside down as terror froze every particle of his body until he felt like he was drowning in horrified fright. 

The cottage was destroyed.

The entire right side of the top floor, where Harry’s bedroom was, had been blown away with rubble now cluttering the dilapidated exterior, blocking James’ view of his son and wife.

A sob clawed its way out of his throat as he initially felt the urge to sink to his knees and howl animalistically but he was an Order member for a reason. He had to stay calm. 

Adrenaline pumped through his system, pain bubbling in his stomach, threatening to build up in his throat as James desperately tried to push the cries of despair down into the very depths of his body, where the raw, unhealed grief for his parents, Marlene and Dorcas still remained. The door was unlocked and broken slightly, swinging open with an eerie creak and James felt himself suddenly gripped with another fear. 

What had happened to Peter? Had he been tortured for information? Had Voldemort murdered him, too, after getting the location he needed?

Peter would never give James and Lily up willingly so James knew there had to be a reason why the Fidelius Charm had been broken, why he was now charging up the stairs of his home with a heartbeat faster than the speed of light. 

James’ eyes squeezed shut when he reached the top of the stairs because Lily’s wand was lying there, abandoned on the carpet that was now coated in rubble dust. He hadn’t wanted to believe that the love of his life, the girl he had pined after for years and finally got to himself in seventh year, was gone.

But, as amazing a witch as Lily was, there was no way she could stand off the darkest, most powerful wizard in the world without a fucking wand.

Harry’s bedroom door was blown off its hinges, the alphabet letters that had once decorated his baby blue walls now scattered over the floor. That wasn’t the only thing that was on the floor.

James felt like a strong hand was suffocating him, his breaths coming in short gasps. Tears flooded down his cheeks, a whimper emanating from behind his lips, which were pressed together with his bottom lip bleeding from how much he was biting down. 

“Oh, Lily,” James croaked out and the dam broke, his knees hitting the floor as he pulled his wife’s lifeless body towards him, shuddering at how cold she felt to touch when Lily Potter had always been so warm, warm, warm.

Her emerald green eyes, ones that a thirteen year old James had declared himself quite in love with, were blank and missing that spark of intelligence and glow of happiness that he was so accustomed to seeing. “My lovely, lovely Lily,” James was crying heavily now, the sobs ripping their way through his body as he felt his heart shatter into irreparable fragments on the ground. 

He clutched her body to his chest, absently praying that the warmth from him, his heartbeat against hers, would resuscitate her. James ran his shaking hands through the soft red locks of Lily’s hair, remembering how it had fanned over his chest just that morning, as they cuddled in bed.

How Lily had pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, mouth warm and alive, not like the cold, bluish, silent scream that it was open in now. 

James could just envision the scene now - Lily would’ve fought Voldemort, she would’ve done anything to protect Harry (James felt another stab to his heart at the thought of his one-year-old son but he couldn’t bear to take his eyes off Lily, only to find Harry’s corpse. He couldn’t do it).

Lily’s discarded wand on the landing and the state of Harry’s bedroom door painted the visual in James’ mind of her fighting until her last breath, fighting to protect Harry. 

Oh, if only James had been here. 

And that was the reason why he didn’t know how to feel about Regulus Black.

Because it was Regulus’ fault that James hadn’t been here to protect his wife and child. However, at the same time, Regulus’ reappearance had also saved James’ life. But it was a life that didn’t even feel worth living without Lily and Harry.

They may have been the ones to die but James was the one who paid for it. He’d survived, but he was going to pay for it. 

“I should’ve protected you, I’m sorry,” James mumbled tremulously to Lily, pressing shaky kisses to her cold forehead, tears slipping from his eyes onto her cheeks, splashing against her pale skin.

“I should’ve been here,” the regret and guilt cut at James like a sword in his gut, punching out of him in a guttural wail that sounded almost like a baby’s cry.

For a moment, James felt himself hallucinating as Harry’s cries rang through his head, his chest aching at the memory of his baby boy who’s body he had yet to see—

“Harry?” 

James had never stood up so fast. 

Inwardly scolding himself for not looking towards the crib when he first came in (because of course Lily would’ve dropped Harry behind her, to protect him), James felt himself dazedly walk over to where his son was staring up at him, sobbing loudly.

A haphazard, zigzag of a lightning bolt was cut into Harry’s forehead but he otherwise appeared unharmed, just coated in dust from the rubble surrounding his bedroom. 

“How did you—“ James breathed out in disbelief, tears frozen in tracks on his face as he felt an almost hysterical laugh bubble up from his weighted chest. “Oh, my son. My beautiful, gorgeous, brave boy,” James didn’t even hesitate a second longer, scooping Harry up with something akin to joy running through his veins.

He didn’t even know how it was possible that Harry had survived, how his little fists were clutching at James with a small smile, but he didn’t care. 

Harry was alive. He was okay. And James, who had been seconds away from casting the Killing Curse on himself just so he could join Lily and their son, felt like the sun had just come out from behind a dark cloud. 

The reality soon set in, of course. The paranoia creeping into his body at the realisation that Voldemort had failed to kill Harry and so would still be after him, the reminder that Lily was still gone and James would have to raise Harry without his beloved mother.

Pain hit him like a freight train and, soon, James was sobbing into Harry, falling back to his knees and just holding his baby as a source of comfort whilst the sharp knife of grief twisted in his gut. 

James didn’t know how long he crouched there, Harry cradled to his chest as he sniffled along with his father, tiny fingers threading through James’ dishevelled hair.

At one point, James was aware of Harry trying to wipe his tears away, which made him laugh wetly and clutch his son even tighter like he was scared that Harry was going to disappear if he let go. 

“James? Lily? Harry?” 

James would’ve recognised Sirius’ voice anywhere but the part of him that wanted to call out to his best friend stoppered in his throat, chest still heaving with silent sobs and ragged breaths.

He longed to shout back to Sirius, to reassure him that at least some of them were okay. But he physically couldn’t get any words out, creeping backwards into the very corner of Harry’s bedroom, far away from Lily’s body, so that nobody at the door could see him. 

It was in this moment that James longed for his Invisibility Cloak, for the ability to just disappear or remain there, in a bedroom full of guilt, with his son clinging to him.

Because once he stepped outside, he knew he would be subject to the pitying looks of everyone, the empty words of reassurance, the questions as to why he hadn’t been at home to protect Lily. James wasn’t ready for all of that. He just wanted to hide away from the world. 

The frantic noises from downstairs of Sirius (with perhaps a few others) searching the rooms sounded and James only had a few moments to prepare himself before the telltale thuds of Sirius’ panicked footsteps echoed throughout the tiny cottage.

James curled further in on himself, back pressing against the peeling wallpaper, as Harry stared at him with those wide green eyes that were so achingly reminiscent of his mother that James felt nothing but anguish. 

Was this what it was going to be like, every time he looked at his son?

Pain at the sight of Lily’s eyes in Harry’s face? Guilt at the questions that Harry was bound to ask, as he got older, about why James hadn’t fucking been there to save his mother? Regret at the fact that James had been listening to Sirius’ estranged brother tell them Voldemort was immortal whilst the very same Dark wizard ripped his home apart? 

“Oh fuck. No, no, no, no. Lily! ” Sirius’ reaction hurt almost as much, his punched cries spelling out the same horror that James had felt upon seeing his wife lying in the doorway, motionless and staring off blankly into the distance.

He choked on a sob and Sirius’ gaze ripped immediately from Lily’s body to James in the corner, cradling a strangely quiet Harry close. 

Relief washed over Sirius’ face for a split second before the same guilt that was charging through James’ body engraved its way into his expression.

He stepped over Lily shakingly, leaning down briefly to shut her unseeing eyes and press a trembling kiss to her forehead. But then he was surging towards James and Harry, arms wrapping around his best friend and godson with a ragged sob. And James just let himself fall into him. 

If there was anyone he could be broken around, it was Sirius. 

Sirius had been there for every stage of James’ life for the past nine years. Every euphoric moment of snatched laughter and joy but also the weaker, darker moments of breakdowns.

When James had lost a Quidditch match for the first time and didn’t feel like he was perfect enough. When James had questioned his worth after a multitude of rejections from Lily. When James and Sirius had lost their parents and sought comfort in only each other. 

And, now. 

Crying onto one another in the dilapidated corner of a Godric’s Hollow cottage with Harry sandwiched between them. A mixture of relief, guilt, anguish, regret and gut-wrenching despair bleeding into their tears as James felt himself clutching at the warmth that Sirius brought, the comfort that his hugs exuded. 

The passage of time became a distant memory as James just let himself explode all of the emotions in his body onto Sirius.

His best friend had soon stopped crying, tear tracks dried on his cheeks, and was now bouncing Harry up and down with one arm whilst keeping the other firmly around James’ shoulders. James was just disorientated, breathless from sobbing but not being able to stop the tears from spilling forth like a volcano erupting. 

He was sub-consciously aware of raised voices as a headache plundered through his brain, the aftereffect of his continuous breakdown making his skull feel like it was splitting in two.

James still had his back pressed against the wall once he’d finally blinked himself out of the mess he had fallen into, his shoulder now absent from Sirius’ arm which led him to glance up in panic. 

Thankfully, Sirius was still there, Harry on his hip, as he argued with… Dumbledore? 

James inhaled sharply. He knew, even in his vulnerable state of mind, what the Headmaster was here for. 

“…doesn’t look good, Mr Black. I showed up to your flat to inform you that your plan was successful and that Lord Voldemort had murdered the Potters. Then I discovered a Death Eater that the entire wizarding world presumed dead—“

“I’m telling you! I was not the Secret Keeper. Peter was, it should be Peter you’re interrogating and arresting. Not me!” 

“Hand over the child, Mr Black.” 

“No. I’m not the fucking traitor and Reg is here because he’s trying to help you, you selfish old bastard, defeat Voldemort—“

“Lord Voldemort is dead.” 

“No he’s not! Not really. And you know it! That’s what we’re trying to tell you, for fuck’s sake, but you’re too busy tracking down the wrong man.”

“Mr Black, you were the confirmed Secret Keeper—“

“No he wasn’t,” James suddenly found his voice, though it was hoarse from disuse and raw from his sobs, words shakingly forming a sentence.

Both Sirius and Dumbledore turned to look at him, the latter smiling rather condescendingly, “Mr Potter, as much as I’m sure Mr Black appreciates the defence, you are clearly not in your right mind—“

“I am,” James snapped, stumbling to his feet and fixing Dumbledore with a determined glare, stomach lurching when he caught sight of Lily’s body still lying on the floor by Dumbledore’s feet. Why hadn’t somebody moved her?

“Sirius wasn’t the Secret Keeper. We switched it to Pete at the last minute ‘cause we thought he’d be harder to discover. Speaking of, Sirius, have you checked in on Pete? Something must’ve happened to him in order for him to—“ James had turned to Sirius but felt himself trail off at Sirius’ grim expression. 

“James,” Sirius whispered, still rocking a sleeping Harry in his arms (that explained the absence of noise from the baby during the argument). “Peter’s the traitor. I-I didn’t wanna believe it but, when Dumbledore showed up to tell me the Fidelius had been broken, Reg confirmed that Voldemort referred to his Order spy as his ‘little rat.’ All of the pieces add up…”

For what felt like the millionth time that day, James felt the world slip away from him, into impenetrable darkness, as a loud ringing sounded throughout his ears. 

Because it did add up.

James felt like the mystery jigsaw of who the traitor was had finally found its missing piece, everything slotting into place.

Peter’s shifty behaviour, his constant excuses for tardiness or absences at events such as James’ wedding suit fitting and Dorcas and Marlene’s engagement party. Peter’s quiet accusations of Remus, discreetly pointing the finger; his curious questions and fear of the war, of the side that were losing. 

It all made sense. But, at the same time, it didn’t. Because Peter was a Marauder. 

The Marauders didn’t betray one another. 

Peter had been one of them since the beginning, always the friend to bring laughter to the group, especially in a tense situation such as the aftermath of Sirius’ ‘prank’ on Snape in fifth year.

He had become Animagi to help Remus, had been James’ friend since childhood, had cheered James, Sirius and Marlene on during Quidditch matches. Peter had stolen Honeydukes chocolate to comfort Remus, had cursed Regulus in seventh year when he said something particularly nasty to Sirius, had hugged James happily when Lily finally said yes to him. 

Where had it gone wrong? 

What hadn’t James seen? 

Had Peter always had plans to join the Dark Side or was it something that the other Marauders had pushed him towards? 

Before James even knew what was happening, he was entering a deluge of panic, waves of anxiety and intrusive thoughts drowning him to the point where he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t grapple for the surface.

Lily had always known what to do during his panic attacks, and had always been able to calm him down. But Lily was dead and this cruel reminder only made James’ breaths quicken even more as his ribs suffocated his lungs. 

Hot tears were blinding his vision, his hearing distorted like he was actually underwater and James was absentmindedly aware of Sirius grabbing onto him before everything went dark and claustrophobic, sucking him into the dimension of apparation.

James ripped a breath from his lungs as he landed unsteadily, hearing Harry’s distant cries and feeling hands that had to be Sirius guiding him to a chair. 

How could Peter have betrayed them? How could Peter have beamed for photographs on Lily and James’ wedding day and still handed their location over to Voldemort?

How could Peter have babysat Harry, knowing that he was going to attempt to aid in the murder of James’ son? James, his childhood best friend since they had both been four and flying around on miniature broomsticks with Marlene. James, who had always made the effort to include Peter in everything. 

Clearly he hadn’t done enough. 

This was all his fault. 

Gentle hands were grappling at his fingers, trying to stop them from ripping his palms to shreds and a soft voice was murmuring reassurances into his ear.

James blinked, chest heaving from the effort of trying to come up for air as he tried to focus on what the person next to him was saying. Five things he could see, four things he could feel, three things he could hear, two things he could…

“There he is.” 

James inhaled the scent of Regulus Black, Sirius’ brother’s eyes shining with an unfamiliar emotion as James gripped embarrassingly tightly at his hands.

There was a long moment where James steadied his breathing, hazel boring into the familiar comforting grey that was the same as Sirius’ eyes. Regulus didn’t move until he was certain that James had calmed down, face hot from the lack of air and head banging from the thoughts shooting off like Muggle bullets in his brain. 

Then he ripped his hands away, standing hurriedly. 

“Thank Merlin,” Sirius rushed over, concern embedded in every crevice of his face and it was only then, as James’ vision cleared, that he realised Sirius had apparated him back to his and Remus’ apartment. The very flat he had been in when Lily had….

James winced, the twinge of guilt pinging in his chest but he had cried himself out now, devoid of sobs and feeling almost empty.

“Harry’s fast asleep, Reg summoned a crib from God knows where and I’ve put him in the spare room. Reg was originally gonna have it but you’re entitled to it now, he can kip on the sofa. C’mon,” Sirius’ arm wrapped around James, the anchor to his sinking ship, and he felt incandescently relieved for the presence and hospitality of his best friend. 

“Thank you,” James rasped out as they reached the threshold of the flat’s spare room, Harry dozing restfully in the corner, situated in a yellow crib that had a conjured duckling dangling over the top. At least one of them was okay.

James sank onto the bed, exhausted to his very bones and aching all over from the emotional turmoil of the past few hours.

“Dreamless Sleep. Reg had some in his supplies,” Sirius whispered and James chugged it in relief as he flopped back onto the pillows, a permanent ache in his chest when he realised this would be the first time sleeping in a bed without Lily since they had graduated. 

The first time but not the last time, not by a long stretch. Because Lily was gone forever, leaving behind a motherless child, a hole in James’ heart and a gap in his bed.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so broken in his entire life, not even when he lost his parents. His and Lily’s love had been black and white, so simple once they sorted their shit out, and burning red with an impassioned infatuation for one another. 

Now James’ life was just devoid of colour. 

It wasn’t even black and white. Just grey.

Grey, verging into black that swallowed James up whole. He didn’t even know how he was going to get through the night, let alone the rest of his life, without Lily but the baby in the crib next to him gave him the motivation to try.

James had to try, for Harry. To make up for what his son had lost. 

But was there any point in Harry having a father who felt like all twenty one years of his life had dissolved into a darkness, all of the sunlight and magic zapped from it in the same way that life had been ripped from Lily’s beautiful eyes?

James would argue that there was not.

But he knew Lily would disagree so he had to keep going on. For Lily. For Harry. 

And, with that thought, the Dreamless Sleep finally took effect and dragged James Potter off into the world of oblivion, naivety and contentment. 

Scared of what his life would look like when he woke up.

Chapter Text

James

And I tend to close my eyes when it hurts sometimes

I fall into your arms

I’ll be safe in your sound ‘till I come back around

For now the day bleeds into nightfall

And you’re not here to get me through it all

I let my guard down and then you pulled the rug

I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved

4th August 1982

Harry was crying again. 

The wails of the two year old penetrated the house, cries echoing through the walls as James started upright from where he had accidentally fallen asleep on the sofa after putting Harry to bed.

A blearied glance at the enormous clock situated on the living room mantelpiece informed James that his son had actually only dozed for around half an hour, the clock hands crawling closer to nine o’clock. 

It had taken an age to put him down in the first place because Harry was in one of his fussy moods where he was overtired but refusing to sleep, no matter how many lullabies James tried to sing to him.

And, even when he did eventually fall asleep, he was often woken up by nightmares that insisted on plaguing the poor child and his screams would always send a dagger through James’ heart. 

He hated being out of control and unable to enforce a healthy sleeping schedule for Harry, he despised himself for not being able to be the perfect father that his son desperately needed, in the wake of only having one parent to depend upon.

It had nearly been a year since that fateful Halloween night now and James still couldn’t work it out.

When he had sought the advice of Hogwarts’ nurse, Madam Pomfrey had suggested a weaker, child-friendly version of Dreamless Sleep, mixed in with baby formula, but Harry had blatantly refused to take it, crying even more at the putrid stench of the potion. 

“Hey, hey,” James rushed into Harry’s bedroom, scooping him up out of his cot and beginning to bounce the screaming child, who writhed in his arms and sobbed desperately for something that James couldn’t provide, no matter how hard he tried.

“It’s okay. Haz. Daddy’s here, Daddy’s got you,” he hushed, arms gently wrestling the child over his shoulder so that his hand could rub comfortingly at Harry’s back. 

Harry continued to cry hysterically, tiny fists pummelling James’ own back as his legs kicked at his father’s chest and stomach, fighting to be put back down. James sighed, obediently placing Harry back down in the crib and feeling momentarily appeased when his son’s sobs faded during the process.

The brief moment of relief was shattered by Harry’s screams, though, as he was plopped back down onto his bed, shrill shrieks caterwauling out of his mouth whilst making grabby-hands up at James. 

“What do you want?” James found himself begging with his son, the desperation seeping into his tone as he picked Harry up again, the toddler a mess of snot and tears as he hiccuped furiously whilst crying, face red from the effort and the frustration that James wasn’t understanding him.

“Are you hungry? Tired? Need potty?” James continued to jig Harry up and down, feeling exhausted to the bone himself. 

This had been going on for months now, since around Christmas of last year when their new life had clearly registered in Harry’s brain.

At first, Harry had probably simply assumed that Mummy was on holiday and that Daddy was just tired, hence why a lot of his care had fallen to the likes of Uncle Padfoot, Uncle Moony and Regulus. James had tried, of course, but those first few months without Lily had rendered him weak and unmoving in his bed, unable to even drag himself to the shower or outside for some air. 

The first Christmas without Lily had been one of the hardest days that James had had to deal with, especially as it had only been the second Christmas without Effie’s mince pies and Monty’s ridiculous carolling.

The absence of Lily’s warm smile as she helped Harry unwrap presents, along with the gaps at the table where Marlene, Dorcas and Peter should’ve been, had been almost too much for James to bear. But he had soldiered through the torture. For Harry. To see that smile on his face when Daddy brought back the glowing lights spell. 

In early February, following the disastrous day that would’ve been Lily’s 22nd birthday, where James had fallen into pieces more so than he even had at the funeral, in mid November, he had made the executive decision to move out.

Sirius and Remus had naturally disagreed but James had felt like he was doing nothing but intruding, especially as the two of them were still trying to patch their own relationship up after the distrust of the war had ripped their love into shreds. 

Besides, Regulus had still been living with Sirius at that time and the youngest Black brother had put up with four fucking months of sleeping on the sofa because of James, which made him feel incredibly guilty.

Especially because Regulus was working harder than any of them, in the aftermath of the war, to hunt down Horcruxes with Dumbledore to ensure that, when Voldemort inevitably returned, he would be mortal once more. 

So, James had moved back to his childhood home in the Cotswolds. That had been a mental challenge of its own but, instead of feeling upset by the lingering reminders of his parents, he had felt almost comforted by the idea of Harry growing up in the house that had burst with love for twenty years of James’ life.

Maybe a small part of James had hoped that being surrounded by the familiarities of the home he grew up in would help to inspire some of his parenting methods. Perhaps placing Harry in his old bedroom, now decorated accordingly to suit a two year old, would ensure that Harry grew up just as loved and stable as James had. 

But Harry had only deteriorated, after the move, unsettled by all the changes in his life. He stayed the happy-go-lucky child that he had always been during the day, with the exception of a few changes to his behaviour, but the nights only brought nightmare-infused tantrums and screaming. 

“Harry, please. Just tell me what’s wrong. Stop crying,” James felt near to tears himself, almost tempted to shake his child just to stop the sobs that were beginning to make his head hurt.

Some nights, when Harry had these meltdowns, he would glance around as if expecting someone else to appear, someone to sooth him when James couldn’t. It broke his heart because James knew that Harry was looking for Lily, who had always had a knack for calming him down. 

James wasn’t enough. 

He couldn’t help but feel like he was a shit father, barely holding in his own grief as he tried to look after his son. He felt like he was falling apart at the seams, a badly-made scarecrow dismantling into nothingness whilst the crows of life taunted him, demanding for him to get a grip on reality and sort himself out. 

The thing was, James hadn’t had time to heal, he had had to bottle up all of his feelings in favour of taking care of Harry. And he wouldn’t have it any other way - he was inherently selfless and had often put others before himself - but sometimes he just wished there was someone else to take the pressure off. 

Of course, Sirius and Remus helped out as much as they possibly could. Mary also popped over frequently, providing Harry with a female face so that he could indulge in a somewhat maternal touch.

But none of James’ friends could be there during the nights where Harry was the worst (though, in their defence, none of them were aware how bad Harry’s nighttime breakdowns were because James was ashamed of admitting that he couldn’t deal with it). 

James hated asking for help. It made him feel weak and like he had failed even more so than he already had. 

That wasn’t just a new development, either. Ever since he was eleven, James had realised just how lucky he was in life to have been raised by two doting parents who thought the world of him. He had been seen as perfect in so many people’s eyes, placed upon a pedestal that didn’t allow for any failures which had caused a lot of pressure in his life. 

However, James had embraced it with open arms. He’d been the therapist friend, the one that people ran to for advice. He had taken on the role of perfect Quidditch Captain who never missed a goal, strutted around school like the pranking God he was.

James had been untouchable, whispers of his occasional failures never reaching the surface. But now he had to live with the fact that a simple, reckless move on his part had led Lord Voldemort straight to Lily, murdering the love of his life whilst James had sipped Firewhiskey with the Black brothers. 

The double-edged sword effect of being the father to the Boy-Who-Lived, the child responsible for Voldemort’s downfall whom everyone wanted to shake the chubby hand of or idolise over, meant that James was constantly reminded of his failures.

It wasn’t something that he could run away from anymore, his ego blocking any of his flaws from prying eyes. James was on display, churning out interviews on Harry’s behalf and being thanked in the street for bringing the Wizarding World peace. 

People never really asked (not directly, anyhow) why he hadn’t been at home that night but James was left with the guilt that he had been selfish for once in his life, taking the opportunity to be free from hiding for a snatched hour. And that had cost him his wife. 

James had sworn to himself to never be that selfish again. 

He just couldn’t stop wondering about how differently the events of that Halloween night could’ve played out if he had been there.

What if James had managed to fight Voldemort off for long enough that Lily and Harry were able to escape? Merlin only knew that, if it had been Lily left alone to raise Harry, she would’ve done a better job than James. Lily had always done everything better, had been the ultimate best and James’ rock in their shared parenting. 

He didn’t know how to do it without her. 

Lily would’ve known what to do about Harry’s nightmares. She wouldn’t have just stared helplessly at her son, unable to work out what the fuck he wanted. 

“W-want M-“ Harry whimpered, unable to finish his sentence out of confusion - it seemed like he wasn’t even aware who exactly he wanted anymore.

When Harry got in his nighttime moods like these, he often got perplexed and regressed into a more vulnerable state. Madam Pomfrey had theorised that this behaviour could be due to Harry’s trauma at a young age causing him to feel like a victim a lot of the time, taking it out on anyone around him. 

Unfortunately, that meant that James often got the brunt of Harry’s emotions. 

He was too young to even remember his year with Lily, too young to even remember her face. All Harry knew was that he was missing something, or somebody, that had provided him with comfort in another life. And he made sure that James knew about it, whether on purpose or not. 

Tears flowed freely down his chubby cheeks and James felt his heart break into even further pieces as a sob lodged its way into his own throat, eyes burning before he blinked the overwhelming emotion away.

“Moony?” James suggested, praying for Harry to latch onto his false input. Thankfully, the two year old didn’t argue and simply nodded, looking as tired and upset as James felt. 

Oh, Lily. If only you could see us right now…you would be so disappointed. 

“Okay,” James whispered as Harry continued to cry, his father shifting him to his hip as he walked downstairs, seeking out the Muggle telephone that Mary had insisted he should install, to keep in contact and let the Muggle side of Lily live on within the house.

James shakingly typed the telephone number of Sirius and Remus’ flat, hoping that someone would answer whilst Harry wailed in his arms. 

Eventually, after a few agonising seconds of James trying to shush Harry, the line clicked and a tired voice came through, “Hello? Remus Lupin speaking.”

James practically melted with relief, though a slight twinge of guilt echoed in his chest at the fact that he had woken his best mate up, along with the crippling sense of weakness he felt at asking for help. Nobody but James had ever seen Harry in this state before but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

“Moony? I need help, it’s Harry. He literally won’t stop crying, I don’t know how to help him—“ James was horrified when his voice broke, his true feelings cracking into his words.

“James, take a deep breath,” Remus instructed him, sounding much more alert and awake now, “I’ll be over as soon as possible. D’you want me to bring anything? Anyone?” 

“J-just you, please.” 

The telephone line disconnected, Harry’s cries still playing as a miserable soundtrack to James’ life whilst he walked them all over the downstairs portion of the house, hoping that the movement would calm Harry down.

It didn’t.

The toddler’s screams had digressed to more sniffles and quiet crying now but he had still yet to stop showing visible signs of distress. Even when James tried to get him to eat something, Harry threw the cookie across the floor, the biscuit scattering into crumbs on the tiles. 

“Harry, no. We don’t throw, okay?” James told him off sternly and Harry fell quiet for a second, wide and wet green eyes blinking up at his father for a long moment of solace.

James felt his breath catch in his throat at the breakthrough - had he finally discovered a way to put a stopper in Harry’s crying? But he didn’t want to have to scold Harry, he didn’t believe in that parenting method. 

Effie and Monty had barely ever scolded James when he was growing up and he had always sworn to treat his own children with the same respect. James had never been able to get away with murder, of course, but his parents had preferred sitting him down and explaining what he had done wrong, as opposed to simply yelling at him. 

“Shouting doesn’t get you anywhere with children,” his father had once said, following an incident in fourth year where Walburga had screamed at Sirius on the platform before dragging him home. Sirius had wanted to come home with James, unsafe and miserable as sin in Grimmauld Place, but Walburga had clearly…disagreed.

”Children should be taught right from wrong in a loving way where they learn from their mistakes. Yelling only causes further rebellion because the child will typically build up a resentment towards their parent,” Effie had added, her words of advice still ringing in James’ ears, even two years after Dragon Pox had ripped her away from him. 

I’m sorry, Mum. I’m trying, Dad. I promise. It’s just so hard. Why didn’t you tell me parenting would be this hard? James thought, horrified at the way Harry had silenced upon his scolding. Was he doing it all wrong? Why was James practically perfect at everything else but completely shit at raising Harry? 

Luckily, Harry saved him from this dilemma by breaking out into shrill sobs again, hiccups riding the waves of his tears. James felt like bashing his own head against the kitchen cabinet because then, at least, he could be knocked out and free from this torment.

Just as he was considering this, the fireplace in the living room suddenly illuminated and Remus tumbled through, a dressing gown thrown hurriedly over his pyjamas like he’d come over to the Potter household in a rush. 

Remus didn’t even hesitate before following the sound of Harry’s cries, pausing a little in the doorway between the lounge and the kitchen when he saw the state of the two year old and James, both of them at the end of their tether.

James was sure he probably looked a complete sight - after all, this was one night of many where Harry’s sleep had been disrupted and he knew it showed in the dark shadows encircling his eyes.

He’d had to learn Glamour spells from one of his mum’s old Witch Weekly magazines to disguise his tiredness, concealing the circles during the day when he was around other people because James didn’t want them to worry. Now, he was completely exposed and unfiltered to Remus. 

“Oh dear,” his friend sighed, running a hand through his already sleep-rumpled hair, and he stepped cautiously towards the father and son duo, almost like he didn’t know how to approach the situation. 

James always tried to find a solution. Remus wasn’t used to him asking for help.

“Make him stop, Moony. I can’t get him to stop. It’s every night, I can’t do it,” James found himself begging frantically, his shameful secret slipping into his pleas. Remus didn’t even point it out, God bless him, but simply walked over to Harry with worry engraved into his expression.

“What’s up, lovely?” he crooned, gently reaching out a hand to Harry, who didn’t stop crying, face red, but he did wrap his fist around Remus’ singular forefinger, enraptured by the sight through his tears. 

“Can I take him?” Remus questioned, glancing towards James who nodded desperately, “Please do,” he croaked, tears of frustration sparkling on his eyelashes.

Remus gently eased the sobbing toddler out of James’ arms, positioning Harry so that his arms reached up towards Remus’ neck, legs winding around his waist. And, instantly…Harry stopped crying. 

It wasn’t even a gradual fade, just an immediate switch from snot-infused tears to a blank, almost sleepy expression as Harry laid his head on Remus' chest, the man rocking them both back and forth to settle the child.

James felt himself sink to the floor, head in his hands, as he pondered screaming at the top of his lungs. How had Remus managed to quiet Harry in an instant when James wasn’t able to calm him down in literal hours? 

It wasn’t fair. 

James had one fucking job. To be a good father. Nobody else depended on him anymore - only Harry. And he couldn’t even do that right.

In favour of what he was here for, Remus focused on Harry and ignored James, though he knew that Remus would see to him next. Harry was just the priority - he always had been, since the day he was brought into the world. 

“Let’s get you off to bed, hm? Put Daddy’s mind at rest,” Remus cooed at Harry, the child letting out a few sniffles and delayed sobs but relatively settling down in his Uncle Moony’s arms. 

James was immensely grateful to Remus, of course. But, as soon as Remus disappeared upstairs with his son, he couldn’t help but throw up from the anxiety and stress of the entire night, hand bracing the edge of the sink as he retched miserably. 

He was just rinsing his mouth out with water, jealousy and self-hatred pulsating through his body at his failure, when Remus materialised in the doorway, gazing at James worriedly. 

“He’s asleep already?” James questioned in disbelief of Remus, who nodded almost reluctantly as James sank back into the kitchen counter, knuckles white from gripping the sink so tightly.

“Of course he is,” he mumbled defeatedly, loathing for himself intertwined into his tone as he blindly grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey from one of the kitchen cupboards, knowing instantly where it was kept. There was only half left, really, because James had downed a considerable amount only last night, when Harry had had another one of his crying fits. 

It had become a coping mechanism for him, something warm to settle the constant flow of failure rushing through his bloodstream. He knew Lily would’ve hated it, would’ve hated him for finding comfort in alcohol, especially after her own dad’s struggles with alcoholism. 

But James couldn’t find it within himself to care anymore. It wasn’t like Lily was around to see his failures, was it? 

“James—“ Remus started but James was already pushing past him to flop face forwards onto his sofa, letting out a mini scream into the cushion lying there. He stayed there, face buried as the tears of frustration probably leaked onto the satin.

“It’s not you,” he could hear Remus’ voice directly behind him, feeling the sofa sag down slightly as his best friend put his weight down, hand rubbing James’ back like he was the child who needed comforting. 

“Really?” James scoffed into the cushion, disbelief embedded into his words as he refused to look at Remus, “Feels like it fucking is. It’s like there’s something wrong with me, Moony,” he mumbled, voice breaking.

Remus sighed heavily, fingers tracing a pattern on James’ back, “There’s nothing wrong with you, mate. Harry’s still adjusting to only having one parent and sometimes it’s just better to see a different face. It doesn’t mean that he loves you any less, he's just in his needy toddler phase which is only exemplified more by his trauma–”

“It doesn’t feel like it’s a phase, Remus.” 

James had sat up now, dragging himself to face his best mate with a chug of the Firewhiskey, wiping his tears away furiously because he was annoyed that he was crying over something as pathetic as this when people like Remus went through worse things every month.

He didn’t have the right to feel this unhappy, especially when he had always been the one comforting others, and the switched roles felt foreign and unfamiliar to him. For fuck’s sake, it had nearly been a year since Lily’s death. James needed to man up and get over it because, now, he was only burdening and inconveniencing people. 

“Harry used to look at me like I was his entire world,” James closed his eyes in frustration when his voice wobbled, “No matter what was plaguing him, Daddy could always fix it. And if Daddy couldn’t, then Mummy could. But now Lily’s n-not here so, if I can’t do it, then no one can.”

“I’m a f-failure, Moony, I’m a fucking failure of a father because now, in times like these, Harry looks at me like I caused his nightmares. Which I did. Because I wasn’t there to protect him, I wasn’t there to protect Lils. I’m the reason Harry doesn’t have a mother to calm him down when Daddy’s methods aren’t working, it’s all my fault.” 

“No, James,” Remus reached out for him, arms wide for James to fall into as he gripped at the soft fabric of the dressing gown that Remus was wearing, crying snottily in the embrace of one of his longest friends.

“No. It is not your fault, it’s Peter’s fault for betraying you, for betraying us all. And it’s not your fault that you can’t always calm him down, either. You don’t have to be perfect all of the time, Prongs. You’re allowed to make mistakes and, for fuck’s sake, you’re allowed to ask for help. You have so many people willing to help you, so many people that understand how hard this past year has been on you. It’s okay, James. It’s okay to feel like this, alright?”

James nodded into Remus’ chest, not really believing the words but appreciating that they were being said, nonetheless.

His stomach curled at the mention of Peter because it may have nearly been a year since his best friend had betrayed them but it didn’t hurt any less. Even the fact that Peter was locked up in Azkaban for life didn’t ease the aching pain or burning anger. 

It hadn’t helped, either, that in Peter’s trial, (which James had dragged himself to attend because his statement was required, no matter how much Sirius had protested that he shouldn’t have to go in such a fragile state), evidence had proven that he had also been involved in the McKinnons’ murders. 

Marls. 

The first of their friendship circle to fall. 

Did their childhood friendships mean nothing to Peter?

All those years where it had just been the three of them, laughter floating in the air alongside wobbly-flown brooms with melted ice cream to greet them as they came back down?

All those winters spent in the snow, coats sodden from snow angels and steaming mugs of hot chocolate grasped in between frozen fingers?

James, Marlene, Peter. A trio of mischievous, Quidditch-loving neighbours who had basically grown up together, creating memories that were interwoven into every photograph album Effie and Monty kept in the attic. 

All of those memories were tainted now, not to mention the years at Hogwarts where the Marauders had been an enviable friendship group, a bond to beat all bonds. 

James didn’t know how long he sat there, the bottle of Firewhiskey forgotten on the coffee table as Remus just held him, silence blanketing them comfortingly because he wasn’t sure he really wanted to talk anymore, he felt like he’d already spilled enough of his emotions tonight.

He didn’t want to burden or overwhelm Remus with an onslaught of heavy-weighted feelings, nor did he think that he was ready to voice them out-loud. Because if he voiced his failures, it only made it feel more real. 

His problem with Harry felt very real now. 

James preferred running away from his issues, honestly. It’s what he had always done, preferring to focus on helping others instead of himself. Doling out advice that he didn’t even follow, hugging and comforting his friends when, sometimes, all he wanted was for someone else to hold him. 

Lily had understood. But Lily was gone. James had loved Lily. He still loved Lily. He didn’t think he was capable of loving anyone else because no one else would get him on the same level that Lily Evans had. 

“I’m gonna go to bed,” James faked a yawn, stretching away from Remus who looked at him very carefully before nodding.

“Would you like me to stay?”

The question was sweet and it came from a good place but that didn’t stop it from stinging in James’ chest, the realisation that Remus now knew about his fatherly insecurities and how he was struggling (failing) with Harry’s sleeping schedule.

It made him feel very vulnerable, all of a sudden. James hated feeling vulnerable. He had always been so strong, all of his life. He didn’t like this new him, the man who felt like he was going to shatter every-time he looked in the mirror, the man who couldn’t even look after his own son properly.

The man who he didn’t even recognise, the man who had died on that Halloween night alongside the only love of his life. 

“It’s okay,” James shook his head, standing up and watching as Remus walked over to the fireplace, a handful of Floo powder snatched up in his fist.

“Thank you for everything, though, Moony,” he smiled tiredly, giving his best friend a tight hug that hopefully conveyed all of his gratitude for Remus’ help. Because, no matter how much James loathed having to ask for help, he was grateful. 

He would always be grateful for Remus.

“It’s no problem at all. I’m always here, James,” Remus said softly, looking at James with something rather like pity in his eyes which was never an emotion he took kindly to.

Ever since his parents’ deaths, James had detested anyone pitying him and that had only continued when Marlene had been killed and then, obviously, Lily too. It was an emotion that made his skin crawl because he was James Potter and he didn’t need anyone feeling sorry for him. 

Except maybe he did, now. Maybe he was nothing but a pitiful shell of himself. 

“I know,” James squeezed Remus one last time and moved away from the hearth so that Remus could step into the fireplace.

“Oh, and James?” Remus added, causing the man in question to turn back around curiously.

“Yes?” his hands found a home in the pockets of his snitch-patterned pyjama bottoms, running a loose thread between his fingers nervously. 

“Don’t drink the rest of that Firewhiskey, okay?” 

With that, Remus was gone with a muttered address and a burst of green fire which was something that always made James wince, as anything with green flashes made him think of Avada Kedavra and how it would’ve been the last thing Lily saw, the light of the killing curse reflected in her own green irises. 

The ticking of his parents’ clock on the mantelpiece seemed louder in the silence and James glanced apologetically at the empty fireplace, where Remus had once been, before picking up the Firewhiskey bottle.

Old habits die hard. 

He let the contents warm his insides as he traipsed upstairs, holding his breath whilst passing Harry’s open door so as not to wake the two year old. A brief glance into his son’s bedroom showed him a perfectly content Harry, thumb in his mouth as he curled comfortably onto one side, sleeping soundly. 

A smile flickered across his face, feeble and trembling but it was still there. It was good to know that James still knew how to genuinely smile (fake happiness when he was in company didn’t count). It was good to know that there were still parts of him that were not completely lost, not yet. 

“I’m trying, Harry,” James whispered in the doorway of his two-year-old’s bedroom, the taste of Firewhiskey wrapping around his words and making them feel like a lie, “I’m trying for you. For Lily. I promise.” 

But what James failed to consider, as he finished the Firewhiskey bottle and vanished it with a quick flick of his wand, was that maybe he needed to try for himself.

Because Lily may have been the one to die in Godric’s Hollow, leaving behind nothing but memories of her voice when he closed his eyes, but James Potter was barely surviving himself.

Chapter Text

Regulus

When you close your eyes, what do you see?

Do you hold the light or is darkness underneath?

In your hands, there’s a touch that can heal

But in those same hands, is the power to kill

Are you a man or a monster?

7th August 1982

Regulus had quickly come to the conclusion that it was far easier to hate Albus Dumbledore than it was to like him. 

He had only been working with his old Headmaster for approximately nine months, ever since early December of last year when he had finally informed Dumbledore about his information regarding Horcruxes.

Initially, when he had returned and given Sirius the fright of the century, Regulus naturally hadn’t known that the war was going to end that very night, with the Boy-Who-Lived’s father listening to his sob story. 

As a result, due to the chaos that had unfolded after the events in Godric’s Hollow, Regulus’ plans to seek Dumbledore’s help weren’t as urgent, nor was it the right time or place to put a dampen on everyone’s festivities that had lasted almost a week in rejoice of Voldemort’s defeat.

Little did they know that he wasn’t gone for good. However, Regulus was a rather patient man and he had understood that there were more pressing issues other than Voldemort’s Horcruxes at the time. 

Like getting James Potter out of bed, for instance. 

Regulus had known, when he showed up to Sirius’ apartment, that he was bound to come across James a few times (though, if the war hadn’t ended on that very night, the man in question would have still been in hiding with Lily and Harry so, perhaps, he wouldn’t have).

Of course, seeing as James was apparated into the flat in a panicked state that would rival some of Regulus’ own attacks, he was forced to accept Sirius’ best friend’s presence a little more than he had initially anticipated. 

Which, admittedly, hadn’t been as bad as he had feared. Some part of Regulus had always hated James Potter - for stealing his brother away from him, for being the reason why Sirius didn’t want to be associated with him any longer.

For being an arrogant piece of shit who quite literally pranced around Hogwarts like the school was his territory, for being so annoyingly attractive whilst playing Quidditch that Regulus didn’t quite know what to do when—

Never mind. 

Maybe it had been the grief or the heartbreak aura hovering around James in those months following Lily Potter’s tragic passing, when he moped around Sirius and Remus’ flat with his son being the only reason he was still going, honestly.

Maybe it had been the fact that Regulus had tentatively reconciled with his brother and that they were trying to fix things between them, helped significantly by Regulus’ deferment.

Or maybe Regulus just finally had a heart. 

Either way, he had found himself feeling rather sorry for James Potter and, consequently, giving him all the help he needed.

Regulus didn’t think he was very good with children (he had always been the youngest so hadn’t had much experience) so he often skipped out on the babysitting, foregoing that particular duty by offering to do the shopping, cooking or cleaning.

“Like a good little housewife,” Sirius had once teased when coming across Regulus cooking spaghetti bolognese for all of them (bar Harry). 

The spaghetti had ended up on Sirius’ head. 

One thing that Regulus hadn’t really done, though, was actually talk to James. In his defence, James had been in a practically comatose state all through the end of last year, especially around the time of Lily’s funeral, Peter’s trial and Christmas.

Which was completely understandable and honestly made things much easier for Regulus because, frankly, he felt awkward around James. 

He wasn’t really sure why but something about that man made Regulus want to flee from the room they were sharing because his feelings jumped around inside him like a Chocolate Frog.

Regulus had hated James from the moment he was ten, ever since Sirius had come back in the Christmas holidays of first year, bragging about his new best mate.

So, to be in a position where he pitied the man and felt obliged to help him was extremely disorientating for Regulus, especially because he didn’t know how to express his sympathy properly. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black hadn’t ever done lessons on being empathetic, funnily enough. 

There were, ashamedly, only two singular moments that came to mind where Regulus had exchanged more than just small talk with James, in the three and a half months they had shared the same living quarters.

The first one was when the incident had just occurred and Sirius had apparated James back home because he was having a panic attack. Regulus remembered scolding him - “You shouldn't apparate him in that state, for Merlin’s sake, Sirius!” he had cried, “And the baby, too? C’mon, you know better.”

“Lily’s dead,” Sirius had simply snapped back at him, “Voldemort too. Now fucking help him, Reg. I don’t know what to do,” he had fretted, rocking a screaming Harry from side-to-side, his free hand nearly ripping shreds of his hair out.

And so, Regulus had nodded, stunned, and prised James’ nails away from where they were digging violently into his soft palms and murmured the five steps to easing a panic attack, hoping that his own method would work for James, too.

For Sirius’ sake. 

The second moment had been just before Peter’s trial, in late November. Regulus had managed to evade a trial himself, after speaking to Dumbledore and explaining that he had deferred and had been trying to take Voldemort down for the past two years.

He had shown the Headmaster the destroyed locket as proof (Regulus still felt bad about the forest clearing in France that he had destroyed with his Fiendfyre) and, though he hadn’t started working with him yet, Dumbledore’s word had been enough to save him. 

Obviously, the same could not be said for Peter and the flat of Marauders had been filled to the brim with stress on the morning of the trial. Regulus had come across James opposite the bathroom mirror, changed out of sweats or pyjamas for the first time in weeks, swearing in frustration over his tie that he couldn’t quite get right, the fabric lying wonky against the neatly ironed shirt.

He had ignored the swoop in his stomach at the sight of James in a fitted waistcoat and dress robes, reminding himself that this was a man who had just buried his wife a few weeks ago, and leant on the doorframe with visible amusement playing on his face. 

“Fuckin’ buggering piece of shit, will you just bloody work –”

“You should watch your mouth. Harry might pick up a few of those wonderful curse words if you’re not careful,” Regulus had said delicately, hands in the pockets of his own casual robes as he was decidedly not attending Peter’s trial.

His main reason had been because the Wizengamot probably wouldn’t take too kindly to him but, when realising that someone would have to babysit Harry, had taken that excuse as his cover, no matter how reluctantly. One day with the toddler would be fine. He’d live. 

James had jumped, tie falling into disarray again from the somewhat acceptable knot he had just been able to form it into. “Well, it’s not my fault that the tie won’t do the one thing it’s supposed to do,” he had grumbled, looking rather like Harry when he pouted for Sirius or Remus’ attention.

Regulus had had to bite back a grin, “Have you considered, maybe, I don’t know…using magic? The thing you were born with?” 

“I dunno where my wand is,” James had sulked, trying and failing to sort out his tie, yet again. Regulus had taken pity on him at the defeated expression clouding his face and stepped into the bathroom, turning James gently by the shoulder so that they were chest-to-chest, the wet strands of the older man’s hair making Regulus' mouth feel rather dry, all of a sudden.

“Let me,” he had said gently, deft fingers quickly tying the tie like it was second nature and straightening it slightly so it sat firmly in the middle of James’ chest, which looked dashing in his waistcoat. 

“Thank you,” James had breathed, looking at Regulus like he was an angel from high above, making the man in question feel rather flustered before he stepped back, nearly stumbling over his own feet, with reality slapping him in the face.

He has just buried his wife, Regulus. Stop thinking with your dick, he had scolded himself internally whilst walking away from James without another word. But he was only human, after all. 

James had soon moved out, by the following February, which meant that Regulus could finally sleep somewhere other than Sirius and Remus’ sofa (though it was absurdly comfy - he felt like Remus had something to do with that) and that he didn’t have to worry about embarrassing himself in front of Sirius’ best friend. 

Sirius' best friend who Regulus had miraculously stopped hating, the burning feeling that he always believed to be dislike kindling into a flame of desire. 

By February, Regulus had secured himself a few shifts a week at Slug and Jigger’s apothecary in Diagon Alley, simply because he wanted something to get him out of the flat, and was working with Dumbledore to track down the rest of his Horcruxes. 

Which was how Regulus replaced the space in his heart that had previously always hated James Potter with an intense loathing for Albus Dumbledore, instead.

“A diary?”

“Indeed, Mr Black.” 

“You think that You-Know-Who, who we’ve established liked important, valuable artefacts, would use a fucking diary as a Horcrux?” Regulus asked blankly, at the end of his tether with the Headmaster who had the audacity to smile at him from across the desk in his office.

After nine months of study and a nice head-start from Regulus’ years in France, they had already destroyed two Horcruxes between them.

One was the locket, taken care of by Regulus himself, and the other was a heavy Gaunt family ring that Dumbledore had located, following his own facts about Tom Riddle’s childhood with help from Regulus, who was very knowledgeable on pureblood families. 

The two of them, unlikely but annoyingly productive pair that Dumbledore and Regulus were, had also concluded that another one of the Horcruxes could be either Ravenclaw’s diadem or Hufflepuff’s cup, to keep in with Voldemort’s theme of Hogwarts Founders’ objects.

Which was why it was utterly absurd, in Regulus’ opinion, that the Dark Lord would use a pathetic little diary to store a literal piece of his soul. 

“I do, yes.”

Albus Dumbledore had truly lost his marbles. 

Regulus sighed, standing up from the chintz armchair that Dumbledore always conjured for him during their meetings, which often took place mid-morning, and brushing imaginary dust off his robes.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said irately, never bothering to hide his distaste for his previous Headmaster, especially because he knew that Dumbledore was only using him for his wealth of knowledge.

If it were up to Dumbledore and Regulus hadn’t already destroyed one of the Horcruxes, he would probably try to do it on his own. 

“Ah, do you have work?” Dumbledore asked, his faux pleasant tone not able to disguise the note of happiness in his voice at the fact that the meeting was inadvertently adjourned, after three long hours.

“Yes, but I also don’t have time for your crackpot ideas,” Regulus snapped before remembering his manners and bowing his head as he stepped onto the staircase, “Good day, Albus.” 

Walking through Hogwarts was always a surreal feeling, no matter how many times Regulus visited Dumbledore in his study (so much that the Professors, who had initially been relatively, and quite reasonably, startled to bump into him were quite used to his presence by now).

One such example was at that moment, as Regulus hurried down the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall, thankful for the lunch period keeping students’ prying eyes away from him, when he bumped into Professor McGonagall. 

“Ah, Mr Black!” she exclaimed, much happier to see him now that she knew he had switched sides years ago as opposed to the last time she had seen him before his supposed ‘death’, in seventh year.

“Professor,” Regulus smiled politely, skidding to an abrupt halt in the Entrance Hall, “How are you?” he asked. He had never shared Sirius’ adoration for the Scottish woman but, then again, he had never had any reason to.

However, Regulus did appreciate that McGonagall had turned over a new leaf with him, not judging him for his past mistakes like so many others unfortunately had. 

Some people still saw him as the monster he had been whilst a Death Eater. Regulus didn’t blame them honestly - there were some days where the blurred lines between him being completely redeemed and still the exact same made his head ache.

Years of taught prejudice and hate didn’t just chip away in a few years, especially because he had always stupidly believed the lies more than Sirius. 

And it wasn’t just a matter of blood supremacy nonsense…Regulus had killed people or, at the very least, contributed to their murders. He could hide from the guilt as much as he wanted but he could never run from it, nor did he want to.

Regulus had to live with that blood on his hands, that memory of committing acts that had made him throw up from anxiety attacks afterwards. So, yes, Regulus didn’t really judge people for struggling to forgive his Death Eater past. 

For many, Dumbledore’s voiced trust in Regulus was the only thing that redeemed him. 

“I’m well, thank you. And yourself? What about the boys?” McGonagall returned, making Regulus smile slightly with her insistence to always call Sirius, James and Remus ‘the boys’ as if they weren’t grown men, one with a boy of his own.

“I’m fine. Sirius was just talking about how much he misses you, I think he’ll pop over for a visit soon. Remus is still working in Flourish and Blotts, it’s the longest job he’s been able to hold down so he’s pretty happy,” Regulus responded. 

“And James?” McGonagall prompted, “How are he and Harry doing?”

It was here that Regulus paused, biting his lip briefly as he came to the realisation that he didn’t actually know the answer to that question. He hadn’t seen James for a while, not for more than quick glimpses here and there anyways, so he didn’t know how the man was doing. Regulus was simply either in his room, with Dumbledore or at work when James came to visit, which he hadn’t done for a short while, in fact. 

They had all got together for Harry’s second birthday, of course, a little over a week ago now. It had been one of those occasions where the ghosts of past friends lingered more prominently in the gaps around the table at the Potter household.

Regulus had never really known any of Sirius’ friendship group on a personal level, of course, with the exception of Dorcas (who’s death, when Sirius told him, had brought him to tears that he didn’t know he was capable of anymore). 

The atmosphere had still been fun, though, as everyone had wanted to make Harry’s special day memorable. 

James had seemed full of energy around his son and friends, laughing and joking like it was old times but, when Regulus had left early because he had his weekly meeting with Dumbledore, he had found James on the lawn of his own front garden, staring blankly into the distance. 

For some reason, Regulus had felt the need to speak, to break him out of whatever trance he had entered. “I’m heading off now. Thanks for the invite,” he had said and, when receiving no response, had awkwardly stepped towards James and nudged him gently, “You alright?” Regulus had asked, finally sparking a reaction from James but not exactly the one he had anticipated. 

James’ hazel eyes, the ones that had been full of mischief inside, had been dull and melancholy and it had sent a shard through Regulus’ heart.

That wasn’t what they were supposed to look like.

“She should’ve been here,” James had said miserably, “She would’ve done a much better job than me,” he had sighed, running tired hands over his face. 

“I think you did great with all the banners, cake and birthday shit,” Regulus had said lamely, at quite a loss of what to say to comfort James. That had always been more Sirius’ forte, not his.

James had laughed humourlessly, turning back towards the house and putting some distance between himself and Regulus. “I’m not talking about the fucking birthday party, Regulus. Just everything, in general,” he had said bitterly. 

Regulus hadn’t seen him around the flat since then. It had been a week.

He suddenly felt extremely guilty but was aware that McGonagall was still awaiting an answer so hurriedly schooled his expression into something that was hopefully convincing.

“They’re doing great. Harry’s second birthday was last Sunday. James got him one of those play snitches that bounce back when you throw it,” he informed his old Transfiguration Professor, who appeared appeased with these facts. 

McGonagall chatted to him for a little longer before Regulus dismissed himself with the excuse that he needed to get to work, which was very much true. With a glance at his pocket watch, he realised that he was five minutes late to his shift already, meaning that it was fifteen minutes by the time he reached the gates, where he could finally apparate to one of the Apparation ports in Diagon Alley. 

“Shittin’ Salazar, I’m so sorry!” Regulus cried as he burst into the apothecary, nearly tripping over one of their prized silver unicorn horns at the door, the pile spilling into the path of the doorway.

He stooped to steady the display before hurrying to the front counter, where his coworker was shaking her head jokingly at him. 

“Christ, Reg, what time d’you call this?” Maggie Cooper, a half-blood witch who had been a Hufflepuff in Regulus’ year (they had never been friends for obvious reasons but had become rather pally during their time at the apothecary).

“Uh,” Regulus glanced at his pocket watch, “Half past twelve?” he grinned, ducking under the counter and rushing into the back to dump his bag onto the bench, hang his outer robes up on his hook and throw his green work apron on, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt he had on underneath. 

“Cheeky twat,” Maggie whacked him over the head with the instruction manual she had been consulting before Regulus rushed in, “You’re lucky that Goldstein is on her lunch break or else you would’ve been chopped dragon liver.”

He only laughed at the golden curly haired girl, who was always on the same shifts as him now after they’d begged Hyacinth Goldstein to assign them as such. 

“How long have I got until she’s back?” Regulus asked after washing his hands and joining Maggie where she was crushing horklumps into tiny pieces, so that they could be used in Horklump Juice, which they sold.

One of the best things about his job was that Regulus wasn’t only a shopkeeper but got the opportunity to prepare ingredients and take orders for potions to be brewed, which could be done in the store’s own laboratory.  

“She went at around twelve so I’d say two minutes at most. Quick, act like you’re busy,” Maggie joked, chuckling when Regulus obediently snatched up a handful of horklumps, which were rather pink in appearance and looked quite like mushrooms.

He began crushing them with a mortar and pestle, finding the movement rather therapeutic and didn’t even look up when the bell across the door jingled, assuming it to be their manager. 

When Maggie piped up with, “Hi, welcome to Slug and Jiggers, how can we help you?” though, Regulus could assume that it wasn’t Hyacinth Goldstein returning from her break.

And, when he did look up from the horklumps, he felt his heart stop in his chest when he caught sight of James Potter pushing a buggy, Harry kicking his legs from the buckled seat. 

Regulus couldn’t quite quell the niggle in his brain that reminded him of the fact that he had literally only just been feeling guilty about not knowing whether James was alright. And now, James was standing in his shop with a tired smile and wave as he walked towards the counter.

“Hi, Regulus,” he greeted and Regulus nodded his head back in acknowledgment. 

The last time he had seen James Potter, he had been despairing over his wife not being present at their son’s second birthday party. Remus had mentioned that he’d visited James earlier that week, though he hadn’t given any further details when Sirius had asked.

Regulus hadn’t found it in himself to be concerned because James wasn’t his friend but, now that he was looking at the man’s shabbily concealed dark shadows, worry pooled in his stomach. 

“Reg, you know this handsome fella?” Maggie raised an eyebrow and he rolled his eyes, continuing to crush the horklumps and avoiding James’ eyes because he wasn’t sure whether he should ask if he was okay. Wasn’t that Sirius’ job? Or Remus and Mary’s?

“I’m a friend of his brother’s,” James supplied when Regulus remained stubbornly silent. 

Friend of his brother's. 

“Yes. James, meet Maggie. Maggie, meet James,” Regulus found himself doing the required introduction, hating the way his stomach curled when Maggie flirtatiously waved at James.

Why should he care?

“James Potter, lovely to meet you,” came James’ voice but Regulus wasn’t listening because Regulus didn’t care.

He didn’t care that his co-worker was eye-fucking Sirius’ best friend. He didn’t care that Maggie was pretending not to know James when she had literally been in the year below him at Hogwarts and James had been such a heartthrob, so popular with the ladies and—

“So that must mean this is Harry? The Boy-Who-Lived?” 

Regulus froze. 

It wasn’t Maggie’s fault. She was just excited, just like everyone else was when they stumbled across the famous Harry Potter, questioning how he had managed to defeat the most powerful wizard in the world from his crib.

The Boy-Who-Lived who was currently sucking his dummy with wide green eyes and a long fringe hiding the lightning bolt scarring his forehead. 

But James’ face shuttered. Regulus had only lived with him for a little over three months and hung out with him sporadically but he recognised that look as one that always appeared when he remembered Lily. When he remembered that night.

It had graced his face on Harry’s birthday before Regulus had broken him out of his trance and it seemed like he was going to have to do that again. He sighed. 

“Yep,” Regulus answered for him, pretending not to notice how James’ knuckles had turned white from how hard he was gripping the counter. “Fascinating and all, Mags, but he’s just a messy baby at the end of the day,” he pointed down to Harry salivating down the front of his top and swore he heard James let out a rough laugh. 

“Now, James,” Regulus turned pleasantly to his brother’s friend, inwardly relieved to see that James’ face didn’t have that blank look on it anymore because that wasn’t what his expression was supposed to look like.

“What can we do for you?” he asked, treating James like any other customer because he just knew that Maggie was about to fangirl and probably embarrass herself. 

Merlin, he was such a good friend. 

James seemed to appreciate it, a hesitant smile tugging at his lips as his eyes darted down to Harry, who was now playing with a blanket draped over his lap.

“Do you have anything to help with sleep?” he questioned, after a long, agonising moment where Regulus could’ve sworn he was regretting ever stepping foot into the apothecary. 

Regulus didn’t let his mask slip, no judgement seeping into his expression whatsoever as he nodded, “Yeah, we sell all the ingredients for Sleeping Draughts and Dreamless Sleep. You could also invest in Pepper-Up Potion ingredients if it’s tiredness during the day that’s ailing you. And, of course, if you don’t have the facilities to brew said potions yourself, you can place an order and we’ll do it for you,” he reeled off as Maggie gloomily returned to crushing the horklumps, clearly sensing that Regulus was dealing with this particular customer. 

Too right he was. 

“Appreciate it, Regulus,” James half-laughed, “But my dad was a Potioneer, remember? We have a whole laboratory in the basement,” he informed him as if it was something Regulus should know.

Regulus didn’t and he felt a foreign spark of excitement at the thought that James just casually had a whole laboratory in his house (which Regulus had only been to a few times, hence why he wasn’t aware). 

Of course, there was the laboratory in the back of Slug and Jiggers but that was strictly for work purposes only and could only be used during work hours, when he was clocked in.

James had a whole laboratory to himself to experiment and play around in. Maybe Regulus would have to make more of an effort to be friends, after all. 

“Ah, yes,” Regulus conceded with a small nod before briskly getting to business, “So, what potion are you hoping to brew? Is it dreams you’re struggling with or the act of getting to sleep in the first place?”

James looked rather uncomfortable at this question, eyes flickering to Maggie who was scooping all of the crushed horklumps into a bowl. Regulus sighed, again. 

“Mags, d’you wanna take those to the back? Brew them on a low heat and they should melt into the juice quicker than if you mix them,” he suggested pointedly.

Luckily, Maggie was smart and took the hint, saluting him jokingly and disappearing into the back. Regulus could’ve sworn he heard James exhale in what sounded like relief. Hm. 

“It’s not for me,” James said in a hushed whisper, the second that Maggie was out of the vicinity.

Regulus was only confused for a brief second, gaze moving to Harry in the buggy and feeling his face soften briefly at James’ admittance. “And what is it that he seems to be struggling with?” Regulus questioned non-judgmentally, expression blank. 

“Everything, really,” James sighed heavily, leaning on the counter defeatedly, “Actually getting off to sleep. He never stays asleep for long and always wakes up crying. So I think he’s struggling with dreams, too, but I didn’t wanna give him any potions because he could form a dependency on them. Besides, it could just be me. Remus got him off to sleep just fine a few days ago,” he sounded almost bitter. 

“It’s not you,” Regulus assured him firmly, suddenly feeling determined that James had to know this. “Sleep patterns are difficult for young children, especially toddlers. And Harry’s had a lot of changes to his sleeping routine in the past year. Which, again, is not your fault. It’s just a way of life,” he shrugged, feeling James’ eyes boring into him and realising that this was probably the longest, most personal conversation they’d ever had. 

“I-uh, thanks. I think I needed to hear that.” 

Regulus only tilted his head in acknowledgment of James’ gratitude before moving on rapidly, trying to slow his beating heart because James was still looking at him like he could see right through him.

“So, the potion,” he started, grabbing a scroll of parchment and beginning to scribble down ingredients. 

“You could make a mixture of Dreamless Sleep and a Sleeping Draught to get the desired effect of both potions. They’re both relatively simple potions with similar effects but need to be brewed separately. To make it child friendly, simply half the quantity of ingredients. So, where the textbook says two blobs of Flobberworm Mucus, only add one and so on,” Regulus wrote these changes on his note of ingredients, still not looking up at James. 

“Once you’ve made both, I’d recommend mixing them with some rose oil to blend the two potions together - they’re both purple so should turn to a more lilac hue. Oh, and add a little honey and an extra sprig of lavender because then it’ll be sweeter for Harry to drink,” he ripped off the parchment and handed it to James, stomach flipping when their hands brushed. 

Merlin, this crush is getting pathetic now. 

Crush? 

What crush? 

I don’t have a crush, shut up brain. 

Regulus shook the intrusive thoughts out of his head as James went to grab all of the ingredients that Regulus called for Maggie to ring up at the counter.

He turned his back as James chatted to Maggie, her happy giggles at the attention making Regulus chop rather angrily at the valerian roots he had to prepare for an ordered Draught of Living Death. 

“Regulus?” 

He swivelled, almost instantly. 

Fuck, he hated himself and his lack of spine. 

“Yes, James?” Regulus asked, raising an eyebrow. Maggie had packed all of James’ bought ingredients into large bags now, which he was currently shrinking to fit into the storage space at the bottom of Harry’s buggy.

“I have a problem with your recipe,” James said with an infuriating smirk that almost made Regulus wish he’d go back to his depressed self. Almost. He wasn’t that cruel anymore. 

“Oh,” Regulus meant for it to sound like an annoyed question but the singular word punched out of him in a disappointed tone, much to his chagrin.

James must’ve noticed because he started speaking hastily, attempting to cover up his mistake, “I mean, there’s no problem. Just wanted to—I was meaning to ask whether you’d—had one condition to run by you—“

“Spit it out, Potter.” 

“Okay,” James exhaled, biting his lip and Regulus purposefully averted his eyes from that action, loathing himself for the way that simple action made his heart rate pick up even more. 

“Will you make the potion for me?” 

Chapter Text

James

I go 'round and 'round

Satellite

Spinning out, waiting for ya to pull me in

I can see you're lonely down there

Don't you know that I am right here?

8th August 1982

“Do you think I’m crazy, Harry?” 

Harry blinked up at him, green eyes wide and innocent in the sunlight that was streaming through the living room windows, a summer breeze ruffling the pale pink curtains that Euphemia had been so fond of. 

James laughed shortly at the perplexed expression on his son’s face, reaching out a hand to ruffle Harry’s hair as the boy in question whined and batted his father away, dummy still positioned in his mouth. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Sirius, you vain diva,” James mumbled fondly, an ache in his chest when the sunlight only luminated the dark shadows under Harry’s eyes even more.

Last night had been another disaster, with Harry screaming the house down for a solid three hours before James had burst into frustrated tears himself. 

Instantly, upon seeing his father cry, Harry had stopped and tried to wipe James’ tears away whilst still sniffling madly, eyes red and puffy.

It had been around four o’clock by then so, taking Harry’s silence in his stride, James had tugged his son into his bedroom and cuddled him until they both fell into an exhausted slumber. 

At least that was one method that worked. 

But Harry needed to learn how to sleep on his own, without snuggling into James for comfort because, as lovely as it was for James to have company in a bed that had been way too lonely since Lily’s death, that was no way to train Harry into sleeping through the night.

Even when in James’ bed, Harry had been fairly restless and the two of them had woken up at 8 A.M. because the toddler’s body clock was ready for a new day. 

James, however, was not. 

This was evidenced by the overwhelming yawns that seemed to rip James’ mouth apart, now that three o’clock had crawled around.

It was almost ironic that he had told Regulus, in the apothecary yesterday, that Harry was the only one struggling with sleep. Because, in retrospect, both Potters weren’t doing too well on the sleeping front. 

In regard to James’ trip to the apothecary, he still wasn’t sure why he’d asked Regulus to brew the potion for him. He was perfectly capable himself - James had been trailing after Fleamont and helping him out since a young age and had always gotten near to top marks in Potions.

But there had just been something about the way Regulus’ eyes had gleamed when James had mentioned that he had a laboratory at home, about the way he had been so eager to help. 

James liked Regulus, of course he did. Initially, he had been wary around him because Regulus had literally cropped up on the worst night of James’ life and had been there in the direct wake of the war ending, when all his old Death Eater pals were being rounded up.

But Dumbledore’s vouch of trust had obviously counted for something and Regulus was now hunting Horcruxes with the Headmaster. Which was enough to tie him over into the side of the light, for James. 

It didn’t excuse his past, though. And that was probably one of the reasons why James still felt cautious around him.

Not to mention that it didn’t help when Regulus had barely spoken to him whilst they lived together, except for on brief occasions and to exchange small talk.

Regulus had been helpful in his own way: cooking, cleaning and (very rarely) looking after Harry but he had barely spoken to James himself, preferring to skirt around him like he wasn’t sure how to act around a recently widowed man. 

Which, in retrospect, was perfectly understandable. James hadn’t even recognised himself in those months following Lily’s murder, hadn’t even been able to function like a real human being so he was pretty sure that it was hard for others to know how to treat him, too. 

But there was just something about Regulus that intrigued James.

He didn’t know whether it was the mystery shrouding the youngest Black like a Cloak of Invisibility or the small acts of kindness that Regulus allowed to seep out from underneath his stony exterior.

Maybe it was because Regulus didn’t appear to like him very much, clearly only tolerating him for the sake of Sirius, and James always found himself drawn to people who disliked him. 

As someone who had always been liked and craved being liked so much to the point where he was arguably a people-pleaser, James couldn’t help but feel interested by the prospect of someone not liking him.

But, unlike with Lily where the dislike had excited him, Regulus’ almost dismissiveness of him unsettled James. It made him wonder why Regulus was so distant and yet so lovely in small doses. 

Regulus Black was a puzzle that James Potter was determined to solve.

And the sleeping potion had provided James with the perfect opportunity to unravel the secretiveness of Sirius’ younger brother. Of course, James hadn’t sought Regulus out specifically for the purpose of working him out but it was an added bonus that he planned to take advantage of. 

The ingredients that he had bought from Slug and Jiggers yesterday were still sitting in his father’s old laboratory, boxed up nicely, courtesy of Maggie, Regulus’ coworker, who had definitely been trying to flirt with him yesterday.

James knew that he should probably try to make the sleeping potion himself, especially as time was of the essence, but he couldn’t help but hope that Regulus would take him up on his offer. 

James was fairly certain that his curiosity of Regulus, in addition to trying to work out why Sirius’ brother was so distant, simply stemmed from the fact that he didn’t know the Slytherin very well.

He knew of him, of course. Sirius hadn’t shut up about him whilst they were at Hogwarts, slowly transitioning from fond childhood stories to distaste-ridden remarks about the path Regulus had been heading down. 

But James didn’t know Regulus outside of his status as Sirius’ brother, hadn’t gotten the chance to know him because, by the time the man decided to let everyone know that he had actually faked his death, James’ world had turned upside down.

And he still felt completely disorientated, like he was living a life that wasn’t his own, seeing a world without his glasses because everything lacked colour without Lily. 

Everything was just wrong without Lily.

James felt wrong, he felt like he didn’t belong in his own body because, ever since he had been thirteen, he had always felt like Lily Evans was a part of him, his overwhelming crush on her channelling many of his life choices.

He had dated other people during Hogwarts obviously - he hadn’t been completely obsessed - but a part of him had always pined after Lily, and had always believed that, in the end, they were meant to be. 

It was heartbreakingly ironic that James had, in fact, spent more years harbouring unrequited feelings for Lily than he had with her loving him back.

Their love story had been a ticking time bomb, the seconds running out fast like fine sand in a time turner as the hungry jaws of war swallowed them up whole. They had rushed into an engagement, a marriage and a child before they had even properly matured because every day of that war had been unpredictable. 

Nobody had known which day was going to be their last. 

Oh, and if only James had known on that morning in October.

He would’ve cuddled with his wife in bed for a little longer, savouring the warmth of her lithe limbs wrapped around him, instead of getting up at the ass crack of dawn to grab the Daily Prophet delivered by owl with a rap on the window.

He would’ve kissed Lily longer before disapparating to Sirius’ apartment, would have ensured that she knew just how much James loved her.

And James still loved her.

He loved her so much that his heart felt heavy every morning when he woke up and turned over, only to feel a cold pillow beside him.

He loved her so much that his stomach dropped whenever Harry’s eyes wandered, almost like he was looking for the red-haired woman who had cradled him when he cried and sang lullabies.

He loved her so much that he felt physically drained everyday, every single thing reminding him of Lily. 

Even the happiest moments, though they were few and far between, were tainted. Harry had managed to totter all the way across the living room without toppling over and James had been over the moon, kissing and praising his son for his first steps before a cloud of depression had swept over him. 

Lily should’ve been there.

Lily should’ve been there, on the other side of the room to pick Harry up and twirl him around, laughing breathlessly.

Lily should’ve been there when Harry garbled out his first full sentence, when he finally mastered the potty, when he blew out the candles on his second birthday cake.

Lily should’ve been there in the nights when James couldn’t get Harry to sleep, Lily should’ve been there to brew the potion because she had always been Slughorn’s little protegee. 

Lily would’ve known what to do. 

James loved her. But he also hated her.

Hated her for leaving him alone in this colourless world that was more peaceful than it had been since he was ten.

Hated that he loved her and still pined for her, even when she was six feet underneath the ground.

Hated that she had given him three years of paradise, where he could hold her in his arms and feel like everything was going to be okay, before getting murdered. 

James knew it wasn’t fair and he knew it was irrational to feel that sharp stab of resentment alongside the crushing sense of grief whenever he experienced a milestone with Harry because every snatched second of happiness was tainted by her memory.

But he couldn’t help it, he couldn’t control how he longed to storm into the afterlife and shake her by the shoulders, shouting, “Come back! Don’t leave me alone here! I don’t know what I’m doing!”

James loved her. 

Oh, he loved her so much that he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You not crazy, Daddy,” Harry’s voice brought him out of his trance, James blinking furiously as his eyes burnt dangerously close to tears.

Harry was looking up at him from where he was sat cross legged on the carpet, saliva dribbling down his chin slightly from where he had tugged his dummy out of his mouth.

“Thanks, love,” James chuckled quietly, darting out a robe-covered hand to wipe at his son’s face. 

Harry dodged his father, a giggle protruding out of his mouth as he crawled away from James, who sighed with a grin on his face, much preferring the playful attitude that Harry adopted during the day as opposed to the nightmare he was at night.

“Not so fast!” James threatened lightly, beginning to chase after Harry who stumbled to his feet carefully before racing through to the kitchen with surprisingly stable balance. 

James jogged after him, letting Harry run ahead with laughter streaming through the wide-ceilinged kitchen, echoing slightly in the vast room that had large stained glass windows not unlike those in a church.

“Catch me! Catch me!” Harry squealed, the two year old’s hysterical giggles rising in pitch as James scooped him up, throwing him over his shoulder and tickling him. 

“Got you, got you!” James sang, fingers scrabbling at Harry’s sides whilst the child squirmed in his arms, laughing and pounding his tiny fists on his dad’s back.

“Daddy, no! No no no!” Harry wriggled, green eyes crinkling with pure, unadulterated happiness. James felt his heart swell because happiness on Harry was the only light in the darkness surrounding him nowadays. 

There were so many times where James felt like he had failed Harry, where he believed that Harry truly would’ve been better off if it had been Lily who had survived that fateful Halloween night, Lily who had been left to raise him alone.

But, no matter how many regrets he hoarded, James would never take back that smile on his son’s face. For all of his shortcomings, he found himself feeling almost proud in the moments where Harry was so unapologetically happy. 

See? You’ve not fucked everything up, after all, he thought. 

“Daddy yes yes yes! Daddy’s gonna eat you all up, nom nom nom,” James mimicked fake chomping noises, pressing sloppy kisses all over Harry as the boy in question shrieked and kicked his legs, tiny hands pushing James’ face away with shrill giggles. 

James was just about to drop Harry carefully to the floor and let him ‘escape’ out into the garden when a flash of green light illuminated the kitchen, signalling that someone had entered via Floo.

Harry instantly stilled and James felt a stab of pain for the memories that the green light must’ve made the two year old relive briefly. 

James just hugged his son tighter, feeling Harry relax again as another giggle fought its way out of his mouth, hands whacking James’ shoulder playfully as the man turned around, expecting to see either Sirius or Remus standing at the fireplace.

Instead, James was absolutely gobsmacked to see none other than Regulus Black brushing soot off his robes, a strange look in his grey eyes as he stared at James and Harry. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Regulus said stiffly, straightening up whilst James gathered himself, shaking himself back into reality.

“Oh! Hello,” he smiled politely, “You’re not interrupting, don’t worry,” he said placidly, tipping Harry upside down as he spoke. Harry screamed in joy, laughing uproariously, face promptly turning red as all the blood rushed to his head. 

“Daddy, down!” Harry begged through his giggles, now hitting James’ shins as the man kept a safe grip on his son, swinging him upwards so that the two year old was now in a princess carry.

“I just wasn’t expecting you, that’s all,” James gestured ruefully to the Muggle sweatpants and white t-shirt he was wearing. 

“Oh, sorry,” Regulus looked incredibly uncomfortable, eyes darting at anything but Harry who was still writhing in James’ hold, looking absolutely delighted.

“You did ask for my help but I can always come back another time–” James cut off Regulus’ babbling with a wave of his free hand, a movement that sent Harry sliding out of his grip with a shriek. 

“Don’t be silly,” James dismissed his suggestion, finally placing Harry down on the ground and watching fondly as the toddler shot off out of the open patio doors and into the garden outside.

Regulus was still stood awkwardly, fiddling with a heavy-looking ring on his right middle finger as the sunlight from the windows reflected off his brown curls. 

“Can I get you something to drink?” James asked pleasantly, gesturing to his kitchen but Regulus politely shook his head, finally taking a step away from the fireplace as if he thought it was rude to simply hover there.

“I’m fine, thank you. Where have you kept the ingredients from yesterday?” he questioned, getting straight to business. 

James felt a strange sense of disappointment at the fact that Regulus was clearly only here for the task that he had requested of him.

Of course, the sleeping potion was of the utmost priority but James had secretly hoped for the opportunity to get to know Sirius’ brother properly, to uncover the layers that Regulus wrapped himself up in. 

Maybe it was because he was lonely and starved of adult company. Sirius, Remus and Mary popped over as much as their lives would allow but James still felt extremely alone, perhaps due to the fact that the entirety of his adult life after Hogwarts had always consisted of Lily.

Now that Lily was gone, James couldn’t help but feel like there was an unshakeable loneliness tying up his heartstrings and making his chest feel heavily empty. 

“My Dad’s old lab. It’s just in the basement, hang on,” James hurried to the open patio door, eyes flicking over the garden to spot Harry, who was playing happily with their fluffy, grey cat, Cinders.

He quickly waved his wand to bewitch the plant pot on the patio into a baby monitor to keep an eye on his son whilst he disappeared and dashed back into the kitchen. 

Regulus was looking at the play snitch that James had gotten Harry for his birthday last week, fingers grazing the faux gold plastic of the boomerang-like toy.

“You were a Seeker, weren’t you?” James started conversationally, causing Regulus to jump as he dropped his hand almost guiltily, as if he had been caught doing something wrong.

“Yes,” he responded shortly, not elaborating any further and James shrugged, unlocking a side door in the kitchen that led to a descending stairwell curving down to the basement.

“After you, Reg,” James grinned with a gentlemanly bow, feeling a flicker of amusement when a scowl crossed over Regulus’ face whilst he passed through the doorway. 

“Don’t call me Reg,” the younger man said irritatedly, gripping the wooden rail with white knuckles to make his way down the stone steps.

“Why not? Sirius does,” James challenged, entering into what Effie used to call his ‘little shit persona.’

“Last time I checked, you’re not Sirius,” Regulus replied from the darkness, his movements slow and cautious as the stairwell didn’t have any lantern sconces and neither of them had thought to light their wands. 

“I’m pretty serious about this potion, Reginald, I can’t believe you’re not–”

“Reginald? ” Regulus sputtered, his dimly lit figure in front of James appearing to consider turning around in indignation before he clearly didn’t trust his balance on the winding dark staircase.

James simply continued, a grin growing at Regulus’ evident outrage, “I’m offended, Regenweald. Here I was, thinking we were on the same page…”

“Potter, stop it.” 

“...especially seeing as you helped me out so generously yesterday…”

“Potter, I swear to Merlin—”

“Merlin can’t help you now, Regiene, not when you’ve broken my heart and crushed my soul—”

“Crushed your soul?”

“Like a grape, Regenfrithu,” James added solemnly, rapping on the stone wall beside them and sniggering a little when Regulus jumped slightly, nearly stumbling down the staircase to the basement which was really quite the trek from the Potters’ kitchen. 

“What in the name of Salazar’s saggy balls are you on about?”

“Woah, woah, no need to bring Salazar into this, Reggis. Is that who you were thinking about when you nearly tripped? Don’t fall, it gets you down,” James joked, having far too much fun with annoying Sirius’ brother. It reminded him vaguely of all the times he had teased Lily, thriving off her fiery responses. 

Except this wasn’t a moment tainted by Lily’s ghost. In fact, James had never felt more alive. It was funny how grief worked sometimes. 

“I wasn’t thinking of anyone but maybe if you invested in some light down here, I wouldn’t have stumbled,” Regulus ground out, voice sounding almost tremulous which sent a wicked thrill through James’ body like an electric shock. 

“Awww, are you scared of the dark, Reggie? You should’ve said,” James mocked gleefully though he obediently reached into his pocket to extract his wand.

At that very moment, though, just as Regulus was primly arguing back, “I’m not scared of the dark. Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” and James was about to cast a quick Lumos because he wasn’t cruel, Regulus tripped in the darkness and fell down the last few stairs. 

Almost out of instinct (because James was a father of a two year old who was often prone to injuring himself), his hand flew out to grab the back of Regulus’ robes in an attempt to halt his fall.

Instead of allowing James to save him, though, Regulus grabbed at James’ wrist to yank it away and effectively pulled the man down with him so that they both went flying to the ground. 

All of this happened in a matter of seconds, that felt like an age, and James’ glasses hit the opposing stone wall with a sickening crunch as he tumbled right on top of Regulus, hands instinctively cupping the man’s head to stop his skull from colliding with the hard floor.

There was a beat of silence as James practically lay on top of Regulus, both of them heaving and panting from the shock of the fall. And then:

“Well, this is cosy,” James propped himself up so that his arms caged Regulus’ head, their legs intertwined strangely as the vision of Regulus below him was rather blurry, due to his lack of glasses.

He almost wished he wasn’t half blind without them because then he would’ve been able to see the annoyed expression that he was sure would be gracing Regulus’ face in the aftermath of the incident. 

“Oh fuck off, Potter,” Regulus shoved James off him, scrambling up as if he had been scalded by something hot and brushing dust off his previously impeccable robes.

“This never would’ve happened if you had just used your bloody wand to light up the stairwell. Are you an absolute nincompoop?” he hissed in frustration, still not entirely visible to James due to the relative darkness and his blindness. 

James was about to retort with something along the lines of, “Well, why couldn’t you have used your wand?” but found himself snorting in amusement instead, mirth increasing as a blurry rendition of Regulus’ frown swam in front of him.

“Nincompoop? How old are you, fifty? That’s something my mum used to say,” he sniggered. 

“Shut up,” Regulus snapped as James felt the cool metal of his glasses pressed into his hand, surprise flickering over his expression when he discovered that they were either fine from their collision with the wall or that Regulus had fixed them silently. 

“Jesus Christ,” James wiped away his tears of laughter before positioning his glasses back on his face, Regulus’ appearance shaping back into clarity in front of him.

His hair was ruffled, robes dishevelled and a faint tinge of pink was colouring his cheeks but he looked unharmed, which was all James was bothered about.

“You’re fucking hilarious, Reg,” he wheezed before shaking his head and opening the door to Monty’s old laboratory, a chunk of light escaping, “After you. Try not to trip this time.”

Regulus, who had been ready to step into the lab, albeit with a disgruntled expression, promptly turned on his heel and marched back to the bottom step like he was leaving, “You know what, I don’t think I want to help you anymore,” he said hotly.

James guffawed, the grin on his face making his cheeks ache (Merlin, it had been a long time since that had happened).

“Don’t be a baby, Regulus. Where’s your sense of humanity?” 

“Apparently lost forever, like your brain cells,” Regulus replied wittily without missing a beat and James smirked, the adrenaline rush he always got from banter making his heart beat a little faster.

“Touche,” he conceded with an inclination of his head, “But you’re not gonna give up on wickle Harry, are you?” James pouted, batting his eyelashes at Regulus. 

Regulus stared back at him blankly, expression stony, “Harry seemed perfectly fine to me,” he said, sounding almost bitter.

James raised an eyebrow, “There’s nothing wrong with him during the day, he’s an absolute angel then. It’s at night when he becomes the devil incarnate,” he joked lightly but there was a hint of severity in his tone. 

Regulus must’ve picked up on the underlying gravity to James’ statement because he sighed heavily with a mumbled, “I hate you,” and ducked underneath James’ arm, which was holding the door open, into the laboratory.

James felt a surge of triumph before letting the door shut, eyes eager to soak in Regulus’ reaction to his dad’s pride and joy. 

Monty’s laboratory was a brightly lit space with lantern sconces casting an amber glow over the tightly packed shelves careening around the perimeter of the room.

On the left hand side of the room, the shelves were crammed with boxes, jars and containers of every ingredient a Potioneer would need with the opposing shelf bursting with textbooks, parchment scrolls and recipes. 

A large, round table sat in the middle of the room, graced with an assortment of chopping boards, glass phials, measuring jugs and stirring sticks in a variation of sizes.

Scales ranging from gold to bronze were stacked neatly in one corner of the room whilst several cauldrons and heat sources lined the long, horizontal white desk pushed against the far wall. 

The wall boasted a golden-framed second class Order of Merlin certificate for ‘outstanding contributions to potioneering.’ Next to that was an old extract from the Daily Prophet in 1968 where Monty beamed from the front page, shaking hands with the Minister of Magic at the time - Eugenia Jenkins. 

James always smiled when he saw his father’s achievements pinned up in his laboratory because it made him so incredibly proud of Monty, knowing that he had invented Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion which would carry his memory for generations to come.

“He went to school with her, y’know,” he said, drawing Regulus’ hungry gaze from the Potions equipment that shone exquisitely, despite not being used in years, due to Fleamont’s preservation charms. 

“Who?” Regulus had clearly forgotten his annoyance with James in his awe of the room that was probably every potioneer’s wet dream (James had never seen the back room at Slug and Jiggers but he rather arrogantly believed it didn’t even compare. The look on Regulus’ face only confirmed this). 

“My dad and Eugenia Jenkins,” James pointed to the Daily Prophet, a fond smile curving at his lips.

“Really?” Regulus politely enquired, probably not even interested but just humouring James for the sake of conversation.

“Yeah, with my mum too. She, McGonagall and Alastor Moody used to come ‘round for tea all of the time. Before the war got really bad, that is,” he told Regulus. 

Regulus raised his eyebrows, “McGonagall? So that’s why you were her favourite,” he accused but there was a hint of humour in his grey eyes.

James latched onto it like a moth to a flame, “No! I’m simply just… charming. Madam Hooch and Madam Pomfrey were also friends with my mum at school and they never gave me any preferential treatment,” he insisted though, in retrospect, he knew that wasn’t exactly true. 

“Bloody hell, Potter, did the entire Hogwarts faculty and Ministry go to school with your parents?” 

“Pretty much, yeah. Oh, and Florean Fortescue from the parlour in Diagon Alley. He used to give me, Marls and Pete free ice cream all of the time,” James responded without thinking, wincing after speaking the names of his childhood best friends, one murdered and one imprisoned. 

Just like his time with Lily, those blissful memories now had to be tucked into an envelope in James’ mind, the cruel stamp of Peter’s betrayal sealing those thoughts shut because it just hurt too much.

He still didn’t understand and he didn’t think he ever would. 

James didn’t know whether Regulus was simply a Leglimens or whether his emotions were splattered all over his face like a chaotic art canvas but he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of sympathetic understanding wash over Regulus’ otherwise stoic expression.

He looked almost thoughtful before deftly replying, “Did you say Moody earlier? As in, Mad Eye Moody? The Head Auror?” 

James blinked, grateful for the slight topic diversion back to his parents’ school friends as opposed to the memories of Peter and Marlene, “S’pose so, yeah. I know that’s what people call him but he was always just Alastor to me,” he shrugged. 

“So you’ve got a lot of friends in high places then, Potter,” Regulus said casually, leaning against the round table in the middle of the room, “Half the teachers at Hogwarts, a powerful Auror, ex Minister…you could straight up murder someone and everyone would just look the other way,” he laughed slightly and James felt himself perking up. 

That was new. 

“Says you?” he retorted playfully, “Aren’t you basically best friends with Dumbledore?”

Regulus’ smile dropped into a scowl but James found himself not minding because the look of scorn wasn’t directed at him, for once.

“I’d rather drown myself and him in the Great Lake than call Albus Dumbledore my friend,” he scoffed.

James laughed breathlessly, a whistle-sound emanating from his lips, “Damn Reg, didn’t take you for the violent kind.” 

There was a long moment where the irony of that comment sat heavy in the air between them before Regulus met James’ gaze, grey eyes boring into hazel, with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Really? I would’ve thought the Dark Mark on my arm would’ve been a dead giveaway but apparently not,” he drawled sarcastically. 

It was one of those remarks that James knew he absolutely shouldn’t laugh at, especially because Voldemort and his Death Eaters had literally taken away so many of his loved ones and ruined multiple people’s lives.

However, he felt the corners of his lips quirking up, especially when he saw how Regulus was also trying not to smirk, and quickly swivelled away so that Sirius’ brother couldn’t see him chuckle. 

Regulus had defected, after all. And Sirius had told him, over the past year whilst rebuilding his relationship with his brother, that Regulus had been essentially forced into being branded, anyways.

Besides, not to mention the fact that Regulus was literally working to ensure that Voldemort could never come back to life. James was allowed to laugh at his self-deprecating joke, okay?

“I know you’re laughing.”

“I am not! ” James whirled back around, face set straight now.

Regulus simply observed him for a second, eyes flickering over him, before he said, “So…the potion?” 

Oh.

James had honestly forgotten the real reason why Regulus was here in the first place. Which was alarming, considering that Harry was his number one priority.

Clearly, James had just lost his head a little bit whilst teasing Regulus. He couldn’t imagine why. “The ingredients are all there,” he pointed to the horizontal desk, a few large bags propped onto the bench tucked underneath. 

Regulus instantly walked over, taking out each individual ingredient with care and a gentleness that James had never envisioned him capable of.

In the amber glow of the basement lanterns, Regulus looked almost ethereal as his top teeth bit down onto his bottom lip in concentration whilst reviewing the potion recipe. 

James couldn’t take his eyes off him. He was just so hungry for information about Regulus, curious about every aspect of what made him tick and wanted to know every thought running through his mind.

Usually, James was very good at knowing everything about everyone (being friends with two of Hogwarts most notorious gossips - Marlene and Sirius - would do that to you). 

So, not being able to work out Regulus Black intrigued him. He felt like a challenge. 

And, if there was one thing James Potter loved, it was a challenge. 

“Can I help you?” 

James blinked. Regulus was staring at him expectantly, a singular eyebrow raised and James felt himself become strangely flustered at being caught staring.

Well, they did say that curiosity killed the cat, after all.

“Uh…no? Is everything in order?” he asked stupidly, cursing himself internally when a rather condescending smile crept onto Regulus’ face. 

“Considering it was sold from my workplace, Potter, I should hope so. And your father’s laboratory is beautiful, with everything I could possibly need. So, thank you. You may bugger off now,” Regulus dismissed him and James felt another punch of disappointment. 

“Buggering off,” James saluted jokingly but paused when he reached the doorway, turning back to watch Regulus as he began to unpick the ribbon tying the sprigs of lavender together.

“Are you sure you don’t want any help?” he questioned, swinging on the doorframe and fighting a grin when Regulus whipped around on the bench he was sitting on, legs crossed over one another. 

“Do you want me to make this potion for you or not, Potter?” he glared. 

“You can call me James, y’know,” James blurted out, without thinking.

It had suddenly felt very important to let Regulus know that he could call him by his first name. Maybe Regulus thought that they had to stick to surnames because of their past disputes over Sirius? Then again, James could’ve sworn that Regulus had called him ‘James’ before, in the past year or so. 

And, now that he found himself weirdly fascinated with Regulus, James thought it was of utmost importance that the man knew that he could call him James. 

“I–what?” 

“James,” he replied simply, still swinging on the doorframe childishly, “That’s my name. We’re not enemies anymore, Reg. You’re literally brewing a potion for my son.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes before mumbling, “Yes and Merlin knows why I agreed to it,” over the heat of his cauldron that he had already added boiling water to.

“Because I’m charming?” James tried, cocking his head to one side with the reference to their past conversation about James knowing a lot of important people, internally hoping it would bubble a laugh out of Regulus again. 

It didn’t. Regulus only dropped the lavender sprigs into the cauldron with an affected sigh, “No, because you’re annoying, Potter. And I’m not entirely heartless.” 

“Call me James.“

“No.” 

“James,” he wheedled petulantly, feeling like a needy child now. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Why not? You’ve called me James before.”

“False information,” Regulus turned his back to him, adding some sort of creamy paste to his mortar and beginning to crush it, eyes intent on the task at hand.

James frowned, “It is not,” he insisted and he could practically see Regulus roll his eyes, even though the man in question was still facing away from him dismissively. 

“Prove it then,” Regulus challenged him, glancing over his shoulder with a glint in his eye and, when James was rendered speechless, he smirked and turned back to his mortar, grinding his pestle down into the paste with an aggression, like he was imagining James’ skull underneath the potions tool or something. 

“Fine,” James huffed in defeat, “I guess I’ll just go then–” 

“You do that.” 

“Do you have to be so annoying all of the time?” James shot back, not knowing why this unimportant topic was bothering him so much.

“Nope,” Regulus practically sang out, still not looking at James, “But it’s much more fun this way, don’t you think?” his eyes were glittering with amusement when he turned his gaze to James for a split second, a smile playing at his lips which made the man straighten up slightly, curiosity piquing. 

That was new. 

“No, I don’t,” he responded, crossing his arms and scowling because evidently his dramatic antics were amusing Regulus.

James couldn’t help but feel rather fixated on the sparkle amongst Regulus’ grey eyes that was so similar to Sirius’ own mischievous twinkle and yet so much more different and unique like Regulus’ irises had its very own galaxy of constellations. 

“Tough luck,” Regulus pouted mockingly, “It’s hard when the tables are turned, isn’t it, Potter?”

James opened his mouth to reply, another indignant sputter of, “Call me James!” probably lingering on the tip of his tongue but his unspoken response was cut off by a yell from upstairs. 

“DADDY!” 

Regulus turned back to his cauldron, voice smoother than ice all of a sudden, “You should probably go and see what he wants.” 

“I–yes,” James stumbled over his words, confused by the frosty cool change to Regulus’ previously playful attitude.

There was just something about Regulus that made him feel so off balance - like he was a box of chocolates where you never knew what emotion or reaction you were going to get.

James wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not yet, mentally noting it down as one of the things he would discover about Regulus Black. 

He frowned, thrown by the sudden switch in Regulus after Harry called out, and was about to say something more, perhaps to question whether he had done something wrong, when Harry shouted, “DADDY!” again.

James didn’t even hesitate this time, brushing any thoughts about Regulus aside, as he left the man alone in Monty’s laboratory, and hurried up the staircase. 

Just missing the whispered, “Goodbye, James,” from Regulus as the door banged shut. 

Chapter Text

Regulus 

But he doesn't want me

He doesn't want me

When it comes to it

Really the truth is

Oh no, he doesn't want me

And I know that I could pretend

But it's one down

And it's back to daydreams again

8th August 1982

Regulus was doomed. 

Oh, he was completely and utterly fucked.

Entirely in the metaphorical sense, obviously. Which was the problem.

Because who, in their right mind, had decided that simple, grey Muggle sweatpants and a boring white t-shirt could look so good on a man? 

Clearly someone more insane than he was. 

The morning of the day where Regulus realised just how wrecked he was for James Potter had started off badly.

He had woken up late and nearly missed his shift at Slug and Jiggers, showering at record speed and rushing out of the door with a piece of toast aimed at his head, courtesy of Remus. 

Once being thoroughly scolded by Hyacinth Goldstein for showing up five minutes late, Regulus had then been in a black mood for the entire morning shift because Maggie wouldn’t stop talking about James and the famous Boy-Who-Lived coming in, the day before. 

Blabbering about handsome James Potter and how she’d had a crush on him at school, adding that James had ‘aged like fine wine’ (to which Regulus had crassly reminded her that he was only a year older than them. Not exactly a pensioner).

“I do like older men,” Maggie had only replied with a dreamy sigh and Regulus had ignored his friend for the rest of the shift. 

Then, when Regulus had been leaving Slug and Jiggers, he had bumped right into none other than Andromeda Tonks, his estranged cousin.

His relationship with Andromeda wasn’t the best - unlike Sirius, Regulus had never maintained contact with her since she was disowned which meant that, as of his return, he hadn’t actually spoken to or seen her since he was eleven. 

A few months ago, around the time of Andromeda’s birthday in April, she had invited Sirius around for tea who, rather predictably, had dragged Regulus along.

Andromeda knew of Regulus’ defection and his faked death but, seeing as knowledge of the Horcruxes wasn’t widely known outside of the circle that Dumbledore trusted, she had still been relatively cautious around Regulus. 

Which he understood, of course.

But it didn’t stop it from hurting any less when Andromeda tugged her daughter, Nymphadora, away from Regulus when the ten year old had wanted to show her newfound cousin how her hair could change from purple to blue and then back to her favourite bubblegum pink. 

Andromeda had been nothing but polite outside of Slug and Jiggers, informing Regulus that she was in Diagon Alley to buy a new broom for Nymphadora, who had accidentally broken her last one.

He had recommended a good broomstick shop, just a few doors down from his work, and moved on with his day, trying to ignore the awkwardness that hovered in the air between the two cousins. 

Regulus understood why it was awkward, of course. At the end of the day, he had agreed with all of his family’s values (unlike Sirius, who had always been somewhat rebellious from an early age) and became a Death Eater, the very people who had wanted Muggles and muggleborns dead.

Seeing as Andromeda’s husband, Ted, was a muggleborn, Regulus could see why his cousin was cautious around him. After all, three years ago, Regulus would’ve called Ted a slur.

It had taken a good year in France for him to erase all prejudiced terms from his vocabulary and another year to slip out of the taught habits that Walburga and Orion had indoctrinated within him.

He could see why Andromeda was circumspect. It just hurt because it made Regulus feel like his changes were for nothing and that his efforts to become a better person were in vain. 

What was the point of redeeming himself if people only looked at the mistakes he had made?

Regulus had been a child.

He hadn’t known any better, he hadn’t had a James Potter and Remus Lupin to straighten him out or a household to welcome him with open arms when Grimmauld Place got too much. Regulus had been alone, surrounded by people who held the same values as his parents. 

What had people expected, honestly? 

Due to Maggie’s gushing over James and his run-in with Andromeda, Regulus had been thoroughly annoyed by lunchtime and had ignored Sirius and Remus, who had both attempted to make conversation with him.

That was one good thing that had come out of his redemption, he guessed. His relationship with Sirius was still fragile, some topics avoided completely, but it was healing slowly. 

And that was all that mattered. 

Still, Regulus wouldn’t be surprised if he managed to find a way to fuck it all up again.

His non committal, practically monosyllabic, responses during lunch would probably cause an argument with Sirius later that night, when Regulus returned from the Potters’ house. 

Ah yes, the Potters’ house. 

The house that couldn’t be more unlike Regulus’ childhood home if it tried. The first time Regulus had visited, all he had done was note the differences.

The way the windows were wide and bringing in sunlight, unlike the heavily shuttered darkness of Grimmauld Place. The way the hallways were lined with happy family photographs instead of house elves’ heads and intimidating portraits. 

The way that, when Regulus had Floo-ed into the kitchen, he had been greeted by the sight of James Potter tickling his son to death as opposed to laughing cruelly at him when he writhed under the Cruciatus.

Regulus had instantly felt a stab of jealousy at Harry’s joyful expression, an almost bitterness seeping its way into his body like a poison infecting his very bloodstream. 

It wasn’t fair. 

It wasn’t only that James was clearly a good father. Regulus had already seen that - even in the darkest depths of grief, James had always made the effort to look after Harry, to push through his own struggles in order to hold his son close.

James loved Harry and the love his parents had treated him with bled into James’ parenting, no matter how muted it was now that he didn’t have Lily to bounce off. James tried, and that was all Harry needed. 

It was all Regulus had needed.

Someone to try for him. Someone to just look after him and not leave him in the dust when the grass on the other side of the fence was greener.

And that was why he was jealous. Not because Harry had the father that Regulus had always wanted Orion to be. Not because James was just so lovely and following in his parents footsteps with showing love to his only child. 

But because Sirius had experienced that. 

That same love that James bestowed upon Harry, the love he had inherited from Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, the love he had spread at Hogwarts with all of his friends, Sirius included.

Until Regulus’ brother had decided that he couldn’t give up an opportunity to have that love for himself, to slot right in with the Potters and play happy families whilst Regulus took the harsh brunt of his errors. 

Sirius had started off just like him, with only Regulus to rely upon in the same way that Regulus had only had Sirius to look after him.

And yet, he had been given the chance to have a better life and he had taken it with open arms without so much as a second look back at Regulus. 

He didn’t blame Sirius for leaving. Not anymore, not now that they had talked about their feelings regarding that incident (Remus’ fault - it had turned out that the man was a huge advocate for talking about one’s feelings. Eurgh).

But Regulus couldn’t help but feel resentful that Sirius had had James Potter to tug him off on the yellow brick road to Oz when he had had no choice but to be swallowed by the all-consuming darkness. 

Where was Regulus’ James Potter when he needed it? Absolutely fucking nowhere.

Because, no matter how hard he tried, Regulus clearly wasn’t worthy of a knight in shining armour to gallop along and save him. Regulus hadn’t earned that kind of love, that luck of the draw. He’d had to do it all by himself. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid brain. Stop thinking,” Regulus mumbled, now, as he juiced the Flobberworm with one of Monty’s fancy juicers, a luxury that even Slug and Jiggers didn’t have.

He slowly added the thick mucus to his cauldron, watching as the previously white, bubbling potion began to take on a pink tinge. 

Rather like his cheeks when James Potter had landed on top of him. 

Oh Merlin. 

Regulus had already been annoyed, his bad mood only worsened by the sight of James Potter being such a perfect parent and looking so goddamn gorgeous in the most simple clothes known to man.

The way that his white t-shirt had lifted when he tossed Harry around, revealing the tanned skin of his stomach, had admittedly made Regulus’ heartbeat throb into the base of his throat. 

And the way that the sweatpants hung low on his hips, the loose fabric still managing to hug James’ curves and make Regulus’ mouth water.

He was unashamedly (in his mind, anyhow) a whore for James Potter - he had established that reluctantly, months ago - and Regulus had almost suggested for James to walk down the staircase first. Just so he could feast his eyes ‘accidentally’ on that delectable arse of his. 

Look, don’t touch. 

Regulus knew that James was off limits. He was many things but he wasn’t stupid and he knew that there was a high likelihood that James was heterosexual because Sirius had never mentioned anything about his best friend being queer.

Besides, the entirety of Hogwarts had known of James’ relentless crush on Lily so Regulus was fairly certain that the man was only attracted to women. 

But he could still thirst over James. In secret, of course. 

As it turned out, Regulus wasn’t able to stare at James’ arse anyway (another thing that had worsened his mood) and he had found himself feeling rather rattled at the unsettling darkness of the Potters’ basement stairwell.

It had been incredibly dimly lit, something that always took Regulus back to the cave, and he had tripped more than once, the second time ending up on the floor with James lying directly on top of him. 

It had been an accident, okay? 

Regulus had felt himself falling and James’ hand at the back of his robes had been the only thing anchoring him.

He had tried to grab at the man’s wrist for balance and had ended up losing all gravity and tugging James down with him, sending his glasses flying into the nearest wall.

Which he was thankful for because then, at the very least, James couldn’t see Regulus’ blown pupils and prominent blush at the compromising position they had ended up in. 

Don’t even get him started on when James had propped himself up, hair dangling in his squinting hazel eyes, a lazy grin creeping across his face that made Regulus’ heart thump wildly against his rib-cage and his stomach convulse with a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Fuck, he was gorgeous. 

And now Regulus had even more reasons to crush on James Potter. 

His insistence on using stupid nicknames, for one. Regulus would rather die at Voldemort’s hand itself than admit it but, every time James came up with a new way of ruining Regulus’ name, a small smile crawled onto his face. 

The way he lowered his eyelashes and pressed his lips together when he was trying not to laugh, the way his eyes widened when he was indignant about something, the fact that he swung on the doorway and subconsciously flexed his muscles, the stupid grin he flashed at Regulus when making an equally stupid joke—

“Eurgh, snap out of it,” Regulus groaned, burying his head in his hands as the potion swam out of focus in front of him, his daydreams about the beauty that was James Potter encrypting his vision.

“You are ridiculous,” he complained to himself as he stirred the potion vigorously. 

“Y’know, I’d feel more inclined to agree if I knew why you were calling yourself ridiculous, Regulus.”

Regulus jumped out of his skin, startled so much that he nearly spilled the sleeping potion out of shock, a splash of the pink concoction dappling the previously spotless white counter.

He cursed underneath his breath before spinning around to see James stood there, swinging on the doorframe with a stupid grin like he had emerged from Regulus’ very imagination. 

“What are you doing here, Potter?” Regulus asked, running a hand over his head as he vanished the spillage with a quick flick of his wand.

James raised an eyebrow, an incredibly delicate move that made Regulus turn away under guise of checking the potion, lest he flush. 

“I mean…it is my house, Regulus,” James answered with amusement playing at his lips, curving them upwards into a smirk.

Regulus closed his eyes briefly, fumes from the potion billowing into his face. He tried to ignore the somersault his stomach undertook when James’ voice wrapped around his name, the syllables lilted with his West Country accent. 

Regulus had always preferred being called ‘Reg’ or ‘Reggie’ because they had been nicknames used exclusively by Sirius, with their parents calling him ‘Regulus’ more.

But there was just something about James using his full name, the way the words sounded on his tongue, that made Regulus’ head spin. 

Unlike his parents, who had often barked or snapped the name at him, James said ‘Regulus’ with a soft, quiet reverence that was almost like praying, whether he realised it or not.

And that, for Regulus who had only ever associated bad things with his full name, was like coming up for air after a long time underwater. 

Hence why he had insisted on James not calling him Reg. Not that James would ever know that, of course. 

“Yes, true,” Regulus conceded before adding over his shoulder, “But don’t you have a son to look after?”

He hated how the residual bitterness crept into his tone because of his unwanted resentment at James for being such a good father and for having a child with a woman six feet under, placing him extremely off limits. 

If James noticed Regulus’ scornful tone, he didn’t comment on it, “Mary’s here. She’s reading him a bedtime story, they do that a lot. Lily—“ he broke off for a second, clearing his throat, “Uh, it became…part of our routine. And Mary’s always been better at all the voices than me so she took over,” he added. 

Regulus dismissed the way that his heart ached with pity, alongside a self-hatred for his own feelings for a literal widower, at James’ mention of Lily.

The man was clearly still grieving, even mere mentions of his late wife causing him pain, and it made Regulus despise his own attraction to James. It wasn’t fair on either of them. 

Instead of stepping into unstable territory, Regulus decided to back away from the ghost of Lily that was now hovering between them.

“I didn’t realise it was so late,” he remarked lamely, but not dishonestly. He had genuinely lost track of time, caught up in the process of potion-making and his own thoughts. 

“Yeah,” James seemed to latch onto this, appearing strangely grateful for Regulus’ lack of comment on how Mary was clearly stepping in to take over some of the roles that perhaps required a more maternal touch than what James could provide.

“I left you alone for at least three hours so you should be grateful.” 

Regulus wasn’t grateful.

The ache in his chest seemed to weigh heavier when he came to the realisation that, for all of his annoyance at James, he really wouldn’t have minded James being there for the past three hours, whilst he worked on Harry’s potion. It would have taken Regulus far away from his intrusive thoughts, anyhow. 

“They were the best three hours of my life,” Regulus deadpanned, gaze averted from James as he chopped the sopophorous bean and added it to the cauldron, watching as it was swallowed by the bubbling pink substance. “Shame that they’re over now.” 

There was a brief moment of silence where Regulus wondered if he’d overstepped by being mean to James, whether the man was sensitive after the mention of Lily and therefore wouldn’t take kindly to being insulted. 

Instead of being upset, though, James seemed to let out a breath of what sounded like amusement before walking across the room to stand behind Regulus, the heat of his presence enveloping the younger man and restricting his breathing, almost as if James himself had wrapped his hands around his neck.  

Not that Regulus would be opposed to—

“Well, I was bored,” James shrugged, settling down next to Regulus and watching as he stirred the mixture quickly, combining the two slightly different potions together with a blend of rose oil and a dollop of honey, the colour switching to lilac as he did so. 

“Of your own son?” Regulus asked dryly, trying to ignore the way his pulse was racing at the close proximity of James, his arm leaning on the table which brought him closer to Regulus. 

The man rolled his eyes, “No, of Mary pitying me and making me feel like an idiot,” he grumbled lightly but Regulus could see by James’ expression that he was clearly actually affected by whatever his friend had said. 

“Mary…Mary MacDonald?” Regulus questioned, deciding to continue the conversation whilst stirring the potion clockwise, adding in a counter-clockwise turn every now and then as it took on more of a thick texture, rather like yoghurt. 

“Soon to be Cattermole,” James replied, eyes fixed on the potion like he was purposefully trying not to look at Regulus, which stung but wasn’t unexpected.

“She’s getting married?” he asked, tilting his head to one side and neglecting the potion slightly because James looked somewhat upset and he didn’t like that. 

“Yep,” the response was low and dull, James staring down at the cauldron as the liquid simmered, a sprinkle of asphodel petals sinking into the lilac potion.

“Are you not…happy about that?” Regulus was cautious, having experienced all too well the consequences of somebody being forced to answer a question that they found too personal. 

“Do you not miss him, Mother?” the question burst forth from Regulus’ mouth before he could even get ahold of his tongue, horror instantly swelling in his body as he noticed Walburga’s eyes darken and narrow. 

“And why would I, Regulus?” Walburga hissed, her cold tone frosting his name and making it drip like icicles in the tense air between them. 

“I-I don’t–I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking,” Regulus stammered out, hands gripping each other tightly behind his back as he took an unconscious step backwards, colliding with the wall. 

He was trapped. 

“Members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black are always thinking, Regulus. Clearly something must’ve made you think of your disowned brother. So, tell me. Have you had any contact with the filth that I used to call my son?” 

Memories of Sirius dragging him into alcoves hidden by tapestries to anxiously check whether Regulus was injured flashed through his mind.

Altercations in the corridor where Sirius argued with Regulus over their family’s values. Betrayed tears in Sirius’ eyes when he stared at Regulus’ left forearm tainted by the Dark Mark. 

“No.” 

Regulus felt those memories ripped out of his mind, invaded by Walburga’s Legilimency which he was usually so good at defending himself against. Clearly, Sirius was his only weakness. 

“Liar,” the familiar shot of blue light zoomed towards Regulus and he fell to the ground, eyes immediately closing as the pain writhed through his body. 

“Reg?”

Regulus blinked himself back to the present, alarmed to see that the potion was overheating and quickly waving his wand to stop the bubbles from overflowing.

He was equally mortified to realise that James was now staring at him with something akin to concern in his expression. 

But it couldn’t possibly be concern. Because nobody except Sirius actually cared about Regulus, no one ever bothered to ask whether he was alright or thought about his feelings for a split second.

“Are you okay? You zoned out there for a sec.” 

And yet. 

And yet, James Potter. 

Oh, Regulus was doomed. 

“Fine,” he forced a smile that he knew neither of them probably believed.

But everyone was a little broken, weren’t they?

Sometimes you had to just brush aside those shattered fragments and focus on rebuilding the bigger picture, to continue on with the jigsaw of life, “You were saying?”

James observed him carefully for a long moment, making Regulus feel hot under the collar as those hazel eyes burnt into the side of his face because he was still resolutely staring at the potion, adding a dash of nettle essence and an extra sprig of lavender. 

“I’m happy for Mary, of course I am. But it just startled me that people are still moving on with their lives, y’know? Not that I expect everyone to keep nursing the wounds of the war but because I’m still stru–grieving…” he amended hastily but Regulus didn’t miss his slip-up, “...it feels strange to know that other people are just over it. ”

Oh Merlin. Regulus knew exactly how he was feeling, so much that the overwhelming rush of empathy nearly bowled him over. 

All those years of watching Sirius from afar, wondering how he was able to smile and laugh after all that had happened between them.

When Regulus could barely pull himself out of bed in the days that had followed his brother running away from home and Sirius had just continued with his life like he was barely affected. 

“She’s not over it,” Regulus spoke up because nearly a year of airing his dirty laundry with Sirius, courtesy of Remus’ forced therapy for the two of them, had taught him this. 

“I don’t know her personally but I bet that this is just a way of coping. People are allowed to move on with their lives, Potter. It doesn’t mean that the loss hurts them any less. It just means that they feel strong enough to carry on.” 

His impactful words fell into the void between them, hanging in the air significantly as Regulus cleared his throat awkwardly, aware that James was still staring at him. 

“I don’t think I’m very strong,” the remark was so small and vulnerable that Regulus could hardly believe that it came from James Potter’s mouth, the man who had always been so loudly confident and bold about everything in his life. 

Regulus waved his wand over the potion one last time, the draught now finished as he turned the heat down completely.

Then, he turned fully to face James, giving him his full attention, “And why do you think that?” the question was so softly-spoken that even Regulus himself was somewhat surprised at his aching gentleness. 

“Because I still hurt,” James said, sounding rather childlike as a gulp slid down his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing.

His hazel eyes were wide and filtered with a weakness that Regulus hadn’t even imagined he was capable of, “Everything hurts. And I’m a shit father, I can’t even do the one thing that Lily would’ve wanted me to do.”

Regulus opened his mouth to respond but James cut him off, gaze searching for some kind of reassurance, “I can’t carry on with my life. I’m still stuck there, in the past. I think of Lily all the time, I see her everywhere I go. I can’t escape her because everytime I look Harry in the eyes, I think of Lily. And I know I shouldn’t, I know it’s not Harry’s fault but those eyes just remind me of how much I’ve failed him—” 

“You haven’t failed him,” Regulus interjected firmly, determined that James had to know that, that he couldn’t continue on with his day not being sure of that fact. 

“But I can’t move on, Reg.”

And, oh. Oh, that hurt. 

Regulus nearly reeled back from the impact, the ache deepening in his chest as James basically pushed forward the insistence that he couldn’t move on and would never move on from Lily.

It wasn’t like Regulus had been hoping or anything  because he would’ve been foolish to do so. 

Regulus Black never got anything he wanted. Why would James Potter be an exception?

But the truth being shoved directly in his face…yeah, that was new. He didn’t like it. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re not strong,” Regulus replied, aware that his soft tone from earlier had hardened considerably but he wasn’t going to let his stupid, foolish feelings become a barrier in front of his doling out of empathetic advice. 

James didn’t say anything, looking strangely stricken and almost like he was regretting the words that had spilled out of his mouth, the truth now spiralling like potion fumes in the air of Monty’s laboratory.

So, Regulus offered him a way out: 

“The potion’s ready now,” he smiled hesitantly, scooping a phial into the cauldron and filling it to the brim with the thick, lilac substance.

“Serve it into a bowl and cool it down like yoghurt and give it to Harry. It’ll taste pretty sweet so he should like it.” 

“Thank you,” James said, taking the phial from Regulus and standing up. Regulus waved his wand to tidy his area and clean any equipment he had used, the cauldron still harbouring the now lukewarm potion. 

“It’s no problem. That brew should last him around two months if he only takes one dosage a day. No more than that otherwise he’ll develop a dependency. And, if his sleeping starts to get better, start lessening the dosages,” Regulus informed him, making his way to the door as quickly as possible. 

He walked up the steps alone, remembering to light his wand this time and trying to calm his heartbeat down from the way it pounded against his chest whenever he was around James.

Regulus needed to get his feelings under control so that he didn’t feel like that around James Potter anymore because James didn’t want him and there was no use in pretending otherwise. 

“Oh, hello.” 

Regulus glanced up as he walked into the kitchen, the previously bright room now darkened due to the sky purpling into dusk, painting a hearth of ignited scarlet blooms up high outside.

Mary MacDonald was standing there, a glass of water in her hands and a pyjama-clad Harry at her feet, rubbing his eyes tiredly. 

The friendship between Mary and Regulus was tentative at best - they were used to one another’s presence because of Sirius and the fact that Regulus had been automatically included in their circle post-Halloween. 

Mary had never raised any qualms about Regulus having deferred, accepting his story about the Horcruxes and extending a small amount of sympathy towards him after hearing about his ordeal in the cave.

However, she was still relatively cautious around him, probably due to the type of person he used to be. 

Regulus didn’t blame her, to be honest. He hated his past self too. 

“Good evening,” Regulus said politely, stepping around the kitchen table and walking further towards the Floo, his escape from this house that practically taunted him with all the love interwoven into every picture upon the wall, every touch of magic that his own childhood home had lacked. 

“Where Daddy?” Harry questioned, tugging on the edge of Mary’s funky blue pants (Regulus believed they were called flares but he wasn’t completely certain).

Mary opened her mouth to respond, curious eyes still fixed on Regulus like she could tell there was something wrong. 

“Downstairs, in the lab,” Regulus replied to the little boy, realising belatedly that he actually very rarely spoke to Harry whenever they were around each other. 

He only ever talked to James’ son when Harry directly addressed him, except for the one time that he had babysat him during Peter’s trial.

And even then, Harry had had around five words in his vocabulary to string together so conversation hadn’t really been a burden. 

“He come back up?” Harry cocked his head to one side, his fringe falling to reveal his scar, the lightning bolt engraved into his forehead from that cursed night.

His gaze was vulnerable, not unlike that of James’ expression back in the basement, and his wide green eyes were shining with vulnerability and brimming curiosity. 

“Everytime I look Harry in the eyes, I think of Lily.”

“Those eyes just remind me of how much I’ve failed him.”

Suddenly, Regulus felt a whoosh of sympathy for the two-year-old, the motherless Boy-Who-Lived who couldn’t sleep and had a father who was trying his best to see past the eyes that reminded him of his mistakes. 

Regulus knew exactly how it felt to be seen as a reflection of somebody else, a glimpse of a disowned son always staring Walburga and Orion back in the face whenever they looked at their spare, their second son. 

Sirius and Regulus had always been the recipients of compliments for how alike they looked. Until it became a problem.

Until Orion couldn’t look at Regulus without thinking of Sirius and how much he had failed them, until Walburga couldn’t see anything but the mistakes Sirius had made when staring at Regulus, his lookalike. 

And Regulus knew it wasn’t the same, he knew that Harry was loved more than any other child in the world.

He knew that James didn’t treat Harry any differently because of the loss of Lily but he did now know how James felt about the death of his wife and the son she had left behind. 

He knew that it was James’ own insecurities and that he didn’t blame Harry for anything. Which was what made it different. But Regulus still understood. 

“Yes, he’ll be back soon. Don’t worry,” he said, aware that the same gentle, aching tone from earlier had wrapped around his words.

Ignoring Mary’s perplexed look (in the past, Regulus had always been rather stiff around Harry due to not knowing how to act around children), he dropped to his knees so he was at Harry’s height. 

“What do you have there, Harry?” Regulus questioned, still using that same voice. Harry’s face brightened and he let go of Mary’s flares, tottering forward to show Regulus the stuffed animal that he had gripped in his tiny fist.

It was a lion. Regulus felt a flood of fondness, instead of the irritation he thought would burst through him. 

“S’called Leo,” Harry mumbled, stroking the mane of his stuffed lion carefully before holding him out to Regulus, who had already felt the breath punched out of him at the utterance of the toy’s name, “D’you wanna hold?” the toddler asked. 

From the way that Harry was cradling the lion, Regulus got the impression that such a question was very significant.

“I would be honoured,” he let Harry put the lion in his extended hand, the two-year-old’s eyes solemn and serious like it was a very important act, to be separated with one’s stuffed animal. 

Regulus held the lion up and mimicked a little roar, nuzzling the stuffed toy into the side of Harry’s cheek, causing the child to giggle happily.

“You know…” he started conversationally, wondering why he felt more comfortable talking to Harry than he did around many people. 

“...Leo is a constellation. My name is Regulus, yeah?” Harry nodded and he continued, absentmindedly dancing the lion up onto the little boy’s shoulder before making it run back down his arm, Harry’s giggles becoming the soundtrack to his actions. 

“And Regulus is one of the brightest stars in the sky. It’s in the Leo constellation,” Regulus told him, not sure why he had gone into so much detail.

The gleam of interest in the toddler’s green eyes said otherwise, though, as Harry tried to foist the lion back into Regulus’ hold. 

“You keep,” the child insisted and Regulus felt the indulgent smile on his face slip as he glanced in alarm at Mary, who had been watching the two of them with an unreadable expression.

She shrugged, the look on her face now a mixture between amusement and fondness. 

“No, Harry, that’s okay. Leo is yours,” Regulus said gently, putting the lion back in Harry’s hands.

Harry dropped it onto the floor stubbornly, crossing his arms, “Leo is you. You keep,” he demanded and Regulus obeyed reluctantly, picking up the stuffed animal with mentally noted intentions to return the cuddly toy as soon as possible. 

“Okay, if you insist. Leo can have a sleepover with me, yeah?” Regulus suggested softly and Harry nodded, a satisfied smile replacing his previous frown that had emerged when Regulus rejected his gift.

“Thank you very much,” he stood up, holding the lion close and safely against his chest. 

He and Mary exchanged a bemused look as Regulus walked back over to the fireplace, suddenly aware that James was also silently standing in the kitchen though Regulus wasn’t sure how long he had been there.

He snatched up a handful of Floo powder and was just about to step into the fireplace when a hand on his shoulder turned him around. 

James. 

“Thank you, Regulus,” he said quietly, the reverent words doing nothing to stop the flutter of butterflies in Regulus’ stomach. 

“I already said, it’s no prob–”

“No. Thank you,” James repeated, placing further emphasis on his gratitude now with a significant look in his hazel eyes.

Oh.

Regulus smiled, ignoring the shard shredding his heart into pieces as he gazed at a man he couldn’t have, a man who still couldn’t move on, a man who still saw the ghost of his wife when he looked into his son’s eyes. 

Regulus smiled, tilted his head in acknowledgment, clutched Harry’s lion to his chest and murmured his address, disappearing into a flash of green light and a drop of Floo powder into the flames below him. 

Regulus smiled as he returned home, welcomed by the chaos of the kitchen as Remus tried to salvage something in the oven that Sirius had evidently burnt. 

Regulus smiled as he spoke to Sirius and Remus, telling an abridged version of the story as to how he had ended up with Harry’s coveted stuffed animal.

Regulus smiled as Remus offered him some burnt lasagne, he smiled as Sirius exclaimed in indignation when he refused the absolute mess of a meal. 

Regulus even smiled as he put Leo down carefully at the end of his bed because Harry had been extremely cute and, even though the child did contribute to the way his heart was slowly breaking, day by day, he wasn’t entirely to blame. 

Nobody was to blame but himself, really. For being stupid enough to develop feelings for a grieving man who would only ever want him in the depth of Regulus’ daydreams. 

Not even James was to blame for that. He couldn’t help how he felt, just how Regulus couldn’t stop himself.

Regulus smiled until his cheeks hurt, until he was safely behind the locked doors of the apartment’s bathroom, until the curtain was firmly shut and the water was rushing down, blocking out the sounds of his cries. 

That was when his smile dropped.

That was when Regulus allowed himself to sob, his anguish disguised by the loud noise of the shower, his pain for himself and himself only because nobody would ever understand, no one ever cared that much. 

Because, under the rush of hot water and cooling sensation of shampoo, Regulus Black could let his facade drop, he could allow himself a few minutes of weakness where the hurt could burst forth like the shower gel from the bottle when he squeezed it too hard. 

But Regulus had meant every single word that he said to James. So, just because he felt weak, didn’t mean that he was. Hurting didn’t make him weak. 

If anything, it only made him stronger.

Chapter Text

James

Memories follow me left and right

I can feel you over here 

I can feel you over here

You take up every corner of my mind

Your love stays with me day and night

I can feel you over here 

I can feel you over here

You take up every corner of my mind

12th August 1982

“You look like hell.” 

“Thanks, I didn’t sleep,” James replied dryly, gratefully taking the pint of oak-matured mead from Sirius as he sat down opposite his best friend in the Three Broomsticks. 

Back when they had been students, Sirius had had somewhat of a tradition with Professor McGonagall where he visited her for tea whenever he wanted a catch-up with her or to talk about something that was bothering him.

Now that they had graduated and the war was over, McGonagall and Sirius still met up sporadically to keep the tradition going, this afternoon being one of those occasions.

So, seeing as Harry was spending the afternoon with Mary (one of her sisters had a child around his age), Sirius had invited James out for a drink. 

The pub was fairly quiet, seeing as it was a Wednesday and late afternoon, meaning they had just missed the lunchtime rush.

A few punters were dotted miscellaneously on various tables, a low buzz of chatter filtering through the air. 

Sirius had managed to snag them their old table from when they visited Hogsmeade as Hogwarts students, feet propped up on a spare chair as he exhaled smoke, the cigarette in between his fingers flickering ash into the tray below. 

“Oh really?” Sirius frowned sympathetically as James sipped his mead, the drink not bringing him the same fiery numbness that Firewhiskey did but still tasting nice nonetheless, “Harry still giving you trouble?”

James choked a little on his drink, his face registering surprise as he hadn’t exactly broadcasted Harry’s sleeping troubles so hadn’t expected Sirius to know about it.

Of course, he should’ve known better. 

Sirius raised an eyebrow at James’ reaction, smoke unfurling in the air like silver swirls.

“What, you really expected my boyfriend not to tell me about the time you called him over to help? Not to mention that my brother has literally been brewing a potion for you…” he pointed out and James looked down at the table guiltily, remaining silent. 

“Why didn’t you tell me, James?” Sirius’ question was gentle and, in that moment, he almost sounded like Regulus when he was doling out advice on grieving, advice that hadn’t left James’ mind since it was spoken out-loud and had kept him up all night. 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” James mumbled, taking a chug of his mulled mead to give him something to do with his hands, guilt surging through him because he very rarely kept anything from Sirius. 

Even though James had always been more of the therapy friend out of the two of them, a role that simply befell him because Sirius had had a lot of emotional baggage to unpack and suppressed feelings to iron out, Sirius had never shied away from being there for James, too. 

Merlin, if it hadn’t been for Sirius this past year, James didn’t think he would still be standing. He owed him a lot. 

“Harry’s my godson,” Sirius reminded him, as if such an important fact would have slipped James’ mind.

He still remembered the day he had asked him like it was yesterday - he and Lily had asked for a moment alone with Sirius and Marlene after Harry had been born. 

Marlene had cried, instantly falling into Lily with a hug so tight that she nearly rendered her friend breathless.

Sirius had been speechless, throat choked with emotion as he gazed helplessly at James, “...Me?” he had questioned weakly, looking unsure. 

“Who else, mate?” James had countered whilst accepting the embrace that Marlene had foisted upon him, tearful kisses pressed to his cheek and forehead.

And he had meant it then and he still believed it now. 

Sirius had been the perfect choice for godfather, the first person that had come to James’ mind despite his choice between all three of his best friends, who all would’ve been just as capable. 

Remus was his best friend. Peter had also been a best friend, once upon a time before the fairytale of the Marauders darkened considerably and ventured into a place where happy-ever-afters weren’t humanly possible. 

But Sirius was his brother.

Of course it had been Sirius. He and Lily hadn’t had to even discuss it, unlike with godmother where it had been a hard decision between Marlene and Alice. 

Who were both now depressingly indisposed. One dead, one insane. 

“It’s my job to worry about him,” Sirius was saying now and James nodded miserably, huffing out a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of him. 

“I know,” he muttered, eyes trained on the pint of mead in front of him. 

“To worry about you,” Sirius’ addition made James’ head shoot up, gaze alarmed and guarded because, if there was one thing that James had grown to hate over the past two years, it was being the cause of someone else’s concern. 

Ever since his parents had passed away, James had detested the lingering look of pity underneath everyone’s expressions when they looked at him. 

Their worry for him at the sight of James forcing smiles and acting like everything was fine because the war hadn’t left any time for anyone to fall apart, hadn’t allowed any moment for vulnerability even though James himself had felt nothing but weak. 

“That doesn’t mean you’re not strong.”

Regulus’ words from Sunday night rang clear as a bell in his head, the message that the younger man had gotten across refusing to leave his mind, not even a few days later. 

James had been having somewhat of a crisis for the past few days, admittedly.

Memories of Lily still hovered around his house and her ghost was permanently present and it was very hard to believe that feeling lost without her was not a sign of weakness. 

In fact, according to Regulus, carrying on with his life despite feeling like he was stuck in one place, every corner of his mind taken up by his dead wife, was actually a representation of strength.

Bravery, even. 

“There’s nothing to worry about,” James’ fake smile slipped onto his face without any effort nowadays.

It was almost second nature to school his expression into one that wouldn’t concern those nearest and dearest to him. 

Sirius raised a singular eyebrow, clearly not falling for any of his best friend’s bullshit after being well-versed for years in the art of seeing James’ true emotions behind his mask, “Then why did you not sleep? Is Harry’s potion still keeping him up?”

“No, no,” James dismissed his questions because the potion that Regulus had made was working wonders, actually.

Harry drank his dosage willingly every night before bed and slept through the night, blissfully quiet. 

He had only woken up once on Monday to enquire as to where his trusted companion, Leo, was before James reminded him that he had gifted the lion to Regulus in the most adorable interaction known to man.

Don’t even get James started on how cute the two of them were together—

“Harry’s doing fine. I guess his sleeping problems were just helping me distract myself from my own issues. Now that he’s sorted and I don’t have to worry as much, I’m just finding myself a little more alone with my thoughts. That’s all.” 

“Your thoughts which are…?” Sirius prompted, looking a little lighter now that James had actually confided a little in him about how he was feeling. 

There was nothing Sirius hated more than not being able to work out what was wrong with someone - that was one of the main reasons why such a wedge had been driven between him and Remus during the war. 

“...a little too dark for discussion over an afternoon pint,” James chuckled humourlessly, half of his mead already gone because his mouth felt a little dry, like he was being put on the spot to talk about his feelings. 

He knew that that wasn’t Sirius’ intention whatsoever but James couldn’t help but feel like his best friend was trying to pay him back for all of those nights in their dormitory at Hogwarts, where James had held Sirius as he ranted and cried, once he felt comfortable enough to break down around James. 

It wasn’t that James wasn’t comfortable around Sirius. Of course he was.

But, rather like with Remus, James didn’t want to burden his best friend because he knew that the other had had it worse.

James had always hated bothering Sirius with his problems in the past and he didn’t think that that feeling would ever go away, to be honest.

It was better if he just dealt with it alone, like he always had done until Lily allowed him to open up to her. 

Now that Lily was gone, James had firmly shut himself back down again. 

Yes, he had spoken to Remus briefly about how he was feeling. Yes, he had let a few things slip around Regulus.

But that didn’t mean that he was willing to explore exactly what the tsunami of tumultuous emotions swirling inside of him meant. 

“You know you can talk to me, don’t you?” Sirius looked sad, almost as if he could read James’ mind and hear what he was thinking at that moment in time. 

Which wouldn’t be surprising, seeing as the two of them had been so in tune with one another for as long as they could remember that the melody of their friendship didn’t really make sense without the other. 

“I do,” James gulped and Sirius stubbed out his cigarette in the ash-tray.

“But speaking my thoughts aloud to someone who can actually do something about it…that scares me. Because it makes it more real. I’m trying, though. I asked for Regulus’ help, didn’t I?” 

Sirius pursed his lips, finishing his drink, “You asked for Reg’s help with Harry. Not yourself. Don’t think that that didn’t slip my notice, James,” he said pointedly and James sighed, slumping in his chair as he felt the weight in his chest tighten. 

Why did he find it so hard to ask for help? To open up to someone?

No matter how much he loved Sirius and Remus, Lily had been the only one who had made him feel like it was okay to be held sometimes, that the world wouldn’t fall down if he wasn’t holding it up. 

That feeling had died with Lily, lost in the blank expanse of her green eyes which had stared off into the distance, lifeless and unseeing. 

“I’m working on it, okay?” James nearly snapped but held himself back, knowing that it wasn’t wise to shoot Sirius down when all he was doing was trying to be there for him. 

But James wasn’t ready to confide in Sirius. To confide in anyone. Not properly. Breaking down in front of Remus and slipping up near Regulus had been enough. 

In some moments, he truly felt like he was going to be okay with a laugh on his lips and his beautiful son in his arms.

And, in others, he felt like he was the worst father in existence, a man who was struggling to find closure after the murder of his wife. 

How was James supposed to explain that to anyone? 

How was he meant to put into words the feeling of helplessness that encumbered him whenever Harry looked around for Lily? 

How did he voice the heartbroken hatred he harboured towards Lily because she had left him alone with no shoulder to cry on? 

James couldn’t talk about any of that without sounding crazy. 

“Y’know, you didn’t just lose a wife that night, James,” Sirius was saying, hands nursing his empty glass, “I lost a friend. A dear one, at that. I may not understand the magnitude of what you’re feeling but I know how it feels to lose a loved one. Not to mention, Regulus—”

“Regulus didn’t really die, though, did he?” James argued, feeling irritation wash over him at the way that Sirius simply wasn’t letting the topic slide, continuing to push and push until James felt like he was going to topple over the edge. 

That was one thing about Sirius Black - he never knew when to let things go. 

“It still killed me inside to lose him for those two years, James,” Sirius snapped, his voice breaking before he glanced around, as if conscious that people were listening to their (now) rather heated discussion. 

James laughed coldly, feeling quite detached from his own body and thoughts due to the pressure that was squeezing his lungs together, “At least you got him back.” 

Sirius blinked, clearly taken aback by the uncommon coolness coating James’ words, “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, voice deathly quiet. 

James leant forward, all of the anger at himself that he had bottled up for months finally finding a source to explode at, “You got a second chance, Sirius. Your brother’s “death” didn’t really matter because Regulus didn’t actually die. Lily did.”

He shivered at the admittance before continuing heatedly:

“She’s gone and nothing's ever bringing her back. So forgive me for being completely shattered over that. Forgive me for not wanting to talk about it just yet. Not everyone gets a fucking do-over,” James spat. 

Sirius reeled back, as if he’d been smacked in the face, mouth opening and closing like the words he was about to say had been ripped away from him.

He stared at James for a second before shoving his chair back and storming out of the Three Broomsticks. 

James deflated with a heavy sigh, hands running through his hair as regret instantly flooded into his body at the loss of control over his temper, at the way he had just taken his frustration out on Sirius who had only been trying to help, at the end of the day. 

“Bloody hell, what was all that about?” Madam Rosmerta was suddenly at his shoulder, in an abundance of blonde curls and strong-smelling perfume, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two argue before,” she said. 

“Just a bad day,” James murmured, not sure whether he was referring to himself or Sirius.

He knew that he was now probably going to be the topic of discussion at McGonagall and Sirius’ catchup which was something that made him feel weirdly exposed. 

He was also rather ashamed that Rosmerta, of all people, had witnessed their dispute, even if the landlady hadn’t been able to entirely hear what they were rowing over. 

Madam Rosmerta had always been a good sport when it came to the Marauders, constantly turning a blind eye whenever the four of them snuck into the Three Broomsticks, after curfew. 

She had willingly accepted Sirius’ and James’ attempts to flirt their way into free drinks, sometimes giving in to their wheedling and other times serving them only Butterbeer. 

The two of them had often made Rosmerta laugh so James felt appropriately abashed that she had seen them at their worst. 

“Ah well, we all have bad days, don’t we?” Madam Rosmerta clapped him on the shoulder, “Do you want another one, pet?” she gestured to his empty pint of mead. 

“Make it a double Firewhiskey,” James sighed heavily, sinking further into his seat. 

It was dusk before he left, taking advantage of the fact that Harry was being looked after by Mary, though he knew she had promised to have him back by nightfall. 

James stumbled out of the Three Broomsticks, vision a little woozy and mind hazy as the slowly-setting sun melted like orange wax across the sky, dappled by splashes of pink that merged with the occasional fluffy white cloud. 

The next decision he made was definitely one to blame on the alcohol surging through his system, injecting him with a sense of carelessness that he hadn’t afforded himself to feel since he was back in school. 

A crack in the air and a spin on the spot later, and James was leaning on the cold, rusty rail of Godric Hollow’s graveyard. 

The lines of graves seemed ominous in the evening, daylight sliding further and further away from James, leaving him in nothing but darkness. 

James didn’t even know how he managed it in his drunken state but the path underneath his feet was so familiar that he reckoned he could’ve found Lily’s grave with his eyes closed, the grave coming into sight within a few minutes. 

“Hi, Lils,” he hiccuped, instantly feeling tears spring to his eyes upon the flowers that were already wilting at the base of where his wife lay, despite him only placing them there last week. 

James really needed to start performing preserving charms, didn’t he? 

“I’m a bit of a mess right now,” he whispered, like it was a secret.

He was getting pretty rubbish at concealing it now - his friends were beginning to cotton on that James’ mental health wasn’t quite healing in the way that it should be. 

Fuck healing. What was the point of healing when Lily would never be anything more than a memory? 

A singular glance back at Lily’s grave gave James that answer straight away, of course, and he instantly felt the guilt swallow him whole.

Harry.

Harry was the reason to keep going, so as to not make his wife disappointed in him. 

The taste of Firewhiskey on his tongue already reeked of disappointment, anyways. 

“Mary’s engaged,” is what he said next, settling down in front of the grave and beginning to fidget with the grass below him.

“And I…I dunno. I’m happy for her, obviously. It feels like something you should be here for, though. It’s strange, knowing that everyone is just moving on with their lives when you’re not able to,” James’ voice broke. 

“People are allowed to move on with their lives, Potter.”

He cleared his throat, somewhat comforted by the lack of response from Lily and the drifting reminder of what Regulus had said, back on Sunday. 

Sometimes, when Lily had been alive, she would listen to James’ rants with that same calming quiet, placing him in a place where he felt he could say anything with no judgement.

This was the same, in James’ head. 

It felt like his Lily was still with him. Except she wouldn’t eventually respond after listening. She would never reply again. 

“I just feel bitter about it because I can’t, I guess,” James said, finding it relatively easy to speak to someone who wasn’t actually there.

“I think of you all the time. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to move on. Who wants someone who’s broken, anyways? Me loving someone else now would only be unfair on them. I can’t love without losing. I don’t think I’ll ever love anyone but you…”

The sun shifted behind a cloud, darkness befalling the graveyard.

Behind James, a branch cracked and he jumped violently, inbuilt reflexes and paranoid trauma from the war still affecting his every day responses. 

He craned his neck to look over his shoulder, seeing as James’ back had been turned to whoever had walked up to Lily’s grave. Swallowing his shock, he spoke, “Hello.”

“James,” Petunia Dursley returned stiffly, with a reluctant tilt of her head. The horse-faced woman was clutching a bouquet of flowers, her posture rigid. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he replied awkwardly, subconsciously aware that he probably stunk of alcohol, even if it wasn’t the type that Muggles were used to. 

“At my sister’s grave? Yes, hilarious,” Petunia snapped.

James winced but felt a jolt of outrage at the fact that the woman willingly referred to Lily as her sister when, during the time she had been alive, she had practically estranged herself from his wife. 

“S’funny how you only seem to care about Lils now that she’s gone,” James felt his mean streak from earlier swim to the surface, the drink loosening his tongue and causing him to speak his mind a little more than he would, had he been sober.

In his defence, James had once held Lily close as she cried about the fact that Petunia had hissed, “You are no sister of mine,” at her so he really couldn’t be faulted for allowing cruelty to get the better of him now. 

Petunia seethed, drawing herself up as her bony fingers tightened around the bouquet of roses she was holding (Lily had hated roses), “Excuse me? Who do you think you’re talking to?” she hissed. 

James was not deterred, blinking up at her blearily from where he was sprawled next to Lily’s grave, his moment with his late wife now ruined by her sister who hadn’t given two fucks about her when she was alive. 

“Someone who couldn’t even be bothered to show up to the funeral,” James snapped back because Petunia’s absence at Lily’s funeral last November hadn’t escaped his notice.

In fact, it had unleashed an anger inside of him that he didn’t even think he was capable of feeling. 

Petunia glowered, her face pale in the now moonlit graveyard, “I didn’t attend because I knew your kind of people would be there,” she sneered, looking down her nose (literally) at James as he bristled slightly. 

“You can say wizards, y’know, Petunia,” he taunted, voice dangerously low, “Besides, you would’ve known me and Sirius. I just can’t believe you let your prejudice get in the way of yours and Lily’s relationship, even when she was being buried.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

“You’re too fucking late,” James snapped, jumping to his feet and Petunia stepped back, eyeing his wandless hand warily like she was frightened he was going to curse her or something. 

James scoffed because he longed to teach her a lesson, just for making Lily so miserable, but knew that that wasn’t what his late wife would’ve wanted.

And that wasn’t the way that Euphemia and Fleamont had raised him. He wasn’t that type of wizard. 

“Lily would hate you. It doesn’t matter that you place flowers down at her grave out of some kind of obligation. She would be so disappointed in how you’ve behaved towards her, even in death,” James stated simply because it was only the truth. 

Something inside of Petunia seemed to harden, a cold glint settling into her icy green eyes that were nothing like the vivid, sparkling green of Lily and Harry’s. 

This green was cold, like grass in the winter seasons when frost holds nature hostage, discolouring what had the possibility to be full of life and hope. 

“And you think she’d be proud of you?” Petunia’s voice was like a dagger to James’ throat, the blade of scorn threatening to break his brown skin. 

“You think she’ll be looking down right now, proud of you? When you spend your nights skulking around her grave, reeking of alcohol and dressing like a hobo?”

He flinched but Petunia wasn’t finished. 

“Where’s your son, James? Shouldn’t you be focusing on what’s left of Lily rather than what’s already gone? Or is he a pathetic freak like she was? Because, if so, there’s no hope for him. He’ll probably meet the same rotten end.”

The sharp stab of her insults slit James’ throat and he bled out, a choked sob bubbling up out of his mouth as tears burnt his hazel eyes, wounded to the extreme.

Petunia simply looked satisfied that she had gotten one over him, shoving past him to throw the roses down at Lily’s grave. 

James wanted to trample the flowers, wanted to smack her across the face, wanted to dig Petunia’s grave himself and throw her six-feet-under, wanted to….wanted to—

Breathe. He couldn’t breathe. 

Residual anger, stress and upset from the heavy day had clearly built up too much inside of him, James’ emotions bursting out like a volcano erupting, limbs shaking from the pressure as he somehow, blindly, stumbled out of the graveyard. 

His vision was spinning, head ringing with Petunia’s words as James tried to focus on inhaling and exhaling, dragging unridden breaths through his compacted lungs. 

“Where’s your son, James?”

Your son, James.

What’s left of Lily. 

Left of…

James disapperated with a loud CRACK! without even caring whether any Muggles were present in Godric’s Hollow to witness him disappearing into thin air. 

He arrived unsteadily on his doorstep, instantly hunching over and throwing up the remains of his stomach, the action somewhat sobering him and helping his vision straighten out, as James successfully vanished the pool of vomit. 

Head still screaming for a release and the heavy churn of guilt grinding inside of him, James forced himself to take deep breaths and walked into his home. 

You’re okay. Get it together. Stop being so fucking pathetic. 

“Harry’s out like a light,” Mary’s voice greeted him, sounding weirdly distorted and even her appearance was blurry around the edges, though James was wearing his glasses. 

“Didn’t even have to give him his potion, he went straight to sleep,” Mary was saying.

But James felt strangely disconnected from the conversation like he wasn’t even there, “Did you have a good night out? Loosen up a little?”

“Yeah,” he heard himself saying though he wasn’t even listening, stumbling to an armchair in the living room with his shoes still on, “Fantastic, thank you.” 

“And you think she’d be proud of you?” 

“Right, I’m off, then. See you later,” the door shut behind Mary and James still didn’t move, Petunia’s words repeating in his head like a broken record as the clock hand crawled into the later hours of the night. 

“Stop, stop, stop,” James rocked slightly in his chair, hands clutching his head as he tried to shut his brain off because all he could think about was Lily and how she would be so disappointed at the state he was in. 

They were already insecurities and thoughts that had circled his mind, of course.

But now Petunia had drudged them up from the box James had firmly locked them in, collapsing his sense of security and causing him to spiral. 

A toddler’s cry interrupted his intrusive thoughts, caterwauling through the air. 

“No,” James whimpered, clamping his hands over his ears as if that would block out Harry’s cries because Mary had been foolish enough to assume that he would remain asleep, even without his potion. 

“Please stop,” he whispered, not entirely sure whether he was talking to his son or the memories of Lily surging through his head at that moment, tainted by the disdain at him she was probably feeling, rolling in her grave. 

James somehow managed to drag himself up from his chair because his fatherly instincts kicked into play, unable to leave Harry crying no matter what state he was in. 

But, when Harry’s sobs heightened in volume as James approached the open doorway of his son’s bedroom, he found himself frozen to the spot.

He couldn’t do this. 

He wasn’t capable. Ever since Lily had passed, James had believed that he was a shit father, no matter how many times people told him he was doing a good job. 

Petunia’s words had only increased that fear tenfold, screeching his footsteps to a halt as James’ back hit the wall of his upstairs hallway, sliding down to the floor and curling up in a ball as he sobbed, joining in with Harry from a slight distance. 

For a long moment, everything felt shattered.

The jigsaw of James’ life post-Lily had crashed to the floor, puzzle pieces scattering haphazardly with no way of being put back together again, rather like the Muggle story of Humpty-Dumpty. 

And then:

“James? James?”

A hand yanked at his shoulder, jolting James’ head upwards as his bloodshot eyes met the blazing grey irises of Regulus Black, who had somehow miraculously materialised in his hallway, a stuffed lion in his hands. 

Backlit by the moon shining through the overhead stained glass window in the upstairs of the Potter home, Regulus was an angel in disguise.

James could practically see the glowing halo sitting atop his head of curls. And, for a second, he felt safe. 

“Help me,” James rasped out, words spilling from his mouth in a desperate plea that he never thought he would voice.

The helplessness he had felt for months finally emanating into a request for assistance, for aid that he had been too ashamed to ask for before. 

But there was just something about Regulus that made James feel like everything was going to be okay.

If only he opened up a little, let his guard down and allowed his pride to shatter on the floor, like his mental health. 

“Please help me, Reg. I can’t do it. I’m a failure,” James whispered shakily. 

And Regulus Black, as if he was indeed an angel sent down from heaven, did nothing but merely nod, grey eyes intent with something that James couldn’t read, and said:

“Okay.”

Chapter Text

Regulus

This love is tainted

I need you and I hate it

You’re caught between a dream and a movie scene

In a way, you know what I mean

When the darts just miss, I just can’t resist it

Cause I’m a fool for you and the things you do

12th August 1982

From a very early age, there were many things that Regulus was taught to understand if he wanted to survive in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

A loveless environment where cruelty crept up the walls like fungi, snatches of happiness whisked away in slammed doors, marked forearms and blasted family trees.

One of them, a fairly normal concept that Regulus had known since he was little enough to notice the ache of touch deprivation seeping into his bones, was to simply accept that you would never be hugged. 

Not by his parents, anyway. Walburga had been too cold-hearted to ever extend an arm to one of her children.

And Orion was far too busy, locked up in his office, to acknowledge the boys running around his home, the boys he didn’t care about until they were old enough to benefit him. 

Sirius hugged him, of course. The only fond memories that Regulus had of his childhood consisted of Sirius, their late-night forts and hushed giggles, arms and legs intertwined as they created their own safe space away from all the madness. 

Regulus had been a child prone to crying whenever Walburga punished him and the arms of Sirius had often been a source of comfort, his older brother always there to catch him when he fell. 

To Regulus - hugs were something that came from and to brothers, not mothers. And certainly not fathers. 

Another thing that Regulus had been taught to understand was the importance of appearances, of how you presented yourself to other people.

Head high, shoulders back, expression stoic. Elegant. Reserved. Intimidating. 

You are superior to everyone. Show it. Or there’ll be consequences. 

First impressions of people were vital, the first instance where judgement could occur and opinions could be formed.

If they weren’t as coolly put together as the purebloods Sirius and Regulus were surrounded by in their youth, then they weren’t worth knowing at all. 

Hugs and appearances. Two things that Regulus had known when and how to utilise accordingly since he could walk and talk. 

Hugs were intimate and vulnerable, something ‘weak’ that was solely between him and Sirius.

Self-presentation was a scripted performance for everyone watching Regulus carefully, waiting for him to be a disappointment like his brother. 

His brother who, when dragging eleven-year-old Regulus into the compartment to meet his mates, had probably forgotten these two things.

It had probably slipped Sirius’ mind that he and Regulus were supposed to sit with the people they had been raised around. 

It had clearly slipped his mind that hugs were exclusively between Sirius and Regulus only.

Because why else would he be embracing James Potter? A boy who’s first impression to Regulus was nothing more than a loud, obnoxious prat with ridiculous hair that wouldn’t stay flat. 

And a firm handshake. Hazel eyes warm with honey hues swirling into caramel, a brown sun warmed with inner gold. A smile that tugged up at one side of his mouth, a crooked front tooth riding on his lip. 

Regulus had hated him. James Potter, the boy who had stolen his Sirius. 

After meeting James, Sirius barely hugged or glanced properly at Regulus again. Hugs were something that came from or to brothers, not mothers and certainly not fathers.

Until even Regulus’ brother wouldn’t hug him anymore. 

“Hey, hey, hey. I’m here,” Regulus soothed upon rushing into Harry’s bedroom, still remotely rattled from seeing James, of all people, in such a state. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the supposedly strong man showcasing all these moments of vulnerability.

Appearances were everything, Regulus had been taught. First impressions mattered.

Well, his opinions on James Potter hadn’t stopped evolving over the past year, the idea Regulus had of the man in his head shattered into irreplaceable fragments. 

So what did that tell him about first bloody impressions? 

A boy who had been the victim of Regulus’ seething glares because James hugged and comforted Sirius, something that Regulus had never been able to do…

A teenager who excelled on the Quidditch pitch but had an oversized ego that made him insufferable, strutting around Hogwarts like he owned the castle…

A man whom Regulus had despised for always being so strong and brave, for being everything that Regulus couldn’t be for Sirius…

A person who, at the end of the day, was inexplicably human. 

Regulus had only managed to grab mere glimpses of James behind his mask over the past year, hoarding them in his brain to try and make sense of how his impression of Sirius’ best friend was changing rapidly from what he had always stuck by.

His blossoming attraction to James, for one. The sympathy and empathy he felt in every ache of his chest, every glance in the man’s direction. 

The pathetic pining that broke his heart into pieces every time Regulus looked at a man he couldn’t have, a man he had hated for so long without making the effort to see the person behind the cocky smile and lopsided glasses. 

A man who was currently hyperventilating in the hallway of his home whilst his son screamed from the bedroom. His son that Regulus was now holding. Hugging. 

What in the name of Salazar’s soggy sandals had just happened?

Regulus hadn’t even been intending to pop over that night but Leo the lion at the end of his bed had begun to taunt him, contributing additional stabs to his heart.

And so, he had Floo-ed over with the intention of leaving as soon as was humanely possible. 

What Regulus hadn’t intended to witness was James Potter in the midst of a breakdown, the heavy scent of Firewhiskey hanging around him as his child wailed through the wall, a shrill piercing noise that neither Sirius or Regulus would’ve gotten away with in their childhood. 

Crying in Grimmauld Place was something to be done alone. Secluded from everyone. Regulus still hadn’t grown out of that conditioning and he didn’t think he ever would. 

Still, he was glad that Harry clearly felt safe enough in his house to cry openly without fear of punishment. Regulus mentally noted to point that out to James, once he had calmed down and sobered up. 

He knew that he should’ve stayed with James, really. Held his hands and talked him through the five stages that Regulus swore religiously by to ease oneself out of a panic attack.

But Regulus had been mostly left alone when crying as a child, before Sirius was old enough to look after him. He’d be damned if Harry was left alone, too. 

The little boy was as red as a tomato, mouth wide open in a scream as tears and snot mingled on his face, fists clenched tight and chest heaving with sobs as Regulus embraced him awkwardly in his arms. 

It had only just hit him that his instinct to pick Harry up probably wasn’t the best gut feeling to follow because Regulus was now realising he had no idea how to hold a two-year-old. 

Did he have to support Harry’s head like you did with babies? Did he let Harry’s legs wrap around his waist or did he need to cradle him like a newborn? 

Merlin, he didn’t have the foggiest idea.

“I’ve got you,” Regulus whispered, clumsily repositioning the child so that Harry’s arms were liable to link around his neck, legs hugging his waist comfortably as the toddler’s head buried into Regulus’ shoulder, sobs beginning to subside slightly. 

“Just cry it out, okay? Get it all out of your system, sweetheart,” Regulus began to rock Harry from side to side slightly, still inwardly freaking out on what to do with a two-year-old in his hold but keeping his cool for the sake of Harry. 

Harry’s muffled sobs dampened Regulus’ robes and he lifted his head to sniffle, splayed hand wiping his nose.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Regulus made a noise of disagreement, gentle fingers grabbing at Harry’s hand and fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket instead. 

“Hankies are always better,” Regulus told Harry, who’s sobs had miraculously quietened to simple sniffles and stray tears here and there. Clearly, he had just needed a hug. Regulus knew that feeling all too well. 

“See, this one has a little snake on it. Call him whatever you want, he’s yours,” Regulus wiped Harry’s face carefully with the handkerchief, still bouncing him up and down gently.

“Speaking of yours,” he continued because he figured talking to Harry would help calm him, “I brought a special someone to visit you. Would you like to see him?” Regulus asked Harry as the toddler’s tears subsided completely, though his face was still flushed and somewhat damp. 

“Yes please,” Harry spoke for the first time since Regulus had entered the room and the lisped sound brought a smile to the man’s face.

He didn’t know why he was suddenly so sickeningly fond of this child…not that he had disliked him in the past year or anything. 

But Regulus had always distanced himself and probably didn’t give himself the chance to get to know Harry and all of his quirks that made him tick.

Didn’t that sound similar to what he’d done with James? Like father, like son, he supposed. 

“Okay, I’m going to put you down then. Is that alright?” Regulus stopped bouncing Harry and the child nodded, placidly allowing Regulus to put him back down onto his bed, legs dangling off the side.

His face was open and keen, green eyes still shining from residual tears, and Regulus felt a punch of fondness again. 

The bright light of the hallway made his eyes squint and Regulus took a deep breath before looking at where James was still sat, back to the wall and tear tracks on his face.

He had also stopped crying but still had that raw, broken vulnerable aura hanging around him that felt foreign to Regulus. 

James was actually holding the very thing that Regulus had popped out of Harry’s bedroom to fetch. Leo was currently being tossed gently from hand-to-hand by James, who had clearly picked up the stuffed lion from where Regulus had dropped it in his haste to help both Potters. 

“Hello,” Regulus mumbled, treading carefully but trying not to startle James, lest he break down again.

James’ hazel eyes were still cast over, the syrupy golden brown slightly dulled by a cloudy look. “Hi,” the man rasped out, throat clearly sore. 

“May I have that?” Regulus questioned, politeness crippling his sentences because he genuinely didn’t know how to act around this James, the James that wasn’t annoying the shit out of him.

Yes, they had had a moment in Monty’s lab where James had confessed to not feeling very strong but this was different. 

More…weighted. There was a lot unsaid in the air between them, the tension thick enough to be broken with a knife. 

“Of course,” James passed him the lion before hesitating, gaze wandering in conflict to Harry’s open bedroom door, “Should I—“ he clearly felt at fault if the guilt submerging his expression was anything to go by. 

“No,” Regulus assured him firmly, watching as some form of pressure seemed to deflate from James’ shoulders.

He evidently wasn’t in the right state of mind to deal with his son. And that was okay. It was okay to have a break, to have a moment to breathe for yourself. Self-care was just as important in parenting. 

“How about you go and fetch the potion dosage from downstairs?” Regulus suggested gently because James’ face was exceedingly glum and he hated seeing it all dulled like that.

That wasn’t how it was supposed to be. 

James’ expression registered surprise, “How did you know—“

“That Harry hasn’t taken the potion I brewed? The potion I know would prevent any meltdowns like that during night? The potion I made to perfection which is sitting in your kitchen right now?” Regulus arched his eyebrows. 

A weak grin filtered across James’ face, embers of amusement igniting in his hazel irises, “You’re a bit full of yourself, aren’t you?” his teasing lacked some of his normal vigour and enthusiasm but it was a hopeful return to his usual self that Regulus grabbed onto with both hands. 

“Can you blame me? Besides, you’re one to talk,” Regulus retorted and James’ grin brightened a little more, a success on Regulus’ part. 

His brief happiness was quickly extinguished, though, when Harry called out, “Dada? Uncle Reg?” from his bedroom, clearly having heard their voices.

The humour in James’ expression was blown out as quickly as a candle, replaced by a sad, guilty look. 

“One second, Harry!” Regulus called back softly, the lion in his hands as he helped James to his feet, “Potion. Go,” he ordered, all business-like. 

James obeyed with a nod but not before catching Regulus on the arm at the top of the stairs, “I owe you for this. Thank you,” he said sincerely, gratitude dripping from every syllable of his sentence. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” 

With that, they parted and Regulus felt strangely cold once James’ hand had disappeared from his arm, the man in question turning away to descend downstairs. 

Regulus paused for only a second before ducking back into Harry’s bedroom, noting with an absent smile the details that he hadn’t acknowledged beforehand in his haste to pick the sobbing child up. 

The walls were coated in a soothing baby blue with trails of snitches decorating the perimeter, dancing atop the skirting boards. 

On the far wall, opposite Harry’s cot bed (the kind that was open on one side to differentiate it from a baby’s crib), was a mural of a stag, dog and wolf surrounded by a field of lilies. 

Wondering what the significance of the animals were but the sting in his chest reminding him exactly what the lilies meant, Regulus scooped Harry back up and settled onto the bed. The mattress dipped beneath him as he positioned the toddler more comfortably on his lap. 

“Leo,” Harry gushed, grabby hands reaching out for his stuffed lion that he had clearly missed if the way he hugged it to his chest was anything to go by. 

“He had a great holiday but I think he’s ready to come home now,” Regulus said, bouncing Harry gently up and down on his knee and trying to ignore how heavy his heart felt in his chest right now. 

Harry was genuinely adorable, this sentiment proved even further by the incoherent babbling he conversed through with Leo.

Regulus’ hand absentmindedly stroked his hair, fighting the lump in his throat because, like James, Harry was something he couldn’t have. 

Like James, Harry was Lily’s. The ghost of Lily Potter hovered in his eyes and the worst part about it was that that reminder wasn’t on Regulus’ part. That had all been James. 

“Those eyes just remind me of how much I’ve failed him.”

“Leo sleepy,” Harry’s babble was suddenly directed at Regulus, punctuated by a yawn that squeezed his eyes shut for a blissful second before they were boring into Regulus once more. 

“Does that mean you’re sleepy too, Mister?” Regulus stood up, holding Harry up underneath his armpits so that his body dangled down, legs kicking playfully as he squirmed.

“No. Me not sleepy,” his mouth betrayed his insistence with another yawn.

“Sure, sure. Okay,” Regulus teased, yanking Leo gently out of Harry’s grip and throwing him on the bed, “Well, Leo’s gone to bed. Aren’t you going to join him? I bet he’s lonely,” he goaded the child who’s expression took on one of shocked determination. 

Wiggling out of Regulus’ hold to drop to the bed below him, Harry crawled atop the duvet to grab Leo, gripping the stuffed animal like it had to be saved or something. 

Regulus instantly dropped to his knees, blocking off the edge of the bed and leaning in conspiratorially, “Looks like you’re trapped,” he said in a hushed whisper and Harry giggled, scrambling to where Regulus was crouched. 

“No. ‘M not,” Harry shook his head, shuffling on his bottom to try and get off the bed.

Regulus waited until the two-year-old’s legs were swung over the side before grabbing them, tossing Harry backwards with a shriek from the toddler. 

“Are too.” 

“Am not!” Harry argued with a pout, trying to crawl off the bed again but finding his path blocked by Regulus, who pulled a funny face that made the child laugh uproariously. 

“Is that so?” he quirked an eyebrow before moving forward to tickle Harry’s sides, causing the child to curl up into a ball, shaking with chuckles 

“Sounds like you guys are having fun in here,” James’ voice came through the sound of Harry’s infectious giggles.

Regulus turned his head instantly, breath catching in his throat at the sight of the man leaning in the doorway. 

James’ hair was a little more unkempt than usual, probably due to stressed hands running through the strands, and he had clearly splashed some cold water on his face, if his slightly damp eyelashes were any clue. 

His eyes were still bloodshot from his breakdown, partially disguised by his glasses, but the fond smile tugging at his lips was faint and it was enough for Regulus, his heart kicking against his chest. 

“No, it’s actually torture in here. Please save us,” Regulus responded dryly, his sarcastic remark causing a genuine chuckle to bubble up out of James’ mouth, which sent a rush of joy through Regulus’ system. 

“Don’t fear, James is here,” the older man joked back before swooping in like a superhero, Harry watching him with wide, keen eyes and a smile on his lips. 

“Dada!” the toddler squealed as James picked him up, hugging him close and closing his eyes for a second.

He appeared like he was almost savouring the moment and conveying a hundred different apologies to Harry through tiny kisses pressed to his son’s forehead. 

Regulus stayed quiet, feeling like he was intruding a little and deciding to distract himself by stirring the potion that James had carried up the stairs, which seemed to be in perfect order. 

James was whispering indistinctly to Harry, the toddler responding with garbled nonsense as Regulus tried to fight the squirming sense of jealousy in his bones. 

How could James think he was a failure when Harry was just so happy when he was around?

It didn’t make any sense. Regulus didn’t think he had ever been as content as Harry when he was a baby, not even when Sirius had been looking after him. 

Even the happy times with Sirius had been marred by the lingering shadow that was their parents, Walburga or Orion able to round any corner and swoop down on the happiness radiating between their two sons, squashing it in an instant. 

“Reg?”

Regulus glanced up from where he had been intently examining Harry’s blanket, eyes staring into the embroidered ducklings like they were the very ghosts of his past. 

“Hm?” he cocked his head to one side, the look on James’ face creating the impression that he had already asked a question, only to get no response due to Regulus’ daydreaming. 

“I asked whether you wanted to give him his potion,” James repeated quietly, gesturing down to Harry who was playing with Leo on his lap, eyelids beginning to droop but they had learnt from last time that sleepiness didn’t always guarantee no meltdowns. 

“Sure,” Regulus swallowed the lump in his throat at such a request, trying to downplay how much that meant to him and simultaneously how much it hurt. 

Because James was allowing him to help with Harry, had asked for his help. But Regulus had to earn the right to stay for as long as James needed him, he had to prove that he was worthy of the chance that James had granted him. 

He knew all too well what happened once he wasn’t useful to somebody anymore. They disposed of him, kicked him to the curb like he was nothing. 

Regulus didn’t want James to do that, not yet. Give him a little time. Just a snatched segment where he could pretend he was the person he craved to be, could experience firsthand the love he had been longing for. 

He needed James just as much. Needed him like oxygen to his lungs, like blood flowing through his veins that felt tainted and poisoned because James only needed Regulus to serve his one purpose - to help him with his son. 

Then Regulus would no longer be useful and he would be alone once more. 

But, for now, he could indulge in a life that he could never have. Regulus could hold Harry and conjure a straw, watching carefully to ensure that the toddler drank the entire potion. 

He could place him gently down onto the bed, Harry’s hands slowly detaching from around Regulus’ finger as his limbs slackened into his peaceful slumber, Leo sprawled across his chest. 

Regulus could watch Harry as he fell asleep, watching cautiously for those chest movements before being satisfied.

He could walk out of the room with James at his side, waving his wand to engulf the room in darkness, with the exception of Harry’s glowing frog night light. 

But they were all moments on borrowed time. Something out of a dream, a movie. A life that wasn’t Regulus’ to live. A life that he didn’t deserve to live, unless he worked hard to earn it. 

“I think I need to apologise.”

Once again, James’ voice brought Regulus out of the depths of intrusive thoughts which he had found himself drowning in, chest tightening and lungs overflowing. 

“About what exactly?” Regulus asked nonchalantly, hovering in the entrance hallway of the Potter household because they had reached the bottom of the stairs now and he wasn’t quite sure what his place was in all of… this. 

“For springing my child on you. Not taking responsibility. Taking risks,” James listed with a disgusted wave down to his dishevelled state as he walked into his living room, Regulus slowly following behind. 

“You did no such thing. I just happened to be here in the right place at the right time. If it had been Remus walking through that door, you would've done the same thing,” Regulus spoke because that had been something niggling at the back of his brain. 

He was nothing special. He had just been convenient to James. 

James began to pace, gesturing for Regulus to sit which he did, albeit awkwardly on an arm of the couch, ankles crossed elegantly and hands folded daintily in his lap. 

“That’s the thing,” James was saying, anguish written into every crevice of his expression, “I don’t think I would’ve.”

Regulus froze in his fidgeting. 

“I mean, Sirius tried to get me to talk to him today. I bit his head off. I faked stability in front of Mary. Hell, even a few weeks back, I shut down after opening up a little bit to Remus because I felt too exposed,” he was ticking things off on his fingers like a checklist. 

“But there’s something about you, Regulus. You make everything seem okay. Like I can just confide in you. What is it about you?” James’ pacing stopped, rounding on the man in a quick moment whilst Regulus felt like his heart was going to pound straight out of his chest. 

James was still somewhat drunk and overstimulated from his breakdown. He didn’t know what he was saying, what words were rambling out of his mouth in a frantic torrent. And he would forget it all in the morning. 

That’s what Regulus was telling himself, anyway. That was the mantra he was chanting through his head because this shaky bond, this understanding, between them wasn’t permanent. 

James needed him in an entirely different way that Regulus did.

They were in the same story but in completely different chapters, their paths written into the pages as alternate lives. And, when their scenes together concluded, Regulus would become a minor character that was used for plot purposes only. 

He wasn’t the main character who got the happy ending. Never had been. Never would be. Those types of things simply didn’t happen to people like him. 

“Maybe I’m just not who you thought I was,” Regulus lifted one shoulder to shrug and tried to ignore the burn of James’ hazel eyes boring into him. If he looked up from staring at the mantelpiece, he was sure to get scalded. 

“You’re certainly not,” James breathed.

Regulus stood, the conflicting emotions in his body too much to handle, “Will that be all? Or would you like to talk about what occurred today?” he asked stiffly but not without concern. 

James’ face clouded and he bit his bottom lip heavily, tongue flitting out to sooth the broken skin with a wince. Regulus swallowed the heavy surge of desire at the sight. Now was not the time, nor the place. 

Appearances were everything. Regulus had to keep his mask firmly up if he was to survive any minute longer in James Potter’s presence. 

“I don’t think I’m ready yet,” he admitted quietly, which was a first step.

Regulus inclined his head to one side slightly because he felt like James had more to say, “Go on.” 

“But I might be ready in the morning. To talk, I mean. To you,” James continued, gaze so intense that Regulus had to look away, inhaling deeply to keep his sanity that was slowly trying to veer off the edge of a cliff. 

“Then I’ll come back in the morning, Potter,” he said, almost like someone reporting to their boss. James clearly didn’t like this, a noise of disapproval falling from his lips. 

“Nah, just stay the night,” he offered Regulus casually, as if such a request could be granted so simply and effortlessly, like it didn’t mean anything at all. 

Because it doesn’t mean anything at all, a snide voice in Regulus’ head whispered. 

“I have a guest room. Two, actually. Take your pick,” James added when Regulus had yet to reply, shock sealing his mouth firmly shut as he was in an internal frenzy. 

“I don’t know whether that’s a good id–”

“Please, Regulus,” James’ face was keen as he openly begged, his hazel irises windows to the eagerness that was shining from within, “I’ll be ready to talk in the morning. And the only person I feel safe doing that with is you.”

Oh. 

James felt safe with him. Regulus Arcturus Black. Not his best friends of nine years. Him. For once, Regulus felt chosen. 

And he knew it was only for a brief moment, that James would tire of his help in a few weeks. That he would toss him aside because Regulus was good for nothing if he didn’t benefit somebody or earn the right to be at someone’s side. 

And maybe it was because Regulus had longed for years to be someone’s first choice. Maybe it was because he had been in the right place at the right time and he was simply interesting to James. None of that mattered. 

Not as long as Regulus mattered for a split moment. James had chosen him. 

Besides, ever since Halloween 1981, when Regulus had begun sneaking second glances at James, unveiling the first impression he had once had of him and feeling something other than hatred towards him, he had been spineless. 

A fool for James Potter, if you would. A fool who would bend to his will in a second. 

“Where’s the guest bedroom?” Regulus asked, the grin that split across James’ face being somewhat reminiscent of the setting sun with the warmth that it warranted to flood over Regulus, like a hug from summer itself. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” James teased, his grin not disappearing as he gestured dramatically with a flourish to the doorway, leading the way. 

It was that grin that made Regulus realise that many of the things he had been taught were wrong. One of them being that appearances and first impressions were important. 

Because that simply wasn’t true.

Regulus had hated James from the day they met, and probably some time before that. But he had taken a second look at James on the day the man’s perfect life had fallen apart and Regulus hadn’t stopped looking since. 

Which surely meant that, oftentimes, first impressions were worth a second glance. 

Regulus certainly thought so. 

Chapter Text

James

Never got the chance

To say a last goodbye

I gotta move on

But it hurts to try

How do I love, how do I love again? 

How do I trust, how do I trust again?

13th August 1982

The golden threads of morning sunlight filtering through the master bedroom’s curtains was what woke James in the early hours.

His head rose slightly from his slumber only to crash back down onto the pillow with a groan. 

He knew it had to be particularly early because the scrambling limbs of his two-year-old hadn’t dragged him out of the realms of sleep, instead waking up on his own. 

Which was essentially a miracle, seeing as Harry was an awfully early riser who insisted on awakening his father the minute that he was up and ready to tackle the new day. 

Not caring whether James felt the same way, of course. 

James swung his legs out of the warmth of his duvet, stretching and lumbering over to the window, brushing the curtains apart so that the daylight could stream into his bedroom with a stronger force. 

The wizarding village of Mould-on-the-Wold was being kissed by the sunrise, the vibrant glow caressing the green fields with droplets of orange reflecting off the river that wound into James’ view. 

The sun peeked out from behind the clouds with a grin, highlighting the sparkle of morning dew on the front lawn as a mesh of orange and yellow melted across the sky. 

And then, in James’ peripheral, a shadow flitted across the front garden. 

Eyes narrowing on the figure in his blurry, no-glasses view, he was able to make out a maroon jumper and head of curls which instantly told him who was standing there, even before James’ clarity was sharpened by the addition of his glasses. 

Regulus Black looked almost peaceful in the early morning sunshine, seated upon the stone bench that was situated at the front of the Potter’s large country home. 

Fascination with the mysterious aura of Regulus was what caused James to stare at Sirius’ younger brother for a little longer than was probably wise, wondering what he was thinking, how he was feeling. 

James didn’t quite yet understand why he was so intrigued by Regulus and why he felt safe around him, in a different type of way to how he felt around his friends. 

Sirius, Remus and Mary had all been his friends since first year and had been through every up and down with him.

They’d suffered through the war and lost mutual friends together, been betrayed by the same rat and were now raising Harry as a collective unit. 

And yet. 

And yet, Regulus. 

There was just something about him that put James at ease.

Maybe it was because looking at Regulus didn’t remind him of all that was lost, unlike with the others where the lingering ghosts of their dead friends constantly hovered. 

Maybe it was because Regulus was one of the few people who hadn’t fallen under the James Potter charm, maybe he felt challenged by the fact that Regulus refused to call him by his first name, that he pushed away from James whenever a sniff of intimacy crawled between them. 

Maybe it was because it hadn’t escaped James’ notice how good Regulus was with Harry, how his son’s eyes lit up during every little interaction with Sirius’ brother.

How Regulus hadn’t hesitated before helping James out, no matter how he may have felt towards him in the past. 

Almost as if they were reading his mind, James suddenly noticed that Regulus had been joined by Harry in the garden, the two-year-old barefoot in his pyjamas as he tried grabbing at some of the blackberries on the bushes circling the Potter home. 

James watched, a lump in his throat, as Regulus smiled gently and scooped Harry up to whisk him away from the bush as the toddler giggled and squirmed in his arms. 

At least James knew why he hadn’t been woken up by Harry that morning. And, instead of that knowledge making him feel like he was failing at being a father, his heart swelled with fondness. 

James quickly got ready for the day, the uneasy knot in his stomach (that had tightened more and more with every day passing without Lily) loosening slightly at the thought of Regulus with Harry. 

Maybe asking for help wasn’t the worst thing in the world, after all. 

Five minutes later, his mouth still tasting of mint from his toothpaste, James headed downstairs, following the sounds that he could hear from the kitchen. 

“Steady, steady, steady. Not too many, pour carefully, okay? Don’t want them all over the floor,” Regulus’ voice, achingly gentle in the way that made a smile tug at James’ lips, came floating through the hallway. 

“More! More!” Harry’s squeal of happiness sounded and James could practically see Regulus rolling his eyes. 

“That’s enough. You see the bubbles?”

“Yep!”

“That means it’s time to flip. Stand back and watch the professional.” 

James reached the kitchen door just in time to see Regulus, dressed immaculately in a pair of James’ sweatpants and maroon jumper, leaning over the stove. 

Harry was seated carefully atop the counter with his legs swinging down and bare feet kicking the cupboard door behind him, a small jar of blackberries in his hand. 

Regulus flipped the pancake quickly, the jumper rising slightly to flash James a quick view of his toned stomach. James looked away swiftly, feeling strangely dizzy. 

He received a little joyful clap from Harry as it landed back in the pan with a thwack. “Again! Again!” the child cried. 

“You can’t flip it more than once, silly,” Regulus chided him playfully, tossing the blackberry pancake onto a plate and decorating it with a few of the blackberries from Harry’s jar. 

“And that’s coming from a professional, Harry, so you better listen to him,” James interjected, causing both Regulus and his son to glance up in surprise, the latter’s face lighting up at the sight of his father. 

Regulus looked somewhat abashed, opening his mouth to say something but Harry beat him to it, scrambling down from the counter and towards James to show him the pancake on his plate, “Daddy, look! Reggie make pancakes!” 

James gently picked Harry up to seat him at the kitchen table so that he didn’t drop his plate.

“Reggie, huh?” he said, directing a raised eyebrow to Regulus, remembering how he hadn’t allowed James to call him anything but his full name. 

“He couldn’t pronounce Regulus,” the man in question quickly said, almost as if he was providing an excuse. 

James chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in ages as Harry wolfed down his pancake, “Neither can I,” he lied with a grin. 

Regulus rolled his eyes before his gaze flicked down to the remaining batter in the measuring jug placed upon the countertop.

“There’s enough for a few more. Would you like a pancake?” he questioned, as if the very words pained him. 

“How very domestic of you, Reggie,” James replied teasingly.

Regulus narrowed his eyes at him, “Or would you rather have the batter thrown at your face? Might make your hair look nicer,” he said snappishly. 

James only grinned, finding nothing but amusement in the snarky quips that Regulus threw his way.

He liked how the man wasn’t creeping around him or treating him any differently than usual, even after yesterday’s breakdown. 

Maybe that was one thing that made Regulus stand out more because James knew for certain that his other friends wouldn’t know how to act around him if they saw him in that kind of state. 

People simply weren’t used to seeing James weaker than the facade he put on.

Sirius, Remus and Mary had all been exceedingly circumspect around him following Lily’s death, unsure how to treat the James that had lost his entire world. 

Regulus acted like he hadn’t just seen James in the depths of despair, reeking of Firewhiskey and ignoring his crying baby. 

“So you think my hair looks nice?”

Regulus blinked. 

“What? No, that’s not what I was saying at all!”

“Well, you see, you added the suffix ‘er’ to modify the adjective ‘nice’ which insinuates you already thought my hair was—”

A blackberry sailing through the air cut James off as it pinged off his forehead. 

There was a beat of silence as James stared Regulus down, the guilty culprit doing nothing but smirking challengingly before Harry’s giggle broke through the staring contest. 

“This isn’t setting a very good example to my son, is it, Reggie?” James cocked his head to one side with a mocking tsk, feeling like he could stay in this moment of lightheartedness forever. 

“Call me Reggie one more time and I will not hesitate in flinging this pancake batter at you,” Regulus retorted, his facial expression not betraying anything. 

James gasped playfully, “After I’ve kindly allowed you to stay over at my house? Oh, the cheek of it.” 

“You asked me to do that—”

“And you’re wearing my clothes…” James shook his head dramatically, his blood pressure rising at the pure ease of banter with Regulus, who took the bait wonderfully and provided the reaction that James was fishing for. 

“Because you told me to!” Regulus was indignant and all James could do was smile.

Why hadn’t Sirius told him how adorable Regulus was when he got all riled up? 

“So you like taking orders from me?” James said without thinking before realising how flirtatious that comment was.

It had just been what had come straight to mind when teasing Regulus and he instantly felt guilty about it. 

He didn’t mean to flirt with Regulus, did he? James was still in love with Lily, he would always be in love with Lily. 

And James was determined not to love anyone like he loved Lily ever again because he couldn’t go through the pain he was still experiencing in the aftermath of her death. Not again. So, flirting with Regulus was wrong, wrong, wrong. 

But, if that was the case, why did it feel so right?

“That’s not what I said,” Regulus replied through gritted teeth, his cheeks flaming.

James felt momentarily entranced by the pink tinge crawling onto his face, hating himself for looking at Regulus for longer than was probably acceptable. 

And then the moment was broken: 

“Dada, pancake burn.” 

Turns out Regulus’ face wasn’t the only thing heating up. 

“Shit,” Regulus hissed and James didn’t even have the heart to scold him for swearing in front of Harry because Merlin only knew he and his friends had done the same over the years. Lily had been forced to police their language constantly. 

The burnt pancake was luckily salvaged with a quick Aguamenti. Regulus still served it to James with a little shit-eating smile on his face, like he was taking joy in the fact that, out of all of them, James had to be the one to eat the slightly soggy, burnt breakfast. 

All flirtatious banter flew out of the window as breakfast continued, with Regulus eating his own pancake and feeding Harry the spare blackberries absentmindedly. 

He then carted Harry upstairs to brush his teeth and get changed once he saw that James was still eating, an act that put him on the receiving end of a garbled, “Thank you,” from the father in question. 

By the time that Regulus returned downstairs, James had washed all the dishes and pans used for the pancakes with a few swishes of his wand, utilising the houseworking spells that Euphemia had taught him. 

“I probably should’ve asked before giving into Harry’s demands, sorry,” Regulus’ voice made James turn around from where he was beginning to prepare a tea tray, placing two mugs, a teapot, milk jug and sugar onto it. 

“No worries,” James shrugged, “His puppy dog eyes can be quite hard to refuse sometimes,” he remarked with a slight laugh. 

Regulus rolled up the sleeves of James’ maroon jumper absently, revealing pale wrists but nothing more, clearly well aware of the faded Dark Mark scarring his left forearm. 

“Guess we know who he gets that from then,” Regulus shrugged, looking pointedly at James who held his hands up in mock surrender with a grin, still wondering what it was about Regulus that made him forget all of his woes. 

“Is Harry upstairs?” James questioned as he slipped past Regulus in the doorway with the teatray in his hand, beckoning for the man to follow him which Regulus did with a certain degree of stiffness. 

“Yeah, he’s playing with that grey cat of yours,” Regulus responded, hovering awkwardly whilst James threw himself back onto the sofa in the living room.

“Cinders,” he said. 

“I beg your pardon?”

James chuckled, “Cinders. That’s the name of our cat. Based off the Muggle fairytale Cinderella, I’m assuming you’ve never heard of it?” he peeked up at Regulus, who looked completely baffled. 

“Cinderella? Sounds like some kind of nasty disease,” he said dryly. 

James practically guffawed, clapping his hands together with a laugh, “That’s what I said! But Lily—” the name got stuck in his throat, causing him to choke on his words as a swell of emotion arose in his chest. 

Regulus frowned, “That reminds me of the chat you promised we’d have today,” he looked almost resigned as he spoke which made James instantly feel like he was being somewhat of a burden. 

“Oh, it’s okay,” he replied hastily, “I’m over that whole breakdown now, see?” James gave Regulus a massive grin to prove his point but the younger man clearly wasn’t falling for his pretences because his eyebrows furrowed further. 

“Yes, that’s why you can’t even say your late wife’s name without choking up,” Regulus returned sardonically, dry wit underlining his response. 

“Jesus Christ, Reg, don’t hold back,” James joked with a hand pressed to his chest in mock pain, admittedly a little taken aback by Regulus’ forwardness but finding that he didn’t actually mind being called out on his shit. 

“Well, you did make me stay over because you said you’d be ready in the morning,” Regulus stated, simply choosing not to engage in the lighthearted banter that James was trying to induce him in. 

“Don’t act like it was a chore,” James chortled, still feeling slightly unsettled at Regulus’ ability to see straight through his attempts at deflection, “You had fun making pancakes this morning.” 

“Indeed I did,” Regulus said, his gaze searching, “But you don’t have to pretend in front of me, James. You asked for my help, I gave it. You said you’d be willing to talk about everything with me, I’m here.” 

I’m here. 

For someone who had felt exceedingly lonely ever since Halloween of last year, feeling like he was alone even when he had his friends around him, James’ throat clogged up at Regulus’ simple assurance that he was willing to listen to all of the emotions whirlwinding within him. 

He cleared his throat, smiling shakily, “You called me James.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes. Hard. 

“Is that all you took from that?” 

The way that Regulus was standing suddenly made James panic that Sirius’ brother was going to walk out of the room so he quickly rushed to amend whatever friction he had caused, “No, no! Take a seat, please. I’ll talk. Just sit down.” 

Regulus’ stance relaxed and he appeared almost amused, “Are you not going to speak a word until I’m sat?” he questioned with a tilt of his head. 

“I’ll stay completely silent, yes,” James responded solemnly. 

“Somehow, I feel like that’s impossible for you to achieve,” Regulus muttered with a strange smile playing at his lips but he sat down opposite James, reaching for the teapot and pouring himself a cup. 

“You’d be surprised at the lengths I’d go to in order to be annoying. One time, on April Fools Day, me and the lads decided to go completely silent for the entire morning so that the whole school would think we were up to something when we were actually—-ew, do you drink your tea black? ” James cut himself off in horror. 

Regulus paused with his teacup, a smirk hardly visible behind the porcelain and James had a sudden urge to smash the mug just so that he could see the smirk in its full potential. 

“Seems only fitting, don’t you think?” he lifted one shoulder to shrug. 

“You’re a heathen,” James whispered in disgust, mouth agape, “And a disgrace to British people, I hope you’re proud of yourself.” 

“Good thing that I’m French then, isn’t it?” Regulus said with a wink. 

A wink. He winked.

James felt suddenly flustered, for a reason unbeknown to him and he busied himself quickly with pouring milk and sugar into his own tea. 

“That explains why you’re hyper all of the time,” Regulus commented. 

James’ head whipped up, indignant, “Are you judging me on how I take my tea?” 

“You judged me first!” 

“Yes, because you’re drinking it black! You’re not normal!” 

“And you are?” Regulus retorted, bringing a snort out of James as the playful argument settled, both of them looking directly at one another with bright smiles before they glanced down at their laps simultaneously. 

That was new. 

There was a beat of silence before James spoke again, “I don’t feel very normal right now,” he said pointedly, hoping Regulus understood that he was trying to start the conversation about his feelings now. 

“Oh okay,” Regulus seemed to gather himself, clearly taken aback slightly by the sudden switch from banter to seriousness. “Why is that?” he crossed one leg over the other, poised to listen. 

“I just feel…” James glanced into the swirling depths of his tea to avoid Regulus’ direct gaze, “...like I’m stuck in one place. I’ve mentioned this before to you,” he looked up to receive Regulus’ nod of acknowledgment. 

“It’s almost like I’m on one of those carousel rides, you know? Spinning around again and again, passing the same things no matter how hard I try to get off. Lily…she just has me in a chokehold. Did you know that I spent more years pining after her than I actually did in a relationship with her?” 

Regulus' headshake was melancholic, his eyes sad. 

James laughed bitterly, “Well, now you do. She was such a huge part of my life. I mean, I had a bloody kid with her, for Circe’s sake. It’s like she left a hole behind that I can’t fill no matter what. All I have left of her is Harry and I’m not even succeeding at being there for him. That’s what Petunia said, anyway.”

“Who’s Petunia?” Regulus sought clarification, confusion woven into his voice. 

“Lily’s older sister,” a humourless smile twisted at James’ lips, “She’s a Muggle. Scorned and snubbed Lily for being magical because she was jealous. She was a downright bitch to Lils ever since she got her Hogwarts letter and then had the audacity to bring flowers to her grave,” James clenched his fists. 

“Maybe she was trying to make amends? Siblings feel regret for their actions all of the time,” Regulus piped up, clearly trying to play Devil’s Advocate but James couldn’t help notice that the suggestion sounded rather personal. 

“Nah, she wasn’t sorry at all. She…uh…she said Lily wouldn’t be proud of me. And that Harry’s a pathetic freak who’ll meet the same rotten end,” James told him. 

Regulus’ face cleared, “Okay, so she’s a bitch then,” he said in such a matter-of-fact way that James allowed himself to laugh, sipping his tea to soothe his throat which felt rather dry at the moment. 

“She was the reason I was in such a state last night,” James explained and understanding dawned on Regulus’ face.

“That and the fact that I argued with Sirius. He was trying to get me to open up to him and I kinda…snapped,” he admitted sheepishly. 

Regulus’ expression bore no judgement, “I get it. Sirius tends to have that effect on people. He cares so much that, in his urgency to work out what’s wrong, he sometimes ignores boundaries,” he informed James, evidently empathetic. 

James felt a rush of gratitude at Regulus’ analytic response because he had honestly been feeling like he was crazy for being annoyed at Sirius for wanting to help.

The fact that Regulus not only understood but also sympathised put him entirely at ease. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

An ironic smile sat in the corner of Regulus’ mouth, “That’s what I’m here for, isn’t it?” 

A bolt of indignation shot through James’ body at Regulus’ clear misunderstanding of why he was here, why James felt safe enough to confide in him, why he felt comfortable enough to allow Harry around him. 

He wanted to tell Regulus that he was here for so much more than therapy, that he was worth so much more…

“Do you think that boundaries can be a bad thing sometimes?”

Regulus took a contemplative sip of his tea with his eyebrows furrowed, “You’re going to have to elaborate, James.” 

(His heart totally didn’t do a cartwheel when Regulus said his first name for the second time that day). 

“I just think…” James hesitated but, at Regulus’ encouraging nod, he continued, “I’ve set up so many boundaries over the years. I’ve bottled up emotions because I didn’t feel ready to talk about how I was feeling, because I felt like I was inconveniencing people and that my problems weren’t as big as theirs.” 

“I detest people pitying me, I push people away when they try to talk to me about my feelings because I’d rather help them, not myself. I hate asking for help. People know these things about me and they respect my boundaries. But is it possible I’m just hurting myself further by doing all of this?” 

James let out a huge breath after that torrent of mangled emotions, all of the conflicted, threadbare thoughts that had tangled up in his brain over the past few years finally unravelling at the seams before their very eyes. 

“That’s deep,” Regulus sighed heavily, looking rather thrown. 

“Sorry,” James mumbled. 

Regulus waved him off, “Don’t apologise. I’m just trying to think of the right response. I don’t want to say anything wrong in case I influence you badly or project my own trauma onto you,” he admitted freely. 

“Honestly, you could say anything at this point. I wouldn’t care. Just the fact that you’re actually sitting here and listening to my bullshit is enough. You’re an angel, Reg,” James said honestly, pretty sure that he was imagining Regulus’ sudden blush. 

“First of all, it’s not bullshit. It’s how you feel, James. That’s important,” Regulus’ grey eyes were serious. “Secondly, I’m a personal advocate for boundaries, no matter how unhealthy they are. Always have been. If you don’t want to talk about it, you shouldn’t have to,” he paused. 

“But, over the past year, I’ve found that talking about whatever is bothering you can actually help. Breaking those boundaries once in a while to just…get it all out…can be very healthy. Healing, even. Mine and Sirius’ relationship is far from perfect but it’s better than it was and I think that’s because we’re both a little more open now. Our boundaries kept us from talking it out so, yes, I do think that they can be a bad thing. Sometimes.” 

James digested this, drinking in Regulus’ words and internally swearing to cherish them because he knew that sort of enlightening response didn’t tend to come often. 

Maybe he was right. Maybe the reason James was struggling to heal and move on was because he was so insistent to just get on with whatever life threw his way, no matter how much it physically pained him to continue his life without Lily. 

No matter how much life felt pointless in pursuing without Lily. 

Was Lily a boundary in a way? By holding her close to his heart and refusing to open his eyes to the possibilities of love again, was James restricting himself? 

“I hate her sometimes, y’know,” he found himself saying out-loud for the first time, something he had never dared to say to another person out of fear of being seen as crazy. 

Regulus, to his credit, simply rolled with the abrupt admittance, “Who?” 

Oh, he definitely knew. The sneaky motherfucker was just trying to get James to say the name without choking. 

“Lily,” James forced out, the name tasting miserable in his mouth so he kept speaking to try and quell the distaste under his tongue, “I hate her for leaving me.”

“She didn’t really have a choice, James,” Regulus said gently and James closed his eyes, immediately regretting saying such a thing because he knew that. Of course he fucking knew that. 

“I knew you’d think I was crazy—”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” 

James’ breath caught in his chest, lungs tightening as he met Regulus’ sincere gaze, “You don’t?” he practically whispered. 

Regulus shook his head, “I don’t. It’s…normal to hate people for leaving you, even if they didn’t have any other choice,” his response bordered on something deeper, more personal again but James didn’t call him out for it. 

“Well, I don’t hate her all the time,” James defended himself, watching as Regulus smiled indulgently, still encouraging him, “I love her. I’ll always love her.”

Regulus’ face shuttered slightly for a split second but James didn’t think anything of it, “I just hate being alone, I guess. The world feels so goddamn empty without her in it. My purpose in life for so long was to love Lily with every bone of my body. Now I feel like I don’t have a purpose anymore.”

Regulus said nothing. 

“My purpose in life now is to love Harry with everything in me. Which is more than enough to make me try harder, to try for him. For Lily. Because he’s a part of Lily, y’know? And that makes me feel even worse because he’ll never know her.” 

Regulus was silent for a moment before speaking up, “Do you not…” he appeared to re-organise his thought process, “Do you not think that living for someone else is mediocre? Your purpose was Lily. Now it’s Harry. What about yourself, James? Where do you fall in all of this?” 

James’ mouth dropped and he let out a slight whistle of appreciation, “Damn, you’re good at this. You should consider being a therapist or something, mate.” 

Regulus smiled wryly, “Thanks. It’s the childhood trauma. Don’t be fooled - I may be good at doling it out but I’m not very good at taking my own advice,” he quipped before sobering up a little, smile dropping, “Now answer the question.” 

James shivered mockingly, “Intimidating your clients, okay,” he joked and he could’ve sworn he saw a glimmer of amusement pass through Regulus’ eyes like a shooting star but, with a blink, it was gone. 

“I don’t know,” he said finally, all traces of humour dissipated, “I think I stopped living for myself a while ago,” James admitted, “It’s just…it’s hard. I’ve spent my life always thinking of others, putting people before me. Now that I’m the one that needs help, I’m struggling. I mean, it literally took me months to even admit that I needed help.”

“That’s a very selfless life you’ve lived, James,” Regulus said quietly, something like admiration in his tone, “But you need to start putting yourself first. Live for yourself. Do what makes you happy. Don’t let Lily hold you back.” 

“But I—” James went to protest and Regulus held his hands up. 

“I know you love her, James,” he sighed tiredly, “I know. Just…maybe start loving yourself a bit more. Boost your ego through the roof again. Believe in yourself, try to stop seeing Harry as nothing but Lily’s son. It’s not fair to you, or anyone else, if you constantly look into the past. Keep your eyes on the goal in front of you, not the one behind.” 

Regulus really knew what he was doing with those Quidditch metaphors, didn’t he?

James, for what felt like the millionth time that conversation, let himself soak in the significance of Regulus’ words because the man really was extremely wise. 

Regulus’ face was nothing but earnest, grey eyes shining with fervour as he tried to help James understand that he needed to start blowing the ghosts of his past out like cobwebs. 

The living room light shone off his curls, illuminating Regulus’ face and James was struck with the realisation, once again, that Regulus Black was quite angelic. 

God, he thought whilst staring at Regulus momentarily, You’re lovely. 

How had he not known Regulus was like this before? How had this side of Sirius’ younger brother never been unleashed to the naked eye? 

Unconsciously, James reached across the coffee table that had sat between them the entire time, his hand brushing aside a curl that had fallen into Regulus’ face. 

Regulus stilled and the entire universe seemed to hold its breath as James’ hand fell and trailed down the younger man’s cheek accidentally. 

“Thank you,” James said sincerely, Regulus still looking at him in an almost frightened manner, frozen like a deer in headlights, “I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

“What?” the word was merely a breath from Regulus’ lips. 

“Just how…brilliant…you are. You’re truly one of a kind, Regulus,” James told him, meaning every word because Regulus had genuinely come out of nowhere and sidetracked him, intriguing James with every quirk of his personality. 

Every word he had spoken, especially in that long heart-to-heart that they had just had, sat deeply within the crevices of James’ heart and he knew he would come back to reflect on them in order to heal. 

Like Regulus was James’ own little guardian angel, bespoking words of wisdom and protecting him with a heavenly glow. 

“Thank you,” Regulus choked out, grey eyes bordering on a teary bluish hue akin to that of sunlight on slate. And then he swallowed. Hard. Stiffened. 

The universe exhaled huffily like a deflated balloon as Regulus put his mug down abruptly, eyes switching to a stormy thunderstorm grey, “I have to go,” he mumbled. 

“What? Did I do something wrong?” James questioned naively, instantly worried as Regulus practically flew to his feet in a blur of maroon. 

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Regulus replied distractedly, expression frantic as he hurried out of the living room with James quick on his tail. 

He spun around, nearly colliding with James who had been following closely behind with a knitted brow of concerned confusion, “You’re just so you, James,” Regulus’ hands flailed like he didn’t know where to put them. 

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” James wondered as Regulus snatched up a handful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace. 

Regulus could barely meet his gaze, a strange pink flush still lingering on his cheeks like a swirl of candyfloss, “Take a guess,” he flashed a hesitant smile and disappeared with a muttered address and flash of green fire. 

James cursed underneath his breath, racking his brain to think of what he could’ve possibly done wrong.

Hadn’t Regulus been the one who said that communication was a good thing? Why was he now being so confusing? 

Guess he really had meant it when he said he didn’t take his own advice. 

“SHIT!” said Harry from upstairs, “Dada, Cinders give me ouchie!” 

“Thanks, Regulus,” James muttered sarcastically to the empty fireplace before hurrying upstairs to tend to his son and lightly scold him on the usage of the swear word that he had clearly picked up from Regulus that morning. 

“Thanks a bunch.” 

Chapter Text

Regulus 

That's my fuckin' best friend, that's my fuckin' right hand

That's my fuckin' throw-up-in-the-bathroom-but-still-love-them

That's my fuckin' best friend, best friend

That's my fuckin' best friend, best friend

That's my fuckin' lifeline, that's my ride or die like

That's my fuckin' hate-you-but-you-know-that-that's-a-damn-lie

Baby, you're my best friend, best friend

13th August 1982

It was all thanks to Barty Crouch, Professor McGonagall and alphabetical seating plans, really. 

When Regulus was eleven years old, he made a decision that, at the time, felt like the worst mistake ever. 

He spoke in Transfiguration when McGonagall was talking. Which, as any Hogwarts student would know, was basically signing himself up for a personal gallow with his name engraved on it. 

Regulus still remembered the day like it was yesterday because something that had seemed like the grandest error of all time turned into the best choice he’d ever made. 

It had been early November, just barely two months into Regulus’ time at Hogwarts because he remembered thinking that he was going to get expelled on the spot, like the stupid eleven-year-old he was. 

Professor McGonagall had been giving her lecture about Switching Spells, the topic the first years were gearing up to learn about, when Barty had started whispering to Regulus.

Normally, Regulus was quite good at tuning other people out during class, especially Barty whom he wound up sat next to in many lessons due to their surnames landing beside each other in the register. 

This time, however, it had been about Sirius. 

“Did you see your brother and his cronies making all that racket this morning? How annoying was it? They always have to be the centre of attention,” Barty had grumbled. 

“Well, it is Sirius’ birthday,” Regulus had whispered back, still at the point where he felt the right to defend his older brother because his and Sirius’ relationship hadn’t entirely soured yet. 

“Okay and?” Barty had raised an eyebrow, “It was my birthday last month and I didn’t see you and Evan singing ‘Happy Birthday’ at the top of your lungs,” he had pointed out. 

Regulus had chewed the end of his quill, anxiously aware that their hushed conversation was risky as B and C surnames were seated in the front row. 

McGonagall had luckily been walking around the room at that point so they weren’t directly under her nose, hence why Barty had probably started talking in the first place. 

“Why would we?” Regulus had raised an eyebrow snarkily, “It would just be causing a racket,” he had said mildly, sass interwoven deep within his response. 

Before Barty could reply, however, a shadow had fallen over the boys’ desk and Regulus had felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. 

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt, boys. Do continue with your conversation. I’ll wait,” McGonagall had drawled coolly, reducing both Regulus and Barty to stuttering messes. 

“Professor, we were just—-“

“Save the excuses, Mr Crouch. Let’s see…Miss Meadowes, do me a favour and swap with Mr Black over here seeing as these two boys clearly can’t be trusted together,” McGonagall had ordered. 

Regulus had been sent back two rows, swapping with Athena Meadowes and plopping down next to Pandora Lestrange, a slightly wayward blonde girl whom Regulus had been indifferent towards beforehand. 

Regulus hadn’t minded because his desk with Pandora placed him in front of Evan, who was at the back of the classroom next to Ianthe Selwyn. He hadn’t paid any attention to Pandora at all in the delight of being seated near Evan. 

That soon changed, however. 

Once McGonagall’s lecture was safely over and a low hum of chatter was allowed as they wrote down notes from A Beginners Guide to Transfiguration, he was kind of forced to pay attention. 

“Shittin’ Salazar,” Pandora’s cry had distracted Regulus from where he had been quietly laughing with Evan at Barty’s expense. 

Barty looked downright miserable at the front next to Athena who was a silent, brooding sort unlike her louder and funnier sister, Dorcas, in the year above. 

“What’s the matter?” Regulus had spun back around, only to be greeted with a giggling Pandora, who’s mouth was entirely blue like an entire patch of blueberries had exploded in her mouth. 

Or, more alternatively, an entire ink pot. 

“Quill exploded,” Pandora had said with wide eyes and Regulus had raised an eyebrow in confusion before clocking onto the fact that Pandora had a Self-Inking Quill. 

A few minutes later had found Regulus in the third floor girls' bathrooms for the first (and last) time in his life, helping Pandora scrub the ink off her hands and mouth. 

McGonagall could’ve cleaned her up with a simple charm, of course, but the Scottish woman had seemed more inclined to allow Pandora to suffer the consequences of her own actions. 

“It’s not coming off!” Pandora had giggled. 

“You’re going to be blue forever,” Regulus had replied solemnly, watching the stream of blue ink flow onto the white ceramic sinks. 

“It looks like I’m wearing blue gloves!” Pandora had held up her hands and Regulus had found himself liking the slightly strange girl more and more, feeling drawn to her carefreeness. 

“You can make it the new school fashion,” Regulus had chuckled as Pandora had attempted to scrub at her mouth too, partially in vain. 

“Well, if it’s a fashion, Regulus, then you must become blue too,” Pandora had insisted, holding her hands up to Regulus’ face as he had run away with a shriek. 

“No, no! I’m Regulus Black , not Regulus Blue!” he had cried before the two of them had run straight into Professor Flitwick, who had cleaned Pandora up in a jiffy. 

They’d been best friends ever since. 

Some mistakes were worth making. 

*

“Let me in, I’m having a gay crisis,” Regulus groaned through the letterbox of the Lovegood house, a black-coloured cylindrical building that was rather similar in nature to that of a giant chess rook. 

The door swung open in an instant, revealing a slightly disheveled looking Pandora Lovegood in denim dungarees and a floral top that had painty fingerprints pressed into the fabric. 

“Aren’t you always having a gay crisis, Reg?” Pandora questioned in amusement with a tilt of her head before grabbing his hand and dragging him over the threshold. 

Regulus found himself pulled directly into the entirely circular kitchen, an occurrence that had taken him by surprise the first time he visited Pandora since she married Xenophilius. 

“That’s homophobic, you can’t say that,” Regulus complained as he leant against the rickety kitchen table, which was currently littered with some form of magazine outlines in a variety of different styles as if someone was experimenting. 

“Shut up or I’ll kick you out and you can cry about James Potter on your own,” Pandora said firmly as she waved her wand to make up a tea set, hovering it above her as she gestured for Regulus to go upstairs. 

“How do you know I’m talking about James?” Regulus grumbled, traipsing up the spiral wrought-iron staircase that led to the living room, a place inhabiting a lot of Xenophilius’ journalist clutter, Pandora’s artwork and a playmat hosting a baby girl. 

“Who else would you be having a gay crisis about?” Pandora asked rhetorically, setting the tea tray down on a three legged stool. 

Regulus ignored her, eyes fixated on the one-year-old crawling towards him with a pale blue dummy in her mouth, wispy pale blonde hair sticking out in tiny space buns. 

“Hello Luna sweetheart,” he cooed to his goddaughter, picking her up carefully. 

Regulus smiled gently when Luna began to climb his shoulder, little fingers clutching at the maroon jumper that he was still wearing, having come straight from James’ house. 

“She’s overtired because we’ve been finger painting all morning so I should probably put her down for a nap,” Pandora said from where she had sat down on a mustard yellow couch in the shape of a banana. 

Regulus had long since given up on questioning his best friend and her husband’s inexplicably peculiar choice in furniture. 

“Don’t spoil my fun,” Regulus glared at Pandora playfully as he bounced Luna on his lap, having sat down on a cushy red armchair (there was no colour theme in Pandora’s house whatsoever). 

“Mummy’s trying to separate us, isn’t she? Isn’t she? Mummy’s a meanie,” Regulus said in his baby voice, jiggling Luna up and down. 

The one-year-old simply responded by garbling so enthusiastically that her dummy fell out of her mouth, followed by a glob of saliva which landed on Regulus’ thigh. 

Pandora snorted. 

“Serves you right.” 

“Thanks, Luna,” Regulus returned to his normal voice, fixing his goddaughter with a mock unimpressed look as she giggled happily back at him, “I thought we were on the same team but you just had to betray me, didn’t you?” 

Pandora laughed even more, the jangly sound akin to that of bells ringing, “Luna’s always got my back. Now give me my daughter, child thief,” she held out her arms for Luna. 

Regulus handed his goddaughter over reluctantly, vanishing the saliva off his pants with a quick spell and helping himself to the tea that Pandora had provided as she nipped upstairs to put Luna down. 

That was how Pandora found him approximately three minutes later: staring into the dark abyss of his black tea and wondering wildly if Lily Potter had drunk her tea with milk and sugar like James. 

Maybe Regulus was just too plain and boring for James. 

“You look like you’re contemplating life.” 

“I am,” Regulus responded sombrely, “I’m just wondering how small I would have to be in order to drown in this cup of tea.” 

“I can shrink you, if you’d like. We can find out,” Pandora offered. 

“That’s a kind offer but it’s okay,” Regulus sighed in an extremely melancholic way as Pandora ambled over to peer at his tea. 

“Hypothetically, you’d drown pretty fast in there seeing as you’re a heathen who drinks it plain,” she scoffed at her best friend, clearly not aware how sensitive Regulus was about such a topic right now. 

“Ugh, that’s what James said,” Regulus cried out in a fit of despair, placing the teacup down gently before flinging himself dramatically across the banana couch, face down into a cushion that smelt suspiciously of Gillyweed. 

“See! I knew your gay crisis was about James!” Pandora cried triumphantly. 

“Doesnttakeageniustoworkthatoneout,” Regulus retorted, his speech indistinct due to his current position on the couch. 

“Sorry, I don’t speak Muffled Cushion. What was that?” 

Regulus lifted his head slightly, “I said that it doesn’t take a genius to work that one out.” 

“I know what you said, I’m just being annoying,” Pandora said cheerfully as she shoved Regulus to one side of the banana couch.

Then she was pulling him back down so that his head was in her lap, her heavily ringed fingers running through his hair soothingly. 

“You have no sympathy whatsoever,” Regulus murmured in a faux complaint, allowing himself to be pampered and trying not to wince when Pandora’s cherry encrusted ring snagged one of his curls. 

“I guess I’ll just stop then,” Pandora quipped back, stilling her fingers.

Regulus whined dramatically and grabbed her hand, “No,” he hissed, his best friend letting out a hearty laugh before continuing her slight massage. 

“What’s happened then? Are you gonna talk to me about it?” Pandora’s voice washed over Regulus like a soothing honey, genuine concern interwoven in her tone. 

Pandora had always been a source of comfort to Regulus - even in the midst of the war when he had been a Death Eater (and she had known) with mistrust hanging around every corner, she had not failed in making sure that Regulus knew she would always be there for him. 

Pandora knew him better than he knew himself but that hadn’t stopped Regulus from pushing her away, to the point where they hadn’t properly spoken in the months following their Hogwarts graduation. By the time the cave had approached, Pandora hadn’t heard from him in ages. 

Regulus still remembered the day that he had appeared on Pandora’s doorstep, not long after Halloween 1981 when the entire wizarding world was in the heights of jubilation over Voldemort’s defeat. 

Pandora had stared at him in utter shock for a long moment before smacking him around the head, bursting into tears and bringing him into a hug.

That had been a day of high emotions and truth spilling out over several glasses of Daisyroot Draught, a cocktail that Pandora specialised in making. 

“I’m just being stupid,” Regulus closed his eyes, soaking in the sensation of having his hair played with.

Arguably, he thought that it was one of the best feelings in the world and he wondered briefly what it would feel like if James ran his hands through Regulus’ curls. 

Ugh, he was so far gone, it was unbelievable. 

“That’s a daily occurrence, Reg, so don’t colour me surprised,” Pandora commented, twirling a strand of Regulus’ hair around her forefinger and letting it spring back, ricocheting off his forehead, “But, something is up. So, spill.”

“I like James.”

Regulus still had his eyes shut but he could practically feel Pandora rolling her eyes, “No shit, Sherlock. Tell me something I don’t already know.” 

“No,” Regulus’ eyes shot open, inherently serious because he needed Pandora to understand the severity of his situation. “I really like James.” 

Pandora’s mouth fell open for a brief moment before, to her credit, she swallowed the fact and tapped Regulus’ shoulder to budge his head from her lap.

He obeyed and his best friend stood up, long blonde plait swinging as she walked over to a cabinet in the corner and grabbed a bottle of Goblin made wine. 

“Think you’ve deserved this,” she uncorked the bottle and handed it to Regulus, who hesitated for a mere second as his gaze flickered to the large sunflower shaped clock on the wall. 

“It’s barely lunchtime,” he protested weakly. 

Pandora shrugged, “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” she said nonchalantly. 

Regulus briefly thought of James last night, inebriated and out of his mind, Firewhiskey rolling off his body in strong waves with his expression unfocused.

James clearly drank to erase the pain swamping his body and that was one of the things that they hadn’t touched upon whilst talking today. 

Speaking of what had occurred today, Regulus was not proud of his actions and the fact that he had fled without barely a second glance at James, who was probably extremely confused and overthinking, wondering what he had done to upset Regulus. 

He swore internally to himself that he would rectify that but, in the moment where James had basically fucking caressed his cheek and looked at Regulus like he was the only one holding the world upright on the axis, he had panicked. 

“You’re truly one of a kind, Regulus.” 

Who the fuck said that to a ‘friend’?

Okay…James didn’t have the foggiest clue about Regulus’ extremely painful unrequited crush on him.

So, in retrospect, it wasn’t his fault that he said such groundbreaking words. He didn’t know what kind of impact such a sentence would have on Regulus’ weak heart. 

Merlin, Regulus’ heart had pounded so violently against his ribcage that he could’ve sworn it was trying to break free and scream out-loud about his very embarrassing feelings for one James Potter. 

His emotions had churned inside of him akin to that of a hurricane hurtling at full speed, scooping up any pocket of oxygen in his body and sealing it in a closed bag.

Because there was nothing worse than James speaking words that Regulus had only ever dreamt of him saying. 

Especially when, only a few minutes previously, James had been insisting that he still loved Lily and that he would always love Lily.

Regulus was pretty sure that he had felt his heart (or whatever scraps that were left of it) shatter into further pieces at those admissions. 

It was nothing that Regulus hadn’t known already, of course.

James had been one half of a whole ever since Lily’s demise. Regulus’ brief encounters with him over the past year alone had proved that the man was still struggling to get over the love of his life dying. 

But for James to directly say to his face that he still loved Lily, despite his little flirtatious comments and infectious grins, his soft touches and words that made Regulus feel ten feet high, had hurt.

Especially because James had followed such words up with achingly gentle actions that sent Regulus into a frenzy. 

Talk about a double edged sword. 

Regulus told all of this to Pandora over some wine, swilling the red liquid around in his glass that was a strange crystal shape (he expected nothing less from his best friend, to be completely honest). 

“I mean, I knew I liked him,” Regulus was saying after detailing to Pandora what James had told him in relation to his feelings about Lily.

“But I think,” his eyes stung, “I think agreeing to make the potion and spending more time with him and Harry has made it worse,” Regulus’ voice was strangled. 

“That’s only natural,” Pandora responded softly, reaching over to hold Regulus’ hand and squeeze it tightly.

They were now sat on opposite sides of the banana shaped sofa, legs thrown up onto the cushions so that they tangled together slightly. 

“You’re amazing with Luna so I bet you’re great with Harry too. And I’m sure James appreciates that. Merlin only knows that child has been through enough. He deserves to have loving people around him,” Pandora added with a sip of her wine, already on her second glass. 

“I’m good with children because I know how not to treat them,” Regulus commented blithely and Pandora grimaced sympathetically.

She’d been friends with him long enough to know the ins and outs of the Black household and all that it entailed, all that Regulus went through. 

“And I’m sure James does appreciate it, yes. But he’ll just appreciate me in the same way that he does with his friends. Probably even less. I mean, he’s known Remus, Sirius and Mary for much longer than he’s known me,” Regulus finished his wine glass and Pandora immediately refilled it with a flick of her wand. 

“Didn’t you say that James only feels safe with you? That he chose to confide in you when he didn’t feel like he could with his other friends?” Pandora challenged him with a perfectly arched eyebrow, a small smile playing at her lips. 

Regulus scowled at his best friend, kicking her gently, “That’s irrelevant.” 

“How is it?” Pandora argued, “I’ll say this once and once only - the amount of time you’ve known someone doesn’t determine how strong the friendship bond is. James clearly sees you as someone special, for whatever reason. Just because he’s not jumping your bones doesn’t mean that he doesn’t value your help.” 

Regulus rolled his eyes, “I know that. But once I stop being useful, he’ll get sick of me. He’s made it very clear that he’s never moving on from Lily and he didn’t contradict me when I said I was only there for the therapeutical talks. I’m just convenient, Pandora,” he casted his eyes downward to stare at his lap. 

Pandora reached forward and placed her fingers underneath Regulus’ chin so that his head tilted up, forced to look into her ocean blue eyes, “Never say that about yourself, Reg,” she said firmly.

“If James bins you off when you’ve helped all you can, then that’s his problem and his loss. But, for the record, I don’t think he will.”

“You have an unshakeable amount of faith in people,” Regulus laughed shakily. He wished that he could have Pandora’s ability to always see the best in people, to forgive and give out second chances.

She wasn’t a pushover by any means but she was always open to thinking that everyone had good intentions unless they proved otherwise. 

Regulus almost envied that. The loss of his friendship with Pandora for the months leading up to his ‘death’ and the years without her advice and honesty had been some of the loneliest of his life.

He had been utterly convinced that he’d lost Pandora forever, especially seeing as she could barely look him in the eye after seeing the Dark Mark on his forearm. 

But, when Regulus had returned from France and sought her out almost immediately, Pandora hadn’t hesitated before granting him a chance to explain himself.

And then, later, an instant blanket of forgiveness and a promise to start their friendship over without the dark shadows of the war looming. 

If the shoe had been on the other foot and it had been Pandora crawling back with her tail between her legs, Regulus knew that he probably wouldn’t have been as understanding as she had been. 

He was the king of holding grudges - hell, he’d despised James ever since age eleven for stealing Sirius away from him. Regulus had openly held a grudge towards his brother for leaving him in Grimmauld Place, his grudge heavily displayed in contemptuous glares and hissed insults. 

Even now that he was repairing his relationship with Sirius, Regulus still found moments where flickers of jealousy electrocuted through his body whenever he saw his brother laughing with Remus, Mary and James.

There were still occasions where Regulus felt on the edge of the group, on the outside and only looking in, like his only tentative entry to hangouts was his status as Sirius’ brother. 

He felt disposable. Like anyone could just toss him aside whenever they’d had enough of him or decided he wasn’t redeemed enough, whenever he wasn’t useful anymore or earning his place as someone on the light side. 

Regulus was still internally convinced that one of the only reasons that he had been readily accepted back into society was because he was helping Dumbledore hunt down Horcruxes.

And that wasn’t even common knowledge - the majority of people just knew he was helping Dumbledore with something. 

Not to mention the fact that Regulus knew that the only reason why he was on board with such an important task was due to him being the first one to bring such crucial information to light for his old Headmaster. 

In the same way that he was convinced James only wanted his help because he was someone new that wouldn’t look James like he was somebody who was a ghost of his previous self. 

Pandora may have interpreted James’ words about ‘only feeling safe’ with Regulus as a way of James cherishing their new friendship.

But that was the difference between Regulus and his best friend - she saw the positive whereas he was optimaly pessimistic.

In Regulus’ eyes, James only wanted him around because he was useful, not because he liked him. 

Regulus was only ever appreciated when he was being beneficial to someone. 

“It would do you some good to see the bright side of things, y’know, Reg,” Pandora’s suggestion broke through Regulus’ thoughts.

He smiled sadly at her, “It’s hard to see the light when my entire life has been in darkness,” he said lightly. 

Pandora’s blue eyes were tinged with melancholy at his remark that was much deeper than how Regulus chose to say it, “It’s hard for you, I know that. But you need to be open to looking for the light, too, instead of being convinced that everything is black.” 

“This is sounding very much like the advice I gave James,” Regulus said sardonically.

Pandora nudged him, “Then you need to take your own advice, Reg. Stop punishing yourself. If you’re trying to encourage James to stop dwelling on the past, you need to allow yourself to do the same. Your past mistakes don’t define whether you have the right to be happy, you know.” 

And, oh. Pandora hit the mark there. Regulus knew for a fact that he was holding himself back from chasing what made him happy because he felt like he didn’t deserve it. 

His years as a Death Eater still haunted him, his nightmares and intrusive thoughts whispering that he wasn’t entitled to what he wanted because he had ripped that right away from so many people, whether indirectly or not. 

Why should Regulus get to have James when the man he had supported had been the one to take James’ wife away from him? 

Not that James actually wanted him, anyway. 

“What can I say?” Regulus asked rhetorically with a bitter chuckle, “I’m a glutton for punishment,” he gulped down some wine.

“I literally fell for a man who’s still in love with someone else. A man who has a son that saved the entire Wizarding world. Besides, even if they weren’t big enough factors, he’s most likely heterosexual.” 

Despite herself, Pandora snorted, “Yeah, you really didn’t make it easier for yourself, darling,” she agreed, ever the honest best friend. 

“Story of my life,” Regulus quipped, clinking his wine glass against Pandora’s when she held hers out for a cheers. “I’m prepared to just take what he gives me, though. Even a little bit of him is enough.” 

Pandora hummed in agreement, finishing what had to be her third glass of wine (she was annoyingly unaffected though - it took her very long to actually become inebriated).

“Know your worth, though, Reg. I agree with taking it slow in terms of James. You have to respect his grieving process but, at the same time, if you ever feel like he’s stringing you along, cut that damn thread immediately.” 

“I thought you said you believed that he wasn’t using me for my expertise potion making skills and amazing babysitting,” Regulus teased her and she glared at him playfully. 

“I do,” Pandora insisted, “But James strikes me as the kind of person who doesn’t realise how much of an impact his words have. One minute he’s flirting with you and then he’s crying over Lily. I think his intentions are true but I’m just warning you to be careful. ” 

“I’m always careful,” Regulus assured her with a casual sip of his wine (he was taking it slow…unlike some people. Anyone would think that Pandora was the one having a gay crisis). “Careful is my middle name.” 

“No, it’s not, it’s Arcturus,” Pandora deadpanned.

Regulus stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head in mock disappointment, “That was the worst joke I think you’ve ever made,” he scoffed. 

“Give me a break,” Pandora pushed him, “I have baby brain, my humour isn’t what it was.” 

Regulus raised an eyebrow, “First of all, is that you insinuating that you were ever actually funny in the first place? Because, if so, that is a grave error on your part. Secondly, you can’t use baby brain as an excuse anymore when Luna is nearly eighteen months old. Just accept that you’re unfunny,” he grinned. 

Pandora scowled at him, crossing her arms over her chest sullenly, “I take it back,” she declared, “I hope that James plays with your feelings like he plays chess and then calls checkmate on your heart.” 

“Wow. Creative,” Regulus said snarkily. 

“I hate you.” 

“That’s a lie, you love me.” 

“Unlike James,” Pandora shot back. 

Regulus stood up, mouth agape, “Too far. You took it too far,” he put his hand up in a don’t-talk-to-me gesture but he was laughing, the gravity of the situation lost due to Pandora’s ability to joke about it.

It certainly made everything seem better than it actually was. 

But Regulus knew that, when he inevitably returned to James and Harry, he was going to have to be more cautious about getting attached to them. One thing about Regulus Black was that, despite how hard he tried, he never got what he wanted. 

He could try until he was blue in the face, could go out on a limb to earn someone’s time and appreciation but it would never be enough.

Regulus knew that James wasn’t an exception, no matter how much he wanted to think otherwise and see the world through Pandora’s optimistic rose-coloured glasses. 

He simply couldn’t risk it. 

James loved Lily.

And he could take Regulus’ advice about moving on and communicating more about his feelings because there were people around him that cared. But Lily would always be a constant, observing James through the eyes she had passed onto her son. 

Regulus was only temporary. A passing fantasy to have fun with in the short term, to milk of help and advice until he was gasping for air and in desperate need of rehydration. 

The sad thing about it all was that Regulus was more than happy to play that role for James. To allow James to use him, in a way, until he felt like he could cope without him.

Until he could take flight with the wings that were currently weighted down with tears of grief and parenting doubts. 

Regulus was used to people flying away from him, he was used to being the one left on the ground. The one nobody wanted, the one people were absolutely fine with leaving behind in the dust once he had served his purpose. 

“My purpose in life for so long was to love Lily.” 

“Now I feel like I don’t have a purpose anymore.”

If he was set on adhering to Regulus’ advice, James’ new purpose would be to heal and focus more on himself instead of living and trying for other people. 

But there was no denying the simple truth that part of that journey would include James tackling the ghost of Lily that dominated his every day.

Lily would always be there, like the lightning bolt scar permanently engraved into Harry’s forehead. 

For James to let go of the past, Lily had to be involved even from beyond the grave. Regulus wasn’t James’ past.

He was a factor in his present but he doubted that James would want him in his future. That just simply wasn’t the mold that Regulus was destined to fill. 

James’ newfound determination to bury the hatchets of fresh grief once and for all (because grief was a distant friend that never quite said a final goodbye, just a “see you later”) had to include Lily. It was a given. 

James’ purposes would always revolve around Lily Potter and the son she had left behind. Not Regulus. Never Regulus, despite the fact that James had chosen him and made him feel like he mattered for once. That was only temporary. 

And Regulus’ purposes would revolve around helping James Potter and the son who had his mother’s eyes.

His priority was James and Harry for the time being because he had to make the most of the brief pocket of time he knew that he had with them before he wasn’t useful anymore. 

The irony would be almost beautiful if it wasn’t so tragic, Regulus thought. 

And wasn’t that just the summary of his life? 

Chapter Text

James

Oh brother, we go deeper than the ink

Beneath the skin of our tattoos 

No, we don’t share the same blood

You’re my brother and I love you, that’s the truth 

We’re living different lives, heaven only knows

If we’ll make it back with all our fingers and our toes

Five years, twenty years, come back

I’ll always be the same

18th August 1982

It had been six days since James had last spoken to Sirius. 

Regulus had come over the day after rushing off, claiming that he had become overwhelmed but not citing a reason as to why he had felt that way. When James had tried to ask him further about it, he had only clammed up. 

So much for communication being great equipment that was necessary for healing.

Clearly, Regulus really had meant it when he said that he didn’t take his own advice. 

James couldn’t fault him, though. He couldn’t help but notice that Regulus was significantly quieter and more reserved than he had been in the past, almost like he was somewhat pulling away. 

However, he still showed up to see Harry. Regulus would appear around bedtime normally, just after James had bathed Harry.

And he had taken over Mary’s role of reading stories with silly voices to Harry due to the woman willingly giving that responsibility up. 

After Harry was asleep and potion induced, he tended to stick around for a little chat with James. The man wasn’t stupid - he knew that Regulus was just checking up on him to make sure he didn’t pull any more drunken stunts. 

But, as someone who was only just realising in his journey of healing how cripplingly lonely he had been since Lily’s death, James was happy to take anything that Regulus was willing to give him. 

A friendship was just what he needed right now, even if he had an insecure inkling every now and then that Regulus was only here out of obligation and still hated James. 

Regulus was doing more than his brother, anyhow. 

Ever since their argument at the Three Broomsticks, it had been absolute radio silence from Sirius’ end which completely unperturbed James. 

Not only was he not used to not speaking to Sirius for such a long period but, whenever they had argued in the past, he was well accustomed to Sirius coming to him with his tail between his legs. 

James knew that the argument had been his fault this time and he had never been one to shy away from taking responsibility for his actions (Monty had raised him well).

That didn’t mean he wanted to grovel at Sirius’ feet, though. His best friend needed to understand that James’ boundaries had felt threatened. 

Why wasn’t he understanding that? 

After six days, James had had enough. 

“Can you get Sirius to talk to me, Moony?” he asked Remus whilst visiting his friend in Flourish and Blotts, where he had been happily working for a while, his lycanthropy successfully undetected and well-hidden. 

Harry was on a play date that James had admittedly been rather nervous about setting him up on due to the other child being that of Neville Longbottom.

Another baby left behind by the war, now being raised by his grandmother, Augusta because of Frank and Alice’s tragic fate. 

It had been Mary who had convinced him to let Harry spend the afternoon with Neville. “He needs to spend time around children his age. Besides, it’s not like Nev is a stranger. If it hadn’t been for the war, they would’ve grown up together. Do it for Alice and Lily, James,” she had said and it had been done. 

Leaving James with free time to sort out his own problems. First call of order: Sirius. 

Remus blinked, rather owlish, through the smoke of the cigarette he was currently holding to his lips as they stood outside in the hustle and bustle of a summer's day in Diagon Alley. 

There was a heady buzz in the air, the late summer day giving way to throngs of students as they soaked up the sun, making the most of the remainder of their summer holiday before they went back to Hogwarts in just over a week. 

James watched a gaggle of what had to be around seven or eight students almost enviously, remembering how it had felt to be in a large friendship group full of hope.

Now all he and his remaining friends had were empty chairs at empty tables and memories tinged with sadness and betrayal. 

The war really had chewed them all up and spat them out at the other end, swallowing a few in its mighty jaw and throwing others up in a variety of mangled, traumatised states. 

“I can’t make him do anything, Prongs. You know that,” Remus said apologetically, looking torn. He had always hated being stuck in the middle of an argument between James and Sirius, not that such a thing had happened much before. 

Back in school, it had usually been James playing peacemaker between Remus and Sirius who had often been at each other’s necks, especially from around fourth year onwards when hormones and mood swings kicked in like aggressive steroids. 

James and Marlene, who had clocked onto the sneaky flame of sexual tension blowing the irritation gasoline into an argumentative explosion, had made bets on who would cave first. 

By the time that slivers of hope began to creep through the cracks in Remus and Sirius’ friendship, however, the utmost act of betrayal had occurred.

That had been one of the cases where James had thrown his neutrality aside and he hadn’t spoken to Sirius for weeks on end, instantly siding with Remus. 

The night that The Prank had happened still sent shivers running races down his spine…

“Are you ready to go, Wormtail? We’re gonna be late at this rate,” James called through the open door to the bathroom, where Peter was hurriedly combing through his mousy hair. 

“Yeah, yeah, coming! Where’s Padfoot?” Peter asked, slightly out of breath because he had run straight from Chess Club to here within the past hour, the moon beginning to rise high in the sky outside. 

“He was talking to Minnie last time I saw him. He’ll probably meet us there, if he’s not already beat us to it,” James answered as he pocketed the map and laced up his last trainer, shouldering through the door of their dormitory which had their initials magically carved into the wood. 

“Still pretty upset about the whole Alphard thing, then?” Peter questioned with a tilt of his head.

James looked at his best mate as if he was stupid, “Well, yeah, Pete,” he said slowly, “Alphard was his uncle and the only family member who ever showed him love, bar Andy.”

Not to mention the whole queer thing. As far as James knew, Sirius hadn’t confided that little tidbit to Peter but the recently passed away Alphard Black had in fact been gay. Hence the disownment. 

James knew that Sirius was struggling to come to terms with his own sexuality and had been since Benjy Fenwick snogged him at a Slug Club party in fourth year.

So, knowing that Alphard was gay himself and having someone to talk to about it all had been comforting and somewhat of an outlet for Sirius. 

“True,” Peter mumbled and the two of them hurried out of the portrait hole, scurrying down the corridor in an attempt to get out of the castle before it turned dark and curfew set in. They were lucky it was June and that the sun didn’t set until much later. 

Remus was even luckier for daylight savings because more daytime and less nighttime meant his time as Moony was cut short. Which, for him, was an utter dream come true. 

James was just musing about this particular piece of knowledge when Peter suddenly exclaimed, “Pads! We were wondering where you were at, mate.” 

James glanced up, a grin instantly spreading across his face as he clapped Sirius, who had just bumped into them (presumably on the way back from McGonagall’s office) on the shoulder, “Alright? Let’s go.” 

“I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Prongs,” Sirius had said, voice sounding somewhat faint and very unlike himself. When James took a closer look at his best friend, he saw that Sirius’ eyes were rather unfocused and he had a strange, cold smile twisting at his lips. 

“Why?” Peter countered, none the wiser. 

“Might be a bit greasy down there,” Sirius laughed, the light returning to his eyes but James wasn’t quite convinced, a frown settling on his lips as something didn’t feel quite right. 

“Greasy? How come?” James enquired slowly, dread beginning to bubble like an overflowing cauldron in his stomach. 

Sirius barked out a laugh again, the sound empty and hanging ghostlike in the air between the three boys, “Why, because Snivellus is on his way, of course,” he sneered. 

James’ blood turned to ice, “Snape? Why’s he going to the Whomping Willow? Didn’t you try to stop him?” 

“Stop him?” Sirius blinked, looking confused. “Why would I stop him? He was saying horrible shit about Alphard, saying he was glad that a fag like him was dead,” he spat, bitterness from the memory of Snape’s words seeping into his retelling. 

James wanted to shake him. Time felt like it was creeping by so slowly, the fog of confusion over what was happening refusing to budge, “What’s that got to do with the tree?” 

“Because he’s going there. He reckoned that Davey Gudgeon was just a pussy for succumbing to the violent tree. He wanted to try it out for himself because he thinks he’s all clever and brave, doesn’t he?” there was a malicious gleam in Sirius’ eye. 

“Good luck to him then!” Peter chuckled, “He doesn’t know how to get past the tree,” he gloated, puffing his chest out in pride because his Animagus form really was their saving grace.

They always said they didn’t know what they’d do without him scuttling underneath the branches to press the knot. 

James didn’t feel like laughing. He was looking at Sirius who had scoffed condescendingly at Peter’s sweeping statement. “Sirius? What is it?” 

“Oh, nothing,” Sirius was beginning to scare James now, his heart in his throat. “Just funny because Snivellus thinks he can shoot his mouth off about my dead uncle, the only motherfucking family member who loved me, and not suffer the consequences.” 

“Consequences?” even Peter was suspicious now, squinting at Sirius in worry as James’ world seemed to stand still as if it was in traffic, waiting for the red light to switch to green and all tension dissipate. 

“The consequences of getting past the tree,” Sirius said as if it was common knowledge, shrugging casually before adding the part that would tilt the Marauders’ friendship axis forever, “I told him, of course. Let’s see how brave he is when he encounters a fucking werewolf at the end of the tunnel.” 

James’ world slammed on the brakes, crashing and veering off course as the red light blinded his vision. Danger danger danger. He took off running at full speed, nausea surging through his body like a drug, feeling like he wasn’t even breathing. 

Because he needed to make sure that Snape would still be able to breathe, come morning. 

The Marauders had never been the same again, frankly. 

For three weeks of stalemate, Sirius simply avoided the dorm, their friends frequently asking what had happened between the four of them.

Remus had been inconsolable and the comforting had fallen to James, who had been more than happy to provide. 

Due to them sharing a home and parents, James had had to eventually speak to Sirius (the silence had stretched on for weeks after James had exploded at Sirius in Dumbledore’s office, in the direct aftermath of the incident). 

But the tension had been so hard to break, though James had eventually agreed to put it behind him after Euphemia sat the two of them down for a stern talking-to.

“Don’t expect Remus to be the same, though,” he had said to a miserable Sirius once they were back to being friends. 

“I know,” Sirius had responded dully, self-hate absorbing his words into a colourless tone. 

“And don’t expect me not to side with him, either,” James had further clarified. “I may have somewhat forgiven you but not fully. I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive you for what you did to Moony. Understand?” 

Best friends got through everything though, right? 

James knew that his actions in the Three Broomsticks were nothing like the level of atrocity that Sirius had reached in their fifth year.

But he always remembered what his mother had said when scolding her sons for sniping at and ignoring each other for the first half of the 1975 summer. 

“In times of hardship, remember the good. When you want to throw it all away, take a second to reconsider whether you want to lose all of the love you have shared. If you truly care about each other, you’ll fight to make it right. No matter how long it takes.” 

Sirius had fought skin-and-bone to make it right with James and, more importantly, Remus. Now it was time for James to fight for their friendship, too. Somehow, he felt like this argument would be easier to get over. 

But the long stretch of silence the two of them were currently experiencing was reminiscent in an ugly way of that awful summer. It was different, though, of course. 

Back then, James hadn’t spoken to Sirius out of loyalty to Remus and out of blatant horror at the cruelty his best friend had shown. 

Now, they were just both being petty. Trying to see which one of them would come to the other first. 

“I’m gonna have to make the first move, aren’t I?” James murmured to Remus, who smiled wearily around his cigarette, the bags under his eyes evidencing the full moon that had just been and gone. 

James hadn’t accompanied as Prongs due to the situation with Sirius which was another thing that washed unpleasant memories from sixth year into James’ brain. It had been the November full moon by the time that Remus had allowed Padfoot back out with them. 

And even then, it had felt different. Changed. 

“You know what Sirius is like. Stubborn as hell,” Remus commented with all the wry love of a boyfriend who was equally exasperated and enamoured by everything Sirius Black did. 

“Did he tell you?” 

“About your argument?” Remus clarified. 

James nodded. 

“He said it was a typical move of you pushing people away and not confiding in anyone about your feelings. Then he was ready to come and talk to you about it when Regulus came home wearing your jumper,” Remus said with a grimace as James winced. 

“He’s been around a lot,” he told Remus, who nodded with a small smile that gave James the impression he was already aware of that fact. 

“Another thing that Sirius is pissed about, I think. Not your friendship. He’s secretly delighted about that, I just know it. But I think he’s hurt that you chose Regulus over him,” Remus stubbed out his cigarette with the heel of his shoe. 

James blew out a breath, sinking against the wall of the Flourish and Blotts’ smoking area.

This place was supposed to be exclusively for staff members but having an Invisibility Cloak at hand still came in use so James had snuck in. If any of Remus’ coworkers had seen him since, they hadn’t said anything. 

“I’ve found that talking about whatever is bothering you can actually help.”

Regulus’ advice floated into James’ brain like his words often had been doing, ever since their talk last week. James wasn’t magically going to get better after one talk but he was starting to take Regulus’ advice in his stride. 

A weight had felt like it was lifted off his chest following his heart-to-heart with Regulus, even if a cloud of confusion had followed due to Regulus running out on him. Sirius’ brother’s constant return, however, had batted these cobwebs of doubt away. 

And, for the very first time since Lily had passed, James felt like there was a possibility of a happy future on the horizon for him.

The view ahead was still exceedingly blurry like he was seeing without his glasses but there was a path ready to be dug and smoothed out. 

There was potential. Because of Regulus. 

James felt like Sirius really needed to know that. He truly felt that Sirius would benefit from knowing that James was on the road to healing because of his brother. It wasn’t that James had chosen Regulus over Sirius on purpose. 

Regulus had just been the right person to talk to.

There was something about him that James still couldn’t put his finger on, something about him that made James feel like he could lay out all of his dirty laundry on a line and let it hang in the air between them without fear of repercussion. 

“I’ll let you get back to work,” James murmured to Remus, clapping him on the shoulder. Remus smiled knowingly and waved as James slipped away to the nearest Apparition portal. 

He spun on the spot and hurtled through the air towards the Soho apartment that Sirius, Remus and Regulus all resided in.

It was larger than it looked on the outside (Remus called it the “Tardis,” whatever that meant) and had been left to Sirius by Alphard so it had sentimental value encrusted in the walls, too.

James knocked. He did have his own key due to living there for the months following Lily’s death whilst his friends attempted to keep him on his feet. But he felt like he needed to do this the right way and let Sirius open the door for him, allowing him to step in. 

The door opened with a crack letting a beam of light to slip out, one of Sirius’ eyes appearing in the gap there, “I’m still mad at you,” he said in a petulant tone that instantly made James feel like it was all going to be fine between them. 

“I know,” James acknowledged, “But I’ll fight to make it right,” he echoed Euphemia’s sentiment from all those years ago.

The door swung open further, revealing Sirius in a pair of ripped denim shorts and a bright orange flowery shirt rippling open over his topless chest. 

“You’re one sick motherfucker for using Effie’s words against me,” Sirius complained, crossing his arms across his chest as he narrowed his eyes at James’ small grin and shrug. 

“Well it was good advice,” he defended before adding, “Can I come in?” 

“Why? Looking for Regulus?” Sirius questioned, an edge to his voice.

James raised an eyebrow, “No. But we need to talk, Sirius. This is getting pathetic now.” 

“You’re pathetic,” Sirius shot back but there was no heart to it, the murmur barely passing from his lips as he stepped aside, granting James access to the flat that had been somewhat of a safe haven for him in the post-Halloween months. 

Despite the apartment’s foundations holding an appreciation for his friends’ tireless efforts to keep him sated and not as unstable, bad memories for James were also interwoven into every aspect of this flat. 

The sofa where he had lain in the rare moments that Sirius had dragged him out of the spare bedroom, listless grief still threaded into those cushions.

The dent in the wall by the front door that James had caused with an anguished kick due to a framed picture of Lily, James, Sirius and Remus that used to hang there. 

Not anymore, he noticed.

A group picture still sat on the mantelpiece in the living room, though, which faced James as he sat down onto an armchair, trying to avoid looking at the smiling faces waving at him. The smiling faces that no longer smiled, no longer waved. 

“I miss them too, you know,” Sirius was the first one to speak, having lounged on the sofa that only reminded James of some of his worst days. “I miss Lily. Marls. Dorcas. Frank and Alice. Benjy. Gideon and Fabian. Hell, I even miss Peter.” 

“I do too,” James responded quietly, the heavy weight of shared pain slotting in between the two best friends.

He realised belatedly that he shouldn’t have pushed Sirius away, not when he did know how it felt. Sirius may have gotten Regulus back, may have gotten a ‘do-over’ in that regard but nothing could bring back their friends. 

Absentmindedly, James stood up and wandered over to the mantelpiece to peer down at the photograph that Gideon Prewett had taken of them all.

It had been a summer's day when many of them, bar Alice and Frank, had been fresh out of Hogwarts. The light of hope for the future still in their smiles. 

He was at the front, arm slung around Lily’s waist as she laughed into the kiss he was bringing her into from behind. Her red hair was free in the breeze, whipping Remus in the face, the price he paid for standing beside her. Sirius was on Remus’ back, a huge grin spread across his face. 

Marlene was halfway in Dorcas’ lap on the ground, the black girl staring at the blonde like she was the still point of a turning world.

Mary was above the couple, playing casually with Marlene’s hair. Peter beamed from next to her, Frank’s left arm around his shoulders whilst Alice pushed his right one away from her jokingly. 

The top corner of the photograph was dated 1978. Only a mere two years later, there would be a gap in James’ arms. A severe lack of happy girls in love. Tortured, haunted looks replacing the easy smiles of Frank and Alice. 

Peter’s beam would no longer be the ray of sunshine it was but instead akin to that of an evil smirk, like the very kind that crept foreign-like onto his face during the trial.

“I felt forgotten,” Peter had said before smirking, next speaking words that would plague James forever, “So I made sure they’d remember me.” 

James could still feel the wound in his back gushing from where Peter’s stab of betrayal scarred him for life.

That fucking smirk that was responsible for Marlene’s lifeless body, for Dorcas’ revenge-turned-suicide mission to take down Voldemort, for Lily’s blank eyes, for Alice and Frank who would never know their son properly. 

And yet, James still missed him. Missed the boy he had been, the man they had all thought he was. Clearly, he wasn’t alone in hating yet missing their friend at the same time because Sirius felt the same way. 

“I shouldn’t have invalidated your feelings. Grief fucking sucks and I’m sorry that I acted like I’m the only one going through it. You may have got Regulus back but we’ll both never get this back,” James waved a hand at the photograph, breaking the silence. 

Sirius hummed, “We have the memories though. And photographs like this, where our happiness is forever frozen in time. It hurts but it also heals at the same time, you know?” 

James turned to look at his best friend, his brother, “That’s an incredibly mature thing for you to say, Padfoot. For a moment, I almost thought you were—“

“Regulus?” Sirius finished with a sardonic smile, “He’s probably rubbing off on me,” he paused, hesitance riding in the hitch of breath that James could hear whilst he geared himself up to speak again. 

“That was what made me more upset, I think. Regulus. I was angry about your words in the Three Broomsticks but Minnie told me they were only coming from a place of grief and to not resent you for them,” Sirius started and James already knew where he was going with this point, Remus’ words from earlier repeating in his head. 

“I think he’s hurt that you chose Regulus over him.” 

“I was ready to apologise by the next day. Was about to go over and talk it out with you because I couldn’t bear us being mad with each other,” Sirius said with a rueful grin and James let out a small breath which basically communicated that he felt the same way. 

As Lily had once said, James and Sirius were a pair. Never went anywhere without the other, would fight to stay together at all times. Two sides of the same coin, brothers in everything but blood. Forever a listening ear, a shoulder to cry on, a partner in crime. 

“And then Regulus came home wearing your jumper,” Sirius’ voice was strained, “Said he’d spent the night. Obviously, I got the wrong idea but he corrected me quickly, telling me that all you did was talk. About your feelings. The ones that you couldn’t confide in me,” the hurt in his tone was palpable. 

James didn’t know how to get out of this one, feeling rather like a deer on the other end of a bow-and-arrow, a mouse caught in a trap, a human stuck in sinking sand.

How did he explain to Sirius how safe Regulus made him feel? How he just made it easy for James to spill out all of his feelings like a stream flowing freely through a forest. 

It wasn’t that Sirius didn’t make James feel safe. Of course he did. But there was something different about Regulus, something magnetic that pulled James to him, a moth to a flame. 

Or maybe it was just down to circumstance. James hadn’t felt ready to talk in the moment with Sirius but, after running into Petunia and spiralling into a breakdown that Regulus helped cease, he had been.

After a well-rested night with Harry sleeping peacefully and making pancakes with Regulus, a snatched moment of domesticity that felt illegal in the wake of James’ grief. 

He didn’t think he had ever felt so light since losing Lily than he had in the kitchen with Regulus and Harry, flirty comments being batted back and forth like a Muggle tennis match.

The ghost of Lily blowing the metaphorical whistle when James felt the familiar jolt of guilt, the fear of betraying her memory. 

Maybe James had only confided in Regulus because he had been there. But he knew, deep down, that that wasn’t the case.

That he hadn’t been lying when he had told Regulus that he didn’t think, if it had been Remus or someone else walking through the door, he would’ve allowed himself to fall apart as much. 

James was just so accustomed to being an anchor to both Sirius and Remus’ ships, holding them up when they were falling down.

After one of Remus’ bad moons. After an argument with Sirius’ parents. After the prank. During the war when their trust had been so tainted that they turned on each other. 

This time, it had been James who was falling. And Regulus had caught him. 

James didn’t understand what that meant. And if he couldn’t work out the swirling washing machine state that his heart and feelings were in, how could he even begin to explain it to Sirius?

He was still trying to pinpoint what exactly it was about Regulus that made him feel like a weight had been lifted off his chest. 

James was supposed to be focusing on healing himself from the wounds that Lily’s death had left on his emotions, boundaries and conscience.

He didn’t have time to think about what it meant when he felt entranced by Regulus, what it meant when his heart thumped upon seeing the man in his jumper. 

He wasn’t ready for that reality check nor was he willing to experience the smack of guilt that was bound to send him staggering if he even began to pursue something.

James and Regulus were just friends.

That’s all they would be, even if James had found it easier to talk to him than he did with Sirius. 

His thoughts were muddled, his emotions a tangled mess inside of him. The more James tried to work out the challenge that was Regulus Black, the more the threads knotted and made his stomach hurt.

So, he did what he did best when put on the spot to talk about something that James didn’t even understand himself. 

He panicked: 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” James blurted out to Sirius, suddenly frantic to reassure his best friend of nine years.

“Regulus was just there. I’d had a shit day: I’d argued with you, I saw Petunia at Lily’s grave and she said some shit that my inebriated brain didn’t like.” 

Though he looked angry at the mention of Petunia, some of the tension had already seeped from Sirius’ shoulders like a sponge being squeezed dry. “Do I even want to know what she said?” he asked, sounding pissed. 

“Probably not or you’d end up in Azkaban,” James told him with a small smile, “It was just the usual, except it upset me more because her views haven’t changed, you know? Like, even Lily dying wasn’t enough to make her less cold-hearted. I spiraled.” 

“And Regulus was at your house?” Sirius was skeptical. James didn’t blame him. 

“He was returning the lion that Harry gave him. Sirius, I swear that I only talked to Regulus because he happened to be there during my breakdown. It was all a matter of convenience, really,” James knew he was lying, chatting pure shite to just keep Sirius sated. 

“I’m happy you had someone to talk to, Prongs. Don’t get me wrong. I was just hurt because it felt like you’d chosen him over me,” Sirius said with a shrug, insecurity making the motion almost robotically stiff. 

“I didn’t,” James said quickly, “Like I said, he was just there. He helped, sure. But he wasn’t you. It didn’t mean anything.” 

Sirius wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily, though, “Then why did you feel comfortable enough to speak to him? There must be something there, James. Has something happened between the two of you? Something I don’t know about?” he arched an eyebrow. 

Panic slammed into James’ chest, restricting his breathing. What was Sirius insinuating?

James loved Lily. He would always love Lily. Loving anyone apart from Lily was an outcry of betrayal, something that he had sworn never to do because he couldn’t go through the pain of losing someone he loved again. 

Not that he actually felt like he could love anyone but Lily.

Which was why James had sworn not to because to do so would be unfair on the other person as his love for them would never measure up to his love for Lily. She had been the only person he had ever loved romantically, ever since he had known what it was to love. 

Lily had taught James what love was.

Love was Lily’s green eyes sparkling in the Cornwall sunshine. Love was her hand in his as they walked the Hogwarts corridors together. Love was her laugh bottled in a memory, her smile stamped in his brain forever, her warm embrace that always made James feel safe. 

Safety. Feeling safe with someone was one of the most important parts of love. 

And who do you feel safe with now, James? a voice sneered in his mind. He shook his head furiously, diminishing the thought as Lily’s red wave of hair in the summer breeze swam before his eyes. 

“Something between me and Regulus?” James’ voice was unnaturally high and incredulous as he let out a laugh that sounded empty to his ears, “Why would you think that?” 

“Just wondering,” Sirius shrugged again, “I know that you didn’t choose him over me, James. I’m not upset about any of that anymore. I was just curious about your friendship with Reg and whether it was something more than you’re letting on.” 

There was a protective older brother stance keeping Sirius’ shoulders upright. James felt sick, “No, there’s nothing going on,” he scoffed, hating himself for every word that was falling out of his mouth. 

“Like I said, he was just there. If it had been you returning the lion, or Moony, I would have spoken to you guys. I tried talking to Remus, you know that. I just wasn’t ready at the time.” 

But you felt ready enough to talk to Regulus, the voice whispered again. James ignored it. 

“Alright,” Sirius smiled warmly before holding his arms out, “C’mere, wanker. I missed you.”

James collapsed into Sirius’ hug, wondering why he felt so nauseous, “I missed you too.”

Sirius laughed suddenly, embrace tightening around James, “I can’t believe I actually thought there was something going on with you and Reg. Can you imagine?” he sounded incredibly amused. 

James chuckled, the sound tasting strange on his lips, “Yeah, imagine that. When hell freezes over, maybe,” he joked. 

Imagine that. 

Oh, James was imagining alright.

Imagining what Regulus’ hair would look like in the summer breeze. What his laugh would sound like whilst muffled in a kiss, captured against James’ lips. What he would look like first thing in the morning, cheeks flushed with sleep, grey eyes soft and innocent. 

He remembered Regulus’ face alight with passion in Monty’s basement. His soft little smile and gentle way that he treated Harry, so patient and caring.

James remembered his sarcastic quips, his smirk hidden by his teacup which harboured a black tea, his words a mere breath upon the air that James longed to taste. 

Imagine that. 

Hugging Sirius whilst having these thoughts about his brother felt criminal but James couldn’t stop his mind from reeling.

Imagining how Regulus would feel under his hands, how his lips would taste, how his hand would slot perfectly with James’ like a jigsaw that finally found its final puzzle piece. 

Imagining how Regulus would look in the bright sunshine, rays radiating off his curls. How he would look with snowflakes christening his cheeks, sliding like tears into the smile on his face.

Imagining how he would look soaked by rain, angry frown tilting his lips downward and tears swimming in his eyes, curls dripping. 

Wait. 

No. 

James blinked, refocusing as his mind stopped wandering, screeching to a rapid halt whilst his breath caught in his chest like someone had slammed on the brakes unexpectedly. Because he was no longer imagining Regulus. 

Regulus was there, stood in the doorway of the living room. Soaked with rain. Crying. 

James opened his mouth to speak, pulling away from Sirius in an instant because the feeling of dread bubbling in his stomach told him exactly what he thought was true. Regulus had clearly overheard some element of James and Sirius’ conversation. 

And, instead of feeling relieved and glad that Regulus knew how he felt, James felt like he was going to throw up.

Because he had lied. He had been lying to Sirius and now Regulus had heard every word, drinking it in like a poisoned alcohol, believing it to be true. 

Imagine that. 

James hadn’t imagined this. 

“Reg,” he croaked out, wretched. 

But Regulus had already turned and fled out of the door. 

Chapter Text

Regulus

I just wanted you to know

That this is me trying. 

They told me all of my cages were mental 

So I got wasted like all my potential 

And my words shoot to kill when I’m mad 

I have a lot of regrets about that 

18th August 1982

Once upon a time, Regulus Black hated James Potter. 

His first impression of James had stuck with him like glue, painting the boy in a mirage of arrogant, insufferable colours.

They arguably had been influenced by the visceral jealousy searing through Regulus’ body like white-hot iron, of course. 

The jealousy he felt whilst looking at James, the boy who had stolen Regulus’ only good thing from him, never really left him. The hate did, however. 

Because James stumbled into Sirius’ apartment one October night and Regulus’ impression of him shattered to the ground. 

Tears wrecking the face that had once been aglow with Quidditch glory or an annoying grin. Shaky breaths in place of his pretentious bragging, unstable hands gripping Regulus’ like he was the lifeline he needed to keep from completely falling. 

James allowing Regulus to fix his tie. James asking Regulus to make Harry’s potion. James inviting Regulus to his house, to his father’s labatorary, to his child’s bedroom.

James unearthing the lock and key to his emotions, throwing it in Regulus’ direction and hoping he’d catch it. 

James who smiled at him and made his stomach flip, James who fell atop of him, James who told him he felt safe with him. James who confided in him, James who entrusted him with his bloody child, James who called him an angel, James who—-

James who fucking lied. 

“When hell freezes over,” he’d said in response to Sirius’ suspicions that there was something deeper going on between Regulus and James. 

When hell freezes over. 

“He was just there.” 

“It didn’t mean anything.” 

“It was all a matter of convenience, really.” 

Oh, it choked him. Regulus was drowning in a pond of self-pity, an icy river of hatred gushing through his bloodstream whilst a lake of heartbreak tugged him underneath the cold, cold depths of the ocean that was his feelings for James Potter. 

His feelings that had always hurt like an ache in his bones that never went away, constantly remaining in a bruise that blossomed on his heart.

His feelings that had flowed in a torrent of words out-loud to Pandora but had been trapped by the loch whenever he was around James. 

And now, Regulus was trapped. A squashed fly in a sticky pool of honey unable to bat its wings and fly away from his problems.

When James had essentially chosen Regulus to be the one he talked to, he had felt ten feet high, akin to that of a magical phoenix soaring through the sky with heavenly music playing. 

He was flightless now. Grounded. 

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” Regulus rambled in a tearful tangent as he hurried out of Sirius’ apartment block with an urgency he didn’t even know he possessed. He just needed to get out, to get away. 

Almost as if the universe was crying with him, the suddenly dark August sky coughed out great gouts of water, teeming down in a biblical deluge not unlike that of a Noah’s Ark cataclysm, an unending cataract of water sluicing from the sky and glistening on the pavements like angel’s tears. 

“You’re an angel, Reg.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Regulus snapped to his brain as he stormed out onto the streets, blending in with the floods of Muggles who were swarming for cover, some with umbrellas battling the downpour whilst others simply sprinted for shelter. 

Regulus was crying heavily by this point, his quick breaths heating him up and essentially saving him from the cold rain that was pouring down from the skies.

It had been sunny this morning and Regulus had been somewhat happy at work, chattering to Maggie who had been extremely interested about his babysitting of the Boy-Who-Lived.

But then James had backtracked on everything he’d ever said and the sun had disappeared behind a cloud. 

Good, Regulus thought vehemently, I hate the sun. And it was true. 

He’d always preferred the cold reality of a winter that didn’t hold back on its true feelings than a deceptive summer month that coerced one in with optimistic sunshine before throwing a rainstorm in the mix at high magnitude. 

At least with winter, you knew what to expect. 

James was the sun that Regulus had stupidly chased, entranced by the golden rays that James had extended to him, making him feel like he was special with that blinding smile of his.

But he had flown too close and now he was burnt, scalded and vulnerable. 

Regulus had been distancing himself from James ever since his chat with Pandora, heeding her warning and being cautious not to get too wrapped up in a life that the likes of him never were allowed to savour.

And yet, his heart had still crumbled in his chest upon hearing James’ words. 

Hearing how easy it had been for James to just deny that there was anything going on between them had just crushed Regulus.

It wasn’t that he had gotten his hopes up or anything (he was Regulus Black, at the end of the day - he never got what he wanted). But the way that Sirius had laughed about the possibility of James being with Regulus.

The way that it had been a little joke to him that his little brother could actually experience love or a relationship. Regulus was sure that Sirius didn’t mean anything by it but it still hurt. 

Regulus should’ve been accustomed to pain by this point in his life, his life that had been nothing but expectations and disappointments around each corner. And yet. 

And yet. 

“Fuck,” he breathed out, a sob riding on the word that escaped his trembling lips as he collapsed onto a drenched bench, feeling the dampness seep into the bottom of his robes.

Regulus was still dressed in the robes he wore for work and probably would’ve been a sight to see for Muggles, if they weren’t all so distracted by the sudden rain in August. 

Pandora had been both right and wrong. She’d seen the good side of James, believing that he was pursuing a friendship with Regulus and asking for his help because he saw something in him.

But she’d also warned Regulus to be cautious before giving up his heart to James and she had been right in telling him that. 

Because now Regulus’ heart was splattered across the soaked pavements of Soho, blood washed away by the ongoing rain like his feelings didn’t even matter. Like Regulus didn’t even matter. Which he didn’t.

He was just a convenience, just someone James hadn’t had a choice in talking to simply because he was there. 

It was like James had dug right into Regulus’ brains and dug out of his insecurities with a spade before smearing them in billboards around the city, projecting all of Regulus’ greatest fears into a few groundbreaking sentences.

He had just confirmed everything that Regulus had been thinking, everything that he had stressed over. 

The worst part about it all was that, when Sirius had asked James whether anything was going on, Regulus had held his breath.

For a single, heartbreaking moment, Regulus had hoped. Wondered whether what he had done for James, for Harry had been enough. Hoped that he had been enough for once in his life.

But of course that wasn’t the case. Why would that ever be the case? He was Regulus Black.

He didn’t have the freedom to hope or engage in wishful thinking and pipe dreams because they simply didn’t come true. Not for him. Regulus was never good enough. 

And he’d always known this. James had made him feel like he mattered, though. Like he cherished his company, enjoyed his sarcastic quips, appreciated the time and effort that Regulus put into the sleeping potion and looking after Harry.

Apparently not. 

James had quite literally gone against everything he had ever said to Regulus and, if he was in a better state of mind, he probably would’ve dwelled on that.

As someone who was used to suffering, however, and had methods on how to cope with being let down by people, he chose to simply shove it to the back of his mind. 

It didn’t make any sense for James to claim that, if it had been Remus or Sirius walking through the door, he would’ve opened up to them too. Not when he had said the exact opposite to Regulus, had said that the younger Black was the only one he felt safe around. 

What a load of fucking bullshit. 

Maybe James had just been spewing that nonsense to make Regulus stay. Merlin would’ve thought that he’d learnt his lesson by now. Surely he had already paid the price for falling line, hook and sinker into believing lies. 

But that was the thing about Regulus. As a love-deprived child who thrived off praise, attention and recognition for his efforts, he was easily convinced by a few words.

All it took was for someone to extend a small olive branch of affection to him and Regulus was grabbing the entire tree, hungry for any scrap of love or appreciation that he could get his hands on. 

James had told him he was an angel, had looked at him with those goddamn hazel eyes that held so much pain and yet so much genuine love.

And Regulus had believed him because he was just that eager for somebody to see him and value all of the hard work he put into trying to make someone love him. 

All of the trying Regulus administered to just find anyone that cared about his feelings and didn’t toss him aside like he didn’t have the right to experience the same love as anyone else. 

Regulus was fucking sick of trying. 

What was the point in trying when nobody tried for him? What did he have to do in order to deserve the same treatment as everyone else? 

Regulus didn’t know how long he sat there, head in his hands on the Soho bench as the interminable rain around him snapped and crackled like bracken pods in a bush fire.

A Warming Charm set over him, he cried until he didn’t think that there were any tears left in his body, all of them diffusing into the air and being sucked up into the clouds. 

“Regulus?” 

“Fuck off, Potter,” Regulus didn’t even need to look up to know who was stood there, recognising James from just his voice.

The very utterance of his name from James’ lips, who had only just recently broken his heart with his words, made Regulus want to drown in this downpour. 

Was it possible to hate and love someone at the same time? 

He removed his hands from his face, glad that the tears were hardly noticeable due to the rain causing droplets to drip from his curls, meaning James would find it hard to distinguish which moisture was rain and which was actual tears. 

James was drenched to the bone, jet black hair actually flattened for once due to the rain keeping it down. His glasses had fogged up completely so that Regulus couldn’t even see his eyes.

Good. That would make it easier. 

“How’d you know it was me?” 

“Because I knew you were going to chase after me like a fucking fool,” Regulus snapped, a harsh bite to his tone and he saw James visibly wince.

He’d made digs at James in the past but there had always been an undercurrent of lighthearted humour. This was harsh, hard and cold. Everything that Regulus felt like being right now. 

Another thing about Regulus was that, from being a young boy, his first instinct had always been to get upset and cry over something. Anger came second, like a loyal friend wrapping an arm around Regulus’ shoulder and coercing the cruelest of words out of his mouth. 

He often regretted things that he said when he was mad, when he was hurting so much that his only response was to lash out. Regulus wondered briefly if he would regret this conversation with James.

And then he found himself wishing that he would regret everything he had ever had with James because, if he regretted it, then it meant it didn’t matter to him. 

Regulus didn’t regret it. Not one moment.

He’d do it all over again just for that crumb of attention, for that speck of appreciation that James had flung in his direction without a thought about how much that could mean to someone like Regulus.

He just knew that he would willingly go through all of this pain again just to feel like he mattered once more. 

“I didn’t chase after you because I’m foolish,” James sounded desperate but Regulus simply didn’t even care. “I chased after you because I’m so fucking sorry, Regulus.” 

Regulus scoffed harshly, “Sorry I heard you, more like. Tell me something, Potter. If you hadn’t been caught, would you have been sorry?” 

James shifted restlessly and that was the only answer Regulus needed, “Okay,” he said. 

It’s fine. Keep it together. Don’t let him see how much he’s hurt you. 

James instantly started speaking, as if he’d lost the ability to do so beforehand, “Of course I would’ve been sorry, Regulus! I was sorry the second I said it because I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it,” he rushed out. 

“I think,” Regulus’ voice was colder than the rain bouncing off the pavements around them, “That you’re mistaken,” he took James’ fogged-up glasses off his face, seeing the confusion flash through the man’s now exposed irises. 

“What you didn’t mean was all of the bullshit you told me. About me being an angel. All of the flirting. The suggestive comments. You didn’t mean any of that. I was just a pawn in your little game, wasn’t I?” Regulus questioned him before tapping James’ glasses with his wand, “Impervius.” 

He handed them back, James taking them with a perplexed expression on his face, “Wha—“

“I’d rather you could see me when I’m talking to you,” Regulus explained with a careless shrug as James slotted his glasses back onto his face, lenses now clear and waterproof. 

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Regulus.”

“I meant every word,” James’ reply was quiet. 

Regulus’ traitorous heart thumped. “No you didn’t. You lied. And there’s nothing I hate more than liars,” he hissed, wiping rainwater out of his eyes as the weather raged on around them. 

“You hate me?” James almost sounded hurt, like he hadn’t been the one who had caused this divide in their friendship (because that’s all it had been. Regulus refused to think of it as anything else, lest he fall apart even more). 

And…checkmate.

Regulus smirked, even though he felt like a part of him was dying on the inside, “If you lied, yes. I hate you. By accepting that I do hate you, you just indirectly confirmed that you did, in fact, lie. Thank you, Potter.” 

With that, Regulus turned his back to leave, the rain still sloshing down from the sky in icy bullets, bouncing off the bushes in the small park that Regulus had found himself in.

But a hand gripping his wrist forced him to whirl back around, James’ face frantic and desperate. 

“I did lie,” he practically breathed, “But not about that. Never about that, Regulus. When I said I felt safe with you, I meant it. That’s not something I say lightly,” James looked like he was on the verge of tears himself which was impossible because Regulus was just a convenience to him. 

Right? 

But no lingering sadness could stop Regulus’ lips from forming his next cruel words, the anger inside of him not easy to put out, “Ah yes. It’s not something you say lightly because you’re still in love with your fucking dead wife. Shouldn’t you be spending your time getting over her instead of trying to coerce me back over to your side?” 

James dropped Regulus’ wrist like he had been burnt, his face shuttering. 

Good, the mean part of Regulus’ brain thought vehemently, Let him hurt like he hurt you. 

His heart ached, though. 

“That was cruel.” 

“I’m a cruel person,” Regulus shrugged, beginning to step back from James because he needed to get away now before he said something else that would keep him up at night. 

“No you’re not,” James said quietly, a gulp sliding down his throat and making his Adam’s apple bob, “You’re lovely. I’ve never seen this side of you before and yet I can’t get enough. You’re mesmerising with Harry and you always know the right thing to say with me.” 

Regulus’ own throat felt thick, his lip trembling like he was going to fucking cry again. He dug his fingernails into his palm, “If that’s how you feel, then why did you say all of that shit to Sirius?” 

“I panicked, Reg! He was grilling me on things that I haven’t even worked out for myself and I just—I lied—“ 

“You called me convenient!” Regulus’ voice broke on the last word and he wanted to drown in the nearest puddle that was stretching wide into an impressive size by the side of the bench. 

“Do you have any idea,” Regulus was seething now, teeth gritted and fists clenched, “What that word fucking means to me? Let me give you a run down on my brain.”

“Insecurity number one: that I’m not as worthy or as important as my brother. Check. Insecurity number two: that I don’t mean anything to anyone. That I don’t matter. Check,” he ticked them off on his fingers. 

“Regulus—“

“Insecurity number three,” Regulus raised his voice, speaking louder to drown James out and also be heard over the pitter-patter of rain falling all around them.

“That I’m just a fucking convenience, that people only want me because I provide them with something, because I’ve earned my right to be treated like an actual human being.” 

James was horrifically silent. 

And Regulus’ numb fingers just kept pulling the trigger on the casually cruel words that kept spilling out of his mouth, in the name of being honest.

“You really ticked all the boxes, didn’t you? Three out of three. Even my mother didn’t manage to do that. She at least thought I was more important than Sirius. Once he was out of the picture, of course. Maybe you’ll be the same.” 

“Don’t ever compare me to that fucking bitch,” James’ voice was hard now and Regulus should’ve felt sorry for being the reason behind his gritted response. But he didn’t. 

“Why not?” he shrugged one shoulder, “You made me feel the exact same fucking way that she did. Except she wasn’t cruel enough to string me along and let me play happy families. I always knew what I was getting when it came to her. Whereas you,” Regulus gestured up-and-down James’ body, “You’re a fucking enigma.” 

“And what do you think you are, huh?” 

“I don’t know, James. Tell me,” Regulus arched an eyebrow, stepping closer to him and watching as he pushed a frustrated hand through his sopping hair. 

It was actually criminal that James still looked breathtakingly beautiful when he resembled a drowned rat. 

“You’re one to talk about me being confusing. At least you know about my feelings! Seeing as you’re the only one I fucking talked to. Does that not mean anything to you, Regulus? Because it does to me. You encouraged me to communicate with you whilst doing none of it yourself. You’re a fucking hypocrite,” James spat, eyelashes sparkling with rain droplets. 

“I warned you,” Regulus was barely breathing as he spoke, the close proximity of James sending his body into a whirlwind of confused emotion.

He was supposed to hate this man with his every bone and yet he still felt addicted to his presence, drinking in every aspect of James no matter how much he had hurt Regulus. 

After all, he had said to Pandora that he was a glutton for punishment. Regulus did seem to always seek out the things (and the people) who would hurt him the most, almost like he got a kick out of it.

Which he didn’t, by the way. It always felt like Regulus had been the one who’d been kicked but he never stopped coming back for more. 

He just craved the way that James Potter made him feel. The pain was worth it for that one glance, that one lick of the lips that Regulus caught James doing in his peripheral. 

“I told you I never take my own advice,” Regulus murmured, the tension mounting between the two of them as James’ eyes flickered down to Regulus’ lips. 

Just one moment, Regulus’ heart pleaded. 

Be quick, his brain urged. 

“So what about when you told me to be more selfish?” James cocked his head to one side, the roaring in Regulus’ head getting louder and louder as the rain crashed down in flashing sheets of cold droplets. 

Oh, Regulus was going to be selfish alright. 

He hated himself for what he was going to do. But it was the only way, wasn’t it? 

“That’s one of my only exceptions to my rule,” Regulus bit his lip, looking up at James through wet eyelashes as his body screamed at him to just go for it, to just claim what he had longed to be his for so, so long. But he couldn’t. 

Regulus was cruel but he wasn’t so cruel that he was going to steal anything from James, especially if he didn’t want it.

James had to be the one to make the first move, to decide that this was exactly what he wanted to do. That was important to Regulus, no matter how cold his heart was. 

“Show me,” James dared, raising an eyebrow. 

Regulus had to physically restrain himself. This wasn’t fair, none of this was fucking fair. He closed his eyes, forcing out the words, “I can’t.”

“Then allow me.” 

The dark storm clouds gathered in the sky and Regulus felt his soul stir as James’ right hand cautiously graced the small of his back, like it was scared of trespassing in unknown territory.

His left hand tucked Regulus’ wet hair behind his ear, a move reminiscent of the day that Regulus ran away. 

Regulus didn’t run away this time. A breath punched out of him unwillingly and he relaxed himself willingly into James’ touch as the man pulled him closer. A rumble of thunder echoed from overhead, a small distance from them. 

James’ hazel eyes met Regulus’ grey, the air electrified as if it was anticipating the incoming storm. And then he was pushing forward like the sun chases the grass in the early morning.

Pressing his mouth against Regulus’ and breathing an inner fire into the ice inside of Regulus’ body. 

Regulus melted like butter on a stove, liquidising into a golden pool of nothingness as James kissed Regulus in a way that made him feel like he mattered, like he wasn’t just a convenience, like he was an angel who was one of a kind.

Like he was everything he had never been allowed to be in the past. 

Regulus deepened the kiss, taking James’ bottom lip beneath both of his to suck on it gently as James reciprocated eagerly like he’d been waiting his entire life for this one kiss.

The stars aligning in a once-in-a-lifetime cosmic event, a pure rush of thrilling adrenaline akin to that of jumping between two trapezes as the electricity thrummed underneath Regulus’ skin. 

James kissed Regulus like he cared, a little gasp of pleasure escaping the back of his throat as Regulus’ tongue met his, fingers tangled in the wet, messy expanse of James’ hair. 

This, Regulus’ heart sang, this is all I wanted. 

And this is all you’re going to get, his brain reminded him. 

Almost as if the weather was playing along into Regulus’ little game, lightning exploded across the sky as thunder grumbled once more, stomping closer and closer with the clouds closing in.

Regulus slowed, kissing James gently now as the magnitude of what he was going to do crept up on him. 

The thunder and lightning collided in the sky directly above James and Regulus who were hungrily making out in the park like they’d never kissed anyone before.

And, in that exact moment, Regulus’ hands met James’ chest and shoved him away. 

James blinked. 

“No,” Regulus gasped out, the word ripped from his mouth in a harsh sound as the rain didn’t stop ricocheting off the Soho pavements and bushes. “We’re not doing this.” 

“Regulus—“

“I said no, James,” Regulus snapped at him, reality setting back in now. He hadn’t meant to kiss James for that long.

The plan had been to toy with him, to see how far he was willing to go and then rip it away from him at the last second. To see how he liked that feeling of getting a pin pricked into your hope balloon. 

Regulus had just let his feelings get in the way, his unrequited feelings for James prolonging a kiss that was supposed to be short and cruel. Now he’d made it worse and complicated things. 

Why couldn’t he ever do anything right? 

The look on James’ face satisfied Regulus’ itch of cruelty, though. The expression of absolute despair, desperation and anguish mingled with what had the possibility to be tears, “But you just—“ 

“Did you really think kissing me would make me forgive you, James?” Regulus laughed harshly and the man winced, a lightning flash from afar illuminating his stricken face. 

“You tricked me,” James whispered, “You made me think that it was all okay, that you’d forgiven me, that I could—“ he ran his hands through his hair, anger suddenly snapping over his features, “You made me betray Lily.” 

And there it was.

A bitter smile twisted at Regulus’ lips as his heart dropped into his stomach, “This is why you shouldn’t go around leading people on, James. Because if you can’t even move on from Lily, how do you expect to make any progress with me?”

James was flabbergasted, clearly seeing Regulus in a completely different light, “I’m trying, I’m fucking trying. You were helping me, you were supposed to…you said—“

“I said a lot of things, James,” Regulus’ words were icicles in the air that was beginning to clear now, the rain easing up and only coming down in little spits, a post-storm scent swirling through the air. 

“But I lied,” Regulus enunciated every syllable as he stepped back with a tilt of his head, “Something you’re pretty familiar with, no?” 

He couldn’t read the expression on James’ face nor did he want to. Because lingering in this moment and looking at the destruction Regulus had just single-handedly caused out of revenge would only make him regret it. 

And Regulus never regretted anything when it came to James Potter, no matter how much pain was caused. 

Except maybe this. 

Maybe he’d gone a little too far? 

“I take it back,” James’ eyes were filled with tears and Regulus bit the inside of his cheek to stop a choked sob from escaping, “You are cruel. I thought we were friends. I thought you cared.”

Regulus swallowed the sob, shoving down the feeling of bile in his throat at the same time as he substituted the prevented noise with a humourless scoff instead. “Oh, please. I just felt sorry for you. That’s the fucking problem. Did you really think I cared?”

James clenched his jaw, hurt engraved into every crevice of his face, “Then maybe you should’ve communicated that to me. You know…communication? The thing you were a massive fucking advocate for but never engage in yourself?” 

Regulus shrugged, turning his back on James because he couldn’t stand the man when he was crying, simply because he knew he would run back.

Begging for an apology, kissing the tears away. He couldn’t do that. For once, he had to be the one to walk away. 

Let someone else hurt in the way that he always had, for a change. 

“I told you,” Regulus said over his shoulder, sparing one last glimpse at James who looked like he was going to break apart at the seams. 

“I never take my own advice.” 

Chapter Text

Regulus 

And I left you alone in a house, not a home

And I watched the burning grow as my hair filled with grey

From the ashes that fell

The mountains I knew so well

Burned with hellfire in the blue light of midnight

Brother, I watched the sky burn

And all I learned was smoke fills the lungs like a disease

19th August 1982

Regulus couldn’t sleep. 

Flashes of James’ hurt face haunted him like a ghost whispering. His tear-filled eyes as anger and resentment made every word he spoke heavy, weighing horribly on Regulus’ mind.

He tossed over in bed, burying his head in his pillow and inhaling the lavender scent there (he always spritzed it to help him sleep).

Regulus could feel the possible regret churning in his stomach like bile that he couldn’t quite keep down. 

Because, along with the reminders of the destruction he had caused, Regulus’ brain also wouldn’t stop flickering through the memories of how James’ lips had felt against his.

How he had gripped Regulus’ waist like he was the lifeline that kept him afloat in the storm. 

And he didn’t regret it. 

Regulus didn’t care that James had been visibly wounded by the trap that he had fallen into, that his face had dropped the second he realised what Regulus had done.

He didn’t give two fucks that he had gotten James’ hopes up, only to let him down in the same way that James had done to him. 

Regulus didn’t care. 

(He did). 

Regulus liked to think he had redeemed himself, that those two years in France away from everything had made him a better person.

Yes, he still refused to see the world and the people inside it with rose-coloured glasses, but he had improved. He wasn’t the prejudiced git that he used to be, anyhow. 

But there were moments like this, where he committed such a horrible act, that Regulus wondered if he had changed at all.

The sick desire to hurt James simply because he had been burnt by him (through mostly his own fault, honestly) had come from within him unbidden. 

“I take it back. You are cruel.” 

Fuck. 

Regulus turned over in bed again. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He never had in the past, not even when he’d acted so unlike himself that he didn’t even recognise himself in the mirror.

The revengeful stabs of his dagger that Regulus chose to undertake had never affected him in this way before. 

Maybe it was because it was James. Oh, who was he trying to kid? It was because it had been James that he had hurt. 

James who had glowed so high in the sky that, when he fell, he had caught Regulus’ attention. Had made him realise that even ‘perfection’ had its shortcomings and limitations. Made him see that even the strongest, bravest people could have terrible things happen to them. 

The war, and all the death that came hand-in-hand with the violence that occurred in those dark years, didn’t discriminate between the sinners and saints.

Lily Potter had been unfathomably good, with a heart as pure as gold, but even that hadn’t managed to save her in the long run. 

Evan Rosier had been a dear friend of Regulus’ in his Hogwarts years, and for the few months afterwards that Regulus had lived before faking his death.

He had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord, even though he hadn’t even been able to bring himself to kill an insect as a twelve year old. 

Death hadn’t discriminated against him, either. 

The scythe had swept him from the Earth in the very same way that it had ripped Lily away. Lily had been good with probably very minimal flaws.

Evan had been inherently bad by the time his demise came around and yet he had harboured love inside of him like a secret for those lucky enough to receive it. 

No one was completely evil or perfect.

Regulus had always known that fact. His mother was a stone-cold bitch and a part of him had still loved her, craved her praise and appreciation. He was like Walburga in a way, wasn’t he? Using his own insecurities to hurt others and enjoying it. 

(But Regulus hadn’t enjoyed it. Because it had been James he was hurting, simply because James had confirmed all of Regulus’ inner fears about his role in the man’s life). 

He had a right to feel upset, he knew that. James had literally contradicted everything he had ever said to Regulus and made him overthink any of the moments that he had previously held close to his heart. But maybe he should’ve heard him out…

James had said that he’d lied, that he didn’t mean any of what he told Sirius. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. Not to mention that James had naively thought that everything could be forgiven with a kiss. 

A kiss that, to someone like Regulus, had felt akin to that of breaking the surface and inhaling air after years of swimming underwater. Like the light at the end of a very dark tunnel, the first splash of sun on the horizon, the warm sensation one got when sinking into a hot bath. 

It had been perfect. 

But nothing, and no one, could be completely perfect. Everything, and everyone, had flaws. 

Because, whilst kissing James, all Regulus had been focused on was the exact minute that he was planning to pull away so that he could hurt James.

Because the only way that Regulus had been taught how to heal was by lashing out or burying the pain deep in his bones. 

So he had done both, whilst, at the same time, choosing to indulge in a selfish urge of his, a need to kiss James Potter breathless that Regulus had pushed down ever since realising he didn’t quite hate the man anymore. 

How short-lived that period of time had been. 

Regulus hated James again now. 

(He didn’t). 

Tossing in his bed once more, Regulus let out a quiet noise of frustration as a squinted glance at his pocket watch in the dark told him it was nearing four o’clock in the morning. He clearly needed a fucking sleeping potion now. 

Regulus stumbled out of bed without even grabbing his wand to light up his surroundings, deciding to simply grope his way towards the kitchen where Sirius and Remus had Muggle electricity installed.

Regulus didn’t see the point in it personally but at least it saved him from having to pick up his wand from Merlin-knows-where. 

He clicked on the kitchen light, instantly wincing as the brightness enveloped him harshly. An abandoned bottle of wine sat on the table from where Remus and Sirius had clearly been having a drink. 

The glasses had been left half-full with a slight spillage on the wood, Sirius’ jumper tossed on the ground unceremoniously. Regulus shuddered with a roll of his eyes.

He hated stupid lovey-dovey couples in their stupid relationships having stupid sex until stupid o’clock when he couldn’t even get a stupid kiss without stupidly complicated baggage. 

If you couldn’t tell, Regulus found everything rather stupid. Apart from one thing: 

When Regulus had been little and struggling to sleep for whatever reason, Sirius had always made him warm milk. And so, he reached into the fridge to locate a glass bottle of milk, pouring it into his favourite mug.

Maybe his inner child would be somewhat soothed by this return to such a ritual. 

“I wonder how you work,” Regulus mused, trying to work out how to use the microwave that Remus had insisted on installing in their kitchen.

A factor that was probably down to his Muggle mother, Remus tended to be overly fond of having a lot of Muggle appliances in the house. 

And Sirius being Sirius simply indulged and encouraged him.

So, that led Regulus to where he was now at four in the morning, staring down the microwave like it had personally insulted him. It was an unsightly, clunky thing with far too many buttons for his liking. 

Muggles confused him. 

Regulus stood for a few minutes, a mug of cold milk in his hand as he prodded cautiously at the buttons, spinning one of the dials in slight frustration.

Nothing happened. As someone who was accustomed to everything happening at the flick of a wand, Regulus didn’t have the patience for this godforsaken contraption. 

“I give up,” he murmured to himself with an eye roll, planning to pad back to his bedroom and warm his drink with his wand, which was on his bedside.

Regulus didn’t even like cold milk (hence why he didn’t have it added to his tea) so it wasn’t like that was an option. 

“Fancy a hand?” 

Sirius stood in the kitchen doorway, watching him with a raised eyebrow. Regulus tensed. If he was a dog, his hackles would've been raised and he’d be growling. That’s how thoroughly displeased he was to see his older brother right now. 

“I can’t believe I actually thought there was something going on with you and Reg. Can you imagine?”

“Not from you,” Regulus glared, cradling his mug as if he was worried that Sirius would take it from him. Wouldn’t be the first time, would it? 

“Damn, that’s a bit hostile, Reg,” Sirius said idly, hands in his pyjama bottom pockets with his chest bare. 

“No, I’m just being honest,” Regulus sniped back. The two brothers just got like this sometimes despite Remus enforcing some element of communication between them. 

An ‘element of communication’ was basically where Sirius and Regulus sat down at opportune moments (aka whenever their arguments got out of hand) to talk about their issues.

Remus called it therapy. Regulus called it hell. Sirius was rather inclined to agree but he was at Remus’ beck and call. 

Simp. 

At the end of the day, Sirius had put Regulus up on the sofa for the months following his return from France, after hearing him out, of course.

They still had a long way to go, with residual bitterness and resentment playing an underlying bass to the melody of their relationship. But Sirius had welcomed Regulus with open arms in a time where he had needed someone and, for that, he would forever be grateful. 

Not that he’d ever voice it out-loud, though. 

“Honesty is the best policy,” Sirius responded lightly, threading his fingers through his long locks. Regulus could tell he had something more to say, something that he wasn’t touching upon just yet, for whatever reason. 

“What do you want, Sirius?”

“Why should I have to want something to talk to you?” Sirius was still skirting around whatever it was he wanted to discuss with his brother. Regulus would’ve bet the entire Slytherin team’s broomsticks that it was about his altercation with James. 

Thinking about James filling Sirius in on what had occurred between them in the torrential rain made Regulus feel strange, though. Though that moment had been out in the public for anyone in the park to see, Regulus saw it as strangely private. 

He wanted to gatekeep that argument, that kiss, that heartbreak. It was his and James’ only. 

“Well, it’s not like you’d want to talk to me out of your own free will,” Regulus said without thinking, his insecurities projected deeply into his speech. “Haven’t you got a boyfriend to be shagging?” 

There was an unreadable expression on Sirius’ face, “He’s out,” he said shortly.

Regulus raised an eyebrow.

“Congratulations?” he responded sarcastically. 

“Not out like that, you little shit,” Sirius scowled, “He’s at James’. Helping with Harry,” he added vaguely and Regulus stiffened at the mention of the two people that he had gotten awfully attached to in the past week or so.

“Right,” Regulus felt awkward, attempting to slip past Sirius in the doorway with his cold mug of milk still clutched in his hand.

His older brother noticed, “You don’t like cold milk,” he said. 

“Yes I do,” Regulus snapped back, lying but only because he didn’t want to feel belittled by Sirius. He wasn’t as upset with his brother as he was with James but Sirius had still been an important factor in the conversation earlier. 

After all, Sirius had been the one to put James on the spot, even if he had incidentally done Regulus a favour by helping him realise just how much James didn’t care about him, no matter what he had said in the past. 

That kiss said otherwise, though… his heart whispered. 

No, it didn’t. Shut up, his brain hissed. 

“You never did when you were younger. I always made you warm milk when you couldn’t sleep. Is that what you were doi—“ 

“A lot has changed since I was a child, Sirius,” Regulus cut him off harshly, watching as his older brother winced, “I like cold milk now.” 

“Oh yeah?” Sirius evidently didn’t believe him, eyebrow arched, “Drink some then.” 

And, because he was one of the most stubborn people he knew, Regulus kept eye contact with Sirius whilst downing the mug of cold milk. He fought the urge to gag, unwilling to show his weakness and seeing the lie through. 

“Now will you let me pass?” Regulus asked, wiping the back of his mouth and trying not to shudder as he deposited the now empty mug back onto the kitchen counter. 

“Not until you tell me what you said to James,” Sirius crossed his arms, still blocking the doorway and Regulus’ only passageway to his bedroom. 

He scoffed, half in disbelief that Sirius really had sought him out just because he wanted something (like he had rightfully assumed) and half in irritation that Sirius wanted to dig for knowledge when the moment between Regulus and James was private. 

“I knew you wanted something.” 

Sirius had only ever spoken to Regulus at school when he wanted to talk about their parents or Regulus’ apparently ‘poor’ choice in friends.

Why would it be any different now, even when their father was dead, their mother was insane and Regulus’ friends (bar Pandora) were either dead or imprisoned? 

“Well, can you blame me? He was inconsolable when he got back here. The last time I saw him that upset over something, it was to do with Lily.” 

Of course it was to do with Lily. 

Regulus felt the same wave of bitterness crash up against the shores of his heart. He knew that Lily Potter had been a good person, that she had captured James’ heart for a reason. But how was it fair that she stayed in his heart even now that she was gone? 

“Why is that my problem?” Regulus questioned idly, propping himself up onto the kitchen table and letting his legs swing as it didn’t seem like Sirius was going to let him go back to bed anytime soon. 

“What. Did. You. Say. To. Him? He wouldn’t tell me a thing so you clearly said something fucked up,” Sirius accused him through gritted teeth and Regulus smiled almost sadly.

It was always a kick to the system when he saw how defensive Sirius was over James, how he had clearly already taken James’ side in this argument that he even didn’t know anything about yet. 

But he wasn’t surprised. He was Regulus Black. Nobody ever chose him. He stifled a snort at the fleeting reminder that he had thought James had chosen him for once, when he said that Regulus was the only person he felt safe around. 

“I thought we were friends. I thought you cared.” 

Not anymore. Regulus had ruined that, hadn’t he? But could you really blame him? He had been heartbroken with his pride wounded to the highest degree. Of course he was going to lash out and say things he didn’t necessarily mean. 

James had ruined it first, anyhow. 

“Maybe he’s not telling you for a reason,” Regulus examined his fingernails so that he was purposefully not looking at Sirius. Even though he hated James again, Regulus still took some satisfaction in the fact that James hadn’t confided in Sirius. 

Maybe he saw their argument as private, too. 

Cute, Regulus thought sarcastically, We’re both unhinged.

At least that was a reason for getting over James. Two ruined people only caused further disaster, right? Better steer clear of that particular train wreck. 

“James always tells me everything,” Sirius responded instantly. “The only reason I think he might have for not telling me is that he’s worried of creating a divide between us. Which is why I’m giving you the chance to explain.” 

Regulus laughed humourlessly, “You’re so defensive of him, aren’t you? It would almost be funny if it didn’t fucking suck,” he saw Sirius roll his eyes and he added, “What’s wrong, dear brother? Had enough of me? Gonna run away to James again?” he taunted. 

“That’s not fair.” 

Regulus knew it wasn’t fair. He knew it wasn’t moral or okay in the slightest to blame Sirius for leaving a literal abusive household. That had been one of the main things they had talked out, one of the things they had drawn a line under. 

Except in moments like these, where the surplus pain from his brother leaving him (not the house, Regulus didn’t resent him for that anymore), seeped into arguments. It wasn’t fair and it was cruel.

But Regulus was cruel, remember? Even James Potter had said it. 

“You and James were making fun of me. I heard you,” Regulus informed Sirius, who closed his eyes. “So I simply matched your energy, so to speak. I was hurt. I lashed out. That’s what happens when you hear people who are supposed to care about you laughing behind your back.” 

Sirius sighed, appearing somewhat remorseful, “Look it wasn’t me, was it? James said that all by himself, it was all his own words. It’s just how he is, Reg. I’m sorry. He’s still your friend.”

But he’s my friend first, was what Sirius didn’t add. Regulus could practically see the words on the tip of his brother’s tongue before he clearly reconsidered and swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

Regulus felt something snap inside of him. 

“You didn’t really help the situation, though, did you? You were guilt tripping him with your little ‘I felt like you’ve chosen him over me’ bollocks,” Regulus imitated Sirius’ sentence from yesterday, accusation heavy in his tone. 

“Because I did—“

“Oh, let me get out the world’s smallest violin and throw you a fucking pity party. As if you, Sirius Black, have never been chosen for anything in your life,” Regulus was furious now, all of his mutinous feelings towards his older brother overflowing like a volcano. 

The pettiest things between the two of them always struck the worst arguments. The tense conversation about the milk had been the warning match dragging slowly along the side of the box, the box that was Sirius’ actual purpose for talking to Regulus.

Now the box was alight, burning and licking at the sides of their tangible, recovering relationship. All walls collapsed, smoke twirling around them in pirouettes.

Sirius glared at Regulus, “Excuse me? Says you? You’re the one that Mother and Father always preferred, the one that did their bidding.” 

“Yes, because I had no choice!” Regulus’ voice cracked as memories of his childhood, of having to conform to the suffocating expectations that his parents tied in a noose around his neck, swam over him. 

“Don’t let us down, Regulus.” 

“I won’t, Mother.” 

“I had to be the perfect son to make up for your fucking mistakes. I had to fake smiles, commit to the family ideals and values, take Marks all because you ran from your responsibilities. I was pretending all of the time. The real me was never chosen for anything. No one ever bothered to look behind my mask, to see whether I actually wanted everything I was being handed on a silver plate.” 

Regulus didn’t think he had spoken about his feelings so much in all of his life. And yet here he was, open and vulnerable, in Sirius and Remus’ kitchen.

All because James motherfucking Potter had somehow unearthed every insecurity that Regulus had fought to keep buried six feet under and brought them to the surface. 

“Regulus—“ Sirius sounded wretched. 

He thundered on. Let him be the one to speak for once. All twenty-one years of pain were flowing out of him now like lava, red-hot and searing.

“James did, you know. Or at least I thought he did. Why couldn’t you have just let me have one thing, Sirius? James meant a lot to me.” 

James had meant a lot to Regulus because he had seemed like he genuinely cared about him. He looked at him like he was a guardian angel, not the Devil’s leftovers crawling up from hell with a weak redemption story in the shape of a Horcrux locket. 

James had looked at Regulus like he mattered. But now all of that was charred, shattered into sooty ash because Sirius had been too selfish to accept that James and Regulus could be friends, too. 

“Then why did you feel comfortable enough to speak to him?” Sirius had said. As if Regulus was incapable of empathy, of insightful advice.

Sometimes Regulus felt like, whenever Sirius looked at him, all he saw was their parents. Like he saw Regulus as a reminder of 12 Grimmauld Place, the house they had grown up in. 

A house, not a home. 

Maybe what he had heard was how James had always felt, maybe Regulus was just a fucking fool for falling for the lies and flirting, his traitorous heart switching to the other side. That was certainly how Regulus had felt when he initially stormed out of the flat, into the rain. 

Before the kiss. 

Before James looked genuinely heartbroken when Regulus rejected him. 

In that moment, Regulus had wondered whether he was wrong. For a fleeting few seconds. And then James had struck the blow. 

“You made me betray Lily.” 

And Regulus had known he was right.

Whether Sirius had forced it out of him or not, James had been telling the truth when he said there was nothing between him and Regulus. How could there be anything when James still wasn’t over what there was nothing of? 

“James means a lot to me, too. I wasn’t being possessive. I was just hurt because he barely knows you—“

Regulus had had enough.

He slammed his hand down on the kitchen table, jumping to his feet and choosing to ignore how violently Sirius flinched, “Time doesn’t fucking measure a relationship or bond, Sirius,” he seethed, repeating Pandora’s words from last week. 

“You of all people should know that,” Regulus added icily.

When angry, he preferred to run cold as opposed to hot because there was an unspoken elegance to handling arguments with a frosty coolness instead of a burning fire, no matter how he felt on the inside. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” there was a dangerous edge to Sirius’ voice. 

A gulp slid down Regulus’ throat because, no matter how cool and composed he was on the outside, the childlike vulnerability inside of him was bubbling like a potion.

Because the words he spoke next were haunted by the phantom of crippling pain that had winded him as a fourteen year old, when Sirius left. 

“Well, you've known me since I was born. Ten years by the time you went to Hogwarts. You knew James for all of ten months and, by the time you returned in the summer, you’d already decided that you’d rather have him as your brother instead.” 

Regulus was never enough.

That feeling had lingered with him since childhood but Sirius had always quenched it with a waterfall of love for his little brother. And then, one day, the love dried up and stopped flowing. Regulus hadn’t even known why. 

Dehydrated without an understanding of why James Potter was better than him. He got it, now, though. 

“Reg—“

“No. Don’t,” Regulus cut Sirius off, aware that his eyes were shining with tears fighting to escape. A lump in his throat, he continued, “I don’t blame you. If I were in your shoes and given the chance to have James over me, I’d choose James everytime.” 

Because who on earth would want Regulus? 

The answer was no one. It always had been the case and always would be. 

Sirius bit his lip, the anger from the moment between them dissipated into a heart wrenching sadness for the brothers who hadn’t stood a chance in this cruel world. “I didn’t choose James,” he eventually said, carefully. 

“That’s what it felt like,” Regulus shrugged, wiping furiously with his sleeves at the tears in his eyes until they were gone.

That very movement made him realise what jumper he was wearing - James’ maroon one from the night he had stayed over - and Regulus suddenly felt even more miserable. 

Sirius’ eyes were trained on the jumper too but he wisely didn’t say anything. Yet. 

Regulus could feel it coming, like a ticking bomb in the distance, but he was somewhat grateful that his brother prioritised their talk over some stupid jumper from a stupid man. 

“Well, I didn’t choose anyone. I didn’t have a choice. James was the only person I could run to and his parents took me in like I was their own. I’m…sorry that you didn’t get that chance. I’m sorry you felt that way, that you thought I’d picked James over you,” Sirius said. 

“Thank you,” Regulus responded, voice choked. He felt like he’d waited for the confirmation that such an insecurity was stupid for years.

Regulus wished he could go back and tell his fourteen year old self that he still mattered to Sirius. 

Because from that moment on, from the very second that Sirius slammed the front door behind him with Walburga’s screams of fury radiating in the air, Regulus had felt forgotten. 

Like he wasn’t good enough. 

“Leaving you behind was one of the worst things I’ve ever done. I’m sorry that I didn’t take you with me,” Sirius was still going, a ramble of apologies spilling forth from his lips. 

“I wouldn’t have gone,” Regulus sniffled, annoyed that he was still emotional about this. It was valid, of course, but it didn’t make it any less infuriating. 

“Really?” Upon looking up, Regulus saw that Sirius appeared rather crushed though there was a lingering aspect of relief in his expression. He was probably relieved that a haunting regret of his since age sixteen could now be diminished. 

“I’m not brave like you, Sirius,” Regulus smiled sadly, voice wobbling. 

“Bullshit,” Sirius’ voice was firm, “You're easily just as brave as any Gryffindor or Order member. Don’t downplay yourself, Reg. Just because you stayed doesn’t mean you’re not strong. It’s a different kind of courage. I wish I’d been brave enough to do what you did.” 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Regulus said quietly. Hearing that Sirius wished he was like him was so eerily reminiscent of the jealousy he had always felt whilst looking at his brother.

But Sirius wouldn’t have been able to do what he did. He wasn’t made for camouflaging, he had always been destined to stand out. 

“I’m glad you didn’t do what I did. Because you wouldn’t have survived,” Regulus told Sirius honestly, a slight hint of arrogance coming into his tone.

Because it was true. Sirius wasn’t cunning or ambitious enough to try and destroy Voldemort’s Horcruxes or to get out of that cave alive. His talents lay elsewhere. 

Maybe that was something that made Regulus good enough. Maybe that was a trait or a reason for him to be somewhat special. It was crazy how he was only just realising that now, with everything put into perspective. 

“Well, for the record, I’m glad you survived.” 

Regulus laughed, actually sort of amused now, “Thanks, loser. I’m happy you didn’t pop your clogs either.” 

“Aw,” Sirius finally moved from the doorway, hands pressed to his chest, “Because you love me?” he batted his eyelashes jokingly. 

Regulus shoved him away, “No because otherwise I wouldn’t have had a place to stay after leaving France,” he deadpanned. 

Sirius was close enough now to fiddle with the sleeve of Regulus’ jumper, the younger man waiting with baited breath for the conversation that he knew Sirius had pushed back, at least until their own issues had been partially resolved. 

“I’d choose James everytime.” 

“James meant a lot to me.” 

Fuck, why had he said all of that to his brother, of all people? Regulus might as well have stamped ‘I have complicated feelings for James Potter, please don’t ask’ across his bloody forehead. 

“What about James? Do you love him?” 

Even though Regulus had been expecting a question about James, Sirius’ cut-to-the-chase approach still took him aback. He jolted, accidentally yanking his sleeve out of Sirius’ grip.

“What?” he yelped, eyes wide and panicked. 

“Do you love him, Regulus?” Both Sirius’ face and tone were inherently serious and, if he wasn’t currently freaking out, Regulus might’ve made a joke about it. 

Did he love James? Regulus knew he had feelings for the man, knew that he was ridiculously attached to him and his child.

He knew that his crush was a little out-of-hand by this point, that James broke his heart everyday just by not being his. 

But did he love him? Love was a big word. 

Regulus didn’t understand it. He didn’t have a strong enough grip on the whole concept of loving another person, of giving your all to them and being completely vulnerable around them. He had never dived into the complexities of love and all the counterparts within it simply because he didn’t get it. 

How could he? He had grown up under Walburga and Orion Black, who had never shared a loving word or touch between them in their whole lives. Their marriage had been a business transaction, an arranged proposal for the sake of keeping pure blood flowing in the Black family. 

That wasn’t love. 

Regulus thought about how Sirius always cut Remus’ toast into quarters for him, each quarter topped with a different condiment.

How Remus played with Sirius’ hair whenever he was stressed or upset.

How Sirius stood on his tippy toes to kiss Remus properly, because he had always been shorter. 

And then, Regulus was delving into his Hogwarts memories, of his friend group. Most of them had been unfortunate victims of consequence but that hadn’t stopped them from having love stories to rival Shakespeare’s sonnets. 

He remembered how Evan had brushed absentminded kisses against Barty’s forehead whenever the boy flung his head into his boyfriend’s lap.

How Dorcas used to read little notes from Marlene at the Slytherin table, a secret smile tucked into the corner of her mouth.

How wide Pandora had beamed when Xenophilius finally asked her out on a date. 

That was love. 

Regulus had never experienced that. He’d never earned that type of love, that unadulterated, euphoric feeling of falling head-over-heels in love with someone who felt the exact same way about you. 

He wasn’t good enough for that. 

Maybe one day. 

“No,” Regulus said, now, to Sirius. “I don’t know how to love. Hard to learn something you’ve never had for yourself. Besides, even in the time that I’ve supposedly been loved, there’s always been a catch. An exception. An expiry date. People never love me for too long.”

The look on Sirius’ face was so heartbreakingly sad that Regulus just pushed past him tiredly, not ready for the gushy bullshit or sympathetic words that were going to come out of his brother’s mouth. 

Silence followed him as Regulus walked into the hallway, the bright light from the kitchen spilling into the corridor and making it easier for him to find his way back to his bedroom, unlike earlier.

And then, out of nowhere, a throat was cleared. 

“Regulus?”

“Yes?” 

It was embarrassing how quickly he whipped around, face fixed on Sirius who looked nervous, fiddling with a strand of his long hair which looked rather messy like someone had tugged on it, come to think of it.

(Regulus suddenly stopped thinking, shutting his brain off as he felt remotely queasy).

“I love you. Always have. I never stopped.” 

Regulus felt a pang echo low in his stomach and he wished once more for a time turner, just to reassure his fourteen year old self that all he feared wasn’t true. 

Now he was learning it, seven years late. 

But not too late. That was the most important thing. 

He fought with himself for a second, hand on his bedroom door knob, throat choking up for what felt like the millionth time that night.

And then Regulus lost the inner battle, succumbing and sacrificing to what he had longed to shout from the rooftops for years. 

“I love you too, Sirius. Always have. I also never stopped.” 

Sirius smiled, an unreadable and almost mysterious look on his face, “Well, if that’s the case, then how do you not understand love?” he challenged. 

Regulus stared at him for a long moment, completely taken aback. And then, along with a hopeful feeling inside his body, a smile similar to Sirius’ spread across his face. 

“Touché, salaud.” 

Chapter Text

James

Forget what I said 

It’s not what I meant 

And I can’t take it back

I can’t unpack the baggage it left 

What am I now? 

What am I now?

What if I’m someone I don’t want around? 

I’m fallin’ again, I’m fallin’ again

I’m falling

20th August 1982 

James still remembered the first time he had met Regulus. 

It had been the first of September, the air as crisp as an apple, and James had been vibrating with excitement to reunite with his two best friends after a long summer apart. 

On the train back after the day end of first year, the Marauders had claimed the compartment at the very back of the train as their own, carving their initials into the wood underneath the seat. 

Remus had already been there by the time James and Peter had scrambled on, shouting goodbye to Marlene who had headed down the other end of the train, to where Mary and Lily were. He’d been fast asleep, after effects of the full moon the night before (though James and Peter hadn’t known that at the time, of course). 

After waking Remus up, James had tackled him into a hug and then waited anxiously for Sirius to arrive. He was later than expected, especially for a Black who was always perfectly on time. So James hadn’t been able to help himself from worrying a little, biting at his nails. 

And then Sirius had sauntered in, arms wide open in a greeting with his hair chopped a little shorter and his robes immaculately pressed, rather unlike the messy boy they had all gotten to know in first year. 

James hadn’t even glanced at the smaller boy hiding behind him in his eagerness to embrace Sirius, who hugged him back just as tightly. A glance down at Regulus for the first time had greeted him with a sullen expression, grey doe-like eyes narrowed slightly and mouth forming a pout. 

“Blimey! He’s a spitting image of you, Sirius,” Peter had exclaimed. 

“Shut up, Pete,” Sirius had shoved him, “This is Regulus, lads. Reg, meet the boys,” he’d gestured with a flourish towards the three second years in the compartment. 

“Hiya, Reg,” James had said, holding his hand out with his signature grin as his free hand ruffled his hair, “I’m James.” 

“I know,” Regulus had replied shortly but had shaken James’ hand nonetheless, years of being conditioned into politeness by the Blacks clearly playing its part. “And it’s Regulus, not Reg.” 

Some things didn’t change, apparently. 

“Regulus, don’t be rude,” Sirius had scolded him absently from where he had been chattering to Remus at a million miles an hour. 

“He’s not rude,” James had laughed, “He’s just like you, Sirius.” 

Sirius’ loud protests had drowned out any further conversation, with Remus teasing him even more which led to Sirius nicking his book and holding it high above his head.

But in the chaos, as Regulus sat down next to James, he had heard the younger boy mutter something: 

“I should be the one insulted here. Dramatic sod.” 

James had laughed, receiving a surprised look from the grumpy first year in return. Regulus had clearly thought that his comment had gone under the radar so James’ visible amusement had evidently taken him aback. 

He had smiled slightly before catching himself and settling into a scowl again, arms crossed across his chest. But James would never forget that tiny quirk of his lips, the light in his eyes. 

Even when Regulus was sorted into Slytherin, locking eyes with a half-disappointed, half-relieved Sirius from across the Great Hall.

Even when Regulus distanced himself from his brother.

Even when he muttered insults, barged shoulders and sent withering glares. 

He always saw that smile that Regulus was capable of.

He just hadn’t bothered to look further. 

Merlin, James wished he had. 

He wished he could have stolen Regulus away from that house in the same way that he did Sirius, wished he could have foreseen the dark path that Regulus was going to turn down. Wished he could’ve stopped his and Sirius’ relationship from going down the drain, from tearing at the seams and falling apart. 

James hadn’t forgotten Regulus. He hadn’t had a choice in noticing him, to be honest. 

Sometimes it was through furious arguments (mostly in French - the Black brothers’ rows were quite infamous and Remus often got flustered whenever Sirius spoke French). 

Or the first time that Regulus had approached Sirius after he ran away. James remembered Sirius tensing up beside him because Regulus had iced him out ever since they came back from Christmas break, even when Sirius had tried to wish him a happy birthday in January. 

“Reg. Hi,” the breath had punched out of Sirius. 

“Sirius,” Regulus had said stiffly with an inclination of his head before holding a box out to his brother, “I believe these are yours. I salvaged them before Mother set them on fire.”

Sirius had taken the box, hands shaking, “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.” 

“No. I didn’t,” Regulus had agreed, voice even.

And then, without another word, he had turned away and walked back to where his friends were waiting, Barty and Evan glaring at Sirius. Dorcas had looked uncomfortable whereas Pandora had simply just been miserable, chewing a strand of her pale blonde hair. 

“Regulus, wait—“ Sirius had called after him. 

James remembered that Regulus had turned around very quickly, “Yes?” 

“I—“ the words had caught in Sirius’ throat. To this day, James didn’t know what his best friend had been about to say. Because Regulus had waited only a second further before Barty had grabbed his hand and pulled him away. 

Upon looking in the box filled with the possessions that hadn’t been in his trunk, the ones he hadn’t been able to grab that December night, Sirius had burst into fresh tears. The Marauders had all tried to comfort him but to no avail - he had been inconsolable. 

And James had known that the sobs which riddled Sirius’, “He packed my leather jacket,” were just tears of mourning for the life he could no longer get back.

The life he had said goodbye to when that front door had slammed on Christmas Eve. The point of no return. 

The life that Regulus had chosen to stay in, committed to, even, with an unshakeable certainty engraved in cold expressions and Dark Marks. Expressions and tattoos that James had seen, had known about, but he hadn’t been looking properly.

He’d seen Regulus without actually seeing him. 

Even ever since Regulus had returned, James had been too deep in the grasp of grief to really look at him, incidentally falling into the old pattern he had adapted to in school.

All of that had changed once Regulus started helping him, though. Helping Harry. Showing that there was so much more to him than what James had always seen. 

Once he’d had one glimpse, he couldn’t stop looking.

Couldn’t stop wanting to know more about Regulus, wanting him around at all times because there was just something so safe about him. Even though James didn’t really know him, he felt like he’d been friends with Regulus for a lifetime just when he looked into his eyes. 

He didn’t know what that meant. All he knew was that, when he had clapped eyes on Regulus in the doorway, his heart had dropped.

All James knew was that, in those heart-racing minutes where he had chased after the crying Black brother, he had been desperate to make things right again. 

The world felt off balance when Regulus wasn’t around. It had tipped on its axis when they had been screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain, only righting itself when the latter occurred.

And then Regulus had shoved him away, toppling the universe on its side once more. James had felt every hope of his plummet to the ground. 

“Did you really think that kissing me would make me forgive you, James?” 

The next thing that had been said was quite possibly one of the biggest mistakes that James had ever made in his life.

Why the fuck had he said that Regulus made him betray Lily? It wasn’t that he didn’t feel like he hadn’t betrayed Lily - in his eyes, he had - but that wasn’t Regulus’ fault. 

He had been the one to kiss Regulus. The younger man had even said, “I can’t.” He had given the reins to James and allowed him to control the pace that they went at, and had been every bit as lovely and accommodating as James had discovered over the past weeks. 

And then James had ruined it. 

But Regulus had ruined it first. 

“He’s not rude,” James had once defended Regulus. Over the years, he had often played Devil’s Advocate with Sirius whenever he was ranting about Regulus, too. He had sometimes reminded Sirius that Regulus was also trapped under their parents, controlled like a puppet. 

“You’re not cruel. You’re lovely,” James had told Regulus in the rain, where his curls had dripped into his eyes, mingling with the tears that he had wiped away by the time James had arrived. 

Regulus had contradicted both of those statements within a few moments, shattering everything that James had thought about him into irreparable fragments. 

“I just felt sorry for you. That’s the fucking problem. Did you really think I cared?”

Oh, how James hated people feeling sorry for him. There was genuinely nothing worse in the world than someone pitying him for some reason or another.

And Regulus had just hit the mark right there, on purpose. Because he had known how James felt about that and he had used that knowledge to his advantage, in order to be mean. 

Maybe Regulus hadn’t meant it. Maybe he, like James, had lashed out from a place of hurt. But, either way, it burnt. 

“If you can’t even move on from Lily, how do you expect to make any progress with me?” 

Ouch. 

The thing was, James knew he was right.

Kissing Regulus had been like a dream come true and James had admittedly lost himself in the moment, feeling all of his worries and grievances ebb away. He had felt at peace and he remembered thinking that he hadn’t felt that level of bliss since Lily was alive. 

That had been when the guilt had kicked in. Regulus had already pushed him away by that point and James had just snapped. In the same way that his, “You make me feel safe,” to Regulus hadn’t been said lightly, neither had the kiss. 

As someone who had closed himself off entirely since Lily’s death, James had had to open himself up in order to kiss Regulus. He had battled the urge, hated himself for the craving he felt when he looked at the man’s lips. And yet. 

And yet. 

Similar to how he had felt after his talk with Regulus, James had been able to see potential. Light at the end of the dark tunnel of grief he was currently stuck in.

Maybe Regulus would be able to help him with that, maybe he could help him get over Lily for good. 

But those thoughts had been washed away by the rain, swept off the pavements into muddy puddles that would eventually dry up, no one ever aware that they had even existed. 

Maybe they had both said things they didn’t mean. Maybe they had both meant what they said. No matter what the case was, something had been ruined between James and Regulus that night. And it was going to take a bloody long time to get it back. 

If it could even be repaired, that was. 

*

“Haz, are you nearly ready?” 

“No,” came Harry’s response from the next room. James sighed, adjusting his jumper as he hurried into Harry’s bedroom, seeing the toddler sitting on his rug, crossed legged, with two socks on his tiny hands. 

“What—“ James felt his previously miserable face twitch into a smile as he stopped to pick Harry up.

“What on earth have you done here? Socks go on your feet, silly,” he tickled Harry’s bare feet, causing the child to squirm with a giggle. 

“No socks,” Harry wriggled out of his dad’s arms, dropping back down to the floor so that he was splayed out on the carpet. “No like socks,” he kicked his legs upwards. 

“You have to wear socks, Harry,” James told him, taking the socks off his son’s hands. He could be so mischievous sometimes and James knew that was down to the adults who surrounded him. 

Lily had actually once said that Harry didn’t stand a chance of a normal childhood, not with James as a dad and Sirius and Remus as guardians. Little had she known that the reason why Harry’s childhood was going to be anything but normal was down to one Halloween night and a Dark wizard. 

“No,” Harry replied simply. ‘No’ was currently one of his favourite words. 

It had actually been one of Harry’s very first words, shortly after the classic ‘Mama’ and ‘Dada.’ Following ‘No’ had been ‘Moony’ much to Remus’ delight and Sirius’ chagrin (“He’s my godson, Remus! Why hasn’t he said my name first?”) 

“Fine,” James gave up because he really didn’t have any backbone whatsoever when it came to Harry - this child was going to be incredibly spoiled if he didn’t watch out. “Would you like to wear your sandals instead?” 

Harry crossed his arms across his chest, “No.”

“Okay, now you’re just being difficult,” James picked Harry up and walked out of his bedroom, plopping him down on the bottom of the stairs. 

He then took his wand out of his pocket to summon his son’s sandals from the shoe rack, noticing Harry’s little ‘o’ of wonderment when the shoes came whizzing through the air towards them. 

“Okay, foot out, please,” James commanded and Harry’s mouth opened, clearly about to form the word ‘No’ again but James cut him off before he could do so, “If you say ‘no’ one more time, I’ll go to Auntie Mary’s without you.”

Harry’s mouth smacked shut into a pout and James smirked in triumph, sliding the sandals onto the little boy’s feet without so much of a peep out of him. As James picked Harry up for Side-Along Apparation, however, Harry let out a dramatic sigh. 

“What is it now?” James couldn’t help but be endlessly amused by his kid. His mother had once told him that, when he had children of his own, karma for how much havoc he had wrecked would come back to bite him in the arse. 

Euphemia Potter had been right, of course, as she always was.

But James only found himself endeared by Harry’s mischievous side. It was better than the pre-potion days when Harry had flitted between sleep deprivation, energy boosts and sobbing. 

“Where socks?” Harry wiggled his toes in his sandals whilst looking up at his father with those beautifully big green eyes, woeful and petulant. 

“You’re going to be the death of me, child,” James muttered exasperatedly and he could practically hear Effie and Monty laughing at him.

His thoughts wandered briefly to Lily and what she would make of this but quickly shoved it down, the guilt of betraying her still too fresh. 

By the time James and Harry actually arrived at Mary’s, the lunchtime hour had passed and was crawling more into the afternoon. James, being the spineless fool he was, had folded to Harry’s demands and fetched his socks and trainers for him. 

But, no. That hadn’t been enough for Prince Harry because he now wanted to wear his socks and sandals. After James had explained what an awful fashion choice that was, the two-year-old had started pelting socks at his dad in retaliation. 

A few wrestles, tears and playful yet exasperated squabbles later, James carried both Harry and Leo the lion into Mary’s living room as the woman in question observed them with growing amusement. 

“Do I even want to know why Leo is wearing socks on all four paws?”

“No. Don’t ask,” James cut her off as he flopped onto a sofa with distinguishable relief, Harry scurrying out of his arms to sit beside his father, Leo still clutched in his hands. 

“No,” Harry echoed. James glared at him. The child only smiled toothily in response. 

Mary chuckled, wearing blue high-waisted jeans and a bright pink turtleneck. She was glowing, happier than James had seen her in years, and her new engagement ring sparkled on her finger. He felt a swell of joy for his friend despite his previous feelings on the matter. 

“People are allowed to move on with their lives, Potter. It doesn’t mean that the loss hurts them any less. It just means that they feel strong enough to carry on.”

Fuck, he missed Regulus. 

But all actions had their consequences, didn’t they? For some reason, James didn’t think that his parents would be laughing at this particular display of karma. 

“I made chilli con carne for lunch,” Mary said with a smile before glancing at the silver Muggle wristwatch on her wrist, “It’s not too late. I’ll go and warm it up with a quick spell.”

James lolled his head onto the back of the couch, catching his friend’s hand as she bustled behind him on her way to the kitchen, “You’re a legend. I could kiss you.”

“Please don’t,” was the Caribbean woman’s response, brown eyes twinkling. 

It was strange how friendships worked sometimes. Mary and James had never been especially close during Hogwarts - sure, they shared mutual friends and hung out but, on a personal level, they were never exactly the closest. 

James had always had Marlene as his ‘number one girl.’

After all, they’d grown up together (alongside Peter) so were naturally always going to be closer. They played on the Quidditch team together, Beater and Chaser, and confided in each other about simultaneously the most minimal and personal things. 

Marlene had constantly had a running joke with James over finding Euphemia attractive. The two had giggled and groaned over Sirius and Remus’ back-and-forth love story in a secluded corner of the Gryffindor common room instead of completing their homework. 

James had been Marlene’s first kiss just because she demanded that she had to kiss a boy and then, shortly after, declared, “I think I’m a lesbian, James.”

He had then held her when she cried over internalised homophobia, listened to her woes about unrequited crushes and rejoiced with her when Dorcas Meadowes finally kissed her. 

He hadn’t had any of that with Mary. Not purposefully, of course. But Mary had just always been closer to Sirius out of all the lads and had been a little too close to Lily to actually like him before fourth year, at the earliest. 

Even then, Mary and James’ friendship had been strictly at the surface, never delving too far but knowing that they would be there for each other, no matter what. There had just been other people that both of them would rather turn to, through no fault of the other. 

Besides, James was still pretty sure he’d done something to piss Mary off around sixth year, when he started getting closer to Lily.

Maybe she was just annoyed that her best friend was falling for the boy she said she’d rather date the Giant Squid over. James never found out what it was but simply shrugged it off as Mary being protective over Lily. 

Something switched once the war ended, though. 

Marlene was gone. Lily was gone. James still had Sirius and Remus, of course, but he’d still lost the two most important females in his life. Mary had lost her two best friends, along with Dorcas being killed, too, and Alice being tortured into insanity. 

All within the same few months as well. In her pain, she had turned to James, who was suffering just as much as she was, and they had fallen together. Mary had staggered to her feet a little easier than James.

That didn’t mean she was going to leave him on the ground, though. 

“Your lunch, monsieur,” Mary appeared in the doorway between the Cattermole house’s front and dining room (she had moved in with her then boyfriend, Reginald, just shortly after Lily’s death. Clearly, she had needed the support). 

Mary’s comment was accompanied by a flourishing gesture in the direction of the dining table. That instantly encouraged Harry to slide off the sofa and run eagerly towards the food, a socked Leo still in his arms. James loitered. 

“What’s wrong, James?” Mary asked gently. 

James started, taken aback by his friend’s sudden perceptiveness though Mary had always been the type to see straight through people. Walls up, he instantly began stuttering out an excuse, “N-nothing, why would you think that—“

“Breaking those boundaries once in a while to just…get it all out…can be very healthy.”

Typical. 

Even when he was mad at Regulus, the man’s voice still repeated like a broken record in James’ mind like Regulus had locked shackles into place and thrown away the key.

But he was right, wasn’t he? James had felt so much lighter when he actually talked about his feelings, even if Regulus completely refused to do the same. 

At Mary’s raised eyebrow, James stopped stammering and simply sighed, “Can we eat first?” he asked and Mary’s face softened with something that looked like surprise, mingled with pride perhaps. 

“Of course.” 

Lunch was a chaotic affair, as was common when saddled with a toddler. Harry was in a giddy mood, feeding Leo bits of chilli con carne and chattering absolute gibberish to Mary, who just agreed with everything he said. 

Harry was in the stage of speaking where a lot of what he said sounded like garbled nonsense, with some actual vocabulary thrown in every now and then.

Sirius often compared Harry’s talking to what James had apparently sounded like when he got drunk for the first time on his fourteenth birthday. 

Once all plates were cleared, Mary introduced Harry to the swing set that she and Reginald had installed in the back garden (“For our future children,” she had said, rather atypically shy, much to James’ amusement). 

As Harry and Leo the lion swung happily, Mary brewed up and brought a tea tray out into the garden, setting it down at the table that James was supervising Harry from. She didn’t push or prompt, just poured tea and waited for James to speak, which he appreciated. 

There was a long moment of silence as he sipped his tea, trying not to think about the way he had teased Regulus for taking it black. And then, the truth forced it’s way out from behind the barrier of guilt, shame and the feelings of betrayal that had been lingering for days. 

“I kissed Regulus.” 

Mary was silent. James purposefully didn’t look at her, obsessively stirring his tea as if the drink in his hand was the most interesting thing in the world.

He didn’t want to see the look of disappointment on Mary’s face. He didn’t want to see the distaste she used to look at him with at the start of his relationship with Lily, like she was put off by their blossoming romance. 

She clearly hadn’t initially thought James was good enough for Lily, though those pursed lips and disparaging expressions had soon faded as seventh year had progressed.

And now all of those feelings were going to return, she was going to hate him for betraying Lily’s memory barely a year after she had—

“I’m not surprised, honestly.” 

James blinked. 

“What?” 

Mary shrugged, taking a sip of tea with an indifferent look on her face when James dared to peek from where he had been hiding between his hands. “The tension between you two was suffocating. I didn’t want to say anything but I sensed there was something going on between you.” 

How on earth had both Mary and Sirius managed to come to that conclusion? Was James really that obvious?

After all, it had to be him that had given something away because Regulus had been pretending the entire time, just pitying James and helping him out of some form of reluctant obligation. 

Right? 

“There’s not anything between us,” James corrected her quickly, glancing around self-consciously to make sure Regulus was definitely not hovering in the doorway this time. “I love Lily. Always have done, always will. Besides, Reg…he’s cruel. Not who I thought he was.”

Instead of agreeing like James expected her to, Mary only raised her eyebrows again, “And yet you still kissed him? There must’ve been a reason, James,” she sounded doubtful, which was a first for Mary MacDonald who was the surest person James knew. 

Maybe she just wasn’t sure that James was telling the entire truth and not fabricating his feelings about the situation. He didn’t know himself, to be completely honest. 

“He just…” James hesitated, realising he didn’t really know why he had kissed Regulus in the first place.

And then, in his mind, were flashes of the man’s wet eyelashes caressing his tear-stained cheeks, with overhead curls dripping rain droplets onto his pout, his tongue flicking out absentmindedly to chase it. 

Ah. 

“He was upset,” James said eventually, after inwardly battling over what to say. “I…made him upset.” 

“Reg,” he croaked out, wretched. 

But Regulus had already turned and fled out of the door. 

“So you kissed him better?” Mary was evidently sceptical, a judgemental raised eyebrow still creasing her forehead. “That has to be one of the stupidest things you’ve ever done in your entire lifetime, James,” the Caribbean woman said scornfully. 

James bowed his head in shame, “I know, I know. I shouldn’t have kissed Regulus, it’s disrespectful to Lily’s memory. Trust me, Mary, I already know how much I’ve betrayed her. I don’t need you to tell me that as well.” 

Mary looked startled, “I never said that. Don’t put words into my mouth. Wait, let’s unpack that,” she leant forward, hands clasped over the table as Harry shrieked with joy in the distance, legs kicking high into the air. “Do you think that you betrayed Lily by kissing Regulus?” 

James couldn’t help but feel mildly stupid. The way that Mary was looking at him, as if she couldn’t quite believe that that was how he felt, was one of the reasons why he liked to keep his boundaries firmly up. “Yes. That’s what I told him. I-I mean, it’s not fair, is it?” 

“Fair on whom?” Mary’s voice was gentler than James had ever heard it and he suddenly understood what Sirius meant when he said she was a great person to talk to about anything and everything under the sun. 

In the same way that Marlene and James had been one another’s support unit, Mary and Sirius had often been each other’s go-to people whereas Remus had tended to gravitate more towards Lily. 

Now that he came to think of it, James realised that Peter hadn’t really had a super close friendship with one of the girls.

Bar Marlene, of course. And, even then, Marlene and James had always been the closest out of their little childhood trio. A lot of warning signs had clearly been there, if only James had looked a little closer. 

“Fair on Lily? You? Regulus?” Mary continued to question, breaking through James’ momentary lapse in thought process, distracted by the niggling feeling that any memory of Peter Pettigrew gave him. 

“On all of us, really,” James answered thoughtfully. “I feel like I’m not being fair to Lils because I love her and I can’t move on from her, no matter how safe Regulus makes me feel. In a way, I guess that’s not very fair on me. Because my grief is holding me back. And, then, it’s not fair on Regulus because, even though I’m intrigued and enamoured by the majority of what he does and says, I simply can’t love anyone but Lily.” 

“Your loyalty to Lily is staggering, James,” Mary said and he felt a slight swell of disappointment at the fact that she evidently agreed with him.

A small part of him had been hoping that she would set him straight and not confirm the doubts that had been circling his head ever since his friendship with Regulus had deepened. 

“But,” James raised his head at the change in Mary’s tone, “You must be completely delusional if you think that she’d want that to hold you back,” his friend said in that classic no-nonsense voice of hers. 

Before James could even respond, Mary was already continuing, “Look, you may have been married to her, James. But Lily was my best friend since we were both eleven. I knew her better than I probably know myself,” she paused for a second, looking briefly pained.

“So, trust me when I say this - she would be devastated if she saw you purposely living your life alone out of some posthumous obligation. When you love someone, you don’t want them to grieve the memory of you forever.” 

“I love her, Mary,” James insisted desperately because the very thought of moving on from someone who had had him in a chokehold since eleven was frightening.

It absolutely terrified him to even think about not loving Lily when she was all he had ever loved since he knew what it was to love at all. 

The concept of moving on was extremely scary to James. He felt like he had been stuck on an ever-moving carousel since Halloween 1981, with Lily’s ghost buckling him to the seat.

Regulus had offered him a way out and James had taken it, allowing his dedication to Lily to drop for a blissful moment in the rain. 

But then Regulus had pulled away, effectively shoving James back on the carousel of loyalty to Lily which he now wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be riding on. And yet, now, James was stuck once more.

Torn up inside at the fact that he had betrayed Lily and further tortured by the truth that he would do it again because kissing Regulus had felt like the first breath of air after a year of drowning. 

However, James didn’t love Regulus, okay?

He was merely intrigued by him, challenged by the puzzle that he was. He found him angelic and lovely and felt magnetised to his side because Regulus made him feel safe.

But he didn’t love him. He couldn’t love anyone but Lily. That had been a promise he had made to himself at eleven and he had yet to break it. 

“Until death do us part,” was the official marriage vow that James had spoken into truth at their wedding. The conjunction ‘until’ insinuated an ending to something, though.

Like James could be set free once he was parted by death from Lily. It didn’t feel that way, though. 

When James had married Lily in the spring of 1980, he hadn’t imagined that they would hardly pass their one year anniversary before the war tightened its noose around their necks. The threat of Voldemort had been ever present, of course, especially in the wake of Trelawney’s prophecy. 

But, in a worst case scenario, James had always imagined them going down together.

Or, at the very least, he hoped that he would be able to sacrifice himself for Lily and Harry, allowing them to escape. The universe had had other plans, though, sending him to Sirius’ flat, to Regulus who had effectively returned from the dead that night. 

And James had failed his family. His wife. 

Was it not ironic that Regulus had returned the very night that Lily perished?

That his Horcrux and survival story had been the reason why James hadn’t been there, to face Voldemort and protect Lily and Harry? Seemed like Regulus had been helping James betray Lily for longer than he thought. And yet. 

And yet. 

“I know you do,” Mary said softly, reaching over to grab James’ hand across the table, “But isn’t it worth trying to see if you can find some happiness elsewhere? She wouldn’t want you to be miserable, James. That’s the last thing she’d want. I bet she’s rooting for you right now, wherever she is.” 

“I bet she’s not,” James replied and, upon seeing Mary’s mouth open in protest, he waved her into silence, “Because I’ve been really shitty to Reg. He…heard me calling him a convenience to Sirius so, uh, I think Lils would be cursing me into oblivion.” 

“Oh yeah, she definitely would,” Mary agreed readily and James laughed, taken aback by his own amusement.

Conversation about Lily since her death had only ceased to make him upset. And that was the first time he had been able to actually laugh at the thought of something she would think or say without feeling the sting of grief. 

It felt amazing. 

“Seriously, why did you say that, James?” 

James sobered up instantly, “I was scared,” he told her honestly. “Sirius was grilling me and he was hurt that I confided in Reg over him. Which is understandable but,” he shrugged, glancing down into the depths of his tea, “I panicked. Also didn’t want him to think that I’d moved on from Lily with his brother, of all people.” 

Mary finished her teacup and poured another, soaking in the silence and the sun of the warm late August day before saying, “Of all people? What do you mean by that?” she sounded genuinely curious.

But James knew Mary MacDonald, had known her since first year, and he knew there would be an ulterior motive buried in her ‘curious’ tone. 

Nevertheless, he answered her. Since Regulus had encouraged him to communicate about his feelings, James had found that it really was healing.

Moreover, he hated that Regulus had been right because James didn’t very much like Regulus right now, after the cruel digs about Lily and the harsh rejection in the rain. 

“Well…” he hesitated but pushed on, knowing that both Lily and Marlene would be shouting at him from the afterlife to just talk to Mary about how he was feeling.

“Regulus and Lily are very different people. Were,” James corrected himself with a clearing of his throat, feeling the familiar throb of pain at the reminder that he had to refer to his wife with past tense. 

It wasn’t as venomous this time, though. James couldn’t imagine why that was the case. 

“Emmeline was nothing like Reginald,” Mary pointed out, referencing her ex girlfriend, Emmeline Vance, whom she’d dated shortly after breaking up with Sirius in fifth year. The two had been together for little under a year but had broken up when N.E.W.T.S. came around. 

“Em isn’t dead though. So you don’t have to feel guilty about moving on,” James half-snapped, instantly regretting his harshness. To her credit, however, Mary simply acknowledged his comment with a slight nod as if to say Fair enough. 

“You shouldn’t have to feel guilty either, though, James. I mean that. Lily would—“

They were suddenly interrupted by a shriek from Harry as the sprinklers came on randomly, soaking him from where he was now playing in the pond that was situated in Mary’s garden.

The two-year-old instantly came running over to James, “Dada, it got me!” 

“Yes, now you’re going to turn into a mermaid,” James told him, scooping Harry up onto his lap and chuckling at his son’s wet clothes.

“Really?” Harry asked, believing James instantly with wide green eyes that sent a weak jolt of guilt through James. It wasn’t as strong as it used to be, though. 

“Yes, really. I can see your tail growing already,” James tickled Harry’s bare feet as the child squirmed in his hold, helpless giggles falling from his pouty lips. “If you’d worn socks, you would’ve been protected,” James said with a grin, teasing him. 

“Well I wants to. Dada not let me,” Harry informed Mary, who was smiling fondly.

“He’s mean, isn’t he, Harry?” she answered and the toddler nodded firmly, determined and sure in his response. In retaliation, James pretended to drop him. 

“Because you were trying to wear socks with sandals, you menace. Stop twisting the truth,” James wrestled Harry, who was trying very hard to hit his father playfully on the head.

“No,” the child smiled angelically back at him. 

“You’re a pest,” James bounced Harry up and down on his lap whilst looking pointedly at Mary whilst mouthing This is why.

She only pursed her lips before turning her head to greet Reginald Cattermole, her fiancé, who had just walked into the garden, hence why the sprinklers had randomly turned on. 

“Hello everyone,” Reginald said with a smile, kissing Mary on the cheek and shaking James’ hand, the one that wasn’t holding Harry against him.

“Good day at work?” Mary asked him.

Reginald nodded, “It was alright, yeah.” 

James felt a slight pang in his chest whilst watching them interact quietly, a domesticated ease of conversation falling between them. It was exactly the kind of situation he never got to experience with Lily, one that the war had ripped away from them, leaving James alone with no significant other. 

Mary must’ve seen the desolate expression on James’ face as Harry played with his father’s hair, feet firmly planted atop James’ thighs to keep his balance.

Because she pulled away from her fiancé and clapped her hands together, “Harry, would you like some more juice?” she held up the toddler’s empty juice beaker. 

“Yes yes yes! Please,” Harry added hastily after James prodded him in the back so that he remembered his manners.

Mary smiled at him, “Perfect. Reginald will take you,” she nudged Reginald who, to his credit, simply accepted this fact without argument. 

“C’mon, Harry,” he held his hand out to James’ son before dropping his voice to a hushed, conspiratorial whisper, “I think, if we look carefully, we might find some chocolate digestives too.” 

“Oh really?” Harry’s response was an excited gush of speech, eyes alight as he whipped his head around to look at James, who nodded encouragingly.

“Off you go, Haz. Grab me a biscuit, yeah?” he swung Harry down onto the ground and the two-year-old instantly latched onto Reginald’s hand, disappearing inside. 

There was a moment of silence before Mary spoke, “Are you worried about Harry forgetting Lily?” she asked and James felt the breath punch out of him slightly, shock winding his body.

One thing about Mary MacDonald, soon to be Cattermole, was that she was nearly always right. 

“I-I don’t—“

“I’m not stupid, James,” Mary’s tone was flat and straight-to-the-point. “You said you feel guilty about moving on from Lily. Is that because of Harry? Do you think it would’ve been easier to grieve if you didn’t have a memory of Lily in the form of a toddler?” 

“Possibly,” James shrugged, “But I’d never regret Harry. That’s not what this is. It’s more that I don’t want to replace Lily. It’s different when you come and read bedtime stories to Haz because we’re not romantically involved. But Regulus? I’m intrigued by him and he’s good with Harry. And that scares me.” 

“Why?”

James took a deep breath, “Because he’s not Lily. I feel like I can’t give him all of me, that I can’t love anyone but Lily. Besides, he was a—“ the words caught in his throat because they felt horrid on his tongue. 

“A Death-Eater?” Mary finished for him, like the practical fucking Leglimens that she was.

James nodded, averting his gaze, “I know he’s redeemed himself. That he’s good. I don’t doubt that. But I can’t help but think that, if I’m replacing Lily…couldn’t I have chosen someone else? Someone who isn’t Sirius’ brother, someone who didn’t follow You-Know-Who?” 

“First of all, you’re not replacing Lily. It’s possible to love more than one person in a lifetime, you know. Secondly, you can’t choose who you fall in love with, James. That’s why it’s called falling in love - because, more often than not, it’s accidental and unexpected,” Mary said softly. 

“I’m not in love with him,” James replied quickly, “He’s…” 

Mary remained silent, allowing James to gather his thoughts and organise his words.

He wasn’t in love with Regulus. He couldn’t be, not when he had promised to only love Lily. But maybe Mary was right. Maybe he could love Regulus, if he just had a little time.

The real question was - could James love Regulus with the same ferocity and dedication that he had felt towards Lily?

Or would Regulus simply be a secondhand love, someone he would constantly compare to Lily? Regulus deserved more than that. He deserved more than James. 

“I find myself thinking about him a lot,” he finally said, staring at where Leo lay on the grass where Harry had dropped him in front of the swing set.

“His advice, his words. When we kissed, I remember thinking I hadn’t been that happy since being with Lily. He’s just so lovely and mysterious like I can’t work him out. He’s a challenge, a puzzle. And you know all too well how much I like a challenge.” 

Mary’s smile was soft, “I do indeed,” she said with a slightly strangled laugh.

Upon further inspection, James saw that her dark brown eyes had welled up with tears and he panicked, “Did I say something wrong?” he questioned frantically. 

“No, James,” Mary chuckled wateringly, wiping under her eyes, “I’m just happy that you’re finding happiness again. Lily would be over the moon, I promise. I mean, like you said - Regulus is amazing with Harry. He makes you feel safe. What more could you want?” 

James felt like a tightened piece of elastic inside his chest had suddenly broken and pinged away into the distance. The grip that Lily Potter had on him loosening and allowing him to breathe a little easier. 

He felt slightly more free, especially after Mary’s confirmation that, by pursuing something with Regulus, he wouldn’t be betraying Lily. The guilt was diluted now and James was sure it wouldn’t take long for it to evaporate completely. 

Which was an absurd milestone James certainly hadn’t expected to meet when he woke up that morning. Was this what healing felt like? 

“Someone who wants me back, maybe,” James said bitterly, thinking of how Regulus clearly didn’t care about him, his actions only out of an obligatory sympathy. “Why do I always pick the ones who don’t like me back?” he asked rhetorically. 

Mary snorted as Harry came into view, running back with a beaker in one hand and two chocolate digestive biscuits in the other. “Because you, James Potter, never shy away from a challenge. Also, if you really believe that Regulus doesn’t like or want you back, I think you need a new pair of glasses.” 

“Wha—“ James’ shocked question was cut off. 

“DADDY!” Harry tumbled into him, clambering back onto his lap with a clumsy disposition, “Got’chu choccy bickie,” he held the chocolate biscuit up with a sticky hand. James gobbled it down from his hand like an animal, making Harry giggle. 

He didn’t have time to continue his conversation with Mary because fatherly duties called in the form of Harry begging for James to play hide-and-seek.

As he got up tiredly to indulge his son, he had a fleeting thought that this whole parenting malarkey was so much easier with two people rather than one. 

And then, James paused with his eyes shut, counting to fifty for the game. A realisation set alight in his brain, a milestone hopped in a gushing river of mourning.

Because that was the first time, since Lily, that he had wished for someone else to be there, without the thought being accompanied by the residual twinge of guilt or pain. 

Only one person came to mind, as well. 

James felt rather like he had been transported back to third year, to the moment when he realised that Lily Evans was The One that he was going to be with, even if it killed him.

This time, though, a curly haired Slytherin popped into his brain instead of a fiery Gryffindor. 

Regulus Black.

Regulus Black who’s secret smiles were like shooting stars, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it kind of gift.

Regulus Black who had managed to solve Harry’s sleeping problem, Regulus Black who blushed prettily when James flirted with him.

Regulus Black who spoke words like darts aiming to kill but kissed like he had been starving for decades and James was his first taste of heaven. 

James smirked. 

Mary was right. He did love a challenge. 

“Ready or not…” James called as he opened his eyes, “…here I come!” 

Chapter Text

Regulus  

Each day I get older and older

I've lived through a war

I'm still soldiering on

I might not be sure what I want

But I'll find a new place to belong

I'm running to the edge

I'll learn to make amends

Oh, the thought of you still burns

I'll only dream of my return

21st August 1982

The first time that Regulus kissed a boy, it was in the dark of the Slytherin fourth year dormitory, hidden behind the four-poster curtains of his bed. 

Barty Crouch Junior had been Regulus’ best friend since first year. Attached at the hip, alongside Evan Rosier, there hadn’t been a secret between them nor had they ever argued. And, as time naturally crept on and feelings blossomed, they had been each other’s first kiss. 

“I’m not gay,” had been Barty’s response when Regulus had pulled away, eyes still closed because his impulses had gotten the better of him for the first time in his life.

“Me neither,” Regulus had said, fingers tingling from where Barty had held his hand tenderly. 

“Okay. Just so we’re clear,” Barty had whispered before kissing Regulus again, hands cupping his supposed best friend’s face.

Regulus’ heart had raced, his stomach had cartwheeled and he had seen it all - fireworks, shooting stars, the whole shebang. 

Barty just felt right. And Barty continued to feel right for the following year, until one morning in fifth year when they woke up, all tangled together, and stared at each other.

“This isn’t gonna work, is it?” Barty had asked with a chuckle, extracting himself from Regulus carefully, “I think we’re better off as friends.” 

“Yeah,” Regulus had responded, feeling an out-of-worldly emotion swelling in his chest. He hadn’t loved Barty (or, at least, he didn’t think so) but he had been his first kiss, first shag, first anything basically.

Regulus was bound to feel fractured by the ending of their ‘relationship,’ right? 

“Get the fuck out of my bed,” sixteen year old Regulus had said, shoving Barty away from him because the boy suddenly made him feel claustrophobic, his heart trapped and shattered in his chest.

“Yes sir,” Barty had teased with a salute before toppling into Evan’s instead, waking up their friend with an insistent cuddle. 

A year or so later, Evan and Barty had begun dating. It was always supposed to be that way. Regulus had known that, deep down, even when Barty was kissing him in the dark and holding his hand in crowds.

But he had enjoyed being someone’s person for a little while, had loved being appreciated and chosen. 

Even if that period of affection had had an expiry date on it. Regulus had seen it as enough, and had seen his short time with Barty as a factor to strengthen his inner emotions and make him more defensive, less of a pushover next time. He wasn’t going to be anyone’s second option ever again. 

He had watched from afar as Barty fell in love with Evan, the person who was made for him, the person who tugged that brilliant smile across his face and caused his eyes to light up like a candle had been set aflame.

The candle of their love that had been snuffed out rapidly by none other than Alastor Moody, in a Death-Eater attack against the Ministry that the Order had sabotaged. 

Or so, the story went.

Regulus had been long gone, hidden away in France, by the time Evan had perished. Presumed dead by everyone in his life. He hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye. By the time he had returned, Evan was six feet under, Barty was imprisoned and, on top of that, Dorcas had been murdered too. 

The casualties and tragedies of the war that no one really cared about, simply because Evan and Barty were seen as ‘bad’ people. Dorcas had gotten hero shots and a memorial along with other fallen Order members but Evan and Barty might as well have never existed. 

It wasn’t like Barty was dead or anything. But, Regulus mused, he was probably better off deceased then he was incarcerated in the cruel jaws of Azkaban. That prison drained humanity out of people and for someone like Barty, who had been so full of life, it would be hell. 

Barty may have been Regulus’ first heartbreak, he may have been the partial reason as to why he chose to shut himself off from others.

But Barty had also been an excellent best friend and Regulus wouldn’t wish a life sentence in Azkaban even on his worst enemy. He missed the person Barty had been before the darkness of the war had swallowed him up. 

Regulus didn’t often think about his friends, preferring to shut the memories of them in the back of his mind, turning the key in the lock and keeping it permanently sealed.

He tended to disassociate himself from any emotion that made him feel too much pain. Regulus had cried, once , about them when Pandora informed him about their fates. That was it. 

However, some occasions called for conversations about them, or situations pertaining to their actions, that Regulus wasn’t always entirely too willing to partake in. The Friday morning, three days after he kissed James, was one of these scenarios. 

Raised voices awakened Regulus from his afternoon nap, which he had elected to take after a particularly grueling session with Dumbledore where the eccentric Headmaster had provided him with plausible evidence that one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes could be an old school diary of his. 

Regulus was still doubtful, especially as, during his time under the Dark Lord, he had never shown any interest in anything but valuable objects such as Slytherin’s locket.

The suggestions of the Hufflepuff’s Cup and Ravenclaw’s diadem being Horcruxes had been approved by Regulus but he was still a little doubtful about the diary. 

This obviously caused tension between himself and Dumbledore but, instead of engaging in an argument like any normal person would, the old man chose to speak in mind-fucking riddles and euphemistic sentences. Which irritated and exhausted the fuck out of Regulus who, as a result, crashed once he got home. 

Rubbing his eyes and feeling pretty groggy, Regulus’ bleary squint at the clock in the hallway informed him that he had been napping for around two hours, the hand now creeping around to two o’clock. The voices were coming from the living room, though, so he followed the noise curiously. 

“It’s her birthday, Sirius,” Mary’s annoyed voice crept through the doorway as Regulus propped himself up against the doorframe, arms crossed after he smoothed his robes down. 

“I know,” Sirius sounded fairly miserable, “But Moony’s really sick. The full moon is tonight and I really don’t want to leave him alone,” he told her, fiddling consistently with a singular strand of hair which was a sign of him being stressed. 

“Can’t Regulus look after him?” Mary asked. 

Regulus instantly shifted in the doorway, aware that he possibly wasn’t being as inconspicuous as he would’ve liked and that Mary had probably sighted him there.

Sirius was still none the wiser though, “I guess he could but Moony gets sensitive about who looks after him at full moons. He’s got a lot of pride so I don’t think he’d want Reg to see him in that state.” 

“I don’t mind,” Regulus spoke up, causing Sirius to whirl around in surprise and for Mary to send a grateful smile in his direction.

Sirius bit his lip, hand on hip, “Appreciate it, Reg, but it depends whether Moony’s comfortable with that, y’know?” 

Regulus longed to retort with, “Remus is my friend too,” but he knew that wouldn’t be entirely true. Remus was technically a friend, yes, but he and Regulus weren’t exactly on the type of level where Remus would feel comfortable enough to be vulnerable around him. 

Besides, Regulus was definitely regarded as quite a non sympathetic type due to his tendency to disconnect from people. People who got to know him knew that he could be caring when the occasion called for it but the general assumption was that he wasn’t capable.

Yet another case of Regulus not being good enough, of not being enough like Sirius. 

“Where are you going anyway? Who’s birthday is it?” Regulus questioned, sitting down on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other.

Mary and Sirius exchanged awkward glances for a long moment and Regulus knew the answer before Mary even spoke, albeit quietly, “Alice’s. Longbottom. Y’know, the one who…uh, Neville’s mum.” 

“The one your best friend tortured into insanity,” was the unsaid clarification that Mary wisely elected not to tag onto the end of her sentence.

The air felt thick with tension all of a sudden, Sirius now chewing the strand of his hair that he had been fidgeting with previously. 

Regulus gulped down the lump that had risen in his throat. He hated Barty for what he had done to Alice and Frank but a small part of him also knew that the man who tortured Neville’s parents was not Barty.

It was the monster that the war had made him into, the moral humanity ripped away from him once all of his friends had dropped dead. 

Regulus had a thirst for knowledge and he longed to hear Barty’s side of the story, to listen to him explain (but not justify) his actions. He just wanted to understand why.

What had driven Barty to such cruelty? That wasn’t the Barty that Regulus had known. His Barty had been gentle and devoted to his friends, to the people he loved. The people that had been taken away from him.

Regulus didn’t want to defend Barty, of course, but he could see what type of helpless situation his friend had been placed in. Evan had been murdered, Regulus had been assumed dead, Dorcas had switched to the light side and Pandora probably wanted nothing to do with him. 

“I’ll come,” Regulus found himself saying, all of a sudden. The palpable surprise on Sirius’ face displayed exactly how he felt inside, the words having left his mouth before he even had time to process the idea. “Sirius can stay here with Remus. If it’s just company you want, Mary, then I’ll happily tag along.” 

It’s not like Alice is going to know the difference between you and Sirius, anyway, his intrusive thoughts whispered and Regulus shook the awful words away with a mini shake of his head that was barely noticeable. 

Mary was eyeing him thoughtfully, not looking as surprised as Sirius like she had almost expected this turn of events to occur once Regulus had walked into the room. Clearly, unlike his brother, Mary hadn’t underestimated Regulus. 

“Sure. I don’t see why not,” Mary answered casually, shooting a warning glare at Sirius who looked like he wanted to protest.

Regulus was about to get annoyed with him, believing that Sirius was insinuating that Regulus wasn’t good enough to visit Alice, a victim of a fate arguably worse than death. 

But, as Mary headed out of the door with Regulus following not far behind, Sirius grabbed his arm. He looked pale, “Reg, are you sure? She’s—I mean, it’s not pleasant,” his Adam’s apple bobbed. 

“Well, I figured I wasn’t exactly on my way to see the Blackpool Illuminations, Sirius,” Regulus responded coldly. 

Sirius sighed and it was in that moment that Regulus realised that his brother was actually worried, “I just don’t want you to get upset at what Ba…at what he did,” Sirius’ face convulsed instead of saying Barty’s name. 

“I won’t,” Regulus told him assuredly, tone firm. He pulled his arm out of Sirius’ grip and hurried after Mary, who was standing in the corridor of the apartment block, waiting. “But thanks,” he added, over his shoulder. 

“For what?” Sirius looked confused. 

Regulus shrugged, “For caring.” 

*

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, expertly disguised by the unused ‘department store’ Purge and Dowse, Ltd, was actually a place that Regulus had frequented, in the last year of Orion Black’s life.

His father had passed away just shortly before Regulus departed for the cave - a fact he was inherently grateful for because he knew that his ‘death’ would’ve destroyed what was left of Orion. At least that wasn’t something else that people could blame Regulus for. 

As a result, Regulus didn’t really know why he had offered to accompany Mary to St Mungo’s, when it was a place that only held reminders of his dying father who had been an abusive, controlling monster but, nonetheless, still his father. 

Memories washed over Regulus the second that he and Mary stepped through the glass after speaking to the ianimate dummy, straight into the bustling reception area.

There was a plethora of rickety wooden chairs that hosted a variety of people ranging from tired-looking visitors to patients with the most peculiar ailments awaiting check-in. 

Mary took a hold of Regulus’ arm to guide him to the back of the winding queue in the visitors entrance, placing them behind a woman who appeared to have sprouted elephant trunks out of her head.

Regulus stifled a grin, thinking absently that James would find that absolutely hilarious before instantly sobering and forcing any thoughts of that man out of his head. 

He hated James. Hated everything he had said, everything he had done, everything he had pretended to be or feel when he clearly wasn’t on the same page as Regulus. Screw that, James hadn’t even been reading the same fucking book. 

“Didn’t you want to work here at one point?” Mary asked him as they moved gradually in the queue towards the front desk, a Healer in lime green robes hurrying past them with a clipboard levitated in front of them. 

Regulus was startled, “I did. Yes. How did you know that?” his eyebrows furrowed in confusion, thoughts flitting backwards to see if he could remember whether he had ever mentioned his schoolboy career aspirations to Mary MacDonald of all people. 

“Sirius told me. In, like, fifth year when we were dating,” Mary answered, much to the chagrin of Regulus who wrinkled his nose in distaste at the reminder of Sirius and Mary dating.

They had been quite the power couple, known all over Hogwarts. Regulus, along with the rest of the school, had seen enough showy snogging from his brother to last him a lifetime. 

Mary had dated Sirius in the year that he had basically forgotten and distanced himself from Regulus, though.

Sirius had run away on Christmas Eve in 1975, when he was just freshly turned sixteen, and he started dating Mary not long after that. So, in a time where Regulus wasn’t good enough for Sirius, why had he talked about him to his girlfriend? 

Strange. 

Regulus’ perplexion must’ve shown on his face because Mary gave his arm a gentle squeeze as they shuffled forward once more. “He always talked about you, you know. Never stopped. Obviously, it wasn’t always positive but he never stopped caring, Regulus. People who love you don’t just do that, okay?” 

“I love you. Always have. I never stopped.” 

“Damn,” Regulus let out an awkward laugh to disguise the very real emotions that bubbled up inside of him at Mary’s words. “Are you sure you’re not the one who wants to work here? You could be a psychiatrist or something.” 

Mary hummed, stepping aside to allow a man with a charcoaled face to pass through, bandages wrapped around his hands. “Perhaps. But you’re not too bad with advice and helping people yourself. Maybe we could be coworkers.” 

Regulus didn’t have time to ask Mary exactly how she knew he had been doling out advice because they had reached the front of the queue.

“Welcome,” the Welcome Witch droned, long manicured nails intertwining claw-like around her quill as she looked up at them through uninterested eyes, “Names?” 

“Mary MacDonald and Regulus Black, here to see Alice and Frank Longbottom. They’re on the fourth floor. Janus Thickey Ward,” Mary rattled off, clearly an expert.

The Welcome Witch looked grudgingly grateful that she didn’t have to do her job and instantly printed off visitor badges for Mary and Regulus to wear. 

“Black, huh?” she said whilst handing Regulus his badge, “Thought you’d died. Or was that your brother?” 

Regulus took the badge with a sickly sweet yet sardonic smile, “None of your business.” 

Mary snorted at his comment as they passed by the Admissions Department, on the way to the elevators that would take them to the fourth floor.

Regulus let his gaze wander down the corridor leading to the Alchemy Room, where healing options were brewed, for a brief second before averting his eyes. 

That was a career aspiration he had been forced to give up in the name of the war and he couldn’t afford lusting after what he couldn’t have. Regulus did enough of that as it was. Mary being the eagle-eyed person that she was noticed this, “You could still—“

“Nope,” Regulus cut her off, walking up the stairs behind a Healer armed with a clipboard and a woman with her arm in a sling. “I’m happy at Slug and Jiggers,” he told her, though the slimmer of wistfulness for a different career didn’t quite fade like he wanted it to. 

Mary looked like she didn’t believe him but didn’t pursue the matter, much to Regulus’ relief. If that conversation had been taking place with Sirius, his brother wouldn’t have let it go because he had a tendency to push and push and push, something Regulus hated. 

“If you say so,” Mary said at the same time that the slinged woman took off down a first floor corridor. “You should bring Maggie to my engagement party tomorrow as your plus one. I used to tutor her in Arithmancy,” she suggested casually. 

“Oh. I was going to bring Pandora,” Regulus informed her as the Healer disappeared into a third floor ward.

They had finally reached the fourth floor when Mary said, “Pandora is invited. Reginald was in the same dormitory as Xenophilius at Hogwarts.” 

Regulus didn’t quite know what to say to that, mentally noting to mention the invite to Maggie when he showed up for the evening shift today. He followed Mary along the corridor until they reached Ward 49, otherwise known as the Janus Thickey Ward. Regulus took a deep breath.

This was it. 

“Ready?” Mary’s gaze was assessing, almost like she knew what thoughts were running through his mind. Regulus squirmed, not sure he liked her ability to read him straightaway, no matter how many walls he built up. He nodded stiffly, avoiding eye contact. 

Mary knocked on the door with her free hand as she was also holding a gift bag in her other hand.

The door swung open, revealing a rather plump, blonde Healer with a radiant smile, “Mary!” she said cheerfully, her manner already grating on Regulus, “And who is this?” 

“This is Regulus. Regulus, this is Heather. She looks after Frank and Alice,” Mary introduced him, shoving him forward a little.

He politely took Heather’s hand, “Pleasure to meet you,” he murmured, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. 

“Well, aren’t you a charming little gentleman?” Heather beamed even brighter, if that was humanly possible and stepped aside to let them through the doorway.

“And I see you’ve brought a present! Let me just check,” she whipped her wand out and poked it into the gift bag, clearly doing some sort of security spell. 

Seconds later, Heather was ushering them down the ward that definitely showed signs of permanent residence for the patients, with personal effects such as photographs and possessions cluttering their bedsides.

A peculiar looking witch sat with her suspiciously green hands folded neatly atop her covers; a man with a vacant expression murmured to himself and flowery curtains graced the very end of the ward, drawn around a bed to give the patients and visitors privacy. 

Heather seemed to be leading Regulus and Mary towards the flowery curtains and he braced himself as the curtains slid across, revealing a couple who were both sitting in bed.

Several photographs surrounded them, along with a Quidditch Through The Ages magazine, a packet of Droobles Best Blowing Gum and a little jewellery box with a spinning ballerina atop, a twinkling tune playing. 

Regulus remembered Frank and Alice. Frank Longbottom had been Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain for three years and had been two years above Sirius and his friends.

Alice Prewett, now Longbottom, had only been a year above Sirius, an expert Seeker who had certainly given Regulus a run for his money when Slytherin and Gryffindor were playing. 

This Frank and Alice were unrecognisable. Frank’s muscular physique and wide shoulders had shriveled into puny arms and a gangly demeanour. Alice’s dimpled smile was absent, the twinkle in her blue eyes dulled and her previously luscious brown locks turned straggly with a few white strands twisting throughout.

Oh Barty, Regulus thought with a sinking despair akin to that of a collapsing building, What have you done? 

“Hello, Alice! Hi, Frank!” Mary’s voice was faux cheerful and Regulus felt a swell of respect for her perseverance because it had to be the worst thing in the world to see your friends like this.

For the first time ever, Regulus was relieved that Evan and Dorcas were dead because he would not have been able to face them like this. He wasn’t strong enough for that. 

Alice squinted at Mary like she was someone she should know but wasn’t entirely sure. Frank just stared off into the distance, bony fingers picking relentlessly at a loose thread in his hospital duvet.

“Alice, Mary has a gift for you!” Heather said brightly. 

“Gift?” Alice’s words were practically an incoherent garble. Her eyes, that were over large for her gaunt face, swivelled to look properly at Mary.

“Yeah, Ali,” Mary spoke softly, her own eyes overbright like she was holding back tears, “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

Alice took the present with a smile that looked forced but Regulus reckoned that that was because she didn’t quite remember how to smile. The sympathy curled in his stomach, making it cramp up with horror at what his cousin and old best friend had done to this beautiful girl. 

Mary moved to grab them a few chairs, motioning for Regulus to sit down, which he gladly did because his knees were beginning to wobble. They watched in silence as Alice opened the present with some help from Heather, her fingers clearly too weak to do anything by herself. 

“Thank you,” the words came from Alice as if they required a tremendous amount of effort.

She was now holding a little cactus plant that had a bow tied around the pot along with a box of chocolates. Alice smiled shakily at Mary, holding out a hand which the Caribbean woman grabbed instantly, eyes flickering shut. 

“Who?” Frank suddenly spoke up, gaze fixed on Regulus who had still yet to say anything, keeping his mouth firmly clamped shut out of fear of throwing up.

The former Quidditch Captain was pointing in his direction, brow furrowed like he was trying really hard to put a name to a face. 

“Oh!” Mary perked up from where she seemed to be having a quiet moment with Alice, who had taken to stroking Mary’s hand gently. “Sorry,” she apologised before gesturing to Regulus, “This is—“ 

“Sirius.” 

His brother’s name came out so clearly that Regulus actually whipped his head around, convinced that Sirius must’ve made it after all. But Sirius wasn’t walking into the Janus Thickey Ward so he turned his gaze back to the Longbottoms with a creeping sense of dread. 

Frank still looked none the wiser but Alice was staring fervently at Regulus, that same vacant smile still on her face, a ghost of the bright grin that used to play across her lips during Quidditch matches.

For someone who had been ripped of her memory, Alice looked so sure that the Black brother in front of her was Sirius. 

By the look of Mary’s stunned expression, Regulus worked out that this was possibly the first time that Alice had ever even uttered a name from their friendship group.

Regulus had already been able to see that Frank and Alice did not know who Mary was - they recognised her as someone that visited often, who was clearly someone special to them. 

But they didn’t have any clue what she meant to them nor all that they had gone through together. Now, that had to be a different kind of heartbreak. 

It was the same for Remus, Sirius and James because Regulus had heard them speak about it in the past, always feeling that jolt of sickness at the reminder of what Barty had done to these innocent people.

Sirius had visited in the past and it was possible that the name had been on the tip of Alice’s tongue for months but she was just unsure. 

However, Alice hadn’t recognised Sirius when he was actually here. She had looked at Regulus, the wrong brother, and yet had still managed to pull the name from the depths of her befuddled mind.

Mary opened her mouth to correct her but Regulus’ heart was breaking, “Hello,” he said gently, neither confirming nor denying anything but holding Alice’s hand when she reached out for him. 

Regulus didn’t know whether choosing not to tell Alice that he wasn’t Sirius made him a bad person but all he could focus on was the little peace of mind that it brought the tragically inclined woman. He wasn’t sure whether Mary approved or disapproved - he wasn’t too talented in reading her expressions. 

The two of them stayed with Alice and Frank for a little longer, Mary reading a little excerpt of Quidditch Through The Ages to him but the enthusiastic light in his eyes from his Hogwarts days was missing.

He nodded and smiled occasionally but nothing was the same as it was. How could it be? Their minds were ruined, they were practically shells of their previous selves. 

A melancholic mood permeated the air between Mary and Regulus as they turned to leave, waving to Alice and Frank who were already back to vacantly staring off into the distance.

On their way out, to twist the proverbial knife in Regulus’ gut even more, he noticed a framed photograph of a newborn Neville with a teary Alice and beaming Frank. 

Now they didn’t even know their friends, let alone Neville. Like Lily, the war had robbed them of the chance to see their son grow up.

And yet, Regulus arguably thought that it was a worse fate than death because at least Lily was at peace now. Frank and Alice were stuck in a never-ending cycle, trapped in bodies that had misplaced their minds. 

Because of Barty, a harsh voice whispered in Regulus’ brain, scratching violently at the reminders of Barty’s smile, Barty’s laugh, Barty’s hugs and leaving them ruined and destroyed forever.

How could Regulus ever think of him again now without remembering what he had done to two innocent people? 

It was his fault. Regulus had been the first one of their friendship group to take the Mark, he had been the one to introduce Evan and Barty into Lord Voldemort’s ranks simply because they were friends of his and idolised the Dark Lord. Why hadn’t he stopped them? 

He could’ve prevented so many bad things from happening. But Regulus had been trapped, much like Frank and Alice. That didn’t excuse his actions, he knew that. Regulus just hadn’t been good enough, had been destined from the start to be a bad apple from the batch. 

Even now, when the war was over, he had been left with a simmering resentment and an emotionally constipated understanding of feelings and all that they entailed. Regulus would never be free from the shackles of the direction that life had thrust him into, tight grip to the back of his neck. 

James had called him an angel, one of a kind, and had entrusted a person like him with Harry.

Despite knowing his past, despite knowing how cruel Regulus could be when he was pushed to his limit. The thirst for revenge that unravelled horrible words from his tongue, the urge to hurt like he had been hurt bursting out and crashing into people like a tsunami. 

“I take it back. You are cruel. I thought we were friends. I thought you cared .” 

And that’s where James Potter had been wrong. Because Regulus didn’t make friends. He had only had Sirius in his childhood and then he’d left.

Evan, Barty, Dorcas…all of them left him in one way or another. Only Pandora remained and even then Regulus was still convinced she was going to get sick of him at some point. 

Everyone always did. James would not be an exception. So Regulus had done what had needed to be done, had pushed him away because he wouldn’t be able to bear it if James left him too. Better to have never had him than to have him and lose him, right? 

“Regulus?” 

He blinked. They had reached the ground floor somehow, Regulus’ thoughts disassociating him from reality and only being broken when Mary grabbed his arm.

She looked deeply concerned as she pulled Regulus through the bustling reception area, passing by the throng of people queuing for the front desk. 

Mary kept a hold of Regulus until they had stepped back through the glass and onto the pavement outside, leaning against the wall casually for a few seconds to divert suspicion from any passing Muggles.

And then, she turned to him with a grim expression, “I’m sorry,” she said. 

Regulus furrowed his eyebrows, “What are you apologising for?”

Mary grimaced, “For taking you with me. I should’ve known that it would be even more upsetting for you. I’ll heed Sirius’ words of warning more often in future though that’s a sentence I didn’t think I’d ever say.” 

Regulus felt rather small all of a sudden, like he was weaker than anyone else who Mary had brought to visit Alice and Frank. “It’s not your fault,” he said numbly, hands shoved in his robes’ pockets. 

There was a moment’s pause as Mary waited for a Muggle woman to pass by them before sticking her wand out and summoning the Knight Bus, which came swerving around the corner, screeching to a loud stop in front of them.

Regulus sent a confused look towards Mary because getting on a practically lethal bus when he felt sick didn’t feel like a practical idea. 

“It’ll give us time to chat,” Mary shrugged before stepping aboard, handing over the coins for passage and giving their addresses to the very bored-looking conductor.

“Normal people would just go for a cuppa or something but okay,” Regulus murmured sardonically, hearing Mary laugh in response. 

Regulus reluctantly sat down next to Mary, a frown turning the corners of his mouth down. And then he braced himself physically, knuckles white against the rail next to him as the Knight Bus sped off into the distance. Bracing himself emotionally for the conversation yet to come with Mary came next.

To her credit, Mary didn’t push the topic of Barty until they reached one of the other people’s destinations, jolting forward with a thwack out of the casual small talk about Mary’s engagement party the next day.

Then Regulus heard her shift to face him, even though he kept his gaze fixed on the witch departing the bus, looking a little green. 

“You can’t blame yourself for what Barty did, you know.” 

Regulus clenched his teeth, a stab of annoyance instantly searing at his middle, “I never said I did,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“You didn’t have to,” with a glower, Regulus turned to face Mary as she spoke, “It was written all over your face. Hence why I apologised. I should’ve known you would feel that way,” Mary hesitated, “Sirius knew and yet I chose to ignore him simply because I just really wanted the company. I hate going there alone.” 

“Couldn’t James have gone with you?” Regulus questioned, trying to say James’ name without that awful taste of regret in his mouth.

Regret for hurting James, even when he had been hurt himself. Because James had been one of the only good things in Regulus’ life and now they’d both destroyed that. 

Yes, both. Regulus knew he had been at fault but James had started all of this by calling Regulus an inconvenience and insinuating that he didn’t matter.

Degrading him to the second option that Regulus had already known he was the majority of the time but hadn’t wanted to accept when it came to James. 

He swallowed the acidic remorse as Mary raised a singular eyebrow at him, “James never goes. He’s always too busy looking after Harry and, besides, seeing Frank and Alice is emotionally taxing. The last thing any of us want to do is give James another reason to be upset.”

Regulus felt the dig deep in his chest as if Mary had pierced him with a sword, “I know,” he said stoically, “But he’s allowed to be upset. People grieve in different ways. Grief is a wave so James is bound to have good and bad days. Maybe on a good day, you should take him to see Frank and Alice. Don’t treat him like he’s weaker just because he’s grieving.”

Mary almost looked like she wanted to laugh, the corners of her mouth twitching slightly, “That sounds very caring for someone who supposedly hates him,” she said pointedly.

Regulus flushed, annoyance creeping further into his system because he should’ve known that James would probably speak to someone about their argument. 

For some reason, that made Regulus even angrier at James. What right did he have to go and mouth off about something private that had happened exclusively between the two of them? Regulus hadn’t told anyone. Though, in retrospect, he very rarely told anyone anything so that wasn’t really an uncommon occurrence. 

“I was just saying,” Regulus replied defensively as the Knight Bus gave a lurch, uprooting them from their seats with a bump before they crashed back down. 

“No, you were deflecting. We were talking about you blaming yourself for Barty’s actions and you decided to divert the topic to—”

“Who’s we?”

“Regulus,” Mary silenced him with a Look. Regulus’ lips thinned but he nodded stiffly for her to continue, even though the conversation at hand was making him feel severely uncomfortable. “You are not at fault for what Barty did to Alice and Frank.” 

Regulus squirmed, “Like I said, I don’t think I am. I just want to know why he did it. The Barty that I knew wouldn’t hurt a fly. He was kind, one of my best friends, and I just don’t get why he would—” his voice broke off as he swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat. 

“Regulus,” Mary said, gently this time, placing her hand on his arm, “Barty wasn’t a good person. Surely you know that? A good person would never torture somebody into insanity—” 

“Shut up,” Regulus snapped before following his initial response up with an apologetic grimace when Mary sent him a surprised look.

“Sorry. I just….you don’t get it, Mary. You don’t understand what it’s like to be…” he shuddered, hand unconsciously grazing his left forearm, “...trapped. You lose all sense of identity, of control over your own actions. You have to abide by your role or pay the price, basically.” 

“Voldemort was gone by the time they all tortured Alice and Frank,” Mary told him quietly, the cold fury at Bellatrix, Rodolphus, Rabastan and Barty blazing in her dark eyes like an flame frosting into an icicle. 

“I know,” Regulus could hear himself getting frustrated, “He’s a Death Eater so he’s a bad person. If you’re using that logic, then I’m a bad person too. I’m certainly not good enough so I must be bad. Cruel,” he couldn’t help but think about James calling him that. 

“Regulus, you’re not a bad person. You redeemed yourself and switched sides which is something that Barty never did. You are a very good person who just happens to have done bad things, and got caught up in the wrong crowd. Maybe that’s the case for Barty too, except he hasn’t redeemed himself.”

“And now he’ll never get the chance to. He’ll die in Azkaban,” Regulus stated plainly, the reasonable part of his brain knowing that such a fate was what Barty deserved.

However, his inner child ached, grip slackening on the memory of his best friend kissing him for the first time in the dormitory. 

Mary was robbed of the chance to reply because the Knight Bus suddenly swerved around a corner and skidded up to the flat block that Regulus lived in, with Sirius and Remus. He’d never been so relieved to see the streets of Soho before. 

“Well, goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Regulus said shortly, getting to his feet with a slight sway, beginning to walk away but Mary’s hand on his arm stopped him. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, wondering what on earth the woman had to say now, tired of this conversation and the guilt it made him feel. 

“Do you believe in redemption, Regulus? Do you think that our actions equal our morals? Because you seem to be stuck on this idea that you’re a bad person when, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t know that You-Know-Who isn’t actually gone,” Mary said. 

“That doesn’t make me a good person,” Regulus wrenched his arm out of her hold, “I may be working to destroy Horcruxes but I haven’t changed. I’m still mean, bitter and cruel. I made James upset. Even he thinks that I’m a bad person, that I’m nothing but a convenience who can’t be trusted with Harry. Not properly.” 

“You both lashed out. It wasn’t just you.”

“I’m aware,” Regulus responded, a definite coolness to his tone. 

“So does that make James a bad person, too? If we’re splitting people into either good or bad, does being mean make you a bad person?” Mary challenged, cocking her head. 

Regulus blew out a breath, irritated to the extreme by now. If it wasn’t him under attack, he felt like he would probably be amused by Mary’s persistence.

In this moment, though, her probing was nothing but an annoyance, “No. There isn’t a mean bone in James’ body. He’s nothing like me,” he stepped off the bus and into the street. 

Regulus had just turned his back on the Knight Bus, expecting it to disappear and take Mary away but it didn’t. Instead, Mary followed him off the bus, boots clacking against the pavement, “And yet, he still wants you, Regulus.”

“It’s like she left a hole behind that I can’t fill no matter what.” 

Yeah right, Mary. 

James loved Lily. He wanted Lily. He’d even said that he betrayed Lily by kissing Regulus. He didn’t want Regulus. Nobody ever did.  

“Well, I don’t want him,” Regulus lied, back still turned on Mary, “I hate him. I think I would rather drown myself in the Black Lake and become the Giant Squid’s breakfast than want him,” he declared. 

There was a moment’s pause, where you could hear a pin drop, and Regulus honestly thought Mary had somehow quietly snuck away.

He whipped around to face her and sighed when he saw the small smile on her face as she tucked her hands into her pockets, “What?” he asked, scowling. 

“Nothing,” Mary smirked, “You just remind me of somebody I used to know. James definitely has a type, that’s all I’ll say.”

And, with that, she disapperated. The CRACK! rang in the air for several seconds and Regulus stayed there, staring at the spot where Mary disappeared and wondering why, for the first time in forever, he could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Chapter Text

James

This is looking like a contest

Of who can act like they care less

But I liked it better when you were on my side

The battle's in your hands now

But I would lay my armor down

If you'd say you'd rather love than fight

So many things that you wish I knew

But the story of us might be ending soon

22nd August 1982

“I feel like I’m dying.” 

James snorted into his glass of champagne, glancing over at Sirius who was draped across several chairs in the Cattermole house’s back garden. A hand thrown across his face, eyes covered by sunglasses and his top buttons slightly undone, he looked almost hungover. 

“You feel like you’re dying?” Remus questioned dryly with a raise of his eyebrow as he peered down at his boyfriend, who instantly uprooted himself with an alarmed look.

“No, no, Moonshine, I’m absolutely fine,” Sirius said quickly. 

Remus only laughed quietly, the shadows under his eyes from the full moon the night before carefully concealed by one of Mary’s glamour charms.

He chose not to respond to Sirius, instead turning to James and declaring, “So he’s a poet,” as if his boyfriend wasn’t right there. 

“And he doesn’t even know it,” James responded on cue with a grin and Remus high-fived him.

Sirius observed them both with a disgruntled expression, “How are you both so full of energy after last night? Especially you,” he directed this last part at Remus. 

Remus fixed Sirius with a mockingly hurt expression, “Would you rather me be bleeding out on the ground, love?” he asked and Sirius immediately panicked (something he seemed to do a lot around Remus, much to his boyfriend’s amusement). 

“No, no! I’m so happy that you’re not exhausted or in pain, I’m just simply curious as to how you are managing to function when I feel like I’ve walked directly into hell—oh.” 

Whilst Sirius had been babbling, caught up in a whirlwind tangent of words as he so often did, Remus moved his leg ever-so-slightly to reveal the joint he was discreetly holding in between his fingers.

Sirius’ pupils dilated and he bit his lip, gaze flickering from the joint to Remus and back again, like he was watching a Muggle tennis match. 

“You’re so hot,” Sirius eventually whispered, sounding pained as he couldn’t take his eyes off Remus, “Everyday, you amaze me even more with how attractive you are. Oh, I could kiss you. Wait, I can kiss you. I’m your boyfriend. You’re mine, Remus John Lupin. I’m going to marry you one day,” he climbed into Remus’ lap. 

Remus simply wound his arms around Sirius, pretending to be exasperated but James could see the slight pink tinge in his cheeks and the pleased little glint in his eyes as he held Sirius, who was now peppering kisses all over his forehead. Remus moved slightly so that their lips met, Sirius shifting in his lap and—

James cleared his throat, “Still here, guys.” 

“Sorry,” Remus mumbled, breaking away from Sirius though his gaze still lingered, fingers entwining through his boyfriend’s long hair.

Sirius didn’t look sorry at all, a wide grin spreading across his face, “You’re just jealous, Prongs. You wish you had me.” 

No, I wish I had your brother, James thought. He didn’t have a death wish on his hands, though, so he didn’t voice said thought out-loud and simply said, “Where’d you even get the weed, Moony? You better keep it away from my kid.” 

“Damn, that spoils the afternoon I had planned with Harry, then. I was gonna teach him how to smoke his first joint,” Remus responded sarcastically and Sirius snorted, still sitting comfortably on Remus’ lap like he belonged there. He practically did, to be honest. 

“In answer to your question, though,” Remus continued, “I got it from Pandora like old times. She’s coming today, y’know.” 

“Pandora Lestrange?” James asked, eyebrows furrowed. The pale, wayward blonde had been in the year below them and she had been one of Hogwarts students’ most popular dealers.

She used the money she earned to buy and experiment with the wackiest things but her weed supply had gotten Remus through a lot of bad moons so James couldn’t fault her. 

“Lovegood, now,” Sirius interjected, correcting his best friend. “She married that Xenophilius lad from the year above us. Perfect match, if you ask me. Both eccentric. Pandora’s good fun, though. I approve,” he patted Remus on the shoulder, who looked bemused. 

“Thank you?” Remus responded, clearly confused before adding, “She’s coming today, isn’t she?” he asked, referencing the engagement party that was currently about to start.

The three of them (four, including Harry) had come early, to help Mary and Reginald set up but the rest of the guests were due anytime now. 

Mary and Reginald’s back garden had been completely transformed, with enchanted butterflies decorating the fences and Flutterby bushes dotted around the perimeter.

A plethora of colourful bunting swung low across the garden, tied from a drainpipe to a tree and clearly enhanced by magic to remain tightly in place. 

Small, round tables accompanied by chairs were scattered across the grass and Mary’s swinging set had even been embellished with white balloons on either side.

Though there was a hint of magic in the air, from the glittering lanterns and buffet table magicked to replenish snacks and food, the party could easily pass for Muggle due to all of Mary’s non-magical family who would be in attendance. 

“Yep. Hopefully she’ll drag Reg along. He’s been miserable as sin lately,” Sirius commented, looping his arms around Remus’ neck to stop himself from falling off his boyfriend’s lap. 

James tried his very hardest not to react to this particular piece of news, no matter how much it made his heart skip a little.

The fact that Regulus had been miserable was something that should’ve nettled at him but, instead, he felt somewhat euphoric. Because it meant that Regulus cared, that James hadn’t been the only one hurt by their argument in the rain—

“Oh, he’ll be here. Mary would’ve made him promise yesterday, when they went to St Mungo’s,” Remus said with a sip of his champagne, pulling a face at the taste. It was logically too early in the morning for any alcohol, really, but they hadn’t been able to resist the little trays placed strategically on each table. 

“They went to St Mungo’s? Why?” James questioned, trying to sound casual. And then, upon seeing Sirius’ grave expression, it dawned on him and he sat up, “She took him to see Alice and Frank? Why would she do that?” James was outraged, heart suddenly aching for Regulus. That couldn’t have been pleasant. 

Sirius nodded grimly, “That’s what I said. But it was because I had to stay home with Moons. Reg offered. But I haven’t seen him since he got back because he just shut himself away in his room so I’m presuming it didn’t go well,” he looked just as unhappy as James felt about the whole situation. 

At that moment, before James could even express his upset about Regulus visiting Alice and Frank, people who were the way they were because of Barty Crouch, a old close friend of Regulus’ back in Hogwarts, Harry came running from where he had been inside with Mary’s Muggle niece, Erica, who was three. 

“Look,” the two-year-old said excitedly, wonderment lighting up his features as he held out a pink, plastic stick that was shaped rather like a Quidditch goal post.

Harry inhaled dramatically and blew through the hole, effectively creating several bubbles to float towards James, popping in the air. 

“Oh wow!” James didn’t even have to fake his amazement, eyes widening as Harry continued to dip the pink stick into a small bottle of bubble solution, blowing more and more bubbles.

“Like magic,” his son beamed, skipping around to show Sirius who was equally as entranced. Remus just looked amused. 

“How do Muggles come up with this stuff?” Sirius asked incredulously, climbing off Remus’ lap to kneel down beside Harry and listen as the child babbled along to his godfather, showing him how to blow bubbles.

James watched fondly before glancing over at Remus, who was smoking around a soft smile, expression reverent whilst watching Sirius and Harry interact. The true intensity of his best friends’ love for one another never ceased to amaze James and it had been something he had longed for, something he had found and lost in Lily. 

Something that he was hoping to discover again in Regulus.

If only James could figure out what kind of game Regulus was playing so that he could orchestrate his moves efficiently enough to end in a checkmate. Where the story of them, that had barely gotten started, stopped being a tragedy and became more like the sonnet between Remus and Sirius. 

“No, Pafoo, like this,” Harry was clearly losing his patience with a chuckling Sirius who, for the life of him, couldn’t work out how to blow bubbles. Erica MacDonald had toddled out to join them now, her afro adorned with a sparkly bow and another bubble wand in her hand. 

“Party’s starting,” Remus pointed out, crossing one leg over the other where he was sitting next to James, stubbing out the tiny remainder of his joint with his heel.

James followed Remus’ gaze to where more and more guests were beginning to stream into the garden, greeting and congratulating Mary and Reginald at the gate. 

Mary had originally only wanted to keep her engagement party intimate, as the wedding at Christmas was bound to be quite the big affair. But, as plans had developed and lists had been hard to keep small, numbers had expanded to at least fifty family (from both sides) and friends combined. 

“If this is supposed to be the quieter event, I dread to think how many people will be at the wedding,” James commented, taking another sip of his champagne but not really knowing why because the drink truly was foul. But it was complimentary so why not? 

“I do wonder how there are so many people,” Remus mused out-loud, cupping his chin in his hands as he propped his elbows on the table, “I thought a lot of people died in the war,” he finished thoughtfully, a hint of sardonic humour woven into his remark. 

James spat out the champagne that he had still been having difficulty swallowing, eyes bugging as he luckily stopped himself from choking, “Moony!” he cried in indignation, shocked that his best friend would even say that. But then he saw Remus trying to hold back laughter and he felt a few chuckles escape his lips. 

“I’m just saying!” Remus defended himself, “Dark humour and all that. Better to laugh than cry, eh?” he nudged James in the side who sighed heavily, knowing that Remus was probably right.

For what it was worth, he knew that Marlene would be pissing herself with laughter wherever she was, in the afterlife. 

“You’re awful,” James tsked, turning his attention back to Harry who was now challenging Erica to some sort of bubble competition, to see who could blow the biggest bubbles or something.

Sirius sat on the grass next to them, watching with a smile before he tilted backwards to look at his boyfriend and best mate. 

“Alright?” he asked. 

“No,” James pretended to shift away from Remus, “Moony’s making cruel jokes,” he said in the kind of tone that children used to tell tales.

Remus played right into it, mouth falling agape like he was gobsmacked, “You laughed!” he protested. 

“Out of shock!” James argued back. Their bickering reminded him briefly of their Hogwarts days, where almost everything had been so easy. Where every joyful interaction with his friends didn’t make him ache with guilt that Lily wasn’t here to laugh alongside him. 

Though, in retrospect, James didn’t find himself thinking about Lily at all. That ought to have been a shock to him, especially as he was still struggling to come to terms with the idea of getting over her.

But it was, in a way, rather comforting. To know that James could still find moments of happiness without Lily’s ghost lingering. 

It was freeing. Like the shackles of his grief had loosened slightly, the wave not quite as vicious this time around. And James knew exactly who was responsible for that mindset change, exactly who had snuck into his brain and started to water the crops of his sorrow down until he could smile without regret again. 

Because he had just walked in. 

Regulus was dressed in a Muggle shirt and pants (the dress code had been smart Muggle casual, due to Mary’s family) with the buttons undone slightly, rather like Sirius.

Unlike his brother, however, Regulus managed to steal all of James’ attention and enrapture him until his mind practically went blank, making him feel like he was going crazy. 

A blank canvas. Regulus smiled, shaking Reginald’s hand and congratulating him and James’ canvas was splattered with colour.

Regulus leant over to speak to a baby girl, who was beside him in her mother’s arms (presumably Pandora), cooing at her, and James felt the heart of his painting beat with unprecedented vigour. 

Regulus, Regulus, Regulus. Even the way that James’ inner voice wrapped around the syllables of his name sounded akin to that of a brush stroking across a canvas, a slow swish of a new beginning. 

Regulus who was practically glowing in the August sunlight, a halo of curls upon his head, Regulus who was sipping at champagne effortlessly like he was born to do so, Regulus who was holding his coworker’s hand and pulling her through the—

Regulus who was holding his coworker’s hand. 

And pulling her through the garden. 

A smile on his lips. A smile that James had thought was reserved only for him. A smile that had been absent the night they kissed because of him. Because of his words, his words that he thought he still had the chance to apologise for. 

The canvas crashed to the floor. Colours, that had once been full of hope, love and possibility, bled out into the grass and trickled away from James, the brush slipping out of his grip.

His grip that wasn’t in Regulus’ hold because he was holding hands with Maggie Cooper (James thought that was her name. He detested her immediately). 

James saw red. No, green. He was sick with envy, the poison ivy of jealousy twisting its way through his body and tightening in a noose around his neck until he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Because he couldn’t breathe, not when Regulus was so clearly unaffected by everything that had happened between them four days ago when it was all James could think about. 

He had gone on a journey these past four days, okay? A whole fucking pilgrimage from the land of betraying Lily to beginning to letting Lily go to possibly patching things up with Regulus.

And Regulus hadn’t even moved from square one. He’d stayed right there, right where James left him, dust collecting and glass shattering unbeknownst to him. 

Before James could even process what he was doing, he was standing up and walking over to where Regulus had sat down at a table with Pandora, Xenophilius (plus the baby, who James still couldn’t remember the name of) and Maggie. Merlin, the very name festered in his brain like a pungent smell. 

Blame it on the champagne, blame it on the recklessness Gryffindors tended to charge forwards with, blame it on the indignance that James felt upon realising he was the only one who evidently still cared. Who wanted to mend the mess they had made out of what had had the possibility of being almost heavenly. 

Blame it on the fact that James was told that Regulus was ‘miserable as sin’ but here he was, smiling like an angel. An angel that James wanted to kiss and kiss and kiss until the taste of heaven was seeping into his mouth, injected into his bloodstream forever. 

Because, once he’d got a taste, James couldn’t get enough.

He had certainly gained a reputation for being committed in his pining after Lily. But this wasn’t Lily. This was Regulus.

It was very significant to James to differentiate the two because, if he kept comparing them or looking for aspects of Lily in Regulus, he would never fully move on. And, more importantly, he wouldn’t give Regulus the love that he deserved. 

“James,” Pandora’s startled response to him suddenly marching over to their table snapped him out of whatever daze he’d fallen into.

His eyes instantly fell to Regulus, who was very determinedly not looking at him. He was engaging in a conversation with Maggie, who looked so pretty and perfect next to Regulus that James felt the burning urge to strangle her.

“What brings you here?” Pandora asked cheerfully but James could detect a sense of coolness beneath her tone, like she was well aware of what had gone down in the rain.

James mustered a smile onto his face, “Wanted to see your baby. What’s her name, again?” 

One thing that you could certainly say about James was that he was resourceful and could think on his feet, hence why he had always been so good at providing excuses during troublemaking at school. Even Professor McGonagall had fallen for his elaborate lies sometimes because they were just that well thought-out. 

“She’s called Luna,” Xenophilius responded and James noted absently that it was the first time he had heard the man speak in years.

“What a lovely name,” he complimented charmingly and he could see Regulus’ eyes narrowing in his peripheral vision, like he was trying to work out what James was playing at. 

But, when James’ eyes flickered to catch Regulus in the act, the man was still smoothly whispering in Maggie’s ear, saying something to make her gasp and then giggle.

James’ blood boiled, fists curling subconsciously as he forced out the next part of his ploy, “She’s only a little younger than Harry, right? Does she want to come over and play bubbles?” 

Whilst saying this, James pointed over to where Sirius and Remus were still keeping an eye on Harry and Erica. Neville had joined the bubble-blowing crew by now, as Augusta had clearly plonked him down there before bustling off to chat with McGonagall, who was also in attendance. 

“Oh yes!” Pandora brightened at the idea of Luna being able to play with other children her age. “I’ll bring her over now—“

“I’ll do it,” Regulus smoothly intervened, abruptly turning from where he had been intently listening to whatever Maggie had been saying. James kept his facial expression neutral but internally, he was screaming in triumph that his bait had clearly worked. 

Hook secured on Regulus’ tailbone as he stood up, James bid goodbye to Pandora and Xenophilius (he didn’t even look at Maggie - sorry, but he would only scowl or glare so not looking at all was the better option). And then, he waited for Regulus to gently detach Luna from her father and join his side. 

“What the hell are you playing at, James?” Regulus asked furiously, the second they were out of earshot.

James felt something inside of him kick with excitement because Regulus was finally speaking to him and he didn’t even care if Regulus was being cruel because the tiny lick of attention was enough to hydrate him for days. 

Desperate, much. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James said innocently, feeling the same flicker of joy he had experienced while teasing Regulus, weeks ago, when he’d come over to make Harry’s potion. That day seemed decades ago, now. 

“I thought we’d both silently agreed to leave each other alone. Frankly, I despise you so I didn’t really anticipate you coming over and talking to us like you were allowed,” Regulus said coldly whilst holding Luna. Somehow, his words didn’t have much bite to them when his right hand kept stroking her soft blonde hair. 

James still felt a little wounded, though. ‘Despise’ was quite a strong word, almost like Regulus had moved on from hate and found something deeper.

“Why do you despise me?” he asked, walking after Regulus as they’d nearly reached the clan of toddlers now, “C’mon, Reg, let’s talk. Your favourite thing,” James added sarcastically. 

Regulus whirled on him furiously from where he had been stalking ahead, profusely ignoring James, “No,” he said sharply, “That’s not exactly convenient for me right now. And don’t call me Reg.”

With that, he deposited Luna on the grass next to Neville and knelt beside her, “Look, darling, bubbles!” Regulus cooed, the instant switch giving James whiplash. 

But, to twist the proverbial knife in his gut even more, Harry then noticed Regulus. Green eyes alight with happiness at the sight of the man he hadn’t seen in a while, the two year old tottered over to where Regulus was struggling to work the bubble wand, baffled by the Muggle toy. 

“Reggie!” Harry called out happily and Regulus instantly turned, an unreadable expression playing out over his face.

James could’ve sworn he saw the man swallow harshly before he beamed at Harry, “Hey, little man. How are you?” he ruffled Harry’s hair. 

Harry clearly wasn’t happy with that minimal greeting because he immediately frowned and held his arms out for a hug, instead. Regulus returned it almost instantly, swinging him around a little bit whilst Harry giggled. “I miss you! Where you gone?” 

James’ heart panged because he should’ve known that Harry would notice the severe lack of Regulus, seeing as the man had made it quite a habit to show up at least once a day to help James out a little.

Harry’s bedtime stories were now James’ responsibility again but he didn’t do it half as well as Regulus. There were just some things that certain people were better at, he guessed. 

James felt inherently selfish for a moment because, in the past few days where he had only been thinking of how he had lost Regulus, he had completely neglected how his son may have felt.

And that was down to his words, the reckless actions that followed. Not to mention the vicious argument afterwards that had shattered whatever fragile thing he and Regulus had begun to build between them. 

“I’ve just been busy, Harry. If you want to see me, ask Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony if you can have a sleepover, yeah?” Regulus smiled at Harry, James silently watching how his toddler’s hands never let go of Regulus’ shoulders like they were a lifeline keeping him from falling. 

He knew that feeling all too well. Holding onto Regulus’ hands had been the only thing to tug him up from the rough waters of grief in the past few weeks, the only way to keep him afloat.

But now James had pushed that lifeline away and he was drowning, drowning in an ocean of regret that had an impossible surface to break. 

“Okay,” Harry said before tilting his head to one side with an inquisitive squint (James often wondered whether he also needed glasses).

“You sleep over, too, yes?” he asked, smile widening, “Pancakes again!” he clapped his hands together as something akin to regret flickered candle-like across Regulus’ face. 

The regret was blown out as swiftly as it appeared, replaced by a weak smile, “I don’t live at your house, Harry. But we can make pancakes at mine, yes,” Regulus tried to assure the two year old.

And then, before Harry could protest, he quickly changed the subject, “This is Luna. Will you show her how to play bubbles?” 

Harry initially had a crestfallen expression at the revelation that Regulus wasn’t going to be coming over to his house anymore, his bottom lip quivering in a way that James knew was leading to tears.

But, upon Regulus’ clever distraction, Harry brightened and turned to Luna, “Hi Luna. I am Harry. Bubbles?” 

Luna made a noncommittal noise that sounded like a mixture between a squeal and an ‘ooh’ of excitement, “Yes!” she said, clapping her hands and crawling out of Regulus’ arms to watch Harry, Erica and Neville blow bubbles at each other.

James watched Regulus as he observed them for a little while before straightening up and standing, evidently about to leave. 

James panicked (which was never a good thing), calling out to him, “So breaking my heart wasn’t enough, then? You had to crush my son’s too?”

He knew he was starting a confrontation that had the likelihood of turning ugly but he couldn’t help it. At the moment, James simply saw arguing as the only way to grab Regulus’ attention. 

Regulus’ eyes flickered around them, as if he was checking who could possibly eavesdrop. Luckily, they were quite the distance away from everyone else as the children were off to one side. The nearest people were Sirius and Remus but they were far too wrapped up in one another to notice James and Regulus. 

“That’s a tad over dramatic,” Regulus responded, keeping his voice quiet. “I mean, what did you expect us to do? Continue playing happy fucking families at your convenience?” 

James tried not to flinch, “It would’ve been nice, yes. Seeing as we kinda got into a routine, it would be a shame to break it now,” he said casually, trying to downplay what had been between them so as to not come across as too pushy. 

This was evidently a mistake because Regulus’ nostrils flared, his lips thinning, “Yes, what a shame,” he replied sarcastically. “Such a shame I couldn’t just be there as your second option,” Regulus shot James’ own words back at him, venom intertwined into every syllable. 

“You’re not a second option,” James argued back, rather frantically, possibly lying because he still wasn’t sure.

He’d only just wrapped his head around the fact that he had feelings for Regulus (feelings which were not love, not yet) but he hadn’t quite gotten to the part where he could completely separate Regulus from Lily in his mind. 

James knew they were different people. But, with every thought of Regulus, there was still a lingering amount of guilt nibbling away at him accompanied by the memory of Lily. However, it was a two-way dilemma because, with every thought of Lily, James found himself longing for Regulus. He just needed to work out what that meant. 

In time, he would. He was sure of it. James just needed a little more time. But where had that wishful thinking gotten him in the past? 

Absolutely fucking nowhere. 

Almost like he could read James’ mind, Regulus smiled humourlessly, “Sure, James,” he said in a way that insinuated he didn’t believe James in the slightest.

“But I bet I remind you of Lily right now, by making you chase after me,” Regulus took a step forward towards James, gaze still searching the party to make sure no one was watching them. 

Regulus reached forward to mess absentmindedly with James’ tie, glancing up at him through those lovely eyelashes of his which was enough to make James’ heart stop in his chest.

“Does arguing with me get your blood all heated up, James? Is this what you like? People being mean to you? Is this your type?” he practically spat. 

James was baffled. His type? Where had Regulus gotten that from? Yes, Regulus was hard to catch in the same way that Lily had been but that was where the similarities stopped, really. A sudden fear gripped at his insides as he realised that Regulus had the completely wrong idea. 

“My type? What on earth are you on about? And, for the record, Lily wasn’t mean. Not that this has anything to do with her. Why are you bringing her into this?” James was genuinely confused.

Regulus was the one that had encouraged him to let Lily go and yet, simultaneously, he was the one who kept mentioning her, like she was hidden in the depths of his insecurities. 

Regulus blinked. Clearly, James had taken him aback and the man allowed himself a fleeting moment of triumph that quickly diminished as Regulus gathered himself, gearing up his response.

“Lily may not have been mean. But I am. I’m nothing like Lily. I am not Lily. I never will be. So stop fucking pretending.” 

Regulus looked like he was going to walk away but he had it all wrong! James couldn’t even explain to him how wrong he was, how he had got the complete other end of the stick.

Didn’t Regulus think James knew that? Did Regulus not know that James was already on his way to blowing Lily’s webs away? To let her go, once and for all, so that he could hopefully move on with Regulus? 

“I know that. I do,” James said wretchedly, desperate for Regulus to understand. 

Regulus shook his head slowly, looking sad, “No, James. I don’t think you do. You mix us together too much in your head because you’re still grieving her. You know the difference between us when it suits you, when you have to remind me that you’re betraying her by kissing me.” 

James closed his eyes. Out of all the things that he had ever said, that was one of the major ones that he regretted.

He had meant it in the moment because he had been confused and that had genuinely been how he had felt. But he shouldn’t have said it out-loud, shouldn’t have hurt Regulus in that way. 

Regulus was still going off on a tangent, though. Cheeks flushed in that lovely way of his…Merlin, James still found him beautiful even when he was at the receiving end of his wrath.

How had he not seen this before? It was like his eyes were being opened to a whole new world of possibilities, a world filled with opportunities to give Regulus everything he deserved (and more). 

“But when it comes to this?” Regulus was now scoffing, waving in the general direction of where Harry was playing with Erica, Neville and Luna, now trying to catch baby tomatoes in their mouths and failing adorably. “I’m nothing but a replacement for Lily,” he said. 

James didn’t even have a response. How could he reassure Regulus when he still wasn’t sure himself?

Time was slipping away from him here, precious seconds that Regulus was granting him in silence to defend himself. But James had nothing. He was defeated. He needed to organise his own thoughts before trying to soothe someone else’s. 

Regulus sighed, as if James’ lack of response had confirmed what he’d said, “Good to know you agree,” he said eventually, sounding hollow. “I don’t care anyway.”

With that, he turned away, back to Maggie who had materialised instantly to his side, checking up on him. James felt almost murderous so he averted his gaze, feeling empty inside.

Almost immediately, though, that empty feeling disappeared and was placed with a sharp sense of alarm, of a panic that had absolutely nothing to do with Regulus who had just slipped out of his grasp.

No, this was James’ fatherly alarm bells sounding loudly in his head whilst time stood still, seconds flying by in slow motion because his gaze had just caught something. 

Harry had dove for a baby tomato thrown by Neville, mouth open and ready because that was clearly the game that the toddlers had designed.

But, at the same time, Luna and Erica were busy blowing bubbles, bubbles that accidentally got swept up by the wind and whisked directly into Harry’s line of sight. 

With his sight hindered, Harry’s hand-eye coordination clearly wasn’t as effective as it had been before and he caught the tomato in his mouth with a stumble backwards. And James watched, running forward quickly but not quickly enough, as his son began to choke, face purpling and eyes filling with tears. 

“HARRY!” 

James had never darted forward so fast in all of his life, arms immediately catching Harry as he lost his balance, green eyes streaming and expression splattered with panic.

James scrambled for his wand but of course he had fucking forgotten it, had left it on the side somewhere. So he looked around desperately for someone else to help but the childrens’ play area was too far away for anyone else to see. 

James couldn’t breathe. 

Harry’s eyes, bulging out of his sockets as he seemed to choke on invisible air, the thread wrapping around his throat and producing the most horrendous sounds, his chest heaving.

James tried smacking his back, tried calling out, tried to catch the attention of anybody who could help, who had their wand on them, but he was slipping quickly into the depths of a panic attack. 

Glimpses of his parents gasping out their final breaths, plagued by Dragon Pox, flashed before him. Lily’s blank eyes passed through James’ mind. Marlene’s funeral that had ended in a bloodshot eyed Dorcas running after Voldemort, never to be seen again. 

He couldn’t do this again.

And then, as he so often managed to, Regulus Black appeared like an angel from above. Gaze frantic, eyes wide and wand at the ready. James didn’t even hesitate, didn’t even think of the argument they had just had. Harry was his first priority here. 

“Regulus,” he begged, grabbing the pale man by the arm with an almost animalistic desperation, “Save him. He’s my little boy. I can’t lose him.”

Chapter Text

Regulus 

I never meant to make it such a mess

I never thought that it would go this far

So I just stand here sorry

Searching for something to say

Something to say

Words fail, words fail

There's nothing I can say

22nd August 1982

Trust, in itself, is treacherous ground. A perfect piece of paper, untouched, until someone comes along and crumples it into disrepair. No matter how much smoothing over one does, the trust is never going to be the same again. 

Regulus has never trusted people. The one person he ever trusted, ever looked up to, left him alone in a house, bound on a path that could’ve easily ended differently.

He and Sirius were working through their issues, but Regulus was still certain it would take them a while to fully establish that sense of trust again. 

It’s very hard for someone to trust others when all they’ve ever had in the past is evidence why they shouldn’t.

And, in a way, Regulus was grateful for that. Because even though he had feelings for James, he had never trusted him or believed that the serene domesticity between them was going to last. 

And yet, James was trusting him now. 

Just like he always had. Unfathomably good James Potter who, up until a year ago, had never had any reason not to put the utmost level of trust in his friends.

James Potter who, even though he had been betrayed by Peter, still trusted people and saw the best in them because that was how he was raised. 

On the night when it had all started, when he had finally kicked aside his pride and asked for help, James had looked into Regulus’ eyes and trusted that he would be able to assist with looking after Harry. Regulus had surely earned his trust by making the sleep potion, by curing Harry’s insomnia. 

He already had James’ trust. Even now, four days after they had screamed at each other in the rain, James clearly still trusted him because he was holding Harry, pleading Regulus to save him from choking. Looking at Regulus like he was the only person who could perform a simple airway-clearance spell. 

All Regulus had to do now was prove that he was deserving of that trust. If said trust still existed, that was. 

And that wasn’t hard to do. Not when, as soon as he had heard James’ voice calling out for help, Regulus had abandoned Maggie’s side and ran back before feeling panic grip at his insides upon sighting Harry in the midst of choking.

So much for pretending that he didn’t care. The time for acting indifferent was past.

“Do you trust me?” Regulus shot frantically at James because that was an important thing to establish before he saved Harry from choking.

Especially when it came to a two-year-old that was no longer his responsibility because Regulus didn’t know where he stood in terms of James trusting him with Harry anymore. 

“Yes!” James gasped out, sounding like he was on the cusp of choking himself, simply because he was so worked up at the thought of Harry suffering.

“What a stupid question. Of course I trust you. Always,” he added with a breathless laugh that sounded almost hysterical. If anything, James’ visible panic somewhat forced Regulus to be calm, just so that one of them was. 

“Anapneo,” Regulus said as calmly as possible, willing his heartbeat to slow down. Harry instantly stopped choking, his throat cleared at once of whatever had gotten stuck there. Harry fell into James, crying heavily as the man simply clung to him like he never wanted to let him go again. 

Regulus felt his heart ache as he watched the scene, watched as James checked Harry over and wiped his tears, soothing words running like a stream from his mouth. If it hadn't been for what James had said and their kiss, Regulus probably would’ve been involved in that hug, whether reluctantly or not. 

But Regulus was no longer a part of that. He never had been, not really. He had just been on the outside, always looking in, just there as a convenient bit of help. 

After all, according to Mary, Regulus was James’ type and, though that had initially filled him with hope, he had soon realised that such a title boxed him off into the same category as Lily.

Proving that James didn’t see him as any different than his dead wife, that he would only ever see Regulus as someone to fill the gap. 

However, as someone who had been deprived of so much in his life, Regulus knew that the weaker part of his heart wanted to take that olive branch, and wanted to just be something to James.

It was the reason why he had stuck around - because he was just happy to take whatever James gave him. Desperate enough, more like. 

“Regulus.” 

Unconsciously, in the time that James had taken fussing over Harry, who was now beginning to calm down, Regulus had turned away.

But, as soon as James called his name, he spun around quicker than he intended, heart beating faster than he wanted for a man that he supposedly hated, “Yes?” 

“Thank you,” sincerity was pouring from every inch of James’ expression, hands cradling his son as Harry sniffled into his shoulder. “I know it could be solved by a simple spell but I didn’t have my wand on me, so thank you. From the bottom of my heart. I can’t thank you enough, I don’t know how I’ll ever repay—“ 

“James,” Regulus cut him off tersely, “It’s fine,” he said, hands in his robes pockets. He turned away again, noticing that Sirius and Remus were now on their way, looking concerned. By the looks of things, they had been socialising elsewhere when it all went down, otherwise they would’ve been there straightaway. 

And Regulus wouldn’t have been needed. Wasn’t that just the story of his life? 

“Just don’t forget your fucking wand next time, okay? You never know what might happen,” Regulus told him tiredly, exasperated frustration woven into his words. He then sent a smile to Harry, who was still snuggled into James, “You okay now, kiddo?” 

Harry nodded silently, tear tracks still snaking down his cheeks as his lips settled into a mournful pout. James nudged him, just as Sirius and Remus reached them, “What do you say to Regulus?” he prompted his son. 

“Thank you,” came Harry’s small response, his shoulders tucked into his body. He clearly felt very vulnerable right now, a feeling that Regulus knew all too well, and his heart broke for the child.

But Sirius was soon at his side, Remus not far behind and, as James started explaining what had occurred, Regulus realised how much he didn’t have a place in this setting. 

So, he walked away. Holding what felt like the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. 

*

“Y’know, now that Xeno’s gone home, I’m essentially a free woman.” 

Regulus looked over at Pandora, who had kicked her heels off a long time ago and was now sitting with a glass of wine in her hand, her blonde bun unravelled to messy waves cascading down her back. 

After The-Boy-Who-Choked situation, Regulus had made his way back to his table and stayed there for the remainder of the party. Mary and Reginald had addressed the garden at one point, thanking everyone for coming and engaging people in a toast, and now people had started to dance to some music. 

The sun was beginning to set, casting shades of orange and pink across the sky like a smudged canvas and many of the children had long retired for well-overdue naps.

In Luna’s case, Xenophilius had taken her home because it was way past her bedtime. As for Harry, Sirius had tucked him away in Mary’s spare bedroom, the one reserved for her nieces and nephews whenever they stayed over. 

Not that Regulus was paying attention, of course. He couldn’t care less, remember? 

You care about Harry, though, a voice whispered in his head and, deep down, Regulus knew that was true. 

But, if he kept pushing the thought away and didn’t accept it, then maybe it would diminish into nothingness. And stop plaguing at his insides in the form of an anxious knot, tightening every time he caught a glimpse of James, or Harry, throughout the party. 

Because, to put it simply, he didn’t want to care but he did.

If Regulus told himself that he didn’t care, then the loss of them, the loss of whatever had been between him and James, whatever bond he’d built with Harry…it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, just like Regulus didn’t matter. And, that way, he could possibly stop hurting over it. 

“I’m not sure that's how it works,” Maggie laughed in response to Pandora’s flippant comment. Ah. Yes. Maggie.

Regulus had only brought her along at Mary’s request because, no matter how much he liked her company at work, they weren’t exactly friends. Bar Pandora, Regulus didn’t have friends. 

Not anymore. 

It had been Maggie’s idea to really play into the plus one role and Regulus had just gone along with it, holding her hand and whispering in her ear when James was around to see whether he would gauge a reaction.

After all, no matter how much he hated the man, Regulus was a complete and utter whore for James Potter and would do anything to make him jealous. 

Because he was bitter. And he was cruel, remember? 

From the looks of things, though, it hadn’t really worked. Or, at least, James hadn’t given Regulus the reaction that he wanted which proved, just like his earlier silence at Regulus’ replacement comment, that Regulus was once again right.

James didn’t care about him, he was just desperately trying to make amends because it probably hurt his conscience, not because of anything else. 

“It works whichever way I want it to work,” Pandora waved her hand dismissively in the air, clunky rings catching the light from the lanterns strung around the garden. “Like Mary, for example? I had a teensy crush on her at Hogwarts so I’d definitely shag her if she wasn’t engaged. Shame, really,” Pandora sounded genuinely disappointed. 

Regulus snorted, taking a sip of his very sensible water, “You’re literally married,” he chimed in, pointing to the wedding band on his best friend’s finger.

Pandora snorted derisively, blue eyes twinkling, “Okay and?” 

“You have a fucking child, Pandora.” 

“I still don’t see your point,” Pandora shrugged and Regulus laughed, feeling a little lighter in the presence of his best friend which was something Pandora Lovegood always managed to achieve.

Her capability to put others at ease and just know when Regulus needed cheering up was one of the things he cherished about her. 

Regulus didn’t understand love because he simply had never experienced it. But, if he had to describe what he felt (platonically, mind) about Pandora, it would probably be the closest thing to love that he knew of. 

“C’mon, back me up here!” Pandora nudged Maggie, who was also giggling. “Mary’s gorgeous. Just look at her,” she sighed dreamily, cupping her chin with her free hand as she shamelessly ogled Mary, from where she and Reginald were chatting to James, Remus and Sirius, all five of them laughing. 

“She is indeed beautiful,” Maggie agreed, “We were too late, Pandora. Missed our chance to snog Mary MacDonald before she became a Cattermole,” she said, pouting. 

“A true gay tragedy,” Pandora sighed again, this time tinged with over dramatic sadness.

There was a moment of silence between the three of them before Pandora swiftly turned to Regulus, “Speaking of gay tragedies, what’s the deal with you and James now? Have you even let him try and apologise for the other day?” 

Regulus had taken that very moment to drink some of his water and, as a result, ended up spluttering and spilling it all down his white shirt.

Glaring at Pandora, he scrubbed at it half-heartedly, “There is no deal. We argued earlier and he was incapable of defending my accusation that I’m clearly a replacement for Lily. Which hurt just as fucking much as the betrayal comment,” his voice wobbled a little. 

“Oh, Reg,” Pandora’s sigh was genuine this time, her hand grabbing his as she squeezed it comfortingly, “I’m sorry. When do you want me to seek my revenge? Is Tuesday okay for his public execution or has he got other plans?” 

“Other plans, I think,” Regulus replied, mouth twitching.

There was another break in conversation, then, which Maggie took as an opportunity to say, “I still can’t believe I didn’t know you were gay. Not until this morning anyhow.” 

Pandora instantly burst out laughing at Regulus’ coworker’s admittance, “How on earth…” she wheezed, “…could you not tell?” she gestured to Regulus, who pretended to look affronted as he smacked the blonde woman over the top of the head. 

“I’m just not good at spotting things like that!” Maggie defended herself indignantly, cheeks turning slightly pink. 

“Like that,” Regulus echoed with a small smile before leaning forward on one elbow, cocking his head slightly, “Why? Is it a problem?” he said teasingly, inches away from Maggie’s face.

She pushed him away with a laugh, “Yes, I’m insanely homophobic. That’s why I’ve just been fantasising over how delectable Mary’s arse is.” 

“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Pandora agreed with a hum but Regulus had tuned out of the conversation now. His focus was unashamedly on James, who’s gaze was suddenly locked on their small table of three.

James’ hazel eyes narrowed slightly and then he excused himself, disappearing through the back door, into Mary and Reginald’s kitchen. 

Regulus glanced down at his empty glass and suddenly felt very thirsty. “Excuse me for a minute,” he said politely, scraping his chair back as he summoned the tiny scrap of bravery and recklessness that he possessed. “I’m just going to get another glass of water.” 

“Oh, Reg, you can have mine if you—“ Maggie’s offer faded into the distance because Regulus had already made up his mind, with the kitchen as his destination.

He couldn’t help it - he just felt drawn to James like a magnet. Even in the days where they had been apart, Regulus missed him with everything that he had. 

Telling himself that he didn’t care hadn’t really lasted long, had it? Regulus just wasn’t very good at making plans, okay? He couldn’t help the way that he felt so drawn to James, like the man had him on a fishing line and was reeling him in. 

Surely he could indulge for a moment longer. Surely it wouldn’t hurt if he just kept James company, talked to him a little. Maybe, just maybe, they could smooth things over. Regulus was sick of acting like he hated James when his actions earlier today had proved the exact opposite. He missed him. 

Even if James didn’t miss him back, even if James didn’t care, even if all Regulus was going to do was apologise and never darken his door again, then so be it. He’d always been a sucker for pain, for wanting something or someone he could never have. Why should tonight be the exception? 

Regulus needed to bury this hatchet once and for all. So that he could walk away unscathed, safe in the knowledge that James didn’t want him because he just needed to know.

He needed closure and he was tired of trying, tired of trying everything to keep James looking at him when the man didn’t feel the same way. 

“Thought I’d find you in here.” 

James looked up from where he had been sitting at Mary’s kitchen table, clearly deep in thought. At first, when he saw Regulus in the doorway, he frowned. But then his face cleared up into an unreadable expression as he cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, “You following me, love?” 

Regulus snorted derisively, “You wish. I needed water,” he tapped his empty glass as if to prove his point, even though he secretly knew he could’ve easily summoned himself a fresh one. 

“Should’ve licked it up from your shirt,” James retorted quickly before seemingly catching himself, like he hadn’t meant to let something slip. Regulus felt one of his eyebrows raise slowly as suspicion ticked inside his ever-hopeful, ever-disappointed chest. 

Regulus knew that his white shirt was somewhat see-through now, something he had been meaning to fix with a quick wave of his wand but hadn’t quite got around to doing so yet. Why was James looking, though? 

“Why would I do that?” Regulus responded airily, placing his glass under the Muggle tap and filling it up. He paused for dramatic effect (thank Sirius for those mannerisms), waiting until the tap turned off and then added suggestively, “When you could do it for me?” 

James’ eyes darkened for a brief second but then averted his gaze, surprisingly not taking the flirtatious bait like Regulus had anticipated. “Stop,” he mumbled, sounding mournful and the look in his hazel eyes when he finally looked up again was enough to send a shard through Regulus’ heart. 

“Stop what?” Regulus was puzzled. 

“Stop being so confusing,” James said exhaustedly, “I understood the back-and-forth at first. I get why you played with my emotions and lashed out but I’m fucking tired of this now, Regulus. Either communicate what the hell we’re doing or leave me alone to untangle my thoughts. Stop wasting my time by messing around. I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”

Maybe Regulus was just intentionally self-destructive but the only thing his fucked up brain managed to take from that was that James saw him as a waste of time. “Wasting your time?” he asked coldly, “Okay then. I see how it is. I was coming to apologise but, if you don’t want me here, then—“ 

“God, will you just fucking listen? ” James burst out, seeming like he was truly on the edge of something.

Regulus paused, hackles raised as a natural defence mechanism to being snapped at, “Listen to what exactly? You? Why would I want to do that?” he sneered. 

To be completely honest, Regulus expected James to argue back. But he simply deflated, eyes flickering shut for a brief second as he massaged his temple like he had a headache or something.

Somehow, that was worse. Regulus felt yet another stab of guilt at the fact that he was clearly incapable of being anything but an emotionally-constipated little shit. 

“Because I’m trying to tell you something,” James’ voice was trembling and Regulus felt his breath catch in his throat, “I was trying to tell you before but you kept going on about my type and bringing up Lily, even though she has nothing to do with this—“

“She has everything to do with this, James,” Regulus interjected because he didn’t like the way that this conversation was painting him out to be the only person in the wrong.

Yes, he had been cruel but that had only been a trauma response to the derogatory way that James had spoken about him to Sirius. It had all started with James. 

James closed his eyes again, looking pained. “Yes but I’m trying to get over her, okay? You helped me a lot, you helped me realise that life goes on and I have to stop dwelling on the past. Or do you not remember that?” he added bitterly, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. 

“I remember,” Regulus said quietly. 

He also remembered how James had called him a convenience and said that those deep conversations they had had were just because Regulus was there.

Insinuating that Regulus was nothing special even though, in the moment, James had said he felt safe around him and that he was an angel. Yet another lie that Regulus had fallen for. 

Something deep in his gut was telling him to listen to James, though. Regulus had always hated it when his feelings were treated as less important just because he was partly in the wrong so he felt obliged to let James speak. Maybe it was important? Maybe it was an apology. Or more. 

“And yet, he still wants you, Regulus.”

No. Regulus could not, under any circumstance, allow himself to believe Mary’s lies either. She had clearly just been taking the piss because there was absolutely no way—

“Okay. Well,” James fidgeted with his hands nervously. “I’ve been shaking her off a lot. Just in these past few days alone, I’ve had a lot of time to…think. And I owe you an apology,” he stared intently at Regulus, who swallowed thickly because there was so much overwhelming genuinity in his expression that he didn’t quite know what to do. 

“Go on then,” Regulus said shakily. 

“I’m sorry,” James breathed out and, the second that those words were out in the open, some of the stifling tension between them started to crackle. “I’m sorry that I slagged you off to Sirius. I’m sorry that I called you a convenience, I’m sorry for downplaying all of the time we spent together. And, fuck, I’m sorry for saying that you helped me betray Lily. That was absolutely out of order.” 

Alarmingly, Regulus suddenly felt the urge to cry. Even in his many talks and arguments with Sirius over the past year, he didn’t think he’d ever been apologised to so extensively. James’ acknowledgment and acceptance of his role in driving them apart evidently came from a deep place of regret and Regulus was…Regulus was—

Regulus was going to cry. Luckily, because he didn’t really fancy embarrassing himself and becoming vulnerable in front of James, he blinked the tears away furiously like they had offended him.

“Thank you,” he managed to choke out because what did he actually say to someone when they apologised for hurting him? 

Regulus didn’t know what to do in this kind of situation. All he knew was that his general response to things was to return the sentiment, whether cruel or kind. If James could take responsibility for his actions, then Regulus could hurdle over his pride and do the same. 

“I’m sorry too,” he murmured, making his way to the kitchen table and sitting down opposite James, hands still wrapped around his glass of water. They were incredibly lucky that no one had walked in on them yet, to be honest. “I’m sorry for being so cruel.”

Belatedly, Regulus realised that his apology was somewhat lacking compared to James, who had named specific moments that he felt like he needed to apologise for. The thing was, Regulus didn’t know.

His mind had blurred out much of what he had said to James that night as a trauma response because, otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to develop his stubborn ‘I-Don’t-Care-About-James’ attitude. 

Apologising for being cruel was simply a blanket admission of remorse because Regulus had basically covered all the points without having to actually go into detail about why he had said certain things and reacted in specific ways.