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Chapter Text

James

It was James’ first venture to Palis, the Kingdom that sheltered the elusive House of Black. He and his parents – Fleamont and Euphemia – had made the journey from Mydan, the northernmost city in Jeremyn, in the bitter cold. James swore he would never be warm again and Fleamont, with a flick of his wrist, had cast a warming spell on his son’s scarlet hands. The Potters and the Lupins had travelled together. James was the same age as Lyall’s youngest son, Remus, and was reminded of his place in the order of travel by Remus’ older brother, Rory. Rory had clicked his black stallion ahead of James, who trudged by foot in knee deep snow, with a scathing glance at his brother’s troublesome friend. James envied Rory’s stature on the creature when the families made the perilous journey through the White Forest, the dark magic rumbling threateningly through his bones as he and Remus looked at one another, frightened.

Yet now the Potters and the Lupins had arrived in Palis, travel-weary, but alive. These were dark times. Palis itself showed no indication of the war brewing in the South of the Kingdom, where rebels in Adis were stirring once again. The Potters, once the ruling family of Palis, played no part in resistance. Fleamont would deny his birthright to protect his wife and son. Besides, the War was long ago. The Blacks had been cossetted by Palis’ walls as long as James could remember. He thought it would probably stay that way, yet a stir in his stomach told James he knew he was home. Palis was immense. Silver turrets, with deep purple flags rippling at their summit, topped imposing city walls. Cobbled stones, shivering with magic beneath James’ feet, lit a pale gold with the weight of a footstep. There was an assumed arrogance to Palis’ magic, James thought, shuddering at the thought of the cobbles capabilities should a traitor attempt to run to Adis. Palis’ very essence was imposing, threatening, confident in its grandeur. Palaces, alternate homes of the House of Black and the House of Malfoy, pierced the brooding sky, decadent in decoration and defences. Motes, dark in colour, lapped at every edge of every palace. James knew from his father’s warnings that these motes were not empty bodies of water and made a conscious note to avoid going too close.

It was for a grim occasion that James Potter made his first venture into Palis. Fleamont had warned his son that executions happened all too often under Master Orion’s reign. This time, an Adis rebel had earned the honour of a public execution to which the whole Kingdom had been invited. The rebel – a mousy boy by the name of Peter Pettigrew – had served Master Orion’s youngest son, Regulus, for years before attempting to murder the Prince for the rebel cause. Peter would die today on Palis Green if Regulus did not implore Master Orion to accept Peter’s apology. Fleamont had warned James that Master Orion did not offer pardons, not even if his favoured son pleaded – which Regulus never did.

James looked across at Remus. Remus was a lithe creature, freckled from constant work outside, with a mass of brunette curls haphazardly strewn across an elfin head. Remus was James’ best friend and James thought that he would miss him immensely if he did not live so close.

“Alright?”

“Yeah, course. Seen one before.” Remus replied with ease, the furrow of his eyebrows the only indication that he was unsettled by the death of another Adis rebel. The Lupins made more frequent journeys to Palis than the Potters. Fleamont felt it was best to keep the descendants of the former ruling family as far from Master Orion’s paranoid eye as possible. The sooner Orion forgot that the Potters had existed, sat on the same thrones as Orion did, the better.

James felt instantly sick when he dared to consider how exactly the Blacks might execute a rebel responsible for threatening the life of their precious son.

“Do you think…?”

“No, Peter won’t be pardoned.” Remus gave James a searching look, “We can go home, if you like. You don’t have to watch.”

“I know. I need to, though…” James halted, “I guess there’ll be more. I had better get used to it.”

“Of course. Lyall says there’s trouble brewing in Adis. It won’t be long before another Peter tries to murder one of the Princes, or worse.”

“Yeah, my father said the same.” James paused, “What is it like?”

James’ voice had lowered to a whisper. The Potters and the Lupins were assembled on Palis Green now. The sound was hushed, a shimmer of lilac magic preventing clamours for mercy.

“Disgusting.” Remus said shortly.

James thought that if Remus could not describe an execution, it must be awful. Remus was rarely short of words. James, with a quick glance at his environment, realised why Remus had gone quiet.

A cloaked figure was dragging a young man by his hair onto the Green. Peter’s screams were silenced by a force of magic so great, so deep a purple, that James knew it could only be Master Orion who was silencing his son’s assailant. Peter was thrown without ceremony into the middle of the Green.

Master Orion emerged. Orion was a figure so threatening that James felt an impenetrable cold spread from his fingers into his chest. Orion’s hair was a mass of uncontrollable curls, greasy and flat against an immense head, and his eyes a piercing blue that appeared to assail James himself. James considered how Orion could be so physically small yet so clearly frightening that every attendee of the execution had gone completely silent, even James’ father.

Master Orion surveyed the crowd lazily, twirling a shard of blue glass deftly in his fingers. James took an intake of breath. Would Orion drive the shard into Peter’s heart? Twist it like Peter planned to twist the knife when it found its truth in Regulus?

“My people.” Orion’s voice was haughtily cold, “You are gathered here, on my request, to witness the execution of a traitor. This man” – Orion gestured to Peter, whose head was pressed to the ground by a booted heel on the neck – “Attempted to murder my son. Your Prince.”

James expected Orion to reveal Regulus, but the Prince was absent.

“Regulus is not here today.” Orion met James’ gaze, “Peter served the Prince faithfully for many years. Regulus is hurt by his betrayal and does not wish to see him die. I, of course, disagree.”

“Told you he doesn’t accept pardons.” Remus murmured, his voice barely audible, but his breath was warm in James’ ear. James nodded, a slight tilt of the head barely perceptible to anybody but his best friend.

“Please keep silent during the execution. It is a mark of respect that this man does not deserve, but my son insisted upon it.” Orion shook his head lazily, the curls of hair softly murmuring with the wind, as if he did not approve, “Let us begin.”

“Crucio.”

James started. Fleamont had forbidden James speaking of the Unforgiveable Spells. With a quick glance to his father, whose mouth was drawn in a thin line, James watched as Peter writhed, in agony, across the Green. The crowds pushed backwards in a seamless transition as Orion’s mouth contorted, alongside three hooded figures, cursing Peter simultaneously. Peter’s limbs seemed to act without regard for one another, flinging sideways and emitting a dark smoke. James could smell the rotting flesh and watched as cinders began to engulf Peter’s arms.

“Crucio Maximus.”

A flame rose from Peter’s chest and engulfed him totally. The fire was of an unnatural colour, a flamboyant mix of lilac and deep purple, and Peter was silent still, despite his shrieking mouth, as the flame began to eat at his body. James noticed with horror how, suddenly, Peter had no legs or arms. Peter – could James call the being Peter? – had just a torso until there was Peter’s face, airborne, on fire.

There was a horrifying hiss. Peter was no more.

“You see what happens to traitors.” Orion declared, gesturing to the purple pulp on the floor and giving it a perfunctory kick with a heeled boot, “You will not betray us again.”

Fleamont shook his head. The silencing spell had lifted.

“Come on, James. Time to go.”

There was a momentary pause. The crowds drained as quickly as they had come, but the Potters were in Orion’s view.

“Stop, Fleamont.”

James’ father stiffened. Orion and Fleamont, distant cousins, were estranged, haunted by bad blood. Orion’s dynasty had displaced Fleamont’s decades ago. The Potters had not needed to execute, nor had they tortured their people. The Potters were loved by the people. The Blacks ruled using fear. James knew, as Orion bore his gaze down curiously at James, that this was a personal insult.

“I need a new servant for my son.”

“Orion, no…”

Fleamont’s protest was heard by deaf ears.

“Your son is of age, no?”

“He’s nineteen suns.”

“I will have him. Say your goodbyes. My son requires a servant, and your son needs to serve.” Orion sneered, “Bring him to me when you are ready.”

James thought he would never be ready. Remus was stuttering, unable to say anything resembling a farewell. Fleamont enveloped him in a scented, warm embrace, with Euphemia sobbing as she clutched her only son. James would serve the Blacks – he would serve the Black whose last servant he had watched burn in a purple flame on Palis Green.

“James, be careful. Remember what I’ve told you.” Fleamont hissed in James’ ear, “No Black can be trusted. Not one of them.”

“I will. I know.”

“We love you until the sun sets, son.” Fleamont whispered. Euphemia only sobbed more, stroking James’ untameable dark hair, sniffing as if she would jar his scent.

James turned from his parents and looked at Remus, whose unusually bright eyes were brimming with tears.

“You better bloody come back.”

“I will.”

That vow was all James could say. As Orion clutched the cuff of James’ sleeve, dragging him away from the three people he loved the most, James knew that promise would haunt him. It would haunt Remus, torture him nightly when he thought of James alone in a Kingdom that remembered his family but feared his successors. It would haunt his father, who knew only too well that the Blacks showed no mercy, whether father or son. It would haunt his mother most of all.

Chapter Text

James

“A Potter serving a Black. You must admit it’s amusing.”

“Hm.” James replied noncommittally, because of course it was not amusing at all. James knew the old stories. Suns ago, Orion’s grandfather had served Fleamont’s grandfather when Palis was lit by joy rather than darkened by a palpable sense of fear. Orion’s grandfather – or so the legend said – had recruited disenchanted magical families who felt the Potters were corrupt. When the time came, Orion’s ancestor had slit the throat of Fleamont’s grandfather. James wondered whether Orion had drawn the parallels between the events suns ago and Peter attempting to murder Regulus.

As James pondered, Orion led him into a tangled maze of corridors accessed through a glittering black door off the Green. James resisted the urge to run, and regardless, Orion’s grip was firm on his arm.

“This is South Green.” Orion informed James, “You’ll spend little time here, but it’s the quickest access route to Regulus’ rooms. Not that you’ll be leaving those too much.”

James nodded.

Orion had come to an abrupt halt outside a grand, theatrical archway shimmering with wisps of green smoke. The stone, hissing with magic, appeared to fill the arch. James wondered whether he’d made a mistake, following Orion. The archway was oddly sinister, a warning to visitors that the creature inside was barbed like a dragon’s tail. Perhaps, James thought, Orion would murder him now.

James breathed, negligibly, a sigh of relief as Orion began speaking.

“Orion Black.”

The green smoke grew in size and enveloped Orion, who inhaled its faintly clean scent and allowed his eyes to roll back in their sockets as the smoke entered Orion’s nostrils, ears and mouth. James was horrified. Was Orion…enjoying this?

Enter.

James started. Orion had not spoken, yet the smoke had cleared, and the stone blocking the archway shifted, making uncomfortable grating sounds, to show an intensely dark room intended to receive guests.

“Come, James.”

James shook his head, thinking his father would scold him for following a known enemy so blindly, but he had no choice. He followed Orion’s steps into the archway, grateful that the smoke did not deem it necessary to enter his airways. Upon entry, James breathed in a gentle musk of smoked wood and the intoxicating heaviness of roses. Red ones, he was certain, from spending afternoons harassing Remus as he worked the gardens in Mydan. James felt tears prickling his eyes and vowed to avoid thinking of Remus when the Blacks were in close proximity. James turned instead to survey his environment, thanking Fleamont for encouraging his only son to remember small details about each place in case he was lost and needed to find his way back by scent, feel, sight.

The reception room was comfortably large with a scandalously high ceiling adorned by a chandelier straining under the weight of purple gemstones. Yellowing candles flickered with a flame painfully similar in colour to that which had devoured Peter. Grimacing, James pushed the memory away. The floor was a deep grey stone covered sporadically in enormous shaggy black rugs and trinkets. James noticed that, like his father, Regulus appeared to admire coloured glass. There were intricately created vases, glasses, a curious number of glass eggs balanced on dishes that seemed impossibly fragile to carry such cargo, and most impressively, James noted with appreciation, a glass stag’s head balanced precariously above Regulus’ desk. The desk itself was littered with papers, a feather quill strewn across the largest pile as if it had been abandoned suddenly. Regulus seemed oddly tidy for someone who had no servant. James felt a pang of admiration for a Prince who would clean the smears from his glasswork and stack his papers in a somewhat ordered way.

Father.

James started again and realised the omnipresent voice in his head was Regulus, communicating in a complex tongue inside his head.

I am coming.

“You heard him?”

James nodded, attempting to avoid the questioning look burning in Orion’s eyes.

“That’s unusual…very unusual.” Orion paused, “It took Pettigrew years before he could pick up mere stutters that Regulus was screaming into his head.”

“Well.” James stuttered himself.

“Quiet, boy.” Orion appeared to fall deep into thought, the strain of his eyebrows an obvious tell that the Master was wondering why a strange Potter boy had instantly been able to hear his son.

“Father.” James span, instantly on edge at the appearance of his new master, “And this is…?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Cat got your tongue, boy?” Orion spat, giving James a light shove.

“James. James Potter.”

“Well, James. Let’s see how we get along.” Regulus smirked lazily at his father, “Leave us, father. I can handle this little one.”

---

Remus

It was fair for all who remarked on it to say that Remus had not handled James leaving well. It had been two days and Remus had scarcely thought of anything but James. Was he safe? Was he resting? Was he anxious, worried, missing his home? Was he…alive? Since their birth nineteen suns ago, Remus and James had never been parted. Remus thought it was particularly cruel that their farewell should come at the hands of a Black. He grimaced at the thought of Orion leading a frightened James into the epitome of a lion’s lair. James could handle himself, Remus reassured himself for the umpteenth time. Yet there was a murmur of disquiet in his very chest that insisted James was too soft-hearted and too kind to defend himself should the time come. Remus was brittle where James was malleable. Remus would stop at nothing to defend himself. James would lie down like a sacrificial lamb for slaughter.

“Stop it.”

Remus’ brother’s voice jolted him from his thoughts. Remus looked up, eyelids heavy from a lack of sleep, to see Rory, arms folded, in a suns-old chair placed haphazardly in the centre of Remus’ room.

“Stop what?”

“Thinking about him. He can’t hear you. Father would have heard if something had happened, and James wouldn’t want you worrying.” Rory spoke in a low voice, as though it was treason to speak of the dangers that might await James in the House of Black palaces.

“He could hear me if I tried hard enough.”

“There are no Legilimens in our family, Remus. I wish there were.” Rory’s grey eyes, adorned with flecks of gold, grew darker. Remus had learned that this veritable change in colour meant Rory was furious.

“Why’s that?”

“Regulus Black is rumoured to be one.” Rory shrugged, “As are most of the Black family. That’s how their magic is so strong.” His voice lowered to a whisper, “How they took the throne.”

“Regulus?” Remus could not prevent a hint of panic creeping into his voice.

“Yes, the very same as Peter’s Master.” Rory’s lip curled in disdain, “Little pretty boy Prince Regulus, a Legilimens. He’ll be brainwashing James before poor Potter even notices.”

“James would notice.” Remus bit back a sharper response, knowing Rory was right. If the rumours Rory spoke of were true, Regulus had controlled Peter for years before a nameless woman broke Peter from the spell and allowed the disenchanted servant to attempt to murder his captor.

“I hope so for your sake.” Rory’s shoulders loosened and his voice softened, “Do you want to come outside? Father said he spotted a deer on the edge of the Whyte Forest. We could go and see if it’s still there?”

Remus resigned himself to Rory’s clear attempt to heave him from the comfort of his bed.

“They always were James’ favourites.” Remus blinked away the hot threat of tears, “Wait, Rory. I’m dressed, I just need boots.”

Rory straightened, standing at his full height until he realised the lowness of Remus’ ceiling, stooping to allow himself a little headroom. Rory Lupin was twenty three suns, a full four suns older than Remus and James, but he retained the youthful, almost boyish look of one much younger. The curls precariously twisting to his shoulders were wavy in nature, lazily drifting from Rory’s sharply defined head past a softened jaw. Rory and Remus were similar in looks – both Lupin sons were plagued by elfin features, supposedly integrated into the Lupin family suns ago, with dull, waved brunette hair and deep grey eyes. Rory had an arrogance in how he stood that Remus feared he would never emulate – an innate confidence that his voice was the most authorative in the room, aside from Lyall’s. Rory stood as if he had been blessed by the very Gods that the Blacks forbid the citizens of the Kingdom to speak of, as if a divine creature spoke in his pointed ears, as if he, the first Lupin son, would be the first to make resistance against the Black family count.

Remus broke his stare.

“Done analysing me for a journal entry?” Rory smirked, the light tone of his voice indicating that he knew Remus could penetrate his very essence, “Let’s go.”

It was with a biting sense of needles that the cold welcomed Remus. The wind was nonsensical, a barrage of snowflakes whipping in torrents across the frosted surface of the land. It made Remus smile to see Rory desperately performing a warming spell to buffer his face and hands from its assault. Remus preferred to feel the elements. He’d always felt a sense of kinship with nature’s aggression. The wind’s voice did not scare him nor did it penetrate the furs wrapped tightly around him, a cloak of safety.

“You ready?” Rory’s eyes were gentle now, the storm of disquiet abating.

“Always.” Remus muttered, wishing his tone was softer. Rory would always be there for him, no matter his personal reservations about James, and today was little different. Remus made an internal note to thank Rory for forcing him out of bed with the temptation of a deer sighting and committed to matching his brother step-for-step as they headed with anticipation towards the Whyte Forest. Remus longed for James to be beside him.

Chapter Text

James

Orion, before his departure, had sheltered much of Regulus from James’ view. When Orion left, James was disconcerted by the lithe creature sprawled across a plush black armchair smirking amusedly at him. The Prince wore a sheer white shirt that skimmed Regulus’ bare thighs, sprawled open as if he were quite alone. James avoided noticing the dense thickness of muscle that shadowed those pale thighs, avoided noticing the dark hairs curled against the pale skin, avoided noticing the slim ankle balanced on a scarred knee.

“A Potter.”

“Yes.” James tore his gaze from the Prince and met those stubborn dark eyes.

“Father tells me your family is loyal.” Regulus paused, brushing a stray dark frond of hair from his forehead, “I pay little attention to my father’s opinions, but I hope he’s right.”

“He is.” James felt it was better to say little.

“But it is strange for you, I assume?”

“I don’t know yet.” James admitted, “I’ve lived in Jeremyn all my life.”

“Ah, the land of the loyal. Mydan or Jerin?”

“Mydan, sir.”

“Lovely.” Regulus sounded as if he thought Mydan was anything but lovely, “Please don’t call me sir or master. It doesn’t suit me.”

“You’re a Prince.”

“In name, perhaps.” Regulus met James’ questioning look, “I prefer to keep the formalities to formal occasions. This is not a formal occasion.”

“I suppose not.” James concurred, inclining his head in agreement.

“Have you served before?”

“No.”

“You will do everything for me. You will change my sheets, polish my glasswear, dress me in the morning, undress me at night. You will stop at nothing to make my life easier.” As if it amused him, the corners of Regulus’ mouth turned upwards, “You will sleep in my room.”

James had started at the prospect of undressing Regulus and felt even more unsure at sleeping in his room.

“In your room, sir?” James stuttered, “Sorry, Regulus.”

“In my room.” Regulus smiled, a note of cockiness creeping into his voice, “Does that bother you?”

“No.” James vowed.

“Good. You’ll sleep here.” Regulus gestured to one of the shaggy, thick rugs at the foot of the armchair, “Whilst I sleep here.” His hands gripped the sides of the armchair.

“Not a bed?”

“I don’t sleep in a bed. Nor will you.”

If James thought this was strange at all, he hoped his expression did not betray it. Why would a Prince of Palis sleep in an armchair with a servant at his feet? Why would a Prince not prefer the privacy of a four poster with opaque curtains?

“I see.” James nodded vigorously, hoping the gesture would distract Regulus from his true thoughts – that he would sleep with the Prince’s heady scent in his nostrils and those slender feet at his head.

“Peter did not mind it.” Regulus smirked, “But Peter is dead. I assume you saw the execution?”

James nodded, feeling a little sick.

“Horrible, wasn’t it?”

“Master Orion said you did not watch.” James swallowed, wondering if he had spoken out of turn.

“I did not watch with the citizens, no. I watched from a tower. Peter served me for many years, faithfully, until he turned a knife on me.” Regulus paused, “It was the greatest betrayal of all. He was a friend.”

“I’m sorry.” James said breathily, wondering if Regulus had spoken this openly with his father.

“No, my father does not know.” Regulus’ gaze was impenetrable yet so intense that James felt his feet shifting, “But my father does know that you can hear me.”

“Hear you?” James thought he had better feign ignorance.

“My voice.” Regulus uttered irritably, “My voice, in your head.”

“Yes.” James whispered, hanging his head low.

“This is not normal, Potter. No servant heard my voice instantly. Peter took years to hear fragments of words.” Regulus looked puzzled, a furrow in his dark eyebrows indicating the conflict of which he spoke, “I wonder why you should hear me instantly.”

“I don’t know.” James muttered, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.

“Nor do I.” Regulus answered, shrugging. He had begun to straighten from his lazed pose on the armchair, flexing his feet as he unfolded them from underneath him and cracking his knuckles as though the pain was not bothersome. When he stood, James felt he might never breathe again. The shirt was folded indiscreetly into Regulus’ undergarments, exposing a pale stretch of soft inner thigh skin. It was humiliating, James thought, that Regulus could choose to hear his thoughts when the Prince’s legs were bare. Bare and undeniably beautiful.

“Tear your eyes away, Potter.” Regulus said sharply, “You have much to learn. A servant does not ogle his master.”

“I’m sorry.” James whispered, his voice cracking. There was a blush creeping perceptibly up his neck, flushing the skin a tangible pink.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” Regulus shrugged again, that roll of the shoulders bringing the shirt higher, “You will see me like this daily and it will become nothing to you.”

James nodded, turning away as Regulus tore the shirt from his head, discarding it at James’ feet.

Pick it up.

James moved to lift the shirt from the floor, straining to feel the warmth reminiscent from Regulus’ chest, and kept his eyes from Regulus as he strode lightly across the floor.

Fold it.

James felt his hands move involuntarily to do as the Prince asked.

Now bring it to your cheek.

James lifted the shirt to his face, resisting inhaling the fragrant smell, before Regulus barked with laughter.

“You are so obedient.” Regulus giggled, “Too obedient. Put it on the armchair.”

James flushed with embarrassment. The Prince’s voice in his head was powerful, too powerful. He had been unable to resist the commands and he had not wanted to. James had wanted to lift that shirt and bring it to his nose, run the soft fabric down his face, sleep with it impossibly close to him. Yet now, he moved and placed it carefully on the armchair, feeling a sharp pain in his stomach as the sheer fabric fell from his hands.

There’s clothes in the walls. Tap the bricks.

James felt his feet move. He walked robotically to the wall – somehow, he knew which wall – and tapped a knuckle carefully on its surface. The bricks fell away into dust on his hands but when James looked down, there was no trace of their disintegration. Level with his eyes, the wall had been replaced by a shifting rack of clothes in hues of pine, emerald, violet and black.

Pick the pale green undershirt. The black trousers. The emerald jacket.

James’ arms moved mechanically, his hands moving deftly to secure the clothes tightly in his fingers.

Bring them to me.

James turned away from the clothes which instantly vanished, replaced by the same wall that had fallen into his hands moments ago. He felt repelled by the strength of the magic, the deceit that created such fallacies.

Dress me.

James had been blushing after analysing every detail of his master’s legs. Now, his fingers stroked Regulus’ shoulders absentmindedly without feeling, heaving the pale green undershirt across their span. James moved to the fore of Regulus, fastening gleaming pearl buttons across the Prince’s chest as if he were a mannequin. The jacket came next – a garment in vibrant emerald, tripped at its lapels with black and gold, sweeping past Regulus’ waist to mid-thigh length. It was angular in its cut, with darts creating great folds at its hem and showcasing the Prince’s strong chest, his slim waist, those long legs. James blinked, feeling as though he had broken himself from a trance.

The trousers.

“No.” James heard himself say, “I can’t.”

You will.

The blanket of obedience swept through James’ head once again, and he was lifting Regulus’ delicate feet through the holes of the black tailored trousers, his fingers numb to the touch of soft skin. James shucked the trousers up Regulus’ legs, fastening its waistband and brushing a knuckle against a line of faded white hair down the centre of Regulus’ stomach. James thought he heard the Prince sigh.

“Very good.” Regulus tucked his undershirt into the trousers before obtaining a pair of patent black loafers from the wall, “We’ll make a good servant out of you soon, little one.”

James nodded. The enchantment seemed to have lifted yet his memories of dressing the Prince were blurred. He could not be sure whether he’d been good.

“There’s a family dinner.” Regulus was at the arch now, “Don’t wait up.”

With a faint shimmer of green smoke, the Prince was gone. James thought he had never felt so lonely, so demeaned, so embarrassed. How had he simply dressed the Prince without reservation, without hesitation? How had he obeyed him as if it was Regulus’ voice, not his own, that was his commander? Thoughts whipped tumultuously through his head. Was it dangerous that Regulus could command him so easily?

Don’t think on it, little one. I am not dangerous.

Chapter Text

James

Regulus Black did not speak to James verbally after that first meeting. The Prince communicated with his lowly servant in the only manner he deemed acceptable – in what James had decided to name ‘tongues’. Regulus used tongues to instruct James and rarely did the voice in his head deviate from distributing orders. James had been disorientated by the murmuring in his ears initially but eventually, he conceded, he had become accustomed to the Prince’s low tones. Regulus did not call James ‘little one’ after he had dismissed James’ concerns about the obedience Regulus seemed to command from deep within him. Even so, James knew Regulus was not dangerous – if he was, the Prince did not seem to mean him harm and was aloofly indifferent to James’ presence much of the time.

Regulus’ enforcement of deliberate distance from James rarely extended past the moment the Prince had collapsed, exhausted, into that famed armchair. Regulus still spoke in tongues, but his voice was more tender, and he’d instruct James to come closer. You’re too far away. You act as if I repel you. The voice did not scold him nor did it seem frustrated at James’ attempt to maintain some physical barriers between himself and his master. Regulus would insist, nightly, that James sleep with his nose minutely close to the Prince’s ankles. Come closer, Potter. James regularly wondered what could possibly implore the Prince to demand such physical intimacy but dismissed it as a whim of the Blacks. He was often too exhausted, too beaten by submission, too homesick, to think on it at all. James’ fatigue did not extend to his senses, however. James had been repelled by feet, revolted at the very thought of a bare foot, before Regulus. Now, the Prince would extend long, spidery feet, pale as a ghost’s, close to James’ face and his nostrils would instinctively flair to breathe Regulus in. The Prince’s feet did not have a distinct smell, or at least there was no scent James could regularly identify, but there was a note of cleanliness merged with implicit softness. Regulus’ feet were feet of a royal – unscarred, soft, unmarked by work – and lacked the musty smell that Fleamont’s had discarded about the Potter house when he took off his boots.

Tonight was no different. James had been tirelessly occupied during the day, polishing the collection of glasswork Regulus so prided himself upon until it was spotless of smears and dust. The glass caught often on the sun littering through Regulus’ curtains and threw colour onto the walls. James often felt as if he was creating his own light display, adjusting the curtains to throw certain pieces into the light – casting azure, emerald, amber and crimson streaks across the Prince’s room. Now, James was settling at the Prince’s feet having undressed him as bid before Regulus cast a spell to rid himself of odours he was unlikely to catch. Regulus slept in long, billowing white shorts that cut harshly at the knee.

James, the glass is beautiful.

James could not respond – he had not yet, although Regulus insisted he would, learned how to project his thoughts to Regulus – and made a small sigh of assent.

You have done well.

James murmured a noise of gratitude and basked in the Prince’s praise, feeling a warmth spread across his chest.

I’m pleased with you.

Those words. Regulus spoke of being ‘pleased’ with James often. Whenever Regulus praised James, the tongues in James’ head were less clear, stuttered, and so low that the words were almost imperceptible. James had wondered if Regulus found praising a servant after Peter’s betrayal difficult but had gradually come to the conclusion that James pleasing Regulus made the Prince oddly uncomfortable. Regulus was ready with criticism, with a tongue that cut like the dagger the Prince regularly twirled menacingly in his right hand, but praise did not come easily. James sometimes thought Regulus would prefer that James were disobedient.

Are you comfortable?

James had failed to find a comfortable way to sleep on the rug beneath his cheek as of yet. He often became cold. Regulus’ room was oddly draughty during the night, with a breeze – barely perceptible, but there – icy when the night deepened. James had woken multiple times with his fingers and toes scarlet and numb from cold but Regulus was not one to allow James to be idle and demanded James move as soon as he woke. James warmed soon. James slept in his servant’s cloak and tunic – both black with the Black crest and an embroidered purple R on the chest. James had been marked as Regulus’ servant.

You are not comfortable. I can feel it.

James attempted to resist the tongues, pushing denial into Regulus’ head as hard as his throbbing temples would allow. Attempting to communicate in tongues with Regulus often gave James a stubborn ache in his head. James was unsure why Regulus cared about his comfort at all, given the Prince had slashed James with a dagger – gently, so the cut was like a papercut – for a mistake the day before. James had dropped a supposedly valuable goblet that Regulus had been using to determinedly tip wine down his throat at a rate that James was sure Remus would find impressive. Regulus drank most nights. James suspected Regulus hoped its stupor would help him sleep, but Regulus shifted most nights and sighed with frustration as he sprawled awake above James’ head. James had been oddly outraged when Regulus had stumbled from his haunting position by the window to the armchair, clutching to the walls – where bricks erected to give Regulus’ clawing hands somewhere to grab – and looking faintly sick. James had wrenched the goblet from Regulus’ hands, insisting that he had not wanted Regulus to spill on the armchair for it would be him, James, who would clear it up. It was not true. James had hated seeing the Prince senseless.

James started from his thoughts, swallowing harshly, to feel a weight land upon him. Regulus had deftly moved his fingertips and enchanted a thick blanket from the other side of the room to rest gently over James’ curled shape.

Better?

James nodded, knowing Regulus would hear his thoughts regardless of how he responded, should he choose to listen in.

Good.

James’ heart fluttered when the Prince rested a foot momentarily on James’ shoulder.

Sirius

That godforsaken brother of his had a new servant whilst he, Sirius, was curled defensively in a corner of a room that was barely more adequate than a cell. The room was, Sirius had deduced during the hours of daylight, circular in shape and impossibly high. Light streaked in from a small hole at the room’s summit. The bricks in this room were not enchanted, no matter how hard Sirius tried to will them into creating a climbing frame for him.

Sirius knew why he was here. He was the older Black brother – more imperfect, a little rough around the edges, without Regulus’ flash of anger and commitment to ambition. Sirius did not doubt that Orion would soon elect Regulus, not he, as his heir. Sirius had lost his servants at a young age for befriending them, playing games on the Green and dancing down corridors with a multitude of individuals. He’d found out recently that his old servants had been executed like Peter – but for showing him a little kindness, not attempting to murder him. He remembered swirling through his old room in petticoats borrowed from a woman that he could not remember the name of – likely his minder – and feeling, for the first time in his life, handsome. Orion had burst in, likely hearing the delight in Sirius’ tongues, and demanded that his son take the dress off.

“No son of mine will dress like a girl.”

“Please, sir, he was just playing.” The maid had implored her master daringly, silencing when Orion’s icy gaze had turned maliciously upon her.

“Playing at being a girl when he should be practicing being a man. I think this is the end of your time with us.”

Sirius could not bear to remember the rest. His nose remembered the scent of blood all too well.

Orion had slit her throat.

That was the first time that Sirius had realised he was different from the rest of his family – that he did not see servants as disposable animals to do his bidding, that he enjoyed dressing in beautiful clothes for himself rather than for ambassadors from the districts who might see him, that he tired in company rather than gaining energy from other people. Since then, Sirius had plotted.

It was Sirius who had released Peter from Regulus’ charm.

He’d been in this cell ever since, glimpsing snatches of Palis’ activities by intercepting his family’s tongues. Sirius had watched Peter’s execution through Regulus’ head – the silly prat had let his usually impenetrable barriers dissolve during a moment of such emotion. Sirius had spent the duration vomiting. Afterward, he’d vanished the evidence of his disdain using a spell that he thought he’d forgotten. It had been a long time since Sirius had emptied the contents of his stomach because of his family.

Sirius supposed it was not his little brother’s fault that Peter was dead. He’d felt Orion’s anger when Regulus pleaded for Peter’s life but detected a hint of falsity in Regulus’ demands for mercy. Regulus was never a good actor and despite the tears pouring down his angular face, Sirius doubted his brother felt so much for mousy Pettigrew. Regulus wanted to appear good. Regulus’ identity depended on appearances. Regulus’ heart had swelled with satisfaction when Orion had declared to the Kingdom that the Prince had asked for mercy and requested silence during Peter’s death. Regulus was inherently flawed like Orion but depended on his own insistence that he had more heart than his father. Regulus had trained himself to become that impossible thing – someone bad who appears good.

Sirius feared for the safety of James Potter. Sirius had felt the vibrations of confusion and intensity from Regulus’ room. Regulus was not to be trusted but Sirius had heard snatches of Regulus praising James in a tongue so soft that Sirius was unsure whether he’d intercepted the wrong conversation. James Potter would, surely, be sent by Regulus to see Sirius soon. Regulus never could do his own dirty work, Sirius thought sneeringly, and Sirius looked forward to meeting the ‘little one’.

Chapter Text

Remus

Lyall would regularly disappear for stretches of time, reappearing in the dim light of evening without warning and looking utterly exhausted. Remus had made repeated enquiries about his father’s ventures but, after years of pestering, had failed to obtain anything useful at all other than his father’s disapproval. It was therefore to Remus’ immense surprise that Lyall, rather than rushing flustered to his room as usual, slumped into an aged armchair looking suns older than he was. The lines in his father’s face were exacerbated by a day travelling in the wind that insisted on howling well into the night, making threatening whipping noises against the Lupins’ modest home.

“Remus, find Rory.” Lyall sounded dejected. The usual note of kindness was absent from his voice, but Remus’ father was absolutely sincere. Remus hurried to drag Rory from his room, where his older brother was undoubtedly asleep. Rory grumbled incessantly as Remus shook him under a cover of felt shimmering with a warming enchantment but rose when Remus said that Lyall was home and wanted to speak to them.

The two brothers sloped into the dimly lit room. Lyall made a sweeping movement with his hand and flames leaped from the wicks of candles spread haphazardly on different surfaces.

“I don’t usually tell you where I go for days at a time because I don’t want to put either of you in danger.’ Lyall sighed, “I wanted to avoid making you targets if the Blacks wanted information about the resistance.”

“The resistance?” Rory was incredulous, “You’re in the resistance?”

“Me and the Potters.”

“Did James know?” Remus interjected.

“No, I don’t believe he did. Monty and I felt it was better to keep you boys in the dark for as long as possible, but now James is gone…I think you should both know.” Lyall’s eyes flitted over his sons’ shocked expressions, “We want to get James out.”

“Why?” Rory’s voice crept into a haughty tone, “He can inform for us.”

“If your suspicions are to believed, Rory, and I think you’re well informed, Regulus would know if James was informing. We can’t risk it.” Lyall momentarily brushed a non-existent fleck of dust from his chin, stalling for time, “Peter was a great loss.”

“Peter was in the resistance?” Rory was disbelieving, “The little mouse who tried to kill Regulus?”

“The very same. Peter had two younger brothers to care for after his parents were murdered. Once the boys were old enough to care for themselves, Peter wanted to infiltrate the House and avenge his parents.”

“Two brothers?” Rory shook his head as if amazed he did not know a servant he had never known had two brothers.

“Saul and Gabriel. They’re Remus’ age.”

“Why are you telling us about the resistance now? After James has gone?” Remus had not spoken for a short time, weighing the importance of Lyall’s words and Rory’s responses, but interjected now in a quiet, reserved manner.

“I want you to come to Adis.”

“Adis? The rebel area?” Remus was embarrassed to hear a pitch of fear rise in his voice.

“Yes. Get ready. We leave tonight.” Lyall rose from the chair and swept, threadbare cloak rippling, into the next room, “We have little time. I think I was followed. Euphemia and Monty will meet us there.”

“Are we coming back?” Rory enquired.

“No.”

Remus physically refrained his hands from shaking as he crept past his father and brother into his room. His stomach had flipped when Lyall had confirmed that the Lupins would not come back to Jeremyn. Remus was not sure if the move to Adis was permanent, but he felt sure that Lyall thought his sons were in danger. The upheaval was sudden, unplanned, disorganised – all the things that Lyall was not. Remus’ thoughts were so heavy in his head that he felt unable to move but forced himself to do so. He stuffed important items – his notebook, his fountain pen, the thread necklace he and James both wore – and miscellaneous clothes into a charmed rucksack that was small to the outward eye but expanded with each item added into it.

Remus had seldom travelled south of Mydan. When he was younger, he, Lyall and Rory had travelled to Jerin, the southern city of Jeremyn, for the annual celebration of the Black’s ascendancy. Remus cursed himself for failing to notice that Lyall had not taken his sons to the celebrations in recent suns – Lyall’s loyalty had clearly depleted without Remus noticing. Tonight, the journey through Jerin would be uneventful. Jerin was a highly decorative city, famed for its colourful flags and tri-coloured cobbles that changed in hue at night. It was the crossing of the border between Adavall – Adis’ district – and Jeremyn that could be problematic. Adis was segregated from the remainder of Adavall by the Adis River, a deep, icy gush of water flowing across the south of the Kingdom. Undoubtedly, there would be questions for the weary traveller who would cross the Adis River into a known rebel area.

“Boys – it’s time.”

James

James had never been so exhausted. Regulus was a demanding master but simultaneously quietly encouraging. Those woeful, doe-like eyes watched James with an inquisitive yet judgemental air, allowing Regulus to consistently correct his servant when he failed to complete a task to the Prince’s regal standards.

Do that better.

Clean that for longer.

That’s not good enough.

James had long since forgotten about Regulus casting a blanket over his shivering body and the momentary resting of a royal foot. Regulus now seemed furious that James plagued his rooms and frequently took to ignoring him totally, barely affording James a glance, let alone a look of approval. James had wondered about asking if he had done anything to offend Regulus, but Regulus’ dark gaze and tense jaw dissuaded him from such whims. The Prince was nearly always tense, brooding like a jilted bride, tapping those slim fingers on any surface in reach. James worked harder than ever to prevent Regulus’ mood dipping further and found he collapsed, rather than curled, onto the floor at the Prince’s feet nowadays.

Regulus had risen from the armchair in a purposeful manner today, even though James had felt him shuffling throughout the night in a haze of one who has a mind that evades sleep. The Prince seldom looked tired but today Regulus’ eyes were hollow, shadowed underneath by a grey hue of exhaustion. James could not establish what was troubling Regulus and resolved, if the Prince was feeling more amenable later, to ask him.

Today you’ll take a message to my brother.

James nodded slowly, his mind whirring with confusion. James had almost completely forgotten that the Blacks had two sons, two Princes, two dark-haired heirs.

“His name is Sirius.” James looked up sharply. Regulus had not uttered a word verbally since the first occasion that James met him. James had almost forgotten the softer burr of the Prince’s voice, having become so accustomed to the low irritability of his tongues.

“What’s the message?” James uttered quietly, avoiding Regulus’ penetrating eyes.

“Tell him that he need only apologise to be my friend again.” Regulus paused, running a hand through his wayward hair as if it was greatly distressing to speak to James about such a delicate matter, “Tell him that there are some who miss him.”

“And where is Sirius?”

Regulus dipped his head, a flush blushing those pale cheeks. James felt the instant shock of someone who knows another is embarrassed, ashamed, and refrained himself from moving towards Regulus to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“He is imprisoned, not far from here. My tongues will tell you where to go.”

“Imprisoned, sir?”

“I thought I told you not to call me sir.” Regulus snapped, “He is imprisoned because he assisted Peter Pettigrew in attempting to murder me. He is a traitor. He hates everything I am because I am everything he is not.”

James knew instantly that the hatred in Regulus’ voice was not genuine. Regulus looked pained, a strained expression clouding his face, and his hands tremored. James willed the Prince to say more, to give James any indication that he did not hate his brother.

Do not push into my head.

James met Regulus’ quizzical eyes.

“I…I didn’t know I could…”

“You should never attempt to guide me, James. I guide myself.” Regulus’ chest was heaving, “I understand your curiosity, but I’m sure my dear brother will enlighten you when you have the pleasure of meeting him in his cell littered with rats.”

James was not deterred by the barb in Regulus’ voice and met the Prince’s eyes. There was a storm brewing behind the front of strength. Regulus was unhappy, James realised – deeply unhappy. Perhaps the Prince missed his brother. James shuddered to think how Regulus must have felt knowing that Sirius had assisted a rebel to murder him. A brother was for protection. A brother, James knew from watching Remus and Rory, should never betray his brother.

“Sirius is not an ordinary brother.” Regulus spat, “Nor is he an ordinary man. Be careful. He is most charming with those he deems attractive.”

“Attractive?” James resisted calling Regulus ‘sir’ once again.

“You, James.” Regulus’ voice lost all hint of animosity and become soft, “You are attractive, little one.”

James blushed deeply, feeling heat spread across his face like an infection. He felt his feet shuffle uncomfortably and the tension from his shoulders evaporate instantly. Regulus’ mouth had clamped shut, his hands balled into fists at his side, as if he knew he had murmured the words James had been longing to hear. James had watched the Prince for any sign that he saw him as more than a servant, but Regulus had betrayed nothing. The incident with the blanket had been an anomaly, never to be repeated, and Regulus had not sighed when James dressed him – he had stood nonchalantly as if it were normal that James’ hands passed across his frame like a soft breeze.

Be gone. Sirius is less patient than I.

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus felt he’d been walking for suns, fighting against the vicious wind that seemed determined to rid him of any sense of warmth. He cursed himself for believing he could withstand the elements under some mistaken impression of affinity with nature – now, his hands were bitterly cold despite Rory’s expert warming charm and his nose, he was sure, was close to detaching from his face. Even so, the deep fist of night was slackening. The sky was lightening from a blanket of convincing navy to a reassuring hue of lilac streaked with pale blue. Remus felt sure it would snow soon – the clouds were dense, heavy white bundles threatening to collapse at any moment. Remus’ charmed rucksack was beginning to strain his shoulders, despite his best attempts to first ignore the pain and latterly to charm the bag to support its own weight. Both attempts had failed. Rory, not Remus, was the Lupin son most adept at spells.

As predicted, the journey to Jerin had been uneventful. Vast, uninhabited plains of snow separated the two cities, littered with ramshackle houses used during the summer months as hunting lookouts for the great beasts migrating northward to Wyst Lake south of Palis. Frozen hoofprints made the ground treacherous, making the journey more arduous as Remus watched his every step carefully for fear of spraining his ankle and making even slower progress. Lyall had muttered ahead of Rory and Remus for miles now, failing to acknowledge his sons as if a glance back would endanger them all. Lyall prowled in front like a bristling tomcat. Remus was quite sure he would hiss if a passerby questioned their movements, but no such passerby came. The plains were quite deserted and remained so.

Remus was first to identify the flickering light waning in the dawn mist.

“Jerin?”

“Think so.” Rory confirmed, his voice tired.

“Lyall? Plan?” Remus raised his voice. Lyall turned, eyes wild with anticipation, and gestured for his sons to come to his side.

“Fishing trip.”

“What?” Rory snorted.

“If anyone asks. We’re going on a fishing trip.”

“Where the fuck are we going on a fishing trip to? Adis River hasn’t had fish for suns.” Rory was incredulous, looking at his father as if he were quite mad. Lyall scraped his fingers through his curled hair, decipherable from Remus’ only because of its greying hue.

“East Lake. It’s south of Jerin and it’ll serve as a cover until we approach the border with Adavall.” Lyall’s tone betrayed no annoyance with Rory for questioning the plan – in fact, Lyall sounded pleased that Rory was ensuring the story was watertight.

“And past the border?” Remus asked, a tremor in his voice.

“I don’t know.” Lyall shifted, glancing around nervously, “Let’s move.”

The Lupins approached Jerin after dispelling any charms that had served as protection from the cold. Jerin, although a loyal city, was not blessed with many citizens that had inherited magical ability. Lyall informed Remus that Jerin’s authorities often took offence to those who appeared threatening – that is, those shimmering with charms. Jerin’s city assembly was divided into possessors of magic and Muggles – citizens of Grimmuld whose magic had long since become extinct generations before. Jerin had a reputation for its democratic structure and Remus had wondered why Mydan had not emulated its gentle governance until realising that Mydan’s residents were nearly all magical. Such provenance of magic was not always restful.

Jerin’s streets were quiet as the Lupins entered the city through an extravagant archway decorated lavishly in designed graffiti. Jerin, although ill-disposed to fight a magical war, was famed for its community of painters or ‘dubbers’. Remus, resisting the urge to enchant the gorgeous designs, could not deny that Jerin’s reputation was accurate. Dimly lit windows edged every wall, candles flickering enticingly on their sills, and Remus smiled at the sight of families, couples and lone Jerinians awaking from slumber. Remus followed Rory, who walked quickly behind Lyall, vowing to be more attentive to the real threat of discovery rather than the arguable romance of the living person. Remus was certain that, for the moment, the Lupins were quite alone and started when a dark figure approached Lyall ahead of a leaning passageway Lyall had clearly aimed to use.

“What is your purpose? You are not Jerinians.” The dark figure’s voice was not threatening but inquisitive, yet Remus was not fooled; Lyall’s posture had become instantly more imposing as his father stood taller to meet the official’s gaze.

“No. We come from Mydan for a fishing expedition to East Lake.” Lyall was utterly convincing. There was complete conviction in the statement and no momentary pause, tremor or uncertainty. Remus himself would move aside. The guard, however, did not.

“Interesting. We’ve had a couple pass through an hour ago who said the same. Funny, though, they couldn’t produce fishing equipment.” The official paused, a cruel smile stretching across a face swollen by overindulgence, “They’re being held for questioning. Anyone heading south is suspicious now.”

“I suppose you agree that weary travellers should be stopped for nothing more than passing through a city famed for its kindness?” Lyall shot back, frowning. Remus knew his father was concerned that the imprisoned couple was the Potters.

“I said no such thing. I do as I’m ordered to do.” The official swiped a flyaway blonde hair from his cheek, “Better show that fishing equipment or I’ll call ahead to make a reservation in the cells for you.”

Remus groaned inwardly. He was certain that Lyall, in his haste to leave the house, would have failed to plan for an official so deeply committed to foiling their plans. Rory was staring pointedly at his feet, aiming to avoid the official’s suspicious gaze. Remus did not emulate his brother’s posture and instead stared expectantly at his father, who was stuttering as he rummaged through the rucksack densely packed and deposited from Lyall’s back to the floor. Lyall was flustered, perhaps even panicked, and it was then that Remus knew what he must do.

Remus swung his rucksack from his back and reached an ungainly, spidery hand into it. This was the time, Remus thought, this was the time for all that practice with James to show it worked. James had, for suns, assisted Remus with charm casting. Remus was not poor at spell work – in fact, he was more naturally talented than most of Mydan’s boys of his age – but he lacked confidence. James had committed to offering Remus help two afternoons a week, and slowly, but surely, Remus had produced warming charms, levitation spells, and, most importantly, disillusion castings. Remus concentrated, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth upturned in a determined line, and swore that it would be he, not Rory, who saved Lyall from a fate worse than death – humiliation. Amazingly, Remus felt the cold reassurance of metal in his hand and nearly stumbled in shock. Remus had produced small illusions – acorns, berries, a spoon – but a fishing rod – no, three fishing rods, Remus insisted to himself, and he felt the bag drop from the increased weight – was another matter.

“Here.” Remus said with ease, producing the rods from the rucksack with the glamour associated with someone who has achieved a long-set goal. Remus wondered if he dare enchant the official to accept the rods, but there was no need. The official looked mutinous but nodded.

“You’re lucky your son is a good packer, old man.” The official taunted, “Go.”

The Lupins bowed respectfully and, once the official’s back was turned, broke into a run, hurtling down the passageway before emerging, breathless, at the southern gate of the city. Remus, exhausted, knew that it was the memory of James that had facilitated the disillusion charm. He hoped he could keep his best friend’s encouraging smile at the forefront of his mind before he and his family arrived in Adis. He had an unsettling premonition that he would need all the magic he could muster to survive.

James

James was swaying, drunk with Regulus’ declaration, down the corridors to Sirius’ cell. He had never been called ‘attractive’ before, or at least not explicitly, although James wondered if Remus teasingly calling him ‘pretty boy’ counted. It was not the words that mattered. It was Regulus’ instant embarrassment that stirred James’ stomach. The Prince had regretted bestowing those words upon James as soon as he had uttered them, but, James emphasised, he had said them. Regulus Black, Prince of Palis, had called him, James Potter, servant and heir to a disgraced family, attractive.

Your mind is busy. Open it to me or I cannot speak with you.

James shook his excitement from his thoughts and attempted to clear the low hum of anticipation clouding his movements. Regulus needed to guide James to Sirius through tongues and it would not be prudent, James decided, to disappoint Regulus after he’d been loose-tongued enough to call a servant ‘attractive’ after days of shunning him.

You’re outside. Go in. There is no need to knock.

A door had materialised to James’ left. It was a door so solid, shimmering with binding enchantments, that James wondered if it opened at all, but this suspicion was quickly disproved when it swung open without a sound. James was first struck by the drastic darkness encircling Sirius’ cell and felt pity ball in his stomach. Although Sirius had betrayed his brother, the cell smelled rancid, of moulding waste, and James felt sickened upon hearing the tell-tale scratches of rodents. The older Prince had fallen low.

“Ah, the little one.” A confident drawl rang in James’ ears, “Come inside.” It was impossible, James thought, for a voice so alive with vitality to exist in such a dreary place. James was disorientated by the use of Regulus’ nickname, twice used, and met the gaze of Sirius Black.

Sirius was slumped against a wall. His voice was arrogant, alive, dancing with mischief, but Sirius’ face was gaunt, haunted by malnutrition and shadowed with exhaustion. Those cheekbones – dissimilar yet similar to Regulus’, high and pronounced – were the most prominent features on the heir’s face, flesh absent from the angular cuts. Sirius’ hair was long, curled, impossibly black, just like Regulus’, but it was lank and greasy, hanging in seemingly wet rivulets around Sirius’ face. Sirius wore no shirt, but his chest was heaving with sweat and his ribs were visible, jutting out above the waistband of patched black trousers that hung impossibly low on a bony waist.

“Stop staring, James. It’s becoming tedious to hear your endless pity for me.” Sirius’ chapped lips curled upwards in a smirk, “What brings you here?”

James flushed but met Sirius’ accusing gaze. His eyes were paler than Regulus’, James noted, less tortured and tumultuous. Sirius’ eyes were steady.

“Message.” James mumbled.

“From dear Regulus?” Sirius cackled, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees and cupping his sharp chin in his hands, “Oh, do tell. I’ve heard nothing from the man himself except his rather boring tongues instructing you.”

“He says…” James paused, wondering if Sirius was teasing about hearing Regulus’ tongues, “He says you need only apologise to be his friend again, and that there are some who miss you.”

“Apologise?” Sirius barked, “I would apologise if I had done the crime I’m trussed up in here like a pig for slaughter for.”

“He said nothing else.” James said steadily.

“I released Peter from Regulus’ enchantment because Regulus had, as is typical of someone so selfish, managed to make the poor mouse fall in love with him.” Sirius looked positively delighted by the idea of Regulus enchanting anyone, “I thought it was unfair. I heard Peter pining constantly after Regulus and I must admit it got unbearable.”

James was silent.

“I suppose you’ve been told that I released Peter so that the scrub could stab Regulus?” Sirius scoffed, “I had no idea that Peter was born of Adis. I spent as little time with Peter as possible, he was unbelievably irritating – you have no idea – always simpering after Regulus as if he were God’s gift, although I suppose he has that effect on people…not you, though, James Potter?”

“Not me.” James sounded more convinced that he felt.

“Ah, we have ourselves a liar!” Sirius was chuckling softly, “You have that look in your eye. I like to call it the Regulus effect. You’re tugging with your own emotions because my brother is just so impossible to resist but he simply won’t acknowledge you?”

“Something like that.” James whispered.

“Well, James Potter, I can offer no advice.” Sirius’ voice had become steady now, “I did not help Peter kill Regulus. I’m in here because Orion cannot know that Regulus would sooner lie naked on hot coals than marry a Princess as he is supposed to.”

“Regulus is…?”

“Gay, yes, Potter.” Sirius met James’ eyes, “Regulus does not know that I know that he has never frequented the whorehouses by the docks. He does not know that I know he was entangled in a rather amusing relationship with Barty Crouch, another Palis servant. He does not know that I know what his heart wants the most, it cannot have.”

James tried to digest this information and wondered if Regulus could hear every word. Perhaps Sirius was adept enough at tongue charms that Regulus was barred from this conversation that seemed to stretch, impossibly long, across time.

“So, James Potter, tell your master that I need not apologise to be his friend, for I have been and will be his friends always, and that there are many who miss me, but he does not fool me into thinking that he regrets I am not there to unsettle my parents into fits of anger.”

“Okay.” James whispered.

“Come again, Potter. It has been most entertaining to hear those thoughts of yours.”

Chapter Text

Remus

Dawn approached with a hesitancy as the Lupins travelled south of Jerin along the coast towards the eastern crossing of the Adis river. The cold was still biting but there was an optimism in the air – whether it was true warmth or Lyall’s increasingly swift stride, Remus was unsure. Neither Lyall nor Rory had thanked Remus for producing the fishing rods, but perhaps there was no need. Lyall expected much of his sons and Remus had, he supposed, done as would be demanded of him if Lyall had had the chance. Remus suppressed a small bite of resentment. Producing heavy, specialised objects was the height of disillusionment skill and he’d performed the spell under threat. If it wasn’t for him, he thought, the three Lupins would be barred in Jerin’s cells. Remus shook his head and continued to drag himself through the crusted snow, frozen hard by impact, after his family.

“We’re close to the border.” Lyall murmured.

“How can you tell?” Rory replied, as quiet as his father.

“I can feel the separation.” Lyall gestured, hands splayed open and fingers flexing, “There’s a charmed border spell that leaves magical traces-” Lyall moved a finger gently through a faintly shimmering pocket of air “-and it likely has a mechanism to alert control.”

“Show me.” Remus spoke. Rory and Lyall turned. Rory’s face wore an expression of scepticism, but Lyall smiled kindly and encouraged Remus to join his side.

“Reach out a hand – gently – and stroke the charm.”

“Stroke it?”

Yet as soon as Lyall had spoken, Remus had stretched out his right arm and opened his hand. The shock of magical strength vibrated through his fingertips and there was a strange, flexible film licking its way up his hands. Remus stared at the substance, a barely perceptible pale grey, tinged with hues of the faintest lilac, and flicked a finger. Instantly, the spell backed away and then rebounded in a darker colour, its weight heavier. Remus took a hesitant step backwards and cursed himself for being so careless.

“Nice one, Remus. You’ve just told the whole district that we’re trying to cross.” Rory sounded immensely impatient, but Lyall shook his head.

“Maybe, but Remus was right to test the spell’s strength.” Lyall paused, looking thoughtful and, suddenly, apprehensive, “No, surely that would be too cruel.”

“What? Lyall?” Remus was perplexed.

“This is a sacrificial charm.” Lyall sighed, “It needs an offering equal to what we ask from it.”

“An offering?” Remus was embarrassed to hear a tremor in his voice.

“See the purple?” Lyall said grimly, “What does that colour remind you of?”

Remus felt a pit of fear creep into his stomach.

“The execution.” Rory whispered, eyes wide.

“The spell wants a sacrifice. Someone must die for another to cross.” Lyall stated, “This is a new invention, a new cruelty of the Blacks. Border crossings have been dangerous, but never lethal.”

“Lyall, we have to go back.” Remus insisted.

“We will not go back.” Lyall hissed, “I am the only sacrifice the border will take. The spell will recognise me as an adult citizen. It will allow you boys to pass as two child-men if I sacrifice myself.”

“You are not dying for us.” Remus had fallen silent, but Rory’s voice was murderous, a burning glint of danger in his eyes, “Let it take me.” His last request was pleading.

“No.”

Lyall stepped forward, and the last image Remus remembered of his father was the setting of his mouth in a grim, determined line. Remus hoped he would never hear a scream like Lyall’s last noises again. He prayed that if he were to die Orion Black silenced him as he had Peter Pettigrew.

James

James made regular attempts to visit Sirius, but the cell entrance failed to materialise itself on consecutive tries. James supposed that Sirius did not want to see him again. He had drawled ‘come again, Potter’ – although James could not be sure of whether Sirius had meant it. Sirius’ gaunt condition had unsettled James more than any of Regulus’ sullen behaviour and any murmurings of discontent in the castle. Now, James did not dare mention how ill the older Prince looked to Regulus who appeared constantly furious after James’ summary of his first and only visit.

You hid your thoughts from me.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Liar. Tell me what he said.

“He said that he is and always will be your friend.” James paused, “That it is unnecessary for you to ask him to apologise to be your friend again, because he always will be and always has been your friend.”

Lies.

“He said that he doesn’t believe you regret his absence.” James felt heat spread across his shoulders, “He seemed to think your parents would be glad he was not there. He said he makes your parents angry and you wouldn’t miss that.”

James regretted what happened next.

Regulus had leaped from that fateful armchair and torn a piece of glasswork – a beautifully made, burned orange stapler – from its place on an enchanted table that stood without support. He flipped the stapler twice in his hand, catching it deftly, and then threw it, gracefully, at the wall. James held his breath, waiting for the inevitable ring of shattered glass, but Regulus looked frustrated. James followed Regulus’ gaze to where a pillow emerged suddenly from the wall, seemingly without effort, and caught the stapler. Regulus shook his head, those black curls falling into his wild eyes, and fell to the floor.

“Regulus?”

Leave me.

Regulus had never asked James to leave him before, so James turned slowly away from the Prince, who was knelt with his hands between his knees, and backed into a small room that the walls revealed for him. James would never forget the sobs that wracked Regulus’ small frame. The Prince looked more fragile, more exhausted, than James had ever seen him or ever imagined he would become. James listened to Regulus as he cried with great, gulping noises, retching as his chest heaved, and felt his heart slowly fracture at the Prince’s despair. James knew without peering through the room’s door that Regulus’ hair was sodden with tears, that his eyes were bloodshot and exhausted, that his hands were clutching onto the rug as if it were the only thing that could hold him to this earth. James withstood the crying for what felt like an eternity before he could stand it no longer. He slipped, silently, out of the room and approached Regulus tentatively. The Prince continued to sob but the noises were less heart-wrenching and James’ presence seemed to calm him, but he did not move.

“Regulus?”

Regulus did not answer, and it was James at his most daring that reached out a hand and rested it upon that delicate shoulder. Regulus instantly relaxed, the tension draining like a poison from his back, and the tears seemed to fall slower. James drummed a rhythm with his fingertips on the front of Regulus’ shoulder, his spidery fingers tracing close to his collarbone, and felt Regulus’ mind actively listening to the tune. These moments were going too fast and James knew the warmth of his hand on Regulus’ shoulder was painfully temporary, but the sacrifice of peace in his dreams for Regulus to be calmed was worth it for James. Regulus turned slowly until his eyes met James’.

“Thankyou.”

James breathed out a sigh of fear that he knew he had been holding. He was a servant, with his hand on the Prince’s shoulder – he had feared punishment. Regulus unclenched a hand from the rug and moved it impossibly slowly, stretching out a singular finger and stroking it down James’ jawline from his ear to his chin. Regulus continued to stare into James’ eyes as he dragged his finger, inching down James’ face with such restraint that James felt his soul cry out for more. Regulus seemed to ignore the heat flushing into James’ neck, blushing his neck a blotched pink, and moved his hand away.

The Prince briskly rose, dusting imaginary dirt from his hands on his trousers, and turned away before James heard the low hum of tongues once again.

You are kind, little one.

Chapter Text

Remus

The world appeared to become instantly silent once Lyall’s screams had subsided. The shrieks had echoed horribly, insistently, incessantly, through the wind until Remus thought he couldn’t stand it any longer and edged toward the purple barrier himself, wishing his life was over. An existence without Lyall seemed intolerable, impossible even – yet as soon as Remus thought of sacrificing himself, the screams abruptly vanished from the winter air. The silence stretched indefinably between Remus and his brother. There was, perhaps, nothing to say.

Remus felt so violently sick that he was sure he would empty the contents of his stomach onto the pristine snow hardened beneath his feet. His head swam, auras of faint lines and pale shapes dancing behind his eyelids as he shut his eyes and wished for death. Remus was sure that if he knelt close enough to the barrier that Lyall would return, grinning, as if he had fooled them into believing that a figure of his strength could possibly be dead. He itched to creep closer and capture his father back. If it were possible, Remus would wrench his father from the barrier, which had begun hissing expectantly, and force his family to go home. No resistance, no revolution, no rebellion was worth the death of the strongest man Remus had ever known. The taste in his mouth was bitter – moments before Lyall had refused to allow Rory to take his place, Remus had been stirred by anger that his efforts in Jerin hadn’t been recognised. He would give anything to urge his former self – because he was a new person now, an orphan, a fatherless boy – to force Lyall to turn back or tell him that he loved him one last time.

The weather was taunting him. The howling wind, aggressive in its tugs of Remus’ clothes, seemed to be shrieking laughter in his ear. How could you have been so stupid? How could you have let Lyall die? Why didn’t you take his place? Remus knew instinctively that he would feel a coward until the day his grave was lowered into dirt. He had let Lyall go. It was Rory, once again, who had dared to challenge his father and tried to prevent this. This unending, sharp, abusive grief that wracked Remus’ every essence and travelled like fire through his blood. It was Remus who let Lyall go without a word of resistance. He’d been silent, unresisting, compliant until Lyall’s tortured screams filled his ears like poison. He couldn’t remember how he’d fallen to the floor, but when a form of consciousness returned, Remus was sprawled, sobbing, shrieking, against the snow. The snow’s cold only served to freeze the tears to his face and claw, unrelenting, into his fingernails. Remus felt he would hate snow for the rest of his life.

“Remus…”

Rory’s quiet voice was tremoring, strung between a committed falseness to strength and the wet weakness of grief. Remus found that he hated Rory for being able to speak and buried his hands closer to his ears, retching but resenting himself and his useless body for failing to evoke any vomit. The gags were tearing noises through his throat, a despicably human noise when Lyall was dead, and Remus tried to stifle his futile attempts to be sick because it was unfair, wasn’t it, that Lyall would never rub his back when he was sick again.

“Remus.”

Rory’s murmur was harder now, determined, evoking a sense of leadership that Remus knew, deep in his heart, was treacherous.

“YOU’RE NOT DAD!” Remus had never called Lyall ‘dad’. He’d always been Lyall – strong, dependable, invincible Lyall. Now, Remus wondered if Lyall felt dejected by both his sons’ steadfast refusal to acknowledge that he was their father, and their insistence that he was just like them – a Lupin son. The words felt more painful than any Remus had ever spoken.

“I know.” Rory paused long enough to swallow a sob, “Lyall would have wanted us to go on. If we leave it too late, Remus, it will have been for nothing. The barrier, and the border with it, will close soon. Please.”

“I can’t leave him.” Remus found he was unable to raise his voice and instead, over the screams of the wind, his voice carried with authority, “I won’t leave him.”

Remus knew, instinctively, that he was in denial. Lyall was not here. There was nothing of Lyall to leave, no strong scent of cedarwood and citrus, no inherent warmth that affected everything it touched, no clothes so worn that their fabric had become soft and yielding. It was then that Remus remembered what Lyall had said when his mother had died – it was suns ago, perhaps so long ago that Remus was barely an infant – but Remus suddenly remembered.

There is no soul in a body, Remus. You mourn for someone’s soul, not their vessel. Let the body go and worship their soul wherever you go, and you will never forget someone.

“There is no soul in a body.” Remus whispered, his eyes pleading, looking into Rory’s own.

“You mourn for someone’s soul.”

“Not their vessel.” Remus agreed, his heart warming minutely at his brother’s recital of words they had both forgotten in the arrogant innocence of childhood.

“Can you do it, Remus?” Rory rested an impossibly reassuring hand on Remus’ shoulder and Remus felt the burden of some fiery part of his grief lift, draining like poison into the winter air.

“For him…always.”

James

James fell to his knees as if he had been stabbed.

Potter?

James could not answer, could not think, could not utter a word. The shock that radiated through his body was like no other and was indescribable, even in the subtle lilt of tongues. James was shivering and his face had instantly paled, deepening to a painful shade of grey as the magic wracked through him. His shoulders seemed quite disconnected from his neck, which became limp as James fell to the floor and began to seize. James’ legs were bouncing indiscriminately in strange motions above the ground, his body raised inches from the floorboards as his eyes rolled back in his head, the whites barely visible as his eyelids drifted slowly shut. There was a beauty to the effect of magic on James Potter as his body shook with the strength of ancient spellwork and began to convulse violently.

Potter? Speak to me.

Regulus’ tongues barely registered in James’ brain. James could see lurid shades of the glasswork he had polished so carefully for days blasting heat through his eyes. His ears throbbed agonisingly with loud shocks of white noise punctuated by screams.

James woke abruptly, the bottom of his spine and neck making hard contact with the floor and jolting him from the convulsing. He scrambled, looking instinctively for his glasses before he realised he had not worn them in weeks, and scraped his hands like a wild animal on the floorboards, searching for anything, anyone, to cling to. He hastened upon a pale foot that extended obtrusively onto a strangely thick rug and grabbed the ankle so violently that its owner flinched.

Potter. That’s my ankle.

James knew but his hands could not detach from wrapping impossibly tightly around Regulus’ slim ankle. He breathed, slowly, in-and-out, in-and-out, in-and-out, whilst clinging to the ankle as if it were a port in a storm. It was impossibly stable, yet disturbingly cold, as if it had plunged into icy water before James’ hands had blessed it with their warmth. James’ eyes were flickering wildly in and out of blackness and he forced them to focus on the faint dark hairs curled against silvery skin.

“James?”

At Regulus’ voice, James’ hands detached from their tight clasp sharply, as if Regulus’ skin were poisonous. He backed away, on his hands and knees, before collapsing, sweating, against an armchair that had scooted obnoxiously, as if charmed, across the floor towards his heaving back. Regulus met James’ eyes curiously but there was fear storming in those dark irises.

“James?”

“Regulus.” James felt he could scarcely breathe, let alone speak, and the name shook gently out of his mouth.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know.” James shook his head, sweat dripping from his hair into his eyelids, salty against his tongue as it rolled conspicuously onto his top lip, “I don’t know.”

“Have you ever had a magical seizure before?”

“Is that what that-”

“Yes. I’ve seen it once.” Regulus paused, “Is there someone important that you forged a link with?” The Prince’s brow was furrowed and his eyes betrayed concern.

“No.” James’ chest was still heaving, his breath coming out in rattles, “What’s a…a magical seizure?”

“As I understand it, a magical seizure happens when a magic carrier has been bound at birth to someone and that someone suffers a shock. Usually, the binding spell is made without the knowledge of the recipients until they’re older and can utilise the spell – it was used frequently during the War to enhance the abilities of both magic carriers, who could use each other’s spellwork and strength as a pair.” Regulus looked bored, as if he were reciting the information from a textbook, “It’s common with brothers and sisters to be bound by parents to enhance magical protection. It’s unbelievably dangerous though – if one who is bound is injured, or is shocked, or is unwell, it can, if done badly, affect the other. That’s a magical seizure – when one of the pair is unwell and the other feels it, except worse.”

“I don’t have a brother or a sister.” James uttered, struggling to digest the information, “Is it possible for the binding to take place accidentally?”

“It’s incredibly rare, but possible.” Regulus shook his head, those defined curls moving like a waterfall of blackness around his head, “It would usually happen when those people are unnaturally close, but it’s easily broken by a seizure. Are you thinking of anyone?”

James thought of one person only. James could not possibly know why he knew, but James knew he and Remus Lupin were bound by an ancient charm, and James knew Remus had just lost his father. It took little time for James to digest this before he let out a piercing scream, and even less time for Regulus to dart towards his servant and wrap those slim arms around him.

Chapter Text

Remus had stumbled behind Rory for hours before they’d reached a ramshackle house that appeared oddly lopsided, as if an enormous weight was pressing against its sides, amongst a plethora of tents, temporary shelters and magically enhanced bungalows shimmering with charms. The ramshackle house seemed to be the place Rory was looking for – the older Lupin boy, shaking snowflakes from his fraught curled hair, paused and glanced at Remus. Remus’ heart had not ceased aching since Lyall’s – since Lyall – well, Remus had never felt so sick and disorientated in his life. Every step was an effort. Every step took him further away from the place he had last seen his father. Every single breath seemed to tear like insistent flames through his lungs, the cold sharpening the discomfort. Every thought that nudged toward Lyall was pulled from Remus’ mind with an ice-like grip. Remus was telling himself to survive and his mind was, for once, cooperating. Remus could grieve Lyall when he and Rory finished this damned journey.

“Remus, I think we’re here.” Rory muttered, his voice low. His loose trousers, littered with pockets, hung low on his hips and remained sodden from a strangely uneventful crossing of the river. Rory had trudged resiliently through painfully dirty riverbed, with Remus curled across his shoulders, before reaching the banks of the rebel area. There was a pungent smell of dampness radiating from Rory’s trousers, and without a word, Remus cast a drying spell to instantly rid his brother of the cold wetness so particular to wet clothes.

“Thanks, Remus.” Rory slung an arm across his brother’s shoulders, bringing him closer. Remus thought he might break his stoic shell when both of Rory’s impossibly strong arms came round his shoulders. Remus breathed slowly, taking in great gulps of air, thinking how Lyall would have cast a spell on Rory’s trousers before Remus had even thought to, before Rory had even noticed they were wet. It was at this moment that Remus had a sharp realisation – that he and Rory would become one another’s confidants, best friends, fathers, brothers, sons, that it was he and his fellow Lupin son against the world.

Rory and Remus had struggled through their relationship for most of Remus’ living memory. Rory had always been such an overbearingly successful presence, one Remus could now admit that he mistakenly aspired to be, but all the same, Remus had spent much of his childhood bitterly jealous of Rory’s natural aptitude for almost everything. Rory had taken immediately to spellwork, impressing Lyall by charming objects to go flying round the kitchen from his highchair. Rory was athletic and would run for miles around Mydan’s shrubbery and forests, casting trapping spells on animals that he seemed to sense before returning, clean and unscathed, with his bounty having collected the poor creatures on his journey home. Rory had enchanted – without magic – much of Mydan’s population. He was adored as the older Lupin boy, arguably the better looking of Lyall’s two lithe sons, and he was more attractive because he did not know it. Rory was painfully unassuming, so much so that Remus sometimes wanted to knock his fists against that slim, elfin head and shout “Can’t you see?!” as Rory would saunter down the market streets, his back heated by the sunshine of admiring looks. Remus knew that his resentment and jealousy stemmed from his own insecurities, that it was not Rory’s fault at all that he was more talented, more athletic, more attractive, more natural at everything than Remus. Yet the revelations still stung whenever Remus allowed himself to dig internally at his sickening older brother.

Remus, in James’ inevitably affectionate words, was an ‘oddball’, the ‘black sheep’ of the Lupin family. He was sensitive to his detriment – Remus would sooner allow Orion Black to crucio him to the high heavens than trap dozens of animals as Rory did daily. James had scoffed affectionately at Remus’ efforts to run, breathless and unseen, behind Rory and release countless woodland creatures. Animals were naturally drawn to Remus and he had accumulated, at different stages in his life, a strange band of followers – rabbits, squirrels, robins – who watched Remus from their respective homes and frequently came closer to Remus than any of the former would dare to tread near Rory. The occasional rodent would be aggressively insistent that he or she wanted to be Remus’ companion and bite at his heels incessantly until Remus agreed – by refraining from kicking the keen creature away – to tolerate its presence. The rodent – usually a rabbit, a species that seemed strangely intrigued by Remus – would usually accompany Remus obsessively for a number of days or weeks at a stretch before disappearing. Remus, nor James, had never quite understood what exactly enticed these animals so close to a boy who was clumsy and frequently grumpy. James said it was because they could sense Remus was a ‘softie’. Rory had luckily been told in no uncertain terms by the Potters’ sole child that he was under no circumstances to hurt any of Remus’ little followers – but their fellow forest dwellers were fair game. Remus couldn’t remember when he had stopped eating meat but he felt positively sick at his former self – his pre-vegetarian self, that is – for digesting any body part of another animal. Remus would sooner starve than shred meat from the bone of a rabbit.

“Let’s go.” Rory said definitively. Remus was shocked from his thoughts, touching a finger tinged purple by cold to his cheek as a tear slipped discreetly down it. He had not meant to think about James or his childhood companions. He ducked his head to Rory, like he had become accustomed since birth, and followed Rory to the lopsided house, which, Remus decided, would be aptly named ‘Topsy-Turvy’.

---

It was a little while later that Remus regretted the nature of his entrance into the house.

He had flung himself rather unceremoniously at a hazy figure stood commandingly in the middle of a dimly lit room, noting only its haughtily attractive face, the lazy upturn of its mouth, the dark ringlets of hair parted in the middle of a thick-set head, and feeling incensed at the casual way in which its hands flicked imaginary remainders of dust from its legs. Much to Remus’ surprise, he had fallen straight through the figure after a cry of “You!” and fell clumsily to his hands and knees. Remus tossed his curls, as if it was of little matter that he had fallen to the notably dusty floor in full sight of the resistance and looked up sheepishly.

“At least he’s a trier.” The figure said breezily, raising a hand from its precarious balance on a hip and extending it to Remus, “Sirius Black.”

It was then that Remus noticed the slight curve of Sirus’ nose that showed structural imperfection Regulus was immune to; the larger, wild eyes haunted by the sights it had seen; the strain of Sirius’ trousers against his swelling thighs; the thickness of muscular shoulders, and concluded that he probably should have looked in more detail before flinging himself at a Prince of the House of Black.

“Remus Lupin.”

“Well, Remus Lupin, perhaps next time you meet a sacred informant of the resistance, you’ll be more careful before falling in a heap at his feet.” Humour danced in Sirius’ eyes, and despite himself, Remus felt the ghost of a smile creeping across his mouth, “Where’s Lyall? I was rather looking forward to meeting Daddy Lupin once I’d transcended the castle’s walls to bless you all with my presence.”

Remus knew any trace of a smile had vanished from his lips, and it was Rory’s grave expression that broke the tension stinging the air.

“Ah.” Sirius paused, looking stricken, “I’m sorry, Remus Lupin. I won’t criticise your fragile state a moment longer.”

It was with this peculiar statement that the shimmering form of Sirius Black disappeared, fading with a mere pop! and a tickle of silver light. Remus shook his head, briefly puzzled by Sirius’ strangely flippant behaviour, and wheeled around at his name.

“Remus, Rory.”

Remus turned to peruse an impossibly slim figure clad in black wartime clothing. She was certainly beautiful, crowned with such a mass of scarlet hair that her very being seemed to shake redness and possessing oddly toad-coloured eyes.

“Evans, don’t you think I should introduce the boys?” A more serious voice emerged from a smaller, blonde boy, despicably handsome with a jaw that chewed incessantly at itself.

“Quiet, Rosier. You’re not the boss round here.”

“You most certainly are not the boss after that little stunt, Red.” Rosier – although Remus was sure that was his surname – retorted, looking disgruntled, “At least I can skin a rabbit without needing to vo-”

“Evans, Rosier, silence.” An impossibly authoritative voice, possessed by a strangely dainty-looking elderly man, instantly quelled the arguing members, and turned then to Rory and Remus, “Mr Lupin, Mr Lupin, you are both welcome here. Your father was a valued member who will be much missed. Please, allow Ms Evans and Mr Rosier to show you to your rooms.”

“But-” Remus interrupted.

“Sir, we-”

“There will be plenty of time to talk when the sun comes up. Now, we all need rest.”

Chapter Text

Sirius

Sirius could not be sure how much time had passed since he’d wrenched himself from the self he’d projected to the resistance. It was an advanced form of magic, so advanced that sweat was falling in rivulets from Sirius’ forehead, his limbs aching as if he had withstood another beating at the hands of his father. Sirius frequently noticed – on the rare occasion that he overexerted himself – that his mind was likely to travel to darker places when he was exhausted, having depleted his magic. It was sheer exhaustion that had sent Sirius delirious and he would spend hours pacing around his cell, as though determination could expand it. It was then, a number of days ago, that he was struck by the possibility of projection. He’d witnessed Orion’s projections multiple times and indeed been struck by its hands. Sirius knew he would never use his magic for something so cruel.

Now, he felt shaken. It was his second successful attempt at projecting a corporeal self to the resistance. His first ‘visit’ was attended by a curious man who appeared, simultaneously, impossibly ancient and yet determinedly youthful. Sirius had guessed this strange dichotomy was Albus Dumbledore. He and Albus had talked technicalities, discussing the importance of ensuring Sirius visited randomly, the absolute integral nature of Sirius’ work, and tentatively floating the idea of how useful Sirius could be. Sirius had felt a little underwhelmed initially – he had risked his very mortality to force himself miles south of his cell, spending vital energy to arrive, crumpled and eyes flitting wildly, in Albus’ office. The elder Dumbledore had not looked surprised nor particularly disturbed by his arrival. Sirius was unused to such neutrality at his presence and had, admittedly, been a little sharp before Albus had peered interestedly over his folded, spindly hands, and asked:

“So, Sirius, you come to us finally.”

“Finally?” Sirius had been unable to keep a hint of accusation from his tone.

“I always suspected you would.” Albus inclined his head, “Although, I am sure, it has been most difficult for you to arrive here.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t exactly a ride on a smooth horse.” Sirius muttered.

“Quite.” Albus paused, “You are here, I hope, to assist the resistance?”

“I wasn’t sure if there was a resistance.” Sirius’ voice was quieter, more hesitant, “But if there is one, yes. I want to help.”

“What constitutes a resistance is a great matter for debate, Mr Black. A resistance can be a small cell of two people who are quite opposed to a regime they feel is unfair to them personally. A resistance can be one person who is so disenchanted with their life that they accost responsibility to the first authority they can find. A resistance, like ours, can be a group of people who are both disenchanted with life and opposed to a regime they feel is unfair to them.” Albus quietened for a moment, “Although I would like to think that some are acting – what is the phrase? – for the greater good.”

“The greater good?”

“For the good of all society.” Albus’ tone was mild, but he looked oddly impatient, “We are all fighting for our own selfish reasons, for quarrels we have imagined or witnessed, for the people we have lost. And yet I hope that those issues, grouped together, create a resistance that is fighting for everyone who has lost someone and had quarrels with your family.”

“My family-” Sirius made himself swallow, forced down the desire to spit at the floor, “I am not my family.”

“Indeed, you are not.” Albus smiled absent-mindedly, as though a quite precious thought had struck him, “Or you would not be stood here today, in this moment, listening to an old man debate about whether his resistance is what he wishes it was.”

“Regulus is different.” Sirius blurted out.

“Your brother allowed your father to crucio Peter Pettigrew to death.” Albus paused, “It was you, I believe, who released Peter from a particularly strong obedience charm that your brother had so generously bestowed upon Peter to make him imagine he was happy and, curiously, in love with the Prince himself.”

There was a fury in Albus’ tone that made Sirius quiver. There was no visible anger that Sirius could identify in Albus’ eyes but there was a strength in the man’s words that made Sirius quite certain that this was a conversation Albus had been waiting to have.

“Regulus is misguided.” Sirius felt compelled to say the right thing, to defend his wayward younger brother, “My parents refrained from being harsh with Regulus because…I suppose he never seemed to anger them as much as I always have. There was something about me, the way I spoke, or held myself, or existed, that would instantly make my father furious. Regulus never had that. Regulus is not perfect but he’s presentable. He could be paraded around Palis and he would look perfect, at least to the average onlooker. Now…I’m not so sure.”

“And this…favouritism never made you hate him?” Albus spoke mildly.

“No.” Sirius collected his thoughts, “I suppose I always knew, when it mattered, that it wasn’t Regulus’ fault. He didn’t choose to be spared. I know I’ve always been frustrated because no matter how hard I tried, my very existence would invite criticism. I’ve never been able to do anything right, so Regulus didn’t have to change himself much to appear better in comparison.”

“So you believe you are inherently flawed compared to your brother?”

“No.” Sirius’ voice was strong, “My parents believe I am flawed compared to my brother. I believe, and I know, that Regulus will stay safe as long as I am the imperfect one.”

“So your brother has never been beaten?”

The world seemed to stop. Sirius was wrenched from his conversation with Albus Dumbledore into a memory conjured by his younger self. Sirius estimated he was probably around thirteen suns, and Regulus a mere eleven. Sirius quelled a faint smile, remembering Regulus’ softer eyes and the fuzz emerging like a pest on that pointed chin. The smile disappeared when the spell – a strangely effective one Orion had devised himself – wracked across his back. Sirius knew this was not the first time Orion had beaten him, but it was the first time Sirius would remember.

Because Regulus got in the way.

“Daddy, no!”

There was a yelp like a kicked dog and Sirius heard a tell-tale crash, followed by the muffled sobs of his younger brother. Sirius withstood the spell, withstood waves of pain melting into his spine, ignored the blood he knew was rushing to the surface and attempting to heal the muscles that would contract in apprehension every day his father walked into a room thereafter. It was not the pain Sirius remembered. It was Regulus, crumpled as if he had been folded, slung against a brick wall. His brother was bleeding, a small trickle of crimson dripping from his forehead, but his eyes were defiant although they were filled with tears.

“Sirius?” Albus spoke.

“Once.” Sirius choked, “Never again.”

“You’ve suffered to protect him.” Albus’ voice had taken on a strangely awed tone, as if he were impressed that Sirius had done all he could to prevent Regulus from being hurt.

“Of course. He’s my little brother.”

“Sirius, there are very few people who would withstand what you have withstood to protect someone who was always cared for above them.” Albus stopped, “I have utmost respect for you.”

“I don’t need your respect.” There was a small hiccup in Sirius’ voice, a tear sliding down his face quietly, “I just need Regulus to be alright. If we take them down – he’ll be okay. I’m in a cell at the moment, I can’t- I can’t see because it’s so dark, I’m losing it – I swear to you, I’m losing my mind, I can barely scrape together a sentence when I’m alone, they’re not feeding me enough, but – it’s all worth it, it’s all worth it because as long as they’re preoccupied with hurting me…they’ll leave him alone.”

“Okay, Sirius. Let’s begin, shall we?”

Chapter Text

James

It had been some time since Regulus had darted to James’ side and wrapped his arms instinctively around James’ heaving frame. Precisely how much time, James was unable to say. His perception of time had become oddly stunted since his seizure. Time seemed to past imperceptibly slowly or fly past in a blur of colours and memories that James felt at a loss to seize – it was as if life was dancing tauntingly past him, and he didn’t quite have the ability to halt it and participate alongside everyone else. This change was oddly disorientating. James would rise, stretching out his limbs from his curled position at Regulus’ feet, and he’d feel concerned about whether the day ahead would last suns or whether he would scarcely remember it by the time he was crumpled like a discarded sheet of paper on that same damn spot on the floor. During his daily chores – polishing the never-ending collection of glasswork, conjuring steaming spells to iron out painfully large creases in Regulus’ shirts, scrubbing the stone floor on his hands and knees for so long that his fingers became pruned and sore – James focused on remembering intervals of time. Regulus should be back from his morning walk around the grounds soon. Regulus will be dining soon. Regulus will be having an afternoon sleep soon. Regulus will be meeting his father soon.

It took James scarcely any time at all to notice that his day revolved around Regulus. He had expected, as a servant to a Prince, to become devoted to his master. Regulus didn’t command James to adore him nor did he particularly seem to care if James revered or was repulsed by him. And yet, he would lurk like a petulant child in James’ thoughts if James had emerged, smarting and blushing, from a scorning remark Regulus had made. Regulus seemed perceptibly sensitive to James’ responses to his criticism but rarely noticed James’ presence otherwise. The Prince was rarely in his rooms and James did spend the majority of the day alone, but he felt himself visibly relax whenever Regulus did leave. Regulus’ gaze hovered between making James feel as if he had a target on his back and feeling warmed by a faint glimmer of sunshine. The scrutiny was exhausting, and James was often glad to be rid of those pressing eyes, smarting from a darkened corner.

James did not forget that Regulus had rushed to his knees and flung his arms around James as if he were an impossibly strong person who could not be broken by such force. Regulus had not spoken a word, whether verbally or in tongues, and had simply leaned against James, his body warm and heavy, those arms clasped tight around his servant’s shoulders. James had screamed louder still when Regulus had rested his sharp chin on James’ head, the weight of the Prince’s head too much to bear when James felt as if his heart was tearing itself into infinitely small pieces. The screaming had seemed to last an eternity to James but Regulus did not move, staying stiller than the most gorgeous statue, holding James whilst he screamed his throat raw and tears leaked down his cheeks. James did not remember when he stopped screaming, when he collapsed regardless of Regulus’ support onto the floor, but he remembered when Regulus detached himself robotically from James and backed away as though frightened. James had snatched a gaze, watching Regulus’ eyes flash madly as his deft feet took him further away from him, backing toward the doorway as if James was a dangerous animal. James met Regulus’ eyes.

Regulus shook his head.

---

Come to the grounds with me today.

James was shifting from foot-to-foot whilst performing a complex cleaning spell on a particularly stubborn oil stain painted obnoxiously across one of Regulus’ more formal jackets. It was a deep navy, close in colour to the midnight sky that James regularly admired from his vantage point on the floor, with a strange adorning of silver. The silver hint was so slight that it did not show in some lights, but in the telling glimmer of moonlight, the silver would dance insanely across the fabric as though enchanted. James had never been particularly impressed by clothes but there were moments, when Regulus inevitably instructed him to choose another outfit, that James was stunned by the craftmanship and beauty that had been bestowed upon each garment. James had never worn anything beautiful and realised that, although Regulus was an undeniably attractive man, he became godlike, untouchable, angelic, indestructible, dependent on the clothes he wore. James had learned to identify Regulus’ mood depending on the clothes he requested – a structured, harshly cut, military-style outfit in all black indicated he felt vulnerable and needed a hard outer shell for protection; a softer, billowing shirt and trousers in pastel colours implied he was relaxed if not exhausted; an extravagant, luxurious suit cut in velvet and darker tones told James that Regulus was meeting people of importance, if not simply his extended family.

Today, Regulus had woken and instantly request that James fix the navy jacket. Regulus owned multiple navy jackets, but James knew by the tension in his voice that it was this jacket that he had cleaned an indefinite number of times yet never seen Regulus wear.

James. Come around the grounds with me.

James had, once again, fallen deep into his thoughts, and turned to face Regulus. He had begun to notice that Regulus’ tongues were less harsh, less demanding, and most importantly, compelled him less to perform the task asked instantly. In his first few days in Palis, James had been close to a robot. Every time Regulus spoke in tongues, James obeyed. Now, James had been able to resist a little, push Regulus to wait. Fleamont would insist that it was no good for anyone to have their wishes obeyed instantly all of the time.

“Why?”

Regulus met James’ eyes, a small note of disapproval visible in the way his lips downturned slightly.

I’ve asked you to.

“I haven’t finished this jacket.”

“Damn the jacket!” Regulus’ voice was a resounding claret of power, and the Prince spun and slammed a hand on the mahogany desk close to him, “Why is it, Potter, that when I ask you to do something, you question me?”

“We’re back to Potter, are we?” James couldn’t keep a hint of snideness from his voice. He was sick of Regulus coming close to him and then subsequently rushing away like a wounded rodent.

“Shut up.” Regulus snarled, “How dare you talk back to me?”

James raised his eyes and met Regulus’ gaze. Despite the grandeur of viciousness in his voice, there was no storm of anger dancing behind the Prince’s eyes. James smirked and turned away.

“Because you let me.” James muttered softly, continuing to carve the same complicated steaming spell around the jacket as he heard Regulus snort arrogantly. James knew it was a snort of amusement, even if he would insist it was annoyance, frustration, anger. Regulus was rarely sincerely angry with James and if he was, it was because James had likely done something stupid.

“Suppose I do let you.” James stumbled, shocked – Regulus was stood so close behind him that he could feel the Prince’s breath on his neck, smell that heady scent of cedar wood and the minted freshness of his mouth. So close that James wondered if his back was inches from touching Regulus’ bare chest, adorned only with an open shirt, “Why do you think that is?”

I don’t know.

“I think you do.” Regulus sounded amused, as though playing a game, and his words made James’ hair shift as he breathed them out. As soon as James had thought to retort, Regulus retracted, the warmth of physical closeness between them rushing away like a draught had caught it. James felt himself release the breath he had been holding and decided he had better face Regulus rather than continue with the steaming charm. He turned, slowly, released the amber charm from his hands, and saw Regulus stood, arms folded, leaning against a wall. The Prince looked oddly smug, as though he had proved a point or obtained some information he was desperate to know, but his face was flushed. It was this small detail – that barely-there hint of rosebud pink in Regulus’ cheeks – that convinced James he had triumphed.

“Why won’t you stop teasing?” James said, in a low voice. He had intended to sound sultry but he knew, when the words tumbled unchecked from his lips, that he had sounded desperate, the weeks of frustration exacted in one sentence, one question. A question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to. Regulus’ smirk was wiped from his face and he looked, for a moment, furious, before he strode with a purpose so great to James that James pressed himself further into the wall, fearful he would be punished.

“I can stop teasing if you’d like, James.” Regulus’ face was so close to James’ own that James thought he might, if Regulus came any closer, stop breathing. James had never seen Regulus’ eyes in such detail and he was lost, for moments that seemed to last forever, in their mystery, their wisdom, the storm raging behind a mind so tired that James wanted to give him all the rest that he himself desperately needed. James was sweating now, his palms slick with nerves, but he could focus only on the fact that Regulus’ nose was minutely close to his own.

“Please.” James would have clapped his hand over his mouth if he had been able to fit such a clumsy limb between his face and Regulus’, but he could not, and so the plea escaped his mouth and James found he could not feel embarrassed for it. Sirius’ warnings had gone from his mind, his fear of the Black family had almost instantaneously erased, he could think of nothing but Regulus and the tortured expression on his face.

“Come to the grounds with me.” Regulus whispered. James could smell his breath, smell how he would taste, see the cracks in his lips where he chewed them at night.

“Yes.”

Good boy.

Regulus walked away. He had, once again, won.

Chapter Text

Remus

Evans, the red-headed girl, and Rosier, the expert at skinning rabbits, led Rory and Remus away from the elderly man. They continued bickering as they strode ahead, seemingly immune to the two Lupin boys, their chatter punctuated by obscene hand gestures and the occasional light-hearted shoulder shove. Remus felt as though he were watching a scene of him and James, although such frivolity seemed suns ago, and felt a wistful ache for his best friend. Although no one could ease the stifling pain in his stomach, he knew James’ presence would at least provide a welcome distraction. Every time he looked at Rory, he saw Lyall. Every time he looked inwardly, he felt Lyall.

“It’s been less than a day.” Remus muttered, “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

“First sign of madness.”

“What?” Remus growled, startled from his thoughts by a taunting voice.

“First sign of madness, talking to yourself.” Rosier was smirking. He’d stopped, his hands making a mockery of any warming spell Remus had ever produced – it was a violent amber, strong in its colour, and by the appearance of Rosier’s scarlet hands, strong in its potency.

“You’re just like one of us already.” Evans’ words were harsh, but her eyes were kind, and she leaned closer to Remus, “You will be okay, someday. It might be suns from now, but you’ll both-” She smiled warmly at Rory, “You’ll both be alright.”

“And what the fuck do you know?” Rory’s voice was gruff. His height was ever more pronounced as he tensed, leaning over the smaller girl as if she were a mere ant he could crush on his shoe.

“A little.” Evans shrugged, “I lost my parents and my sister.”

“I’m sorry.” Remus heard himself say, a ball of pity forming guiltily in his stomach.

“Don’t be.” Evans’ smile was sad, “S’long time ago. Doesn’t matter anymore.”

Evans’ voice was steady but Remus instantly sensed that her words weren’t sincere. There was a slight drop in her shoulders, an echo of her earlier joviality disquieting gently around her. Remus met the girl’s eyes and saw the harsh reality of grief hidden behind a façade of strength. We’re not so different, Remus’ thoughts were tinged by melancholy, she pretends. She pretends all the time. Evans, although slight in frame, had immediately showed Remus her strength in faultlessly delivering words he could scarcely imagine speaking. Remus noted the silent kindness she had showed him, the concealed bravery she’d instilled into him, simply by facing Rory and telling him about her family without any hostility. Rory was rarely rude, inherently incapable of unkindness, but Evans had met the challenge as if Rory was a prowling tiger that ought to be tamed with gentleness.

“Sorry, Evans. I didn’t mean to…” Rory was stuttering now, unable to utter an apology that would sound anything other than meaningless.

“Don’t, alright?” Evans retorted, “You weren’t to know, and you’ve had the shittiest day anyone could have ever envisioned.” She paused, reserved a quick glance of affection for Rosier, and looked at Rory as though he were a mild irritant, “It’s Lily, by the way. Only Dumbledore calls me Evans.”

“Dumbledore?” Remus questioned.

“The old man.” Rosier smirked, “Notice him?”

“Yeah, course. Who is he?” Remus concurred.

“Who is he? Whose Dumbledore? Christ, Lily, we’ve got work to do.” Rosier looked faintly amused, as though he relished the challenge of educating two naïve orphans, “I’m Evan.” He extended a hand courteously, making a great show of performing a self-deprecating bow, “Disgraced son of Black loyalists. Pleased to meet you.”

Remus took his hand and was rewarded by a smile so startling, so fleeting, that Remus wondered if he’d imagined it.

“Evan and Evans?” Rory snorted, “So, we’ve got three orphans, and a wayward son on the team?”

“Seems that way, grumpy boy.” Evan’s smile was a little more cautious, “You’ll meet everyone soon enough. We’re a band of misfits, but they’re okay.”

“Everyone?” Remus questioned.

“Yep. It’s just down here!” Lily’s voice was dancing, as though she were indescribably excited to perform the big introduction, and she flitted down the hallway. Remus noted that the hallway was lit by flickering blue orbs, suspended like lanterns from the ceiling, casting the corridor in an oceanic hue. There was something innately calming about the lights. Their temperate colouring was so close to the imagery Remus had imagined when his father had told him suns-old stories about the deep seas. Remus shook his head, suppressing a heavy sigh as he wondered, impossibly, why he had never asked Lyall why he’d known so much about the song calls of whales, or the clicking of dolphins, or the liking otters had for sea kelp. There’s so much I never asked him, Remus cursed, so much I’ll never ask him.

“Remus?” Rory’s voice was soft, and Remus felt his brother’s hand on his shoulder, “You going to be alright? We can wait?”

“No, I need distracting.” Even to him, Remus’ voice sounded weary.

“Nice one, Baby Lupin.” Evan had interjected, but his voice was sincere and there was concern behind those enchantingly pretty blue eyes, “We’ve got you – Dumbledore’s orders.” There was a shadow of a smile threatening to change the straight line of Evan’s dainty mouth.

“Thanks.” Remus said weakly, and he reserved a grateful nod for Evan whilst he maintained a painfully intense stare with him. Evan placed a hand lightly on his back and gave him the gentlest and most careful of pushes. Remus felt instantly grateful for the boy he had known less than an hour who was giving him the courage to follow his older brother through a doorway quaking with green security charms. Remus was hesitant, snatching a questioning look at Evan, who nodded and gestured that he would absolutely be alright, that he, Evan, would never lead him into danger. Evan’s face shifted into the ghost of a smile and he poked Remus teasingly in the centre of his back before Remus was met with a tangle of noise once through the door, the door dissolving immediately as he passed through.

“Lily!”

“Evan!”

“Lils! You’re back!”

“How was the meeting?”

“Get over here, Rosier!”

“Double Evan! Score!”

There were clamours of joy upon their entry, and Remus felt himself instantly relax when he saw the easy smile Evan’s face broke reluctantly into. These are good people, he knew, it’s not home, but they’re good people. As Remus calmed himself, there was suddenly an onset of utter silence, punctuated only by the shifting of feet and his own unsteady breathing.

“Come on, Evan, don’t keep us waiting. Who are the newbies?” A laughingly curious voice interrupted the silence, burst the unsettling bubble sheltering Remus from scrutiny, and he felt himself blush before lifting his head to see which brave soul had asked about his and Rory’s entrance. Remus was temporarily startled and immediately quelled the immediate disquiet that had punctuated his lungs upon setting eyes on the voice’s holder. He was a lazily gorgeous boy with straw coloured hair, his face a map of scars that ravaged his sharp features, and he was twirling a short wooden stick in deftly agile hands, looking supremely confident as though he was the only person in the room worth watching. There was an innate cockiness to the way he was sprawled, legs jumbled over a floor littered with cushions, his skeletal face tilted upwards wearing a challenging expression. Remus shivered, seeing the menace behind eyes not dissimilar in colour to aged tree bark, but found he was unable to tear his gaze from the way a white tee caressed his evidently toned torso, the slimness of his exposed ankles, the quirked grin exposing his mouth.

“Of course, Barty. Always the first to speak, but always the last to shut up.” There was an ease in Evan’s tone that Remus knew came exclusively from a close friendship, “This is Remus Lupin – the smaller one – and Rory, his brother.” Evan’s voice became quiet, less stable, “They’re Lyall’s sons.”

“Were Lyall’s sons.” Rory muttered disdainfully.

“You’re still Lyall’s sons.” Another voice, which sounded to Remus as though it belonged singing alongside the discreet murmurs of a stream, said with utter conviction. The corners of Remus’ mouth upturned instantly, not only at its words, but at the voice’s source. She was a curvier figure, her face rounded softly at the edges with the promise of everlasting youth, her jaw framed by dainty dark braids laced with the palest of lilac. Her eyes were a noticeably bright shade of hazel, tinged with strange purple flecks. Remus recalled that Lyall, suns ago, had told him that faeries had unusually bright eyes, often in pastel colours, and wondered if this girl was a descendant of some long-gone faerie dynasty. Remus studied the contours of her face and noticed that her skin, a warm brown, was freckled by the same pale lilac shade as though someone had tickled a paintbrush carelessly across her nose. Remus concentrated harder and smiled to himself as he saw a slight point characterising her small ears, the sharp tips poking obnoxiously through her braids. Definitely part-faerie, Remus confirmed, and he beamed at his own revelation and, incidentally, the faerie girl herself.

“That’s Dorcas. She’s really lovely.” Lily whispered, “Part-faerie, but I think you already knew that.” Remus smiled in approval and waited for more children of the resistance to speak.

“Hear, hear.” There was a mild sarcasm to this comment, “Dorcas is always lovely, except when she’s pissed at you and decides to use those faerie charms to send canaries after you that chatter in your ears all day long.”

“Those canaries are lovely, Cleo. I’m sure they’d like you more if you stopped performing freezing charms on them.” Dorcas’ voice was teasing and Remus couldn’t help but suppress a giggle at the expression of the indignant person stood close to Dorcas.

Cleo was flanked by two individuals so painfully similar in looks to them that Remus knew he would struggle telling them and the two who were obviously Cleo’s siblings apart.

“Cleo Whyte.” Cleo shuffled past Dorcas, throwing her a patronising look with their tongue out, and came close to Remus, their periwinkle blue pixie cut punctuating the crowd of browns and blondes, “Those two are Seb and Hugo. We’re all runaways from Kalyatti. You’ll meet Mum and Dad tomorrow.”

Cleo was a petite little person, their skin a curious shade of a colour so tantalisingly close to silver that Remus was tempted to attribute the hue to just that – ‘silver’ – but it was shimmering with a condition so complex that Remus felt it would be indisputably rude to demean it so. Cleo’s face was elfin, just like his, but Remus took great comfort that he and Rory had managed to avoid the conspicuously pointed chin that Cleo, Hugo and Seb all possessed. Hugo and Seb were twins, both their heads adorned with hair so black Remus suspected it was magically enhanced, and short, just like Cleo. The three together looked as though they had been conjured from a strangely romantic nightmare – Seb and Hugo were so absolutely identical that Remus felt sure the universe had produced them to taunt both the twins and anyone they interacted with, and Cleo was so eye-catching that they made Barty pale in comparison. The Whyte siblings could, Remus felt, be as easily part of a postcard advocating for a fairytale picnic as part of a strangely chaotic resistance.

“That’s nearly everyone.” Lily reassured Remus, “There’s only Gabriel and Saul now.”

“Peter’s brothers?” Remus murmured.

There was an instant hush and a flash of fear flew across Cleo’s eyes. They retracted immediately away from Remus and backed recklessly into the waiting arms of their brothers. Barty’s face lit up with apprehension, as though he were discreetly delighted that Remus had spoken out of turn, whereas Evan’s expression darkened in concern. Lily raised a hand.

“Come on, guys. He’s only just got here. Where are Gabriel and Saul, anyway?” Lily spoke authoritatively, “May as well get it over with.” She paused, lowering her voice for Remus and Rory to hear, “They’re not great with visitors since…”

Remus nodded, Rory more rigorously.

“Here.” A tiny creature emerged from behind a bunkbed, looking resolutely terrified, followed by a boy so skinny that Remus felt concern rush into his chest. Both boys were cursed with a shock of orange hair shooting aggressively from the bony crevices of their skulls, but their eyes were an enchanting mix of sage and leaf green.

“That’s Gabriel – the first one.” Evan whispered in his ear, “Saul behind him.”

Rory stepped forward, and Saul whimpered, shuffling even closer to Gabriel in front of him. Remus felt a swell of respect and love as Rory knelt down and spoke softly.

“Hello, Gabriel. Hello, Saul. I’m Rory.” Rory paused, “I lost someone very close to me today. I know you lost someone very close to you, too, and it’s really hard. Maybe, if you’d like, we could look after each other?”

It was with enormous shock, felt by everyone in the room, that Remus watched Gabriel move slowly towards Rory, flanked closely by Saul, before the two small boys rushed towards Remus’ brother and crashed, without any warning, into his side. Remus made to protect Rory, his heart bitten by concern, but the kids, who couldn’t be more than thirteen suns, were wrapping their arms around Rory and giggling as if it were perfectly funny that the House of Black had cost all three of them those who mattered the most.

I’m going to be okay here.

Chapter Text

James

James was smarting. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened between him and Regulus, but he knew something had happened. He’d begged Regulus to stop teasing, his breath whistling through his teeth, desperately wanting him to come even closer. He’d raked his eyes over Regulus’ chewed lips, noted the flaking skin at the corners of his mouth and itched to lick their very dryness to ease the soreness he knew personally. He knew Regulus had been invading his thoughts, pushing the aches for Mydan, for Remus, for his parents, aside as if they were meaningless and yearning for the moments James had ached for Regulus himself as he’d lain alone at his feet. James had realised slowly that the very position in which he slept was purposefully demeaning; that Regulus had placed him tactfully at his feet to remind him that James would never reach the heights of a Prince. Perhaps, even, that he would never be good enough for a Prince. James knew he had royal blood, knew that his claim to the throne was significantly stronger than Regulus’, but he had no desire to rule over anyone, let alone rule over the citizens Palis controlled. It was humiliating, so humiliating that the very thought made James blush like a ripe peach, but he wanted to be ruled. He flinched every time Regulus criticised him but internally, he was pleased. James had rarely been heralded as a leader back home, and although Fleamont would never say it explicitly, James knew that he was mildly disappointed – in his own way, never maliciously so – at his son’s lack of fire, his resolute determination to be calm whatever the issues he faced. James was not an angry person – he was not even a person easy to rile, but Regulus Black had got under his skin and made him itch, like a dog with fleas, for any form of affection.

James was distracted from his thoughts by the very voice he had craved after weeks of hearing Regulus’ low murmurs in tongues. He’d wistfully reminisced of the first day he met the Prince, the day Regulus had looked him in the eyes and spoke, his lips actually moving, because now, Regulus could be across the room or even across the castle and he’d force those twisting words into James’ head as if it were of no meaning to him that he’d barely uttered a word aloud until today.

“Are you coming?” Regulus was scraping an ornate silver comb through his wayward curls, looking on the verge of boredom as though James’ thoughts meant little to him, and looked up when James snorted.

“I thought we’d established that I was, yes.” James bit back because I’m a good boy.

“Well, don’t trouble yourself.” Regulus snatched a hair tie from his wrist, his reaction a little too quick and aggressive to efficiently disguise that he was frustrated. Regulus’ tone was perfectly level but he jerked his hair into a loose knot so harshly that the tie broke.

“I’m not.” James said, and he meant it, “It doesn’t trouble me, Regulus, I promise.”

He was rewarded with a wry smile and he knew it made Regulus distinctly uncomfortable that James could sense his disappointment with little effort.

“Okay. It’s not like I care, or anything-” Regulus raised a hand to his forehead, as though testing himself for some invisible illness, and looked vaguely amused yet embarrassed. James had never seen the Prince blush and still didn’t, but he suspected Regulus was close to blushing and the thought made his stomach quiver.

“Yes, you do.” James chuckled, “It’s okay that you do.”

“I’m not supposed to care about anyone.” Regulus’ voice turned instantly serious and he met James’ quizzical look with a stare so impenetrable that James wondered whether Regulus had formed some spell to instantly re-erect the walls around him that James had begun to break down, “You know I’m not, Potter. You know what my family are like.”

“I know very little about your family, actually.” James paused, “You can tell me about them. Outside, I mean. If you want to.”

Regulus smiled gratefully and gestured towards the door. James hesitated.

“Have you even been outside since you got here?” Regulus asked, his voice betraying his disbelief.

“No.” James admitted, “You’ve never asked for anything that meant I needed to go outside, so…I guess I haven’t.”

“You’re allowed to go outside, James.”

“I know. I just don’t have time.” James smiled wryly, “You make me very busy.”

“I can make you less busy.” Regulus was deadly serious, eyeing James as though he were a troublesome pet, “Please go outside whenever you want. I don’t want to be treating you for some vitamin deficiency anytime soon.”

“Okay.” James nodded slowly, “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Basic human decency, you know.” Regulus said quietly, but his dancing eyes betrayed his pleasure at having pleased James, and he tilted his head, once again, toward the door, “Let’s go.”

---

James hadn’t noticed how much he’d missed fresh air until it invaded his lungs like a sweet perfume. It was scented by the heady breath of roses, the fragrant subtlety of tulips, the strangled musk of brambles and the sugar of their berries. James felt his lips flit instinctively upwards – the scent reminded him implicitly of Remus and his admirable obsession with gardening. He’d nurture the plants with such care that James was surprised that the creatures didn’t burst to life and bestow their undying loyalty to the clumsy boy who watered, pruned, trimmed, stroked them daily. Remus prided himself on the blood red roses that he’d grown for recurring years on a discreet designated patch adjacent to the Potters’ house. Roses weren’t James’ favourite, but he’d never had the heart to tell Remus as he’d tended to the roses as carefully as a mother would tend a newborn child. He’d still loved peering out of the window at midnight, smoking a cigarette, and noting the way the moon blessed the roses in a spooky silver light.

“Like flowers?” Regulus queried, leaning in a typically royal manner – hands clasped behind his back, feet planted firmly together – and drawing a clean breath with his face close to the roses.

“Not me. My best friend does, though.” James replied sadly.

“Tell me about him.”

“Remus? He’s the softest person I’ve ever met. Not soft as in weak, you know, but soft as in – he’s so kind. He’d help anyone if they needed it. I don’t think he even has to think about it. It comes so easily to him, to be nice. His brother – Rory – used to trap animals in the forest sometimes, and Remus would run after him after he’d hidden for a while, and he’d free all of them. He’s just like that. He hates seeing anyone suffer.”

“He sounds great.” Regulus said softly.

“Yeah.” James swallowed the lump in his throat, “What about you? Any best friends intent on saving any animal from the cooking stove?”

“Not quite.” Regulus laughed harshly, his expression darkening, “I don’t have friends, but I did have a best friend.”

“You did?” James asked, “What happened? You two fall out?”

“He moved away.” Regulus muttered, shaking his head, the soft curls at the forefront of his face rippling, “Barty.” He looked up at James, moving away slightly from the roses, “His name was Barty.”

“Oh.” James recognised that name. What was it Sirius had said? He does not know that I know he was entangled in a rather amusing relationship with Barty Crouch, another Palis servant. James felt a shiver rake down his back and wondered if Barty had moved away, or if he had been sent.

“Sent.” Regulus said sharply, “Sent away by my father. He refrained from killing Barty because he knew he would truly lose me if he did.”

“Why would Orion kill Barty?” James bit his lip, meeting Regulus’ eyes, where a storm was brewing. James considered, after speaking, that perhaps he’d gone too far.

“The usual reason. Barty became too close to me, too indispensable.” Regulus smiled sardonically, “He had become too important to me. He was dangerous, in my father’s eyes. I suppose Orion knew I would have done anything Barty asked, if it kept him happy.”

“It’s strange that you know that.” James acknowledged, nodding in Regulus’ direction, “It’s strange that you know your father would have killed Barty if you hadn’t begged him not to.”

“I begged him not to kill Peter.” Regulus’ eyes were slowly filling with tears, “Although Sirius thought it was for show, I didn’t want anyone’s blood on my hands if I could help it. My father’s patience was drained by the time Peter became a problem. He’d forgiven Barty, sent him away to some godforsaken land, but Peter…I could do nothing for him.”

“Regulus?” James murmured softly, taking a step forward.

“James.” James felt a rush of relief when Regulus did not back away, when he used James’ name. It was always reassuring when Regulus let ‘James’ instead of ‘Potter’ slip.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.” Regulus’ eyes were quizzical.

“You’re not listening.” James said sharply, “It wasn’t your fault, alright? Peter, Barty, none of it. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know.”

“No, Regulus.” James’ voice had become pleading, “You need to understand. None of this – the executions, the torture, the expelling of people to lands far away – none of it is your fault.”

“I am who I am, James.” Regulus replied. James thought he sounded bored but realised that Regulus was tired. He’s exhausted of living here, James noted, “I am my father’s son.”

“Blood isn’t everything.”

“Family is.” Regulus said fiercely, his hands releasing suddenly from behind his back as he took a swipe at the nearest rose. The thorn scraped lightly across his finger and drew blood, “Fuck. Sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this, it’s just a-”

“Hard day?” James whispered. He took a further step towards Regulus and lifted his hand, cradling it in his hand as tiny droplets of blood beaded from the wound. Regulus’ fingers were slight, as though they’d been crafted by an artist, and his hands were untouched by scars, preserved like those of an ancient statue created painstakingly by a sculpture who did not know that the statue would inspire generations. James felt a flood of heat swell in his own hands, which blushed slightly at the fingertips, and he closed his eyes, begging that Regulus would not notice his damp palms, the thud of his heartbeat, the fluttering in his stomach.

“Open your eyes.” Regulus commanded.

“Why?” James whined, feeling painfully embarrassed, daring himself to defy the order.

“You have lovely eyes.” Regulus observed, his tone so light that he could have been commenting on the weather, but James knew that something between them had shifted, and Regulus knew it, “Sorry. I shouldn’t-”

“You should.” James retorted and he let his eyes slide open, meeting Regulus’ own. His face – God, how could he have seen this face all day for weeks and never seen how beautiful it was? – was lit by the morning sunlight, its glow shifting on the higher points of his face; his cheekbones, his sharp nose, his brow punctuated by dark hairs, his stupid Cupid’s bow.

“You want me to?” Regulus’ eyes were boring so deep into James’ that he felt he might collapse. His knees felt weak. His heart was pounding so loud that he knew the whole of Palis might hear it, and he found he didn’t care. James paused, knowing his response would determine his relationship with Regulus Black until he was buried in a grave that would always be too far away from the boy who faced him now, asking if he wanted him as if he could do anything but.

“You know I do.” James whispered.

Regulus sucked the blood off his finger and raised it to James’ lips. James was shocked by the touch of Regulus’ skin on his own, feeling a whir of electricity thud through his veins, and bent his head to kiss Regulus’ fingertip. The taste of dried blood was metallic on his tongue but James swallowed the taste and felt the pulsing in his ears that it was sweeter than he’d imagined, sweeter than he’d dared to hope, sweeter than he’d dreamed of whilst pretending to sleep at Regulus’ feet. Regulus’ mouth quivered into a smile and he brought his finger to his waist, wiping the remaining blood on his trousers. He lifted his other hand and touched James’ face with the very edge of his fingertips, the touch so light that it could be a lilting summer breeze, smiling lazily as if he had all the time in the world to admire the contours of James’ jaw, the soft fuzz of the short hair framing his ears, the raised knobble of his cheekbone. Regulus’ eyes had become intensely dark and there was a sheen of sweat developing on his top lip. James had the overwhelming desire to run his tongue along the area, under Regulus’ nose, to lick the sweat and swallow it whole, devour him, consume every essence of the Prince with the hand on his face. He knew Regulus could choose to hear his thoughts but felt no ache in his brain that indicated he was listening, and he willed Regulus to recognise the frantic ache of James’ muscles straining to reach for him.

Do you still want me?

James tilted his head, pressing his cheek against Regulus’ cool hand, and nodded imperceptibly, agreeing, hoping, wanting.

Regulus took a step forward and leant his forehead against James’ before he kissed him. James thought his knees might buckle when he felt Regulus’ lips on his own. It was all he’d wanted for weeks and yet it felt strange that he could inhale Regulus’ clean scent without trying, that he was so close after pushing James away for days on end. James felt disorientated, as though he’d emerged from a resounding headache, but he resisted the urge to pull away from fear, from anxiety he’d do it wrong, from worry that Regulus was playing with him, and kissed him back. As soon as James pressed toward him, Regulus made a small moan that grumbled in the back of his throat and James felt the heat of a blush rise beneath his fingers – he’d clawed at Regulus’ neck and was rewarded with feeling the Prince’s pulse under his palm. It was rattling, erratic, as though a great rhythm had been interrupted, but he knew that like his own, Regulus’ heart was grateful that their lips had finally met together. The kiss instantly became intense and James was flicking his tongue against the roof of Regulus’ mouth, the flaked skin on his lips, their teeth were missing each other by a tiny distance, it just worked. Regulus was pining for more, he was pushing against James’ mouth as though he had been starved for suns, he was scratching at the hem of James’ shirt. There was a quiver of a whine in James’ throat and he indulged it and Regulus took a sharp intake of breath, cursing “oh, fuck’ before meeting James’ mouth with his own again.

James thought they’d been kissing for minutes, hours, days, months, suns, before Regulus pulled away, his hair rumpled in a haphazard way. The Prince stumbled, as though he were drunk, and his eyes were flashing manically. It was the first time, James thought, he’d seen Regulus look alive. There was colour in his cheeks that had been woefully absent ever since James had known him, a beautiful pink blush that radiated blotchily across his face, and James could do nothing but think how utterly striking Regulus was after he’d just been kissed. James’ head felt as though as it were spinning, swinging between reality and the memory of Regulus’ hands ravaging his lower stomach, his tongue dragging mercilessly across the inside of James’ cheek, the moans, fuck, the moans.

“I think…” Regulus was heaving for breath, the slightly sweaty wetness in his hair and flush of his cheeks giving the appearance that Regulus had been running for suns, “I think I want you, too.”

“Yeah.” James choked out a laugh, raking a hand casually through his hair, “I think you might.”

“You’re going to be a problem, James Potter.” There was a delicious smirk on Regulus’ face, “But I think you’ll be a problem I want to have.”

“I hope so.”

Regulus took a step forward, frowning, “We’ve yet to walk round the grounds. Want to do that now?”

“Now that’s out of the way, you mean?” James chuckled.

“I think we can find some time for ‘that’ around here.” Regulus grinned, “There’s a really lovely maze I’d like to show you.” His brow furrowed teasingly, “Some lovely high hedges.”

James bowed mockingly.

“Please, do show the way.” He followed Regulus, who threw his head back and laughed pleasantly before striding confidently toward the outer grounds.

I’d follow you anywhere.

Chapter Text

A mere few hours earlier, Remus found himself pressed up against the wall by Evan Rosier.

He’d slept fitfully, unused to the suppressed snuffles radiating from Cleo’s bed, their dainty head tipped back in a blissful dream, and disturbed by the rustling shivers of scattered bodies tossing and turning. Rory seemed practically unconscious beside him, his slack face giving him the appearance of a man much younger than he was, the tension relieved from his forehead. Remus looked at him affectionately, swallowing a defeated sigh – Rory looked so like Lyall whilst asleep. Remus had thought sporadically about Lyall since he’d arrived here, but his first evening among the resistance had been so intense that he’d gratefully been distracted. It was as he lay, disgruntled by the noises of the people around him, that he was attacked by nightmares and guilt. He’d heard Lyall’s screams punctuating his dreams more than once this evening, and he’d discarded sleep as impossible. Remus rose, careful to avoid disturbing Rory, and clambered silently, his bare feet making dull thuds on the stone floors, walking past Dorcas, Cleo, Seb, before reaching the same door. The charms around it had faded to a darker forest green for the evening, although Remus suspected the door would open regardless. He was satisfied when it opened silently, swinging obediently towards the oceanic corridor. Remus slipped through the crack and waited for the door to close before he proceeded down the corridor. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for nor whether he’d find it out here, but he couldn’t face lying down, alone with his thoughts and his grief, among people who had all lost someone. There was a claustrophobic sense of comradery in the room that had unsettled him. Not one person in the resistance had all their family. Everyone had lost someone. He and Rory were no different and there was something profoundly offensive about the fact that Lyall had been just another victim of the reign of the Blacks. Remus felt a growl rise in the back of his throat, thinking of Sirius’ complete blundering of their first meeting and casting his thoughts to James, serving the Prince who was rumoured to be as dangerous as his father.

He was jolted aggressively from his thoughts by a shove so forceful that Remus stumbled instantly and collided with the wall. He instantly tensed, fearful he had been attacked by some disturbed resistance sleepwalker or a member of the loyalists, but the assault happened so quickly that he couldn’t think to cast a repellent charm. He heard a light chuckle, the amused exhale of someone entertaining themselves, and let out a long breath.

“Got you.” The voice said playfully, a hand pressed flat against Remus’ stomach and the other pressing his shoulder into the wall.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” Remus spat, his voice a venomous whisper.

“Fuck, sorry, Remus.” Evan’s face was lit partially by the blue orbs. He moved instantly away from Remus, as though he were hot to the touch, and looked up. He wore a sheepish grin and adjusted his untidy hair which looked as unruly as its owner, “Thought you were Barty.”

“And why exactly would you be throwing Barty against a wall like you want to kill him?” Remus suspected he knew the answer but delighted in watching Evan squirm.

“Come on, little Lupin, you know the answer to that.” Evan’s face merged into a satisfied smirk but his cheeks were reddened, the only indication that he was uncomfortable the sincere blush around his ears, “We muck around sometimes, me and Barty.”

“Muck around?” Remus pressed.

“You know.” Evan shifted his weight from foot-to-foot, his ears darkening in embarrassment, “We get bored. He likes…”

“To fuck you?” Remus suggested.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess.” Evan paused, looking relieved that Remus had finished his sentence for him, “We take turns, though, obviously. Not all one-sided.”

“Obviously.” Remus said dryly and he let a wry smile betray his amusement.

“You’re okay with it, though?”

“What, that you pressed me up against a wall? Or that you and Barty fool around with each other?” Remus laughed, “I don’t care either way, Evan. You’ve got to do what makes you happy in this place, no?”

“Yeah.” Evan looked relieved, “Not everyone knows, though.”

“I’m the first one you’ve thrown against a wall, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, exactly. Suppose I should be glad it wasn’t Rory.”

Remus let out a bark of laughter, feeling immense relief at the small easing of the pressure in his chest, and imagined Rory’s reaction to Evan, who was a little smaller than his brother, throwing him against the corridor’s walls.

“Yeah, definitely. You’re a lucky boy.” Remus said jokingly, but he fell silent when he saw the expression on Evan’s face. He looked mildly taken aback, as though Remus had surprised him, but his face moulded instantly back into his easy smile. Remus made to reach out to place a hand on Evan’s shoulder, but Evan stepped back seamlessly in such a careful, fluid movement that Remus was unsure of whether he’d imagined that Evan had dodged his touch or whether the blonde boy liked to move as if he were a dancer. Evan’s face was still steadily smiling but he looked unsure, as though Remus were far too unfamiliar to him for him to proceed as he normally would, and they stood in silence for a moment before Remus spoke, unable to bear the way in which Evan was perusing him expectantly.

“Do you usually wander the corridors hoping Barty might show up, then?” Remus said lightly. Evan relaxed instantly, his shoulders drooping, and he chuckled without a trace of awkwardness.

“Yeah.” Evan looked sad for a moment, “I haven’t…we haven’t seen each other in a while. Properly, I mean. I think something’s going on with him. I feel like he’s avoiding me.”

“Why would he avoid you?” Remus probed carefully.

“Do you know much about Barty? I mean, who he is?” Evan replied. Answers questions with more questions, Remus noted, he’s guarded.

“No.” Remus responded, leaning against the wall.

“Well…” Evan looked around nervously, like a rabbit surveying an area for foxes, “I’m going for a cigarette, actually. Do you want to come along? I can tell you then.” He paused momentarily, looking every inch the wild animal, “Shouldn’t talk too loudly here about it.”

“Yeah, sure. I get that.” Remus said easily. Evan gestured to follow him, and for a little while, the two fair-haired boys ambled in silence down the corridor towards the end that appeared to be becoming dimly lit. Remus was surprised to notice that he didn’t feel remotely nervous. There was something about Evan, curious though he was, that made Remus feel at ease, and he was grateful. Remus smiled cautiously at Evan whenever he looked his direction and was rewarded with a relaxed grin. Remus sensed that Evan would find it impossible to bear a grudge, that he was simply too laidback, and admired someone who could take life and its inhabitants in his ease with such grace. Although Evan didn’t seem to have the capacity to be angry, his movements and speech gave him the overall impression of a nervous prey animal. He seemed constantly alert, his face tense in apprehension of danger, and save for the lack of nose twitching, Remus thought he was similar to a rabbit. There was something both endearing and unnerving about someone who was such a juxtaposition, and Remus made a note to observe whether he was so twitchy yet calm around everyone.

Soon, they came to a door that betrayed its connection to the outside by the blueish light tinged around its edges. Evan made a quarter-turn to the right with his wrist, directing a navy charm at the door’s hinges, and it swung immediately open. Remus was struck immediately by surprise that it was not bitingly cold and Evan, sensing his shock, let out a little laugh. Remus stepped out onto the snow, forcing himself to ignore the purple hue to the night, and marvelled at the domed – what else could Remus call it? – bubble framing a small area. The enclosed half-circle was devoid of any features; no trees, no benches, no stones; it was just covered in a sheer blanket of snow, betraying a dark floor beneath, but there was no wind and the air was pleasantly warm despite its appearance.

“Shelter charm.” Evan said with pleasure, “Took Lily and Dorcas ages. Barty and I helped a little, but still. They’re clever girls.”

“Clearly.” Remus nodded, impressed, and gestured for a cigarette from Evan. Evan smiled, looking a little perturbed that Remus would be so bold in asking, but slid one from the pack concealed in his thick padded jacket and handed it deftly to Remus. Remus tapped his thumb to his forefinger, placed the cigarette in his mouth, and raised the yellowish flame at his fingertip to Evan’s cigarette tip first, before lighting his own. The smoke filled his lungs, heavy but satisfying, and Remus methodically exhaled and inhaled, exhaled and inhaled, a delicious pattern to pass the time whilst Evan sucked on his own cigarette as though it were the only thing keeping him alive.

“Keen smoker?” Remus cocked an eyebrow.

Evan laughed.

“Yeah. Barty’s fault. We come out here a lot.” Evan surveyed the land outside the bubble, where a blizzard was raking the snow’s surface, “It’s great on a clear summer’s day. Lily and Dorcas always make sure it’s cool in here when it’s hotter or warm when it’s cold. Coming here for a cig has become a bit of a ritual.”

“Nice.” Remus agreed, continuing to smoke his cigarette, “So. Barty.”

“Barty.” Evan repeated, a strange expression descending on his face, “I’m surprised Lyall never told you about him, given you saw Pettigrew be executed.” Evan paused, raising the cigarette’s filter to his lips and inhaling forcefully, “Barty was Regulus’ servant with Peter, before James.”

“Jesus.” Remus whistled through his teeth, “He doesn’t half get through them.”

“Yeah.” Evan concurred, “Thing was, Barty wasn’t always Regulus’ servant. Peter did most of the work with Regulus, but Barty helped Orion dress for mealtimes and did cleaning work around the castle. You know, the usual bullshit. Clean, scrub, cook, dress, undress, Barty did it all.” Evan laughed hollowly, “You can still see how crooked his fingertips are. They treated him like a piece of muck on their shoe. Not Regulus, though.”

“Not Regulus?” Remus could not keep the surprise from his voice.

“No.” Evan denied, his expression becoming darker, “Regulus seemed to…take a liking to Barty.”

“Right.”

Evan threw his cigarette aggressively across the shelter after he’d stubbed it furiously out against the wall of the home.

“Look, Remus. Barty and Regulus used to fuck. Like me and Barty do now, alright?” Evan’s words exploded from his mouth, which was twisting with displeasure, “Barty says Regulus was kind to him, but I don’t know, I can’t see it. Probably treated him like a plaything.”

Remus felt distinctly sick. Evan’s anger was clear to him, his frustration signified by the sparks of coloured charms dancing from his fingers, and he had turned his face away from Remus, surveying the sky instead, which was becoming slowly lighter.

“Evan…”

“Don’t, alright?” Evan retorted, “Orion wanted to kill Barty. Said he was disgusting, inhuman, manipulative, blamed Regulus being infatuated on some invented narrative about Barty tricking him. Regulus begged Orion to spare Barty, so he sent him away.” Evan gestured to the land surrounding them, “Hence why he’s here now.”

“Christ.” Remus was filled with admiration for Regulus. He knew the Black family were unlikely to treat any form of sexual expression with appreciation or even acceptance and acknowledged, mentally, that Regulus was brave to ask for Barty’s life.

“Yeah. So now Barty treats me like a replacement.” Evan laughed bitterly, “He’s been here a year, but I’m the only available guy, right? Cleo would crucify Barty if he went anywhere near Seb or Hugo. Besides, they came after me. Barty met me and thought, oh I’m sure he’s lonely, starved of affection, but he still misses his little Prince.”

“Evan.” Remus warned, “I’m sure it’s not like that.”

“I can assure you that it is.” Evan said darkly, “He whispers his name in his sleep sometimes. Cries out for him. I’ll be amazed if he doesn’t think of him when he’s inside me.”

“Evan, I’m sure he likes you just as much…” Remus felt helpless and could think of nothing to say.

“He doesn’t.” Evan replied, and his voice had become instantly softer. He raised his face, upon which his blue eyes were swollen with unspent tears, his eyelashes pressing together in wet spikes, and Remus thought, not for the first time, how beautiful he was. Remus thought of the frank way Evan had immediately confessed to him about Barty, how he’d implied he felt used, like a moving, talking toy, and felt a spike of pity in his stomach. Evan was far too gregarious, too gorgeous, to be treated how Barty was treating him, but Remus knew everyone here was lonely and would, inevitably, accept the love that presented itself, even if it wasn’t love at all. Remus took a step forward, and this time Evan did not back away but maintained that piercing stare, penetrating Remus’ every essence, and Remus loped both arms around Evan. Remus placed his hands carefully around Evan’s waist, where he felt sickened to feel the bones, the lack of flesh, of Evan’s skeletal slimness. The ball of pity increased in intensity, flaming in his stomach, and Remus pulled Evan closer, who allowed him to. Evan was completely pliant and rested his head on Remus’ chest, small heaves of crying shaking his shoulders, which Remus steadied, rubbing small circles into Evan’s waist.

You’ll be okay.

Evan started and pushed him away.

“What the fuck was that, Remus?” Evan looked panicked, “Jesus Christ. Am I going insane?”

“What’s wrong?” Remus steadied himself, feeling a whir in his head, “Sorry, I won’t hug you again.”

Evan laughed manically.

“It wasn’t the hug, you idiot.” Evan let a small burst of a royal blue charm fly from his palm, “You spoke to me.”

“And?”

“You spoke to me in my head, Remus.” Evan emphasised, “You’re a Legilimens.”

“No.”

“You are.” Evan looked calmed, even satisfied, “I just heard it.”

“I’ve never done that before.” Remus swore, feeling as though his entire world had collapsed around him, as though his identity had shifted, “The Blacks can do that. It’s…it’s a power bad people have. Not me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s normal.” Evan reassured him, offering him another cigarette, which Remus declined, “Happens when you’re emotional, apparently. I remember Dumbledore mentioning this whole tongues thing the Blacks do, but there’s been many Legilimens throughout history. Know if your dad could do it? Or Rory?”

“Neither.”

“Well, looks like you’re the talent of the family.” Evan looked pleased, “Anyway. Shut up and kiss me.”

Remus started.

“What?”

“You heard me.” Evan grinned, “If I make you so emotional that you start pouring thoughts into my head, you better get over here. I’m so bored right now I might set this damn place on fire if you don’t.”

“A decent threat.” Remus levelled.

“It’s not a threat, little Lupin. I mean it.” Evan joked, and he took a step forward, discarding his cigarette which continued to smoke insistently on the floor, and before Remus could blink, Evan’s hands were around his face and they were kissing, and Remus thought this might go on forever, and he wouldn’t mind, because the heat and the purring of his stomach and the feeling of Evan’s lips and the sense of the world righting itself was all that mattered. Remus reached a hand to Evan’s hair and felt the soft strands of platinum entwine around his fingers. He made a low burr in his throat and Evan smiled against his lips, kissing him softly, before he flattened Remus against the house’s walls and hungrily kissed him harder. Remus felt shaken in his legs, there was some feeling of being pleasantly overwhelmed, but Evan tasted of smoke and his hair was like silk and his knee was wedging between Remus’ legs and Remus thought he might collapse because fuck, Evan was good at this. Remus thought this might be one of the most beautiful moments of his life before Evan gave him an almighty shove and flushed an angry puce colour.

“And how exactly are you going to talk your way out of this one, Evan?” Barty’s voice was so quiet that an innocent bystander might think he was harmless, but there was such disappointment in his eyes that Remus knew he was furious behind the disturbingly calm exterior.

“Saving you from having to pretend I’m Regulus to enjoy being with me.” Evan parred, his voice venomous, and the boy drew himself to his full height, facing Barty, his face inches away from the other boy’s.

“Don’t you dare…”

“I’m tired of pretending he doesn’t exist, Barts.” Evan murmured, his voice soft like a lover’s, “I’m tired of pretending I can’t see how much you miss him, of pretending you don’t wish I was him.”

“Evan, I don’t…”

“You do.” Evan said softly, “And that’s okay. Just let me be. You don’t want this.”

Barty’s face fell, its beautiful features marred by a look of intense sadness, and he backed into the doorway, before meeting Remus’ eyes and flitting his gaze back to Evan.

“Enjoy whatever this is, then, Rosier.” Barty spat, “I’m glad you moved on so quickly as soon as someone else for you to play with showed up.”

Evan paused, looking frozen.

“It’s not…”

“Fuck you, Rosier.” Barty said formally, his voice so pleasant that Remus knew he was refraining himself from tears, and he turned, melting into the door, leaving Evan and Remus stood, breathless, facing one another. Evan looked at Remus and shook his head slowly, before breaking into a loose jog and disappearing through the door, no doubt chasing Barty.

Remus was, once again, left alone with his thoughts.

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus had stumbled his way back to the dormitory, clawing at the corridors, desperately trying to remember where Evan had led him hours before. He thought he’d been walking for suns along those dimly lit alleyways before the familiar forest green of the doorway’s charms relieved him of increasing panic. He slipped in, hoping he’d been silent, and crawled onto the floor alongside Rory. Rory was still asleep, one hand slung carelessly above his head, his mouth slightly open, his motionless eyelids reminiscent of a cherub dreaming. Remus felt a surge of affection and turned away from his brother, placing a hand under his cheek, and closed his eyes. It was to his great surprise that he fell into a dreamless sleep.

---

Remus woke up to the jarring exclamations of people who had been awake a significantly longer time. The dormitory was brightly lit, its walls featuring aggressively white orbs that flickered incessantly as if their source of energy was depleting minutely, but constantly. Remus dragged his eyes away from the lights, feeling their hospital-like glow make his head itch as if it were about to split open, and rubbed the sleep crusted on the highpoints of his cheeks. He reached a hand up to his hair, feeling the matted flatness of unwashed curls, and shook his head. He knew he likely looked as though he’d slept in a hedge with birds arranging a nest in his hair but found he couldn’t bring himself to care. As soon as he was able to think, his thoughts were dominated by thoughts of his father. Lyall, he thought sleepily, Lyall’s dead. It was as though he had been dumb until the realisation struck him again, that his father was gone, that he’d watched him die, that he’d heard Lyall’s last shrieks of pain, that he and Rory had continued on without him and they were planted firmly in the care of a resistance neither of them had known anything about. Remus found that his fingers were tremoring and the world seemed to spin. He hadn’t eaten for a decent time, and his stomach growled insistently, but the dizziness was overwhelming and he clutched at the blankets haphazardly rumpled beneath him as though they might steady him.

“Remus?” Rory’s concerned voice jolted him to reality, “Are you alright?”

Remus met his brother’s worried gaze and shook his head slowly, felt a hot tear ease its way onto his sleep-lined cheek. He felt a croak in his voice, “Are you?”

Rory edged closer to him, wrapped an arm deftly around Remus’ shoulders and brought him close under the crook of his arm, “Of course I’m not, Remus.” Rory paused, his voice soft and quiet, perceptible below the morning greetings of their dormmates, “Of course we’re not, but we’ll learn to be alright without him sometime. Not today, not tomorrow, maybe not weeks or months or suns from now, but someday. We have each other.” Rory lifted Remus’ face so their eyes were meeting, “We will always have each other, Remus, I promise.”

“I know.” Remus murmured, “You and me.”

“You and me.” Rory agreed, “Come on, Remus. Let’s take it a day at a time. Each day, we’ll get through it, and day by day, time will pass.”

“Yeah. It’s just…”

“I know.” Rory whispered, kissing the top of Remus’ head, “I know.” Rory clutched Remus’ arm as though it were the only solid thing in his life, “But we have to get through today. And the next day, and the next, and the next after that. He wouldn’t want us to be sad.”

“I’m always going to be sad.”

“Of course you are.” Rory’s voice was insistent, rising a little in emotion, “We’re both always going to be sad. Sad isn’t even the fucking word for it, Remus. I know we’re always going to be heartbroken, to feel like there’s a void in our lives that nothing will ever fill, that we’ll always be fatherless and motherless. That eventually we’ll fight to remember our father’s voice because it’ll have been so long, but even though we won’t recall how he spoke to us, we’ll always remember how much he meant and how much he taught us, because who he was is the most important thing.” Rory’s voice became turbulent, hiccups of sobs punctuating every word, “He was a great father, Remus, but he was also a great person. He’s been fighting for us, for the Kingdom, for everyone in this room, for years because he was a great person who believed in the resistance, who believed travelling to the resistance was worth fighting for. And if Lyall believed it was worth dying to make sure we made it here, it would be a shitty way to repay him if we didn’t throw ourselves into this and make it fucking count that he died, alright?”

“Alright.” Remus whispered, “Let’s make it count.”

“Let’s make it fucking count, Remus.” Rory concurred, “He didn’t die for nothing. Let’s make his death fucking mean something in a place where people die every day for the Black family. Let’s make sure he’s the last. Let’s make sure we’re the last sons to lose their dad.”

Remus realised when Rory had finished speaking that the room had become silent. Nine faces were staring in awe at the Lupin brothers, each person clutching a household item that had clearly been integral to the morning’s activities – a hairbrush, a beaten stick (in Barty’s case), a piece of clothing, a shoe, a sock. Lily’s brilliant green eyes were suspiciously shiny, and Remus peered at her ashen face to see a tear slipping down. Evan was flushed, stood close to Barty, who was turning the stick in his hands aggressively quickly but had a marked look of respect on his face, and Dorcas was smiling, the corners of her dark mouth upturned.

“Hear, hear.” Barty said, the sarcasm Remus had come to associate with him completely absent from his voice. Remus shot him a grateful smile and Barty granted him a curt nod before the room erupted in applause. Gabriel and Saul’s hands were still but the two boys, who appeared in their pyjamas angelic like Raphael’s cherubs, were flushed with emotion, their eyes swollen with tears. Lily was applauding with such enthusiasm, Dorcas was grinning fondly at her side, whilst Evan and Barty were clapping more slowly but their feelings, worn plainly on their faces, were clear – that Remus and Rory were to be respected and to be looked after. Cleo, flanked by their twin brothers, was clapping in a ditsy manner, their hands making strange movements but connecting in a fluid motion that Remus could not altogether make work in his head.

Silence eventually subdued the room before Lily came clambering gracelessly towards them.

“Ready?” Lily smiled cautiously, “There’s everyone to meet today. Not a huge deal, Barty seemed to think you’d know a couple.”

“A couple? Like a married couple or a couple of people?”

Lily laughed appreciatively, “Oh, he didn’t say.” She cast a mocking look at Barty, “He likes to keep me guessing, but still – it’ll be nice if there’s familiar faces.” Lily looked down at Remus, who was clutching a blanket around his naked waist (he’d fallen asleep in his underwear), and smirked, “Better get changed, little Lupin. Don’t want to explain that you’ve already gone nuts in this place.”

“It’s my pyjamas!” Remus exclaimed, noticing that he was already laughing.

“You call that pyjamas?” Lily scrunched her nose disdainfully, “Dear me. Maybe tomorrow you’ll wake up early enough to see Barty’s matching satin bottoms and shirt. A gift from Regulus, apparently, but still. A little better than boxer shorts.”

“Boxer shorts are good enough for me!” Evan called, his face wearing a delicious grin, from the other side of the room. His eyes lingered just long enough to make Remus blush, to which Evan winked, and he turned away, his bare back stretching forwards as he reached for a plain tee.

“Of course they are, Evan.” Lily retorted, “No one is calling you the fashion icon round here, but Remus ought to at least try on his first day.” Lily paused, “You do have clothes, right? That rucksack is so tiny.” She was staring at the rucksack crumpled at Remus’ feet.

“It’s charmed.” Rory said offendedly, as though it were obvious, “We didn’t leave home in the clothes we stood in, Evans.”

“Oh, please.” Lily jeered, “I think we’re past Evans, Rory. It’s Lily.”

“I know.” Rory smirked, “I just like to hear you tell me your name every time. It’s endearing.”

To Remus’ great surprise, Lily flushed a gentle pink. She shook her head with a hint of premature fondness and walked away with a slight spring in her step. Remus turned to Rory, his expression incredulous.

“What?!” Rory lifted his hands up, as though he were totally innocent, “Stop staring at me as though I’ve personally offended you!”

“We’ve been here five minutes, Rors.”

“And, little Lupin, I might be a heavy sleeper but I did notice you and the other Evans were absent for a little while last night.” Rory retorted, his mouth stretched in a teasing grin as he pulled on some tailored navy trousers, “So feel free not to lecture me.”

“Shut up.” Remus growled.

“Thought so.” Rory looked in Evan’s direction, “He’s pretty, I’ll give you that. Reckon Evans has a little on him, though.”

“Yeah, I suppose she does.” Remus agreed appreciatively, “Lovely eyes, Rory. Better remember not to let them dazzle you if you ever get close enough to tell me what tree they most remind you of.”

“And what ocean did Evan’s eyes remind you of, Remus?” Rory said sweetly.

Remus hit him with his pillow.

---

James

It had been a few days since Regulus had kissed James by the roses. James had tailed Regulus around the grounds of the palace, where Regulus would push James into a cavern shaped into an impossibly high hedge and ravage his lips as though he was a dog, and James was the meat. James had been tense, barely listening as Regulus offered snippets of information about the flowerbed arrangements, the formation of a stone sculpture, the coloured tinge to the water in a feature. He’d been poised for the next shove, the next aggressive sign that Regulus wanted him. They’d emerge breathless, their clothes increasingly rumpled, Regulus walking unsteadily like a drunken maid, and pausing for a few seconds before launching into the next tirade of garden facts. It was a game, a game so blatant that James felt he might laugh at the charade. Regulus pretended to gift James pointless information about the grounds’ designs, and James pretended to be interested. It was a delicate balance, because the minute James let his gaze trail from the feature Regulus was so disinterestedly explaining, Regulus would slap James’ hand, jolting him sharply back to attention. Regulus would move on carelessly, letting a finger trail onto one of James’ own for a split second, before giving him an almighty push at some unexpected moment into some closed space that he’d likely been planning for the next tidal wave of kisses. James found he felt hunted, that Regulus was the hunter, and his heart was hammering, his eyes trying desperately to glean the time between Regulus giving a monologue and Regulus giving James’ neck bites so savage that James’ skin smarted for minutes after Regulus’ teeth had nipped at it. Regulus was clearly amused, but he was as desperate for James as James was for him. It was clear in the way a finger tapped his palm obsessively between kisses, the way he would stumble over his words in a manner so unfamiliar to James that he felt disorientated, the way he was alert like a prey animal for the next space that he could draw James so impossibly close that perhaps they became one singular breathing object.

On return to the palace, Regulus seemed to vibrate as he led James formally down the corridors back to his rooms. The air surrounding him was quivering as though it too was struggling with the heavy burden of wanting. Regulus snatched irregular looks at James, as though he were monitoring his very presence, but once they were inside the door smoking with green vapour, Regulus pushed James onto the rug laden with black piles. James fell like a creature toppled by immense power, and he watched Regulus’ face darken as though he were repressing himself from consuming James like prey. Regulus straddled him after he took his outside coat off so slowly that James wondered if he was teasing him, but the Prince’s hands were shaking and he was drawing rattling breaths in a deliberate effort to calm himself. When James felt Regulus’ entire weight planted heavily on his waist, he thought he might actually implode, felt his own hands begin to shake, and he met Regulus’ eyes which were blazing as though lit by a navy fire.

“I want you.” Regulus breathed out, every word an effort, choked out like a confession.

“I want you.” James said easily, and he was rewarded by Regulus drooping, suddenly, onto his chest. James was utterly confused before he felt Regulus’ shoulders heaving with sobs and felt the wetness of tears seeping through his undershirt, exposed after he’d discarded the plain black outfit he usually wore upon entering Regulus’ rooms.

“Regulus?” James said cautiously, “Are you alright?”

James could only hear the retching throatiness of Regulus crying and felt immediately uncomfortable with Regulus’ strong thighs pinning him down, wondering traitorously if this was a ploy. He fell silent for a moment, listening to the wretchedness of Regulus choking out great heaving sobs, and decided immediately that this was clearly no ploy.

“Regulus?” James murmured, “What the fuck are you crying for?”

Regulus stretched up from James’ chest, remaining in his position, straightening his back and placing his hands firmly across James’ collarbone. His face was ashen, tears streaking impossibly fast down his cheeks which had suddenly taken upon the appearance of being gaunt, and his eyes were swollen, immediately puffy from crying. He shifted his weight, brushing a thigh against James’ crotch, and James forced himself to suppress a surge of want so deep that he swallowed a groan. Regulus smirked, so briefly that James thought he’d imagined it, but James knew the tears had been no manipulation and Regulus’ satisfaction at arousing James was entirely separate from the torn expression on Regulus’ face.

“Because I want you so much.” Regulus whispered, “Because I want you so much, but my father…he’ll kill you, James. He’ll kill you if he finds out.” He was speaking so quietly that James strained to hear him, reaching a hand behind Regulus’ neck where his curls were wet with sweat produced from stress, and bringing him minutely closer to hear the words that James knew were inevitable vibrate from his lips.

“I…I don’t care.” James whispered, meeting Regulus’ eyes which widened at his response, “I want you, Regulus. I’ve wanted you since the damn day I got here and you were sat like the arrogant Prince I always thought you were, with that flimsy white shirt cucked above your thighs, and you looked at me like it was a challenge.”

“It wasn’t.” Regulus’ mouth, which stretched into a slight smirk, betrayed his response.

“It was.” James confirmed, kneading the base of Regulus’ neck with his fingers, “It was. You wanted to see if I…if I, you know, liked boys. I didn’t know I did. But you…you’re something else. You’re something I’ve never seen before.” James sighed, feeling Regulus’ muscles relax slowly, “You’re fucking beautiful but deadly. You’re mean – so mean – but you want the best for everyone. You’d stab someone who offended me but you wouldn’t lift a finger to defend yourself. You love glasswork. You love flowers. You love beautiful clothes. You love keeping me warm. You quiver every time I get too close to your feet at night. You hate talking to me in tongues because it’s too distant. You hate having a servant.”

“No one…”

“Sees you like I do.” James agreed, feeling his mouth stretch into a smile, “But I want you, Regulus. I want you even if it means we’re found out and I become a fleshy lump of purple mess like Peter. I want you even if it means that I’m sent far away like Barty. I want you even if it means I’m imprisoned like Sirius. I want you no matter what your fucking family could do to me, I want you because you’re you and you’re everything I thought you weren’t.”

“You don’t…”

“Understand?” James growled, irritated, “I understand more than you’d ever want to admit. I know you’re scared, Regulus. I know it’s been hard, so hard I can’t even imagine, but I’m here, right now, and I want you, and I want you even if a dozen horrible things could happen to me for wanting you, because it would mean that I could do all the fucking things to you that I’ve wanted to do since I set eyes on you, because I could have you, because I’d let you have me, because even if they did a dozen horrible things to me I would have been so, so happy with you, for however long we can do this for, and you will be alright, they won’t hurt you, and I want you to be alright but Jesus, I just fucking want you, okay? I want you no matter what, no matter what Orion could do to me, because I could die for wanting you but I know I’ll fucking die if I can’t have you.”

“I can’t protect you.” Regulus whispered.

“I know.”

“They might kill you.”

“I know.”

“I’m not good for you.”

“I know.”

Regulus’ voice cracked.

“I want you.”

“I know.”

Regulus’ lips met James’ so softly that he thought he’d imagined it but James rose both hands to clutch the back of Regulus’ head, to wrap his fingers tightly in his hair, to drag Regulus so hard onto him that Regulus groaned instantly, and James thought he might fucking lose it. Regulus clawed at James’ undershirt and growled frustratedly against James’ lips, the vibration driving deep into James’ throat, and tore it open, the satisfying rip of the fabric abating him for moments before he drove his fingernails deep into James’ collarbones and James bucked at the touch, so painful it became pleasure. James knew that this was it, that Regulus was going to undress him, that he would undress Regulus for the umpteenth time since knowing him, but that this time he would enter Regulus, or Regulus would enter him, and they’d rock against each other whilst the world outside shifted and changed because nothing would ever be the same.

---

Afterwards, James thought he was the luckiest boy in the whole Kingdom.

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus filed into a large room, flooded with people, that felt peculiarly empty despite its population. There was a strange unfamiliarity that made Remus shiver, although he was stood close to Rory’s tall frame, shadowing his brother as though he might collapse without him. Barty flanked Evan but there was a tangible coldness smarting between the two. Evan looked distinctly uncomfortable, his face oddly torn between an expression of indifference and the stress of clear tension. His forehead was lined but his eyes were darkly neutral. Remus forced himself to look away, reminded himself that he was not here to admire the sharp cut of Evan’s jaw or reminisce about the feeling of the fragile platinum hair feathering around Evan’s ears. Close to Evan, Lily stood, Dorcas on her other side, twirling a neat braid in her deft fingers. In front of Lily, Cleo was shifting from foot to foot, each of their hands resting on the shoulders of their brothers. Saul and Gabriel were close to Seb and Hugo. Saul was poking Gabriel in his side, muttering something hotly, but the smirk on his face told Remus immediately that this was in fun.

There was a quivering noise in the room that quieted immediately when whom Remus presumed was Dumbledore lifted a hand. Remus craned his neck to peruse the smaller man over Rory’s shoulder and felt an odd sense of discomfort creep into his chest. Dumbledore had the stature of someone much taller but there was an implicit authority that carried his shoulders high, set square defensively. Dumbledore’s eyes were an icy blue that Remus felt sure were penetrating every person in the room, even though he knew it was impossible that Dumbledore could watch everyone at the same time. He was dressed in curious black robes that reminded Remus of cloaks he knew Orion wore as a sign of authority. The robes swept to Dumbledore’s feet, disguising his legs, and appeared to be made of a thick fabric. Remus acknowledged that he had already discovered it was frequently cold here, the kind of cold that infected your bones and rendered you useless once it had defeated you.

“Welcome all.” Dumbledore’s lined face crinkled into a smile, “Welcome in particular to our newest members – Remus and Rory Lupin, stood with our youngest – and Euphemia and Fleamont, behind.”

Rory threw Remus a delighted grin and Remus knew the same expression was on his own face. Remus craned to see Fleamont, handsome and confident, stood with his arm around Euphemia. Fleamont, meeting Remus’ eyes, winked and Euphemia beamed. Remus felt a flood of warmth in his chest. Remus’ greatest fear was becoming a lonely orphan plagued by some purpose Dumbledore imagined for the resistance, but the sight of James’ parents made his heart swell. He made to greet them, to feel Euphemia’s arms envelope him comfortably, but Rory outstretched an arm and he shook his head.

“Don’t. We’ve got time.” Rory whispered. Fleamont shook his head imperceptibly, making tiny movements that made his messy hair seemingly shiver, and gestured with his dark brows at Dumbledore. Remus nodded, knowing there was time for greetings later.

“Our newest hail from Mydan, in the North. All witnessed the execution of Peter Pettigrew.” Dumbledore bowed his head to Saul and Gabriel, whose mouths instantly downturned, and Remus thought he detected a flash of frustration in Gabriel’s eyes, “As you heard last night from Remus, I’m afraid Lyall Lupin died in his attempt to join us permanently. Many of you knew Lyall well and I would like to propose, if the Lupin boys agree, a ceremony this evening to commemorate Lyall.” Dumbledore turned to Remus. His eyes were kindly. Remus nodded slowly and Rory inclined his head in acceptance, “Good. Now, to the main substance of this meeting – discussing any development of our aims, the progress of current missions and the future of the resistance.”

Remus vowed to listen intently.

“I’m going to briefly allow Alastor and Aberforth to speak.” Dumbledore took a step backward and opened his hands, gesturing the two onward.

Remus immediately recognised one man’s form as a projection, having witnessed Sirius’ last night. There was a shimmering silver haze surrounding the man’s commanding figure. Remus looked closely and noticed his features. He had cropped dark hair creating a barely-there shadow around a thickset head and a ragged scar transcending vertically from one eyebrow to a hollow space where his cheek should have swelled. The scarred eye was closed, sealed shut with folds of skin, and the scar had faded to silver, adding to the wolflike appearance. The other eye was a deep shade of green, peculiarly similar to Lily’s, but there was no bright optimism lighting its iris – it was tumultuous, pessimistic, dark. Remus knew this eye, and no doubt the other hidden from view, had seen too much to remain bright. He felt a sadness clutch his chest, noting the man’s stooped form and the absence of two fingers. This man’s soul had seen much darkness.

“Lupins, Potters, I’m Alastor Moody. I generally supervise missions but Albus prefers to refer to me as head of offence.” Moody growled, one eyebrow quirking as though he had amused himself, before turning to the remainder of the group and primarily addressing Albus, “We’re focusing on establishing a stable presence in Valis before we travel across the Wyst into Kalyatti and start infiltrating Kalyat. It’s rumoured that the House of Kalyat has felt neglected by the Blacks for a good deal of time, or at least that’s what we’re hearing in Valis. The people in Valis are generally loyalists, but they’re not loyalists out of devotion or love. They’re loyalists because of fear. Some of you-” Moody glanced around the room, failing to consider Remus’ group, “Might remember that Valis was decimated by the Blacks after they toppled the Potters because Valis was devoted to the old royal family. Most of the people in Valis remember losing grandparents, parents, children, wives, you name it, they lost it. They’re scared of it happening again. It’s hard to persuade them without revealing too much that there’s a real possibility of returning the favour on Palis.”

“And what is the intelligence on Kalyat?” Albus enquired gently. Moody nodded, looking mildly pleased.

“Kalyat is no loyalist city. Kalyatti itself is isolated. There’s the Whyte mountain range separating them from the Blacks’ domain, the Wyst lake dividing them from Jeremyn and the Wyst river separating them from Adavall.” Moody paused, “They’re almost entirely self-sufficient, the Kalyats. There’s some issue with the Jerinians over fishing and water rights over the Wyst lake, but otherwise, the Kalyats suffer alone. There’s some intelligence to suggest that they’ve resorted to stealing prey from mountain lions when the animals’ backs are turned. That’s how desperate they are.” Moody’s mouth set in a hard line, “They’re starving, Albus. We’re hearing from people in Valis that there’s children so malnourished that they’re losing consciousness in the streets. The leadership in Kalyat – that’s Kaspar and Krudi – have spoken to Orion. He’s not interested. Says Kalyat is surrounded by resources. You all know as well as I do that it’s no good being surrounded by resources when your people are too weak or unskilled to capture them and when your neighbouring districts are threatening to kill you for stepping too close to their patch.”

“Thankyou, Alastor.” Dumbledore said quietly, his voice soft as though he was suddenly preoccupied with mulling over Moody’s words, “Do go before your absence is noticed.” Moody grimaced before disappearing with less ceremony than Sirius, his projection disintegrating gradually before disappearing entirely without a sound, “Aberforth, do inform us about arrangements in Palis.”

A larger version of Albus appeared from behind the resistance’s leader. His eyes were eerily similar to those of his brother, but there were distinct differences between them. Where Albus’ was mild, Aberforth’s facial structure was strangely aggressive, as though its maker had been particularly angry in carving his features. His cheekbones were thickly set against swollen cheeks, his brows lodged deep above his eyes, his forehead distinctly lined from exhaustion, his mouth plush but set in a determined line. He stepped forward and once again turned to address Albus, so Remus could see only the back of him. Remus strained to hear his words.

“Sirius is providing little information but he’s aware enough for the moment to tell us about Orion’s routine, his personality, the way the Blacks and Malfoys function, the loyalties of the servants, the ambassadors, the courts. He tells us everything he can remember for an hour or two before he passes out.” Aberforth looked forlorn, “He’s not doing so well, Albus. I don’t know how long he can last.”

“Do we need to get him out?” Albus suggested, as though it were a matter of little importance that a Prince of barely nineteen suns was expending what little energy he had on informing Aberforth about his family.

“He needs rescuing, I’m afraid.” Aberforth paused, “I know it’s a huge risk, Albus, but he’d be a valuable asset. If we can get him out…he could get us in.”

“He has lived in Palis and haunted those corridors his whole life.” Albus agreed, “Although I’m unsure, sometimes, of whether those corridors haunt him. What do you propose?”

“We need Potter on our side.” Aberforth cast a dismissive glance at Euphemia and Fleamont, “We need James Potter to help get Sirius out, but all our intelligence is suggesting that he’s in the same state as Pettigrew.”

“You mean…?” Albus interjected.

“Spellbound.” Aberforth spat, “Spellbound by the little Prince. If his manipulative habits weren’t so disgusting, I’d be impressed with his consistency.” Aberforth turned to look briefly at Barty, whose head was bowed, “I’m concerned James is too far gone. I’m unsure, at this stage, whether James would support the resistance in securing Sirius and extracting James himself or whether he would insist on staying with or even transporting Regulus with us.”

“He’s a risk.”

“He’s a risk, yes. A tremendous risk. James has visited Sirius only once, but Sirius has heard Regulus speaking to James in tongues. Sirius believes that there’s been a certain increase in…” Aberforth cleared his throat, “Intimacy.” Remus saw Euphemia’s ashen face, her mouth stricken, “If it’s got to that stage, we’ve no hope of James becoming an insider that can support members who are rescuing Sirius. We’ve no option but to ignore James entirely. We can’t involve him.”

“Aberforth, tell me you’re not suggesting that we leave James there. He’s clearly been tricked like Pettigrew.” Fleamont’s voice was jarring, interjecting the smooth tones of the Dumbledore brothers, but his face was hard, “We cannot leave James there. Barty was expelled by Orion because of his relationship with Regulus.” Fleamont smiled apologetically at Barty, whose eyes remained downcast, “Peter was killed for betraying it. If James…”

“If James is under a spell, I’d be willing to extract him.” Aberforth conceded, “Unfortunately, everything is indicating that he isn’t.”

“You said he was spellbound.”

“Not in the extraordinary sense of the word.” Aberforth stared at Fleamont, “Sirius truly believes that this is genuine, that Regulus isn’t using any submission or deception spells whatsoever. James appears to genuinely like him.”

“James wouldn’t.” Fleamont retorted, “He wouldn’t fall for it.”

“I’m afraid it appears he has.” Albus interjected, “If James isn’t under a spell, that means there’s genuine loyalty there. We can’t risk losing the opportunity of gaining Sirius by involving James in an extraction that he could as easily support as he could inform Regulus about.”

“He would never inform Regulus about the resistance.” Euphemia said, outraged.

“Euphemia, he’s in love with him.” Aberforth snapped, “It’s clear to Sirius, it’s clear to our members who trail the Black grounds pretending to be gardeners. This – whatever is going on between James and Regulus – this is different than before. Regulus seems softer.”

“No.” Euphemia whimpered, “He can’t…he can’t stay there.”

“I’m afraid he has to.” Albus appeared to sink into deep thought. A long silence filled a pregnant pause, “Unless…surely…perhaps there is another way.”

“Anything.” Fleamont muttered, “Anything, Albus, please. Our boy can’t stay there.”

“We plant someone from home in the palace.” Albus murmured, his eyes focusing absurdly on his fingers, “We need to infiltrate James himself. Someone he knows, someone he’s close to, has to remind him where’s he come from and persuade him to leave Regulus.”

“Are we leaving Regulus?”

“Regulus isn’t trustworthy.” Barty spat, “I think I’ve proved that. Leave him.”

“As Barty said.” Albus agreed, “Regulus is loyal to his parents. Sirius is not. We have one priority and it is the oldest Black brother. If James can be brought back to his birthright, he will help extract Sirius, not Regulus.” Albus paused again, “We need someone to work on James.”

Remus had stayed silent until now.

“I’ll do it.” He choked out, “I’ll do it. Send me.”

Chapter Text

Remus

The silence that had descended on the room erupted immediately when Remus spoke. There was an instant swelling of noise, of protests, of agreement, but Remus felt as though the world had stopped momentarily. Remus felt a burn of loyalty in his stomach, the first real emotion he’d felt other than grief since losing Lyall and he knew attempting to save James could save him. James was worth risking his life. Over and over, Remus and James had sworn as boys and subsequently as young men living in a tumultuous world that they’d always protect one another. Remus had been, since his departure from Palis, unsure that James would be strong enough to resist the manipulation of the youngest Prince, but it did not give him any satisfaction to know he’d been right. Remus thought of James, in love with a Prince who was by all accounts murderous and dangerous, alone without anyone loyal to him, and felt distinctly sick. James would not last long if his relationship with Regulus could be discovered by Orion. Remus needed to get him out now.

“Remus, you can’t go there.” Rory’s voice was concerned and he spoke quickly as though it was urgent that he communicated his worry instantly.

“I have to.” Remus paused, “You know I do.” His voice was quiet as the room continued to debate his fate.

“He’s just a boy, Albus. Surely someone more useful should go?”

“His father’s just passed. He’s vulnerable. He needs to stay here until he’s stable.”

“James should be left. He’s not important to the cause. We need Sirius.”

“Leave James. The boy doesn’t need to go anywhere.”

“Sirius is the priority, Albus. There’s no need to involve the Potter boy. No need at all.”

“Lyall would let him go.” Evan spoke loudly, the dissent quietening instantly, “We all knew Lyall. Lyall would do anything for the cause and he was fond of James. Lyall would want Remus to go.”

“Lyall isn’t here anymore, Rosier. You’re a child. You don’t know the dangers.”

“I understand the dangers perfectly well.” Evan stood straight, his shoulders squarely defiant, a passionate fire lighting his eyes, “My parents stayed in Palis because they were too fearful of what Orion would do to them if they supported me. My own parents abandoned me because they were too scared to defend me.”

“It’s different, Rosier.”

“It’s not different.” Evan insisted, “Remus has the right to choose to help James. If any of you are pretending that Lyall wouldn’t want us to respect what Remus wants, you’re deluded. It was important to Lyall that Remus and Rory could choose how and if they wanted to support the revolution. Remus wants to help. Let him help.”

“He’s got a point.” Fleamont assented, inclining his head toward Evan, “Remus has known James since they were born. If we want James to listen to anyone, it has to be Remus.” Fleamont met Remus’ eyes, “This isn’t about me and Euphemia wanting James out of there, although of course we’d love him to come home. This is about Remus and Lyall’s wishes.”

“Lyall isn’t here anymore.” Aberforth said quietly, “We can discuss Lyall’s wishes all we want but no one except those two boys-” He spared a glance in Remus’ and Rory’s directions, “Knows what Lyall would really want. If Remus wants to go, I say we let him, even if it’s incredibly dangerous to try to infiltrate using someone who is barely out of childhood.”

“I’m nineteen suns!” Remus said, outraged.

“Exactly. He’s just a boy, Albus.” Euphemia said quietly, “I’d love Remus to bring James back, I really would, but we can’t risk losing Remus. James is safe right now.”

“He’s safe for now, Euphemia.” Remus retorted, “Barty was lucky. Peter wasn’t. If Orion finds out…” Remus shuddered, feeling a genuine shiver of cold disturb him, “If Orion finds out, you can guarantee that you’ll be invited to another execution within a matter of days. It isn’t safe to leave James there, no matter how genuine this thing with Regulus is. Regulus couldn’t protect Peter and I doubt he’d lift a finger to help James.”

“Sirius is convinced that Regulus’ attempts to plead for Peter weren’t genuine. That he pleaded for his ego, to convince himself that he isn’t like his family.” Albus’ voice was disturbingly quiet in the silence, “I’m not sure whether that opinion is borne of the favouritism that Orion and Walburga have always shown Regulus or whether it’s true. I agree with Remus that we cannot rely on Regulus to save James.” Albus looked around the room, his spinal fingers knotted under his chin, “What we are essentially discussing is whether we abandon James for a near-certain death. If we do not move to remove James from Palis, we can be almost sure that James will not last long when – and it is when, not if – Orion finds out. There are no secrets in the House of Black. All three men are Legilimens and can hear one another’s thoughts, although I know Sirius had begun to explore erecting boundaries in his mind. I doubt he’s had much success given his weak state and the suns that Orion has invaded his mind for. His mind is used to the invasions. I suspect Regulus will be no different.”

“So you’re saying Remus goes to James, or we lose him?” Euphemia sounded close to tears.

“I believe that is the situation, yes.” Albus’ voice was grave, “We can abandon James to a death like Peter Pettigrew’s or proceed with Remus.”

“I said I’ll do it.” Remus’ voice was aggressive, “It isn’t a matter for debate. I haven’t asked anyone here to protect me. I want to go.”

“If that’s how you truly feel, Remus, we cannot be a barrier.” Albus said gently, “I hope you know what you’re volunteering for.”

“Sure.” Remus allowed himself to smirk, “Rescue James before I’m detected as a vigilante or die a gruesome death.”

“I suppose that is the situation, yes.”

“It is.” Remus was serious, “I want to go to James.” Remus looked at Fleamont and Euphemia, “He would do the same for me.”

“I suspect he would.” Albus agreed.

“Let me go.”

“You can go.” Albus assented, “Aberforth, I expect you to ready Remus with all the information you have on Palis, the Black household and the dynamic between James and Regulus. Mr Rosier, Mr Crouch, I want you to devote some time to preparing Remus with a steady arsenal of magic and combat skills that will prepare him in the event of the worst happening. Ms Evans, Ms Meadowes, I believe you can help here.”

“You’re letting the children teach him?” Euphemia said in disbelief.

Albus smiled knowingly at Euphemia and gestured to Barty, Lily, Dorcas and Evan, all of whom were stood with their arms folded and their chins erect.

“These are no children, Euphemia.”

---

A little later, Remus was smoking a cigarette procured from Evan, leant casually against the walls of Dorcas’ and Lily’s shelter, whilst Rory paced and pleaded at his side.

“Remus, we’ve just lost Lyall.” Rory was pacing wildly, his footprints leaving a trace of him in the snow, “I’ve just lost Lyall and now…I could lose you, too. Do you understand how that feels? That I need you the most now, and you’re leaving.”

“I’m leaving for James, Rory.” Remus exhaled a stream of smoke, “I wouldn’t leave if I didn’t know that this could be the only chance James has to escape that place.”

“It isn’t the only chance James has.” Rory spat, “Dumbledore could send an adult, someone who is experienced and has magic that could fend off Orion for longer, someone who has lived a full life. Someone who wouldn’t become a tragedy if we lost them.”

“Every death is a tragedy, Rory.” Remus raised his eyebrows, “Besides, no adult is going to infiltrate that palace without being noticed.”

“You’re not exactly stealthy.”

“Maybe not, but I can garden.”

“You’re going to pretend to be a gardener?” Rory scoffed.

“I don’t need to pretend to be a gardener.” Remus tilted his head, chuckling at Rory’s incredulous expression, “The Black grounds are immense, or so they say. I doubt that there’s ever enough gardeners for grounds like those. I’ll garden.”

“James isn’t a gardener.” Rory said quietly, “He’s a servant. Polishing that Prince’s fucking shoes.”

“He’s doing more than polishing Regulus’ shoes, Rory.” Remus repressed a laugh, “Sirius says it’s ‘intimate’.”

“Oh, please.” Rory sounded disgusted, “I don’t want to know.”

“Homosexuality make you uncomfortable, brother?” Remus teased.

“No, actually, Remus. It doesn’t.” Rory’s voice had become deathly calm but his eyes were sparkling with rage, “What makes me fucking uncomfortable is how that Prince has corrupted your best friend, your best friend who has always been weak, and now an old man who everyone revers as if he’s the wisest in the Kingdom has decided it’s you who has to go rescue James. If James wasn’t so fucking useless, he wouldn’t need rescuing.”

“James isn’t useless.” Remus choked out, refraining from pushing Rory, “He’s in love.”

“Same thing.” Rory spat on the floor, “He’s always been soft. You’re worth ten of him.”

“James wouldn’t abandon me.”

“James wouldn’t be strong enough to even try to rescue you. He’d scamper off. He’s like a rabbit. Flighty. Frightened. Weak.” Rory remarked factually, “You’re stronger than him, Remus, but that doesn’t mean you have to take care of him.”

“He’s like a brother to me.” Remus said softly, flicking ash from his cigarette.

“I’m your fucking brother, Remus.” Rory kicked the snow, “It’s time you started acting like it.” Rory stopped, raising his gaze to stare Remus down, “We’ve lost our father. James has parents who could protect him.”

“Euphemia and Fleamont are needed here, Rory.”

“I NEED YOU HERE!” Rory’s voice raised to a shout, “I NEED YOU! JESUS, WHY CAN YOU NEVER SEE THAT I NEED YOU?”

Remus recoiled but saw the tears swelling in Rory’s eyes and rushed to meet him, to wrap his arms close around his brother’s quivering shoulders, feeling a rush of guilt.

“I know you need me.” Remus spoke softly into Rory’s hair, the curls unsettled by his breath, “But we both know James needs me more right now.”

“I know.” Rory sobbed, “I just…I can’t bear to think of losing you.”

Remus placed his hands on Rory’s shoulders, pushing him away gently so that their faces were level.

“You won’t lose me.” Remus reassured him, “I’ll come back.”

“How do you know?” Rory sniffed.

“Because you’re waiting.”

---

James

It had been several days since James had ascended to a place he hadn’t known existed. There was a strange, constant tingle under his skin that seemed to ignite him as he moved around Regulus’ rooms, completing his usual tasks. He felt energised, as though he was not essentially trapped in a palace crawling with enemies and was unsurprised to see a healthy glow radiate from his cheeks when he caught sight of his delirious reflection in Regulus’ glasswork. He’d become prone to whistling tunes that he’d heard from Rory when he was observing James teaching Remus various charms. The strange sound echoed distinctly in Regulus’ room, creating an echo, and the tunes would repeat themselves to James before James changed the tempo, creating an eerily beautiful noise. James knew his relationship with Regulus had certainly changed him, but his happiness was inconsequential compared to the effect that night had bestowed on Regulus.

James had concluded that Regulus had been woefully unhappy until he’d realised James craved him as much as he craved James. The gaunt, shadowed look in his eyes had been completely erased and the deep tension straining his shoulders evaporated. He practically bounced around the room, his long toes curling against the rug on the floor in pleasure as though he’d never noticed its softness before. There was an eminent shine to Regulus’ movements, the shivering colours of uncontrollable charms radiating from his hands and arms. James remembered how he’d seen young children in Mydan with the same rainbow glow and smiled. Regulus, it seemed, was childlike in happiness.

They’d had sex several times since the first time. James had clutched Regulus’ hair like it was the only tether that existed in the world. He’d choked out the Prince’s name as if it were a spell on his lips when Regulus moved inside him, or swept his lips over his body, or stroked him everywhere like he was a fragile artwork. He’d tasted every inch of skin on Regulus’ body, left marks from his fingernails on Regulus’ back, bitten pinches of skin on Regulus’ neck when there was no noise but gasps in his mouth. He’d buried his mouth in Regulus’ collarbones when he knew the noises he wanted to make would vibrate across the Kingdom, refrained from screaming that he was the happiest person in the Kingdom for anyone to hear. He was deliriously happy, but there was always a curl of worry that resounded in his stomach every time they’d finished, because he was worried every time was the last time. He knew he would remember every moment until he died, but he knew he could die for every moment. He knew that Regulus could not keep him safe.

He loved what was happening regardless. Regulus was a generous lover. He wouldn’t allow James to push him away when he was forcing James close to heaven. He would force James down, pinning his wrists above his head, whilst using his hands to edge James into delirium. He’d move slowly inside him, pushing out painful breaths as if he was restraining himself from moving faster and taking James like a whore, but his eyes would meet James’ and James knew he was moving slowly because he wanted it to last forever. He knew this because he felt the same.

“James?”

James tore himself from his memories of the night before and turned, smiling, to see Regulus slipping through the green-edged door.

“I can still hear your thoughts, you know.” Regulus laughed, his smile radiant, “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet?” James scoffed, “I don’t remember you calling me sweet last night.”

Regulus’ brow furrowed, feigning difficulty in remembering, but then it relaxed and his eyes danced.

“No, I suppose I didn’t.” Regulus smirked, raising a hand to push his black curls from his forehead without an inch of embarrassment, “I suppose even you can’t be sweet all the time.”

“I can be sweeter if you’d like.” James painted a demure expression on his face, sinking to his knees and stretching his arms out as though he were the antichrist, bowing his head in submission.

“I like you sweet, actually.” Regulus acknowledged, descending to the floor with a soft thump and crossing his legs in a childlike manner. He inched closer to James and leant his head on his shoulder, breathing out a sigh.

“I like you sweet, too.” James breathed back, relaxing into Regulus’ form, basking in the weight of his head on his shoulder.

“You need to be sweet tonight.”

“Tonight?” James asked, chuckling, “Can I not be sweet now?”

Regulus raised his head and shuffled forward so he was opposite James.

“You’ll never guess what tonight is.” Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Go on.”

“It’s a cousin’s birthday.” Regulus sighed, itching at his neck with a fingernail.

“Which one?”

“Curious, aren’t you?” Regulus smirked, “Moving onto another Black already?”

James frowned.

“Joking.”

“You don’t often joke.” James smiled, relaxing, “I’m worried now.”

“I joke when I’m nervous.” Regulus admitted, bowing his head slightly, “It’s Bella’s birthday.”

“Lovely.”

“She isn’t.” Regulus’ voice was dark, but his eyes remained jovial, “Interestingly, Orion wants the servants to come.”

“The servants?”

“Yes.” Regulus met James’ eyes, his brow frowning in concern, “This hasn’t happened for suns, James. I think he knows there’s something between us.”

“He can’t know.” James said urgently, “It’s not even been a few days.”

“I know. I’ve been trying to keep my mind closed, James, but I told you I couldn’t promise anything.” Regulus’ head tilted, “Even Orion doesn’t have the stomach for executions at family occasions, though. I suspect it’s an observation mission.”

“An observation mission?” James felt sick.

“You have to pretend you’re just a servant to me.” Regulus said urgently, his hands reaching out to press on James’ knees, “I’ll have to ignore you, James. I can’t even look at you in front of them. Servants…servants are scum to them, James. I won’t be able to talk to you in tongues or verbally. It’ll be like I don’t know you.”

“That’s okay.” James said easily, but a quiver of unease was knotting his stomach, and he realised the gravity of what they were doing. He was sleeping with – fuck, he was falling in love with – a Prince whose family would kill him if they knew.

“I’m sorry, James.” Regulus’ spoke slowly, “I wanted longer to prepare you, but Andromeda thought to warn me.” Regulus raised his eyebrows, “I can’t think why. She’s more Sirius’ friend than mine, but somehow…I got the feeling she was warning us.”

“She knows?”

“I don’t think so.” Regulus replied, “Not properly, anyway. She knows something has changed.” Regulus raised his hands, gesturing to his face, “Look at me, James. Anyone who knows me must know something has changed. And you…you’re the only thing that’s changed in my life for suns.”

“Fuck.” James swallowed, before a ghost of a smile betrayed his fears, “Maybe I shouldn’t make you so happy.”

“Maybe not.” Regulus said amusedly, “But I’m glad you do.” He brought his face close to James’ and pressed a kiss heavily on his forehead, “I will hate ignoring you tonight. I will fucking hate it, James, I promise, but when we get back…”

“When we get back?”

“When the dinner’s done.” Regulus paused, “It’ll be okay.”

“I trust you.”

Regulus blushed, lowering his gaze so his eyelashes brushed his cheeks.

“I trust you, Regulus.” James reassured him, “We can do this. Ignore me. Fucking hit me, scold me, anything that helps us get through this.”

“Scold you?” Regulus mocked, “I spent months doing that.”

“I know.” James smiled, “That’s how I know you’re good at it.”

“I’m going to have trouble scolding you when I see you in the outfit I’ve chosen.”

“An outfit?”

“Just you wait, Potter.” Regulus smirked, “You’ve got to dress similarly to the family member you serve. Helps everyone identify the relevant servant.”

“I have to dress like you?” James’ nose wrinkled, “Not sure I’ll suit the whole power suit look.”

Regulus giggled briefly.

“It’s not a power suit.” Regulus paused, “Do I wear power suits?”

“You know you do.”

“Maybe.” Regulus beamed, looking delighted, “Anyway, it’s not a power suit. You’ve even got a tiara that matches my cufflinks!”

“A tiara?” James’ voice went quiet.

“See, I’ll make you look pretty.” Regulus touched James’ face with his hand, cupping his chin, “We’ve got to look beautiful for our first public appearance.” Regulus looked into James’ eyes, “Looking beautiful won’t be hard for you.”

Chapter Text

Evan

Present Day

Evan supposed he was proud that he’d advocated for Remus but he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that felt sad Remus was leaving already. There was certainly a part of him that he was desperately trying to ignore that he felt jealous Albus had so quickly agreed that Remus could move on to better things. That Remus was getting out of this place. Evan felt like he’d been stuck here for ages, although his restlessness had shifted somewhat once Barty had arrived. Since then, he’d clung to Barty’s side like a limpet, although he knew after what he’d said the night before that it was unlikely Barty would allow him close to him again. Evan swallowed, feeling a little sick. He knew he’d hurt Barty mentioning Regulus.

And how exactly are you going to talk your way out of this one, Evan?

Saving you from having to pretend I’m Regulus to enjoy being with me.

Evan visibly paled.

I’m tired of pretending I can’t see how much you miss him, of pretending you don’t wish I was him.

Evan, I don’t…

You do.

Evan didn’t know exactly what had made him kiss Remus. He knew he’d been tired of Barty being distant for weeks, tired of hearing him call Regulus’ name in his sleep, tired of watching tears slip down his face whilst he was dreaming of someone else, tired of feeling like his kisses weren’t genuine, tired of feeling like those kisses were meant for Regulus. He knew he’d spent years pining for someone to touch him like Barty did, but he also knew that Barty touched him in the way he’d touched Regulus, knew that Barty hitched his breath for Evan the way he had for Regulus, knew that Barty perhaps ached for Regulus like Evan ached for Barty. Evan still resented thinking of the weeks he’d followed Barty watchfully with his eyes. He prickled knowing he’d been buoyed by Barty’s presence every time he entered the room. He was lovesick for Barty as soon as he’d set eyes on him. Evan had been enthralled by the scars on Barty’s face, desperate to know who’d inflicted them, and desperate to kill them as soon as he found out. He’d watched Barty’s eyes flit questioningly whenever their eyes met, which they inevitably did, because Evan’s world revolved around Barty as soon as he walked into it. Evan stared at Barty twirling his faithful wooden stick in his hands as though it were a wonder of the Kingdom. He’d wondered what those deft, spinal fingers would feel like tracing his face, and shaken his thoughts away as soon as Barty’s hands halted and the stick became still. Evan had noticed how Barty’s hair often fell into his eyes and how Barty irritably flicked it away as though it was an inconvenience to look that beautiful. Evan dreamt of brushing Barty’s straw-like strands back off his forehead.

Evan hadn’t considered that Barty had been watching him too. He’d been convinced that Barty found his constant staring irritating, if not a little strange, but soon Barty’s eyes were catching his own and a faint smile would appear on his pale face. Evan would return the smile, hoping his face looked as warm as he’d felt inside. They’d traded quick smiles and careful glances for a week. After that time, Evan felt unsettled when Barty wasn’t in the room and he’d look up instantly at any footsteps, even if he knew they weren’t the quiet, catlike pad characteristic to Barty. He had friends here, obviously. Dorcas and Lily teased him constantly but had welcomed him to the resistance as soon as he’d arrived, making him feel instantly safe – a marked change from home – but Barty had lit an unquenchable fire deep in Evan’s chest. Evan thought that he’d felt numb before Barty, and finally, he knew he was right.

Evan

Some Time Earlier

Evan had been trailing the corridors at night, his fingers tracing the wall at his side, before he stopped, his senses assaulted by the unquestionable presence of someone else. There was a faint scent of pine, mixed offensively with stale cigarette smoke, and a strange chuckle carried on the air. Evan had tensed, directing himself to cast a disabling charm, but he’d called out, despite his better judgement.

“Who’s there?”

A slim frame emerged, righting itself from leaning against the wall. It was unmistakeably Barty. Evan knew as soon as the moonlight cast shadows on that angled face that it was Barty’s. He’d studied the contours of those cheeks for days, dreamt of the soft stubble freckling Barty’s chin grating against his face, knew the exact shade of brown that beamed radiantly from Barty’s eyes.

“You know who it is, Rosier.”

Barty had never spoken to Evan before. Never directly, anyway. Evan started, hearing the slight French lilt giving Barty’s voice an air of arrogance, and felt a flood of nervous tension enter his chest. Barty met his eyes and smirked.

“Evan.”

Barty extended a hand.

“Barty.”

Evan shook it, the brief contact electrifying his skin.

“I know.”

“Yeah.” Barty laughed quietly, “I thought you might.”

“Yeah.” Evan shook his head, embarrassed, “I guess you’re famous around these parts.”

“I escaped the great Master, huh?” Barty said self-mockingly, “Shame I’m here now, although I doubt my dear father misses me.”

“Doubt mine does.” Evan admitted.

“Oh, daddy issues too?” Barty rolled his eyes laughingly, “I figured.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Barty smiled, although his words were sarcastic, “Guessed you weren’t spending all that time staring at me because you’d had a steady, stable upbringing.”

“Funny response.” Evan retorted, “I didn’t assume anything about your parents when you started staring back.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Barty replied, shrugging, “I didn’t stare at you because of my great childhood, though.”

“Why did you stare?” Evan mumbled, blushing, wishing he hadn’t allowed his tongue to move.

“Same reason as you.” Barty paused, “The real reason, that is. I could do with a friend.”

“A friend?” Evan said disbelievingly.

“I think we have different meanings of friends, justifying by your tone.” Barty feigned concern, “I feel I’ve said the wrong thing.” He raised a hand to his stomach, pretending he was wounded, and Evan fought a laugh that escaped joyously from his throat before he collected himself.

“And what is a friend to you?” Evan replied, raising his eyebrows.

“Let me show you.” Barty met his eyes, his expression instantly serious, “I’m a man of action, Rosier, not a man of words.”

Evan nodded, expecting Barty to push him, or start a mock fight.

Barty kissed him instead.

Evan

Present Day

Evan still wasn’t sure what had made him kiss Remus, but he wished he hadn’t. Albus wanted him and Barty to teach Remus. Together. Evan found he felt distinctly uncomfortable at the thought and vowed that he would never kiss someone impulsively again. That move was Barty’s trademark, he thought bitterly.

“Evan?”

Evan raised his head, twitching, and saw Barty at the doorway of the shelter. Evan had stood outside for hours now, rushing from the meeting to the shelter, and he thought he might smoke through his entire pack of cigarettes. Can’t damage a man who is already fucked.

“Barty.” Evan said, biting back the emotion in his voice, and heard the strangled formality when he said Barty’s name.

“So.” Barty stood a little distance away from him, and cupped his hand around his chin before the distinct click of a lighter flared and began to burn the cigarette in his mouth. His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled the smoke, and he seemed so totally alone, a moving and untouchable artwork, in that moment that Evan thought he might choke.

“So.”

“New boyfriend’s going, then?” Barty’s words were venomous and his voice was no different. Evan’s chest deflated, felt the impaling, felt as though he was the worst person in the world.

“Barty…”

“No, seriously, Rosier, you must be sad.” Barty exhaled, blowing a fast stream of smoke from his full lips, “You were getting on so well.”

“Barty…please…”

“Don’t do this?” Barty turned, his eyes blazing, his voice mocking Evan’s pleads, “Barty, please don’t hurt me. Barty, I want you to fuck me. Barty, I’m saving you from – what was it? – pretending I’m Regulus. Barty, I’m tired of pretending. Barty, let me be.” Barty paused, spat on the floor, “Did I miss anything?”

“No. Barty…look…”

“I don’t have to look at anything, Evan.” Barty tore his eyes away, “I actually don’t want to look at you right now, because all I see when I see your face is you kissing that Lupin boy who you’d known less than a day.”

There was a deathly silence.

“It took us weeks to speak, Evan.” Barty’s voice had become fatally quiet, and Evan steeled himself from the impact, “What made him so special?”

“It’s not…”

“It’s not like that?” Barty began to shout, “Tell me why you were eating his face then, Evan, if it’s not like that. I’m tired of pretending, you know?”

“Barty, you’re not…”

“Listening? Letting you speak?” Barty was still shouting, but he was pausing to inhale more smoke, and Evan found that he hated watching him smoke, that he hated Barty smoking because it wasn’t for pleasure, it was for pain, “I don’t need to listen to anything you say. I thought maybe…in the hall today, I thought that I’d dreamt it. But I didn’t, did I?” Barty was quieter now, his eyes glassy with tears, “I actually mean that little to you.”

“You mean the world to me.” Evan said calmly.

Barty’s neck wrenched up, his head turning, and he met Evan’s eyes.

“I…I-what?”

“You heard me.” Evan replied, “You mean the world to me. You meant the world to me as soon as you got here, Barty. I watched you for weeks. I missed you when you left the room. I still miss you when you leave a room. I notice everything you do like I did when I first met you. I know that when your lip twitches that you’re angry. When your eye flinches, you’re exhausted. When you raise a finger to trace your scar, you’re thinking. When you twirl the stick, you’re tense. I watch you still.”

“Then why?” Barty’s voice was pleading.

“I always felt second best.” Evan found himself saying, “You say his name in your sleep. You cry in your sleep. You…I always felt like you weren’t watching me back. That I wasn’t enough for you. That I was maybe a decent substitute, but I wasn’t a replacement.”

“Are you…?”

“Serious?” Evan said, “Yes, I am. Whenever we had sex, you seemed distant.” Evan shrugged, “I guess you were thinking about him.”

Barty flinched.

“I don’t know, Barty, you come here because you’ve been exiled for fucking Orion’s son.” Evan paused, “Now…”

“I’m fucking you?”

Evan nodded.

“I’m not…it’s not…” Barty breathed slowly, “I’m not fucking you, Evan.”

“I don’t need a lesson on anatomy right now, Barty.”

“No, Evan, you’re not listening.” Barty stepped closer, his face inches from Evan’s, his brown eyes tumultuous, “I don’t fuck you.”

“I don’t know, Barty, I could swear…”

“Evan, shut up for a second.” Barty paused, shaking his head, “I don’t fuck you because you mean more to me than that.”

“You…what?” Evan was disbelieving, “I thought this was just a…”

“Sex thing for me?” Barty barked out a laugh, although it wasn’t funny at all, “It was never just a sex thing, Evan. If it was, I would have fucked you as soon as I saw you making eyes at me. I could have had you easily, could I not?”

“Yes.” Evan whispered.

“And I didn’t, did I?”

“No.”

“I waited.” Barty raised a hand to Evan, “I waited because I knew this was different, that I wanted to make it different.”

“Different to…?”

“Him.” Barty smiled softly, his face slackening, “Different to him, yes. That was just a sex thing, Evan. We weren’t close. He begged me to…well, you know. He didn’t love me. It was like…it was like a submission thing for him. He was cold and indifferent and difficult and downright mean during the day, but at night…he was strange. He became like a child. He just wanted…”

“Alright.” Evan murmured.

“Alright?”

“I believe you.” Evan raised his eyes from staring shamefully at his shoes, “I believe you. If this means more…if you’re saying it means more…”

“I am.” Barty said sincerely, “I cry out in my sleep because he terrified me sometimes, Evan. I don’t cry out because I miss him. I zone out during sex because for suns, I had to…I had to do that to someone who wouldn’t speak to me afterward or before. It meant nothing to him.”

“Did it mean nothing to you?” Evan whispered, a tear slipping down his cheek.

“No.” Barty replied, ashamed, “I didn’t know I was gay before, I guess. I felt awful if I enjoyed it, like I was getting off on power. I didn’t want to…I didn’t want to enjoy it. He was like a rag doll afterwards. He’d get all quiet, his eyes would glass over…I don’t know. It was so strange. In the day, he could be so kind, like so kind I’d think he was my best friend. But at night…I felt used sometimes, I guess.”

“Jesus.”

“I wouldn’t go calling me that just yet, Ev.” Barty smirked, a ghost of his old smile returning carefully to his face.

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck off yourself.” Barty shook his head, “Kissing someone else like that! I mean, seriously. Was it a good one?”

“I mean…” Evan hung his head, “It wasn’t you.”

“That’s what I’m looking for.” Barty whispered, and Evan raised a hand, finding Barty’s jaw and entrapping his fingers in his hair.

Barty kissed him.

Chapter Text

Sirius

Sirius knew he was close to death.

He felt it with every breath he took, every movement he made, every word he spoke. He knew something was woefully wrong. He knew his body was shutting down. He knew because his thoughts were blurred. He knew because he could hardly move without wincing, without stabbing pains wracking his limbs. He knew because he couldn’t think straight. He knew because he couldn’t bear to speak in the silence.

He knew because he’d given up.

James

“Before the dinner…”

“Before the dinner...” James swallowed.

“I need you to do something for me.” Regulus lifted his head from James’ lap, where James was absent-mindedly stroking his curls.

“Anything.” James replied automatically.

Regulus chuckled.

“James, you don’t know what it is yet.”

“Still.” James smiled, acknowledging Regulus’ small smirk.

“So if I said to you…”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t let me finish!”

“I assumed you were intending to say…” James lowered his face, bringing his lips to Regulus’ ears, “I assumed you might say bend over.” He whispered. He was rewarded by Regulus shuddering with tension before he recovered and lifted a hand to bring James’ face close to his own, their noses so close that the fuzz on their skin was meeting.

“Not quite.” Regulus’ eyes danced, “I could say that, though.”

“You could.” James murmured, finding himself lost in Regulus’ eyes again.

“Although I’m sure we have time…” Regulus guided James upward, arranging their bodies so they were sat opposite, “It’s important.”

“It’s always important.” James rolled his eyes, “I swear if you tell me that pink elephant glass piece needs polishing again, I’m going to lose it.”

Regulus followed James’ narrowed eyes to the petite elephant, shaped from rose pink glass, positioned carefully on the room’s windowsill. It was bathed in light, exposing little flecks of dust, and James felt his heart sink. Regulus was definitely going to ask him to polish it.

Regulus laughed and James’ heart danced. His body had become so accustomed to silence that any noise Regulus made was like music. A sigh, a laugh, a chuckle, a fast exhale, a hitched breath, a moan, any sound Regulus made was tuneful and sung to James’ heart.

“No, it’s not the elephant.” Regulus tilted his head, pretending to inspect the elephant from a distance, “Although now you raise it…it could do with a polish.”

“See!” James exclaimed, “You’re never pleased with me.” He pouted.

Regulus moved slowly, kissed James’ lips softly, and cupped a finger under his chin to raise his eyes to meet his own.

“I’m always pleased with you.”

“Have we got to ‘bend over’ yet?” James purred, “I think you’re teasing.”

“I don’t tease.”

“Oh, please.” James scoffed, “You teased me for weeks.” James raised a finger, counting off his next words, hooking his other fingers on Regulus’ belt loops, “Shirt around waist. Foot on shoulder. Cast a blanket over me. Let me suck your finger.” He paused, “It took you a while to let me suck your-”

“Enough!” Regulus pushed James lightly, giggling, “You really hold grudges.”

James shrugged and became instantly serious.

“I do not.” James smiled softly at Regulus, flicking a finger onto Regulus’ bare stomach, watching his eyes darken at his tenderness, “I liked waiting. It made the real thing better.”

“The real thing?”

“Having you.” James said simply.

“Having me?”

“You know.” James paused, “Like this.”

Regulus watched James expectantly.

“I love hearing you talk to me. I didn’t hear your voice for weeks, just your tongues. It was…it was strange. Your tongues changed over time, I think.” James considered, “They became less harsh, less instructive. You got softer. I think…I think that’s when I knew.”

“You knew what?” Regulus’ voice was tender.

“That I wasn’t just a servant to you.” James said slowly, “I sort of realised that you didn’t like talking to me in tongues. Now, when I get to hear your voice, it…it reminds me of how much has changed. I never heard you laugh before. Now, you laugh, and you smile, and you talk, and I feel like I’m getting to know someone that you’d pretended didn’t exist. That you were hiding from me. It’s nice that you’re who you are with me now.”

“I didn’t know this was who I was.” Regulus leaned closer, resting a hand on James’ ankle, tracing the small curls of dark hair, “I’ve never been like this with anyone, actually.”

“Not even Barty?” James cursed himself inwardly, biting his tongue. Fuck.

“What?”

“Sorry, ignore me.” James said quickly, “I just assumed, when you said you were best friends, I don’t know…”

James felt a sharp pressure in his forehead and fell backwards. His mind became oddly disorientated, as though clouds had suddenly descended, and he found he wasn’t able to think. There was a sense of invasive movement inside his head, like clumsy fingers were fighting to clutch onto something intangible, and he saw white shocks behind his eyelids. He felt his head spinning and stretched out a hand to clutch at the floor, finding only slippery stone, and clawed at useless air instead. He was gasping for air, the sharp stabbing in his head only growing, his eyes rolling and twitching sideways, his ears roaring.

Suddenly, the pressure lifted.

“Sirius.” Regulus growled, “Fuck.”

James was still twitching on the ground, tentatively raising his hands to rub his eyes. He felt sickeningly dizzy and worried he might be sick, but his first instinct was anger. He cautiously sat up, ignoring his blurred visions and the way the room swung and tilted.

“How dare you.” James said, his voice deathly calm, “How fucking dare you.”

“James…”

“You don’t do that anymore.” James’ voice became a slow whine, “We…we don’t do that anymore, Regulus. You don’t get to fucking do that anymore.”

“Sirius told you about Barty.”

“Found the memory, did you?” James felt a violent surge in his stomach and bent sideways, vomiting on the floor, cringing at the splattering sound. He wiped his mouth carelessly when he’d finished and met Regulus’ eyes. He had visibly paled, his eyes taking on an odd sheen, and James knew straightaway. He’d lost him again.

“James, I’m sorry.”

James stood, unsteady at first, but gaining confidence with the raging emotions burning in his veins.

“I thought I was different.” James spat the acidic saliva in his mouth at his feet, uncaring as it dripped onto his bare toes, “I thought this was different. You said you wanted me. I thought…I don’t know what I thought, Regulus, but it wasn’t-” James gestured, his hands shaking slightly, “It wasn’t this. I didn’t think we did the mind reading stuff anymore.”

“I never said I wouldn’t do it.”

“I never said I would let you.”

James turned, hearing Regulus breath out a frustrated sigh, and pushed toward the door.

“That important thing?” James looked back at Regulus, who met his eyes defiantly, “It can wait.”

Sirius

Sirius still knew he was close to death.

He knew because when the door to his cell opened, revealing a dim light, he shakily raised a hand to shade his eyes and felt violently sick at the exposure, his head swimming. He knew because he couldn’t bring himself to care who had opened the door, he just wished they’d fucking shut it. He stayed still, sprawled like a defeated drunkard against the wall, his head lolling uselessly at his shoulders. He was too weak to sit up.

“Jesus Christ.”

Sirius knew the cell had been plunged back into its usual grey darkness because he could open his eyes into slits, not daring to open them properly, and felt a vague sense of recognition.

“Sirius?”

Sirius tried to croak.

“Jesus.” The voice paused, sounding panicked, “Fuck. I’ll be back, okay?”

Sirius murmured assent.

“Just…” The voice paused again, “Stay alive.”

James

James knew Sirius was close to death. The cell smelled like rot. James couldn’t be sure whether the rot was Sirius’ body melting away or whether it was the room itself. He hadn’t been able to make a sound. James thought Peter’s execution was the worst thing he’d ever seen, but he hadn’t seen Sirius, Prince of the House of Black, emaciated and soaked in his own piss and gaunt, sprawled on the floor like a forgotten ragdoll. He was fuelled by rage, fuelled by rage at Regulus, who knew his brother was dying in a cell, had invaded his mind, fuelled by rage at this fucking situation, where he was trapped in a castle of people who would allow their own to die and avoid calling it murder. James thought his situation was difficult.

It was nothing compared to Sirius’.

Sirius, who was dying. Sirius, whose brother was attending a family dinner tonight and determinedly ignoring his absence. Sirius, who was hours from death. Sirius, who James wasn’t sure he could help.

James was sprinting, knowing that the kitchen was moments away, but despite his heaving chest, he knew he wasn’t running fast enough. His mind was spinning, still unsettled from Regulus’ probing, but he thought of nothing but helping Sirius. He had to. He couldn’t have his blood on his hands. He was, momentarily, glad Regulus had invaded his head. It was pure fury that had led him to Sirius’ door. James passed other servants in a blur, careful to avoid eye contact, and whirled through the kitchen doors. He’d been sent here before to steal red wine for Regulus’ worst nights.

“Fuck me, what are you running like that for?” James started at the voice. He’d been alone on each previous venture into the kitchens and he placed his hands in his pockets, feeling sheepish suddenly. He looked up and felt taken aback. A petite girl, her arms folded defiantly across her chest, was staring at James as though he was offensive, her nose wrinkled. She had platinum blonde hair falling in haphazard strands around her face, with a fringe half-covering sharp blue eyes, and freckles were strewn across her cheeks.

“Well?” She demanded.

James was bent over, inhaling great gasps of air, and he shook his head, sweat dripping from his head. He knew the girl was undoubtedly disgusted by him and couldn’t force himself to care. His heart felt numb, although it was thudding insistently in his chest.

“Jesus, you’re a fucking mess.” She berated, “You usually walk around like that? You’re the Prince’s servant, right? I thought he liked the pretty ones.” She moved closer, “I can’t see what Orion was thinking with you, though.”

“I’m James.” He straightened.

“Marlene.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Marlene paused, “What are you doing here? Kitchens aren’t usually somewhere the royal servants go.”

“I’m here…” James swallowed, “I need water.”

“Taps exist.” Marlene fired back.

“I need water, something digestible that won’t make someone poorly sick, maybe some fruit. I don’t know.” James breathed out slowly, the air whistling between his teeth, and he felt tears well in his eyes, “He’s dying.”

“What?” Marlene said sharply, “Prince Regulus? Dying? He looked perfectly healthy the last time I saw him.”

“No, not Regulus.” Tears were slipping silently down James’ swollen cheeks, “The other one.”

Marlene shifted from foot to foot, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

“I did all I could.” Marlene muttered to herself, “Couldn’t do anything else once he found out. I guess I could give him the stuff, though. Doesn’t make it my fault.”

“Marlene?”

Marlene seemed to snap to reality.

“Look, James, it’s dangerous to help him.” Marlene met his eyes, “If we are talking about the same person. Tall ceilings, yeah?”

James nodded.

“You can’t be seen.” Marlene began to bustle chaotically around the kitchen, knocking utensils sideways onto the floor with a disturbing clang as she went, her hair swinging at her shoulder blades, “Soup…” She grappled with a ladle, dispensing a golden liquid into a large thermos she’d summoned with a flick of her fingers, “Water.” She filled an impossibly large jug, charming it to shrink in size deceptively whilst holding the same volume, “Fruit.” She flicked a wrist and three oranges flew into James’ stomach, “Sorry, still working on the fruit one.” She smiled apologetically, moving quickly toward James and pressing the thermos and jug against his chest. He arranged his hands and secured the sustenance.

“Thankyou.” James breathed.

“Come back, James.” Marlene’s eyes swelled with tears, “Please. For him.”

Sirius

Sirius knew he was close to death, but James Potter came back.

Chapter Text

James

James burst into Sirius’ cell, his chest heaving. His nose immediately wrinkled at the smell but he forced himself to breathe through his mouth, edging cautiously toward Sirius. He looked comatose, as though someone had knocked him unconscious, and his mouth was slightly open, a trickle of spittle shining on his chin. James felt a thud of sympathy in his stomach and he moved more boldly, before he sat, cross-legged, at Sirius’ side. He forced himself to be silent and focused on listening to the slow rhythm of Sirius’ heartbeat. It was faint, stuttering, but nevertheless it was there, and James felt a flood of relief. He extended a hand, shrugging it out from being wedged between him and Sirius, and gave Sirius a small push. He didn’t stir, but his eyelids fluttered. James pushed Sirius harder.

Sirius started and his eyes flew open, wild, bloodshot, his pupils swollen, and he immediately tried to attack James, his arms flailing. There was a low growl in his throat and he was desperately resisting the clear pain in his shoulders to try to reach James. He was panicking, his jaw hardening, but James pressed firmly on Sirius’ shoulders, and he instantly stilled. His eyes met James’ and there was a sudden sheen of recognition. The manic light dimmed.

“Hey, Sirius.”

Sirius groaned.

“Not seen each other in a while.” James knew he was speaking quickly but he was so worried that his hands shook against the front of Sirius’ shoulders, “You’ve looked better.”

Sirius made a strange huffing noise that James hoped might be laughter.

“Yeah, I always heard about how gorgeous the Princes were.” James laughed, but it sounded shrill, “You’re letting the family down a little.”

Sirius did not speak.

“Actually, you look like shit.”

He was rewarded by a weak smirk. James raised a hand to rest it against Sirius’ forehead. He was burning, but James noticed he was shivering aggressively, his teeth chattering. James felt himself begin to sweat. He thought about calling Regulus.

Don’t call him.

James started.

Don’t.

“Okay, I won’t.” James surmised that Sirius was able, with a great deal of effort – he was now breathing hard – to communicate through tongues, “I got you some food, okay? Nothing that will make you sick, but water, soup, oranges. Marlene…”

Is Marlene alright?

“Yeah, she’s fine. Working in the kitchens.” James was casting charms on the oranges, dividing them into precise segments, before his hands began to shake and the segments became more haphazard, frayed at the edges, “Why?”

Nothing.

James nodded, distracted, and pushed the finished segments toward Sirius. Sirius had closed his eyes again and his forehead was bright with sweat. James’ heart sunk. Sirius clearly had a severe infection. Whether it was from genuine illness or complete malnourishment and thirst, James couldn’t decide, but he grabbed an orange segment and pressed it to Sirius’ lips. His nose twitched. James willed his instincts to overtake the strange resistance that Sirius was showing to any help, and he pressed the orange closer to Sirius’ lips. Sirius pressed his lips closed.

“Sirius, come on.” James muttered, “Don’t be an arse.”

Sirius’ lips broke into a toothy, weak smile. He accepted the segment, allowing James to hold it as he sucked on it, tentatively at first, and then he was ravenous. He swallowed the ripe juice – at least the remainder that wasn’t slipping down James’ fingers – and tore at the orange’s flesh with his teeth. James discarded the stripped skin and offered another segment, which Sirius accepted gratefully, his tongue swiping at the moist flesh. James felt the tension in his chest ease as Sirius weakly brought a hand to his mouth, taking the segment from James’ fingers, and holding it himself.

His eyes were still closed, but it was with pleasure that Sirius kept his eyes firmly shut.

James sat in silence whilst Sirius ate, moving only to provide another segment. He quieted worries that Sirius might gorge himself sick. He couldn’t bring himself to deprive him of the clear pleasure he was taking in eating. He noted reassuringly that there was a hint of colour returning to Sirius’ cheeks, although he still looked skeletal, his cheekbones moving like vices as his mouth chewed. James felt pity claw at his heart.

Don’t feel sorry for me, James.

“Obviously I feel sorry for you.” James said, indignant, continuing the seamless movement from orange segment pile to Sirius’ mouth, “It’s…it’s so fucked up. You nearly died. You could still die. If I hadn’t…if I hadn’t come to see you.”

I’d welcome death.

“Sirius.” James’ voice cracked.

Thankyou, though. You’ve prolonged the suffering.

James felt his heart break, although there was a hint of amusement in the low burr in James’ head. James knew it before Sirius had indirectly told him, before he’d even gone to the kitchens. He knew Sirius had given up.

“You can’t give up, Sirius. Something will change.” James whispered, “I barely even fucking know you, but don’t let them win, alright? Something will change, I know it will. You want to live.” James paused, swallowing, “Nobody eats oranges like that unless they want to live.”

“Maybe I just like oranges.” Sirius’ voice was barely a croak but James’ heart flooded with relief and Sirius’ eyes flit open steadily, holding James’ concerned gaze with ease. He looked exhausted. There was a deadness in Sirius’ eyes that tore at James’ chest.

“Maybe.” James ignored the pit of worry in his stomach, “Maybe you do, but even if you liked oranges, a person who wants to die wouldn’t eat them like an uncultured peasant.”

“Uncultured peasant?!” There was a hint of outrage in Sirius’ voice. James smiled.

“Very uncouth of you.” James smirked, “Not befitting at all of a Prince.”

The slight smirk on Sirius’ face vanished.

“Do I still look like a Prince to you?”

James saw the resignation in Sirius’ face and he stopped. He shook his head. Sirius nodded, satisfied, before he leaned backward, his back making a hard cracking noise against the wall. Sirius did not flinch. James knew Sirius’ bones had become so numb that a brutal knock would feel inconsequential.

“Sirius…” James crawled closer, “I’ll come back, okay? Just stay alive until then. I’ll leave you the water and the soup. I can charm the oranges to stay fit for a while.” He cast a preservation spell over the oranges.

“James, don’t bother.” Sirius murmured, “I’ll be dead before you’re back, some way or another.”

“You will not.” James said fiercely.

“Watch me.” Sirius sounded bored.

“I will not watch you.” James said, furious, his skin prickling, “Don’t do that to me, Sirius. I’ve met you once and I was so concerned by your blatant disregard for your life that I had to go to the kitchens and be sworn at by Marlene.”

“Sounds traumatic.” Sirius yawned, his voice still weak.

“It was.” James assured him, reaching out a hand and resting it on Sirius’ chest, feeling the reassuring thump of his heart, “You have to stay alive.”

“Why?” Sirius challenged.

James could not give him a reason why but the fierce blaze in James’ eyes must have been enough because Sirius bowed his head and swept his damp curls from his forehead with a frail hand.

“Okay, Potter.” Sirius assented, “Catch you later.”

---

James walked back to Regulus’ rooms half-dazed by his time with Sirius, the light in the corridors suddenly seeming overwhelmingly bright. He shaded his eyes with a hand, screwing up his eyelids, navigating through a slit. He still felt a thudding headache threatening between his ears. Probably weak from the mind probing, he thought, not that the cell will have helped. He was fraught with tension, his nerves like a coiled spring, thinking desperately that he hated how he’d had to leave Sirius because of the fucking family dinner he was forced to go to. The family dinner where he may or may not be killed. The family dinner where Regulus would ignore him. James thought vengefully that Regulus could ignore him as much as he needed to this evening and he would be pleased about it.

He pushed carelessly through the archway, feeling nauseous at the thought of the comfort that Regulus luxuriated in and the squalor of Sirius’ cell.

“James.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me.” James’ hands balled into fists.

“James.”

“Regulus, you heard me.” James’ voice was low, “Don’t.”

There was a shift in the room’s atmosphere. James raised his head and felt his breath being knocked out of his chest. Regulus was laid across the windowsill, clad in a billowing dress shirt, legs bare, clutching a dusty bottle of red wine, the window open. His hair was drifting in the cold air. In the hand absent of the wine, a long rolled joint smoked, clouds of pungent purple wisps blowing gently into the room. James felt sick.

“Regulus.” James said softly, “Put the wine down.”

“What, like this?” Regulus met his eyes, his own stormy, and dropped the wine bottle. It shattered, making an eerily vile noise, shards ricocheting across the stone floor, tiny crystals disappearing into impossibly small spaces. James braced against the noise.

“Not like that.” James whispered.

“Clean it up.” Regulus said lazily, flicking his wrist as though it was sore from causing such a mess, and his mouth was posed in a tight smirk. If James didn’t know him better, he’d assume he was being an arrogant shit, but he knew Regulus was drunk, and when Regulus was drunk, his front was more impenetrable than normal.

“No.” James replied.

“Clean it up, James.”

“No.”

“Fucking clean it up.” Regulus raised his voice, “Don’t forget who you are.”

“No.”

“Clean it up, Potter, or I’ll show you how a servant should behave.”

“Back to Potter, are we?” James sounded confident, but his lip was trembling.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Potter.” Regulus challenged, “Clean it up.”

“I can’t.”

You will.

James bent instantly. He dropped to his knees, the shards slitting his skin, but he was numb to the pain. He cast immediate sensory charms, detecting each shard, and twisted a wrist to summon all shards to him instantly. The navy spell clouded the floor of the room, glass clinging to its surface as though it were magnetic, before returning to James. He was robotic, his hands moving in a sleek motion to discharge the glass. It expanded briefly, the mass of glass, before it burst into a harmless midnight blue smoke.

“Good.”

James was released from the charm.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Why is that?” Regulus took another casual inhale of the joint.

“You’re ordering me again. You’re talking to me in tongues when you want to instruct me.” James spoke shakily, “I can’t believe that you’re punishing me like this, acting like a tortured soul who has suffered so much, when it was you who invaded my mind. I can’t believe you – you’re sat in the windowsill like you’re a tragic character while your fucking brother is dying in a cell.”

The room fell into silence. When Regulus spoke, his voice had lost its grandeur.

“What did you fucking say?”

“Sirius.” James said breathily, “He’s dying, Regulus.”

The colour drained from Regulus’ face. He discarded the joint, throwing it carelessly out of the window, before springing from the windowsill and slamming the window shut. He strode like a man possessed to James before their faces were inches apart.

“Prove it.” Regulus snarled.

“You don’t need to invade my mind, Regulus.” James said slowly, “You can trust me, remember?”

Regulus’ eyes clouded.

“I told you that I wanted you whatever.” James looked into Regulus’ tumultuous gaze, “I told you that you could trust me. You don’t need to attack my mind again.”

“James…”

“Just trust me.” James paused, a sense of calm descending upon him, “I know that it’s hard for you. I know you don’t like trusting anyone. I know you weren’t taught to trust anyone. But I promise…I promise you can trust me. Sirius is dying in a cell, Regulus, and as much as I would love to argue with you about our boundaries, he’s dying. I gave him…” James broke down and his chest began to pulse in heaving sobs, “I gave him oranges.” Tears were falling without reservation down his face, “I don’t know how much longer he’s got, Regulus, he…he looks like he’s already dead. He’s given up. He wants to welcome death.”

Regulus was silent.

“Please tell me you didn’t know.” James whispered, his eyes blurry from tears, “Please, Regulus, tell me you didn’t know.”

Regulus met James’ eyes.

“I didn’t know.” Regulus murmured, and his voice was choked by withheld emotion, “Orion…my father, he told me that Sirius had been banished to a distant area of Palis. That he was living somewhere, alone, but he would never come to the palace again.” Regulus breathed out a heavy sigh, “He told me I couldn’t go to him, that I could never speak to him again.”

James knew he’d regret it later, but he took Regulus’ hand.

“He’s still here, Regulus.”

“I can’t hear him.”

“It’s dark in there, Regulus. Something’s wrong. The cell…I don’t know, I know Sirius is ill, but it feels like dark magic in there. It smells wrong. Like rotting flesh, but Sirius had no open wounds, and the cell was empty, as in there was no leftover food in there.”

“It’s the wards.” Regulus hissed, “That’s my father’s magic. He’s blocked me from hearing Sirius.”

“Regulus, I’m so sorry…” James began, “I don’t know how much longer he’s got left.”

“Fuck the family dinner.” Regulus withdrew suddenly from James, and he was striding frantically around the room, stepping into trousers, summoning a jacket, “Fuck the family dinner, I can’t…I can’t…” Regulus began to sob and James met him before he fell to the ground, wrapping his arms tightly around his wracking body, feeling physically sick at the shrieks that burst from Regulus’ tiny form.

“Regulus, we have to go to the dinner.”

“I can’t.”

“Regulus, we’ve got to go.”

“James, I’m fucking telling you…I can’t.”

“Regulus, they’ll kill me.”

Regulus was suddenly still. James held his breath. Regulus emerged from sobbing on James’ sodden shirt and extracted his hands from James’ waist to clutch his face.

“Why does someone always have to die in this situation?” Regulus sounded utterly defeated.

“I don’t know.” James swallowed, “Go to him.” He sighed, “He’s more important than me. He’s your brother.”

Regulus kissed James, his lips meeting his in an aggressive, hungry move that made James stumble, and Regulus was pushing him to the floor. He straddled James and kissed him as though he was ravenous, clawing at James’ chest with his curved nails. Groans escaped from James’ throat and he almost forgot that he could die tonight and let Regulus control him, let him push his thighs deep onto James’ hips. Regulus was moaning, the vibrations echoing in James’ throat, and James thought he might let this go on forever except-

“No, Regulus.” James pushed him off, “We can’t solve this like that.”

“I was just…”

“You were just what?”

“Telling you.”

“Telling me what?”

“Thankyou.” Regulus’ eyes were watering, “I won’t go to Sirius. I can’t leave you with my family. I think…I think there’s another way.” Regulus untangled himself from James’ body, walking away slowly before turning back, “See you later, alright?” His smile was tentative, unsure, but James returned it gratefully, “Be ready for the tiara.”

Chapter Text

Regulus

Regulus’ smile vanished immediately as he left the room. There was a nervous swell in his stomach and he swallowed, trying to harden his shoulders against the anxiety, but James’ face after he’d used legilimency on him kept resurfacing in his mind. The guilt was suffocating, gripping his chest like a vice. He supposed he hadn’t meant to claw through James’ mind like an infection, but he’d felt the familiar panic surging in his stomach, and he couldn’t stop himself. It was almost instinctive, how he’d launched into James’ mind, pushing past the memories of the past few days, looking for signatures of Barty. He was instantly relieved as soon as he knew that Sirius had told James about Barty. It was just Sirius, he reassured himself, no one else knew. Although that reassurance hadn’t been enough to make him feel any less disgusting for assaulting James’ brain. He thought he might be a monster. He’d watched James be sick, stayed frozen to his spot on the floor, and he’d felt a surge of admiration when James stood, swaying, and told him he was wrong. Regulus had rarely been told he was wrong. No servant had ever been defiant enough to tell him that using legilimency to find an answer, instead of asking the question, was wrong.

“You don’t do that anymore.”

“You don’t get to fucking do that anymore.”

“I thought this was different.”

Regulus thought he would never see his reflection in the glasswork and smile again. He knew ‘this’ - whatever ‘this’ was, because Regulus wasn’t so sure - was different. He knew, but he was scared. Scared that Orion would find out. Scared that James could be killed for sleeping with him. Scared that he could be found out, that everyone would know he would rather impale himself with a shattered glasswork than marry a girl selected by his parents.

He was mostly scared that James could be hurt.

The thought of losing James was enough to fill Regulus with an overwhelming flood of fear, but the thought of James being hurt made him furious, made him shiver, made his eyes fill with tears. He’d felt a small piece of him break when he’d seen the look in James’ eye after Regulus had finally broken the legilimens spell, when James had emerged shaking like an addict deprived of their drug. Imagining James in pain that would exceed a broken promise made Regulus feel sick. He knew instantly he’d lost all the trust that he didn’t deserve in the first place, the trust that he’d fought to earn. The trust that shone in James’ eyes when Regulus moved inside him, the trust that Regulus knew he showed when he choked out James’ name like a prayer every time he slept with him. James had begun to trust him, begun to believe that Regulus was different from his family, and he’d proved James wrong. He’d proved every single hissing thought of self-doubt and self-hatred right, that he was just like his father - incapable of inflicting anything but pain on everyone he touched. Regulus’ heart was aching, as though it was bruised, but he did what he always did. Ignored it, cast an imaginary spell over his pain and froze it in his chest. It would grow, Regulus knew, grow like a disease and splinter and swell like a parasitical glacier, but it could freeze for now.

Until it started snowing again.

Regulus had been striding like a man possessed, demented by his grief for a relationship that hadn’t even started. He found himself, as planned, outside his cousin’s rooms. The archway, identical to that which granted entry into his own rooms, was shadowed by a deep orchid blue. The colour was an act of defiance - his cousin’s family swore allegiance to navy, but the subtle difference in shade confirmed everything Regulus suspected. He took a breath, forcing himself to breathe steadily, discounting all thoughts of James and sleeping with James and kissing James and fighting with James and swearing at James and throwing a bottle of wine at James. He cleared his mind, pushed those heavy memories into the deep crevices of his brain, and raised a hand to knock before thinking better of it. It was best his magical signature touched nothing in this room.

“Andromeda?” He hissed.

Silence. The charms around the archway swelled and subsequently subsided.

“Andromeda?” He raised his voice slightly.

Still nothing.

“Andromeda?” He was nearly shouting now, his desperation resulting in carelessness, “Andromeda, I really fucking need you right now so open that door or I’ll-”

‘You’ll what?” Andromeda opened the door wide, her voice light with ease, “Lovely to see you, Regulus. I see you still speak like a sailor.”

“Dromeda…” Regulus suddenly found himself lost for words, “It’s good to see you, too. Really.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Andromeda moved swiftly from blocking the door’s entrance, making a sweeping hand gesture to beckon Regulus through, before lowering her voice as she closed the door on Regulus’ entry, “I don’t want trouble, Regulus.”

“Sadly, trouble always seems to find you.” Regulus taunted, “That trouble being me, obviously. Yours truly. Feel free to thank me for bringing some excitement into your life.”

“I don’t need excitement.” Andromeda sounded wary, “I would send you away, but I can tell you’ve got something to say. Spit it out.”

Regulus paused.

“Come on now, little cousin.” Andromeda laughed, the noise a sweet tinkle in the air, “Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know.” Regulus narrowed his eyes. He realised he wasn’t so sure if he could trust anyone except James. James. Regulus pushed the thought of him away from its imposture into the forefront of his mind.

“Given the family dinner isn’t until later, I’m guessing you must really need me to bother me. Or you’re trying to keep this a secret. Or maybe both?” Andromeda’s slim lips curled into a smile, “Either way, I’d love to hear why you’re here.”

“It’s Sirius.”

The smile fell from Andromeda’s face and her eyes darkened.

“Don’t speak that name here.” She hissed, “You could get us both killed.”

“It’s funny how your loyalties have changed, Andy. I remember when Sirius was your favourite cousin and you’d curse me if I so much as tried to play with both of you.”

“Oh, please. Spare me your childhood grievances.” Andromeda rolled her eyes dramatically, waving a hand dismissively, “I haven’t thought of Sirius in suns. He’s a traitor, no?”

“Maybe, but I know you saw him.” Regulus said steadily, and Andromeda began to blanch, “Don’t deny it. I know that you’ve seen him in that godforsaken cell.” It was a guess, but it was a good one, and he felt Andromeda’s aura change. Regulus waited, satisfied, determined to press on.

“Regulus, don’t.” Andromeda whimpered, “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“He’s not.” Regulus spat, “No thanks to you.” He felt a small ball of fury in his stomach.

“I don’t remember you doing much to help.” Andromeda’s voice was arrogant before becoming low and urgent, “He begged me to keep you away. Even in that state, he was trying to protect you.”

Regulus swallowed and forced himself to remain stony faced. He couldn’t think of Sirius protecting him now.

“He’s not dead.” Regulus said coldly, “But he will be soon. I need you to get him out of there.”

Andromeda began to laugh manically, her eyes lit by amusement, and she was gasping for breath as though it was utterly hilarious that Regulus might ask her to save Sirius.

“Get Sirius out of there? And risk your father having my neck?” Andromeda was still giggling breathlessly, “I don’t fancy my chances there, cousin.”

“Get him out.” Regulus said forcefully.

“No.”

“Andy…”

“No.”

“Please.”

“It’s his own fault he’s in there.” Andromeda sounded unsure but the words burned.

Regulus felt anger blind him, felt rage surge in his stomach.

“Whatever Sirius has or hasn’t done, he doesn’t deserve to die. No one deserves to die, Andy, no matter what crime they’re supposed to have committed. Sirius did what he thought was right.” Regulus burst out.

Andromeda still looked amused.

“Don’t make me force you.” He said threateningly.

“You, force me?” Andromeda was laughing again, “Oh, cousin, you have much to learn. I’m not scared of you.”

“If you don’t get Sirius out, I’ll kill Ted Tonks.” Regulus said, his voice low, “I swear to you that if you don’t agree to this, you’ll find Ted Tonks with his throat slit on your doorstep within an hour. I’ll fucking find him, Andy, and I’ll kill him. Don’t think for a minute that I won’t.”

Andromeda was not laughing now. The colour had drained from her haughty face and the front of confidence had vanished. There was fear dancing in her eyes and she was stuttering.

“How…how do you…how do you know?”

“Never mind how I know.” Regulus muttered before raising his voice again, “Do we have an agreement?”

Andromeda stared at him.

“Get Sirius out, Andy, or you’ll find your favourite groundsman bled out in this room.” Regulus paused, “That’s a promise.”

Andromeda did not speak.

“One hour.”

Andromeda nodded.

Regulus left.

James

James felt a shiver run down his spine. He didn’t recognise the look in Regulus’ eyes when he left. He’d looked manic, as though he was suddenly lit by purpose, and James knew why he was unsettled.

Regulus had looked dangerous.

James stayed unmoving, unable to shift from the floor where he’d sunk to his knees before falling backwards. He felt weak. His heart was thundering, agitated from Sirius’ condition and Regulus’ betrayal, and he began to feel nauseous again. He was desperate to stop himself from being sick but his head swam and he leaned forwards, bending at his waist before he was spewing acidic bile that burned his throat. He’d barely eaten today and his stomach was empty, but he was gagging, retching at air.

“James?”

That soft voice. Normally it would bring him comfort, but James felt a prickle of discomfort shiver across his skin. He was drooling, saliva dripping uncontrollably from his mouth and attempting to lubricate his throat that was uselessly flexing as his stomach pulsed. He could barely focus on Regulus moving toward him. His ears were roaring, unsettled by the pressure, and he continued to gag without success.

“James.”

James could not speak to him.

He hadn’t apologised.

He probably would never apologise.

James was just a servant to him.

“Fucking clean it up.”

“Don’t forget who you are.”

“I’ll show you how a servant should behave.”

“Good.”

James felt the nausea surge as he remembered.

“James, please.”

James would not speak to him.

“James, look at me. Please.”

James could not look at him.

“LOOK AT ME!” Regulus screamed.

James did not look up.

Look at me.

James resisted the order.

“James.” Regulus’ voice was punctuated by sobs, thick with tears, “Look at me.”

James looked at him.

“James.” Regulus’ eyes were glassy with tears, “I’m so sorry.”

James did not speak.

“I am so sorry.” Regulus breathed out, beginning to walk slowly towards James.

“Don’t…” James’ voice was threatening, although he knew he looked weak, sprawled next to a pile of vomit with spit shining at his mouth, “Don’t come near me.”

“James, you’re in a state. Let me help.”

“I’m in a state because of you, Regulus.” James was tired, “You ordered me. You fucking ordered me to remove glass shards, glass shards that have cut my legs and my hands, glass shards that you created because you were being melodramatic and arrogant and you were trying to show me that you could still control me.” James hiccupped, “You called me Potter. You invaded my mind. You…you still don’t trust me.”

“James…”

“You know what the worst part is?” James looked Regulus dead in the eye, “You were showing me that I’ll always be a servant to you, that the minute you’re frustrated or angry you’ll order me again. You’ll create mess for me to clean up. You’ll watch me hurt myself. You’ll claw through my mind when it suits you.”

“James.”

“It worked, Regulus.” James hissed, “It worked. I will be your servant.” James swallowed, “I will be your servant, but I’ll be nothing more. I won’t risk my life to be treated like that.”

“James, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, you’re sorry, are you?” James mocked, “Let me know when you’d accept an apology from someone who used legilimency on you, threw a wine bottle at you and then used tongues to order you. Please, Regulus, let me know.”

“I’m trying, James. I’m trying to be different.”

“It’s not good enough.” James said flatly.

“I’m listening, I promise, I promise I’m listening to you.” Regulus’ voice was desperate, “I was taught that caring about someone made you weak. I was taught to punish people who upset me. I was taught to use legilimency because I was told I could trust no one. I was told that no words anyone said, no matter who they were, were ever honest, so legilimency was always the only way I could find the truth.”

“I know.” James sighed, shaking his head, feeling a lump swell in his throat.

“I care about you, James.” Regulus swallowed, pausing to run a hand stressfully through his curls, “I care about you. I’m still trying to be different from my parents. I watched Orion abuse servants for suns. That was my normal.”

James nodded.

“My first memory…my first memory is of Orion using a cutting spell on a servant who’d disappointed him.” Regulus said flatly, “He slit her throat.”

“Regulus…”

“I was raised with violence, James.” Regulus sniffed, “I want to be different. I want to prove you right every day because you saw the best in me and you didn’t fear me, but all I’ve done is prove that you were wrong, that you should be scared of me. I’ve proved that you can’t be close to me.”

“Regulus, I-”

“I’ll get you reassigned.”

“Regulus, no.”

“You’ll be safer.” Regulus confirmed, “Safer away from me.”

“I don’t want to be away from you.” James murmured.

Regulus looked up from his hooded eyelids.

“You don’t?”

“I’m not scared of you, Reggie.” James said softly. Regulus’ eyes widened. Sirius was the only person who had ever called Regulus ‘Reggie’ and his heart immediately became heavy with emotion.

“You’re not?”

“I’m not scared of you, I’m sad.” James confirmed, “I’m sad that you were treated like that and I’m fucking so sad that you treated me like that, but I guess…I guess I know why.”

“I know it’s not an excuse.”

“No, it’s not.” James agreed, “It’s not an excuse, but it’s true, isn’t it? You behave how you were taught to behave. It’ll take some time…but-”

“But?”

“But I want to help you.” James said softly, shaking his head in disbelief at his own feelings that were screaming to reach for Regulus, “I want this to be different.”

“So do I.”

“Okay.”

“James, it already is different.” Regulus emphasised. He walked towards James, casting a quick vanishing spell on the vomit with a clean crook of his finger, and James let him advance toward him. Regulus sat slowly, waiting for affirmation from James. James nodded.

“It’s different for me, James, I promise. I’ve never done this before.”

“Not with Barty?” James couldn’t stop himself, the jealous whine in his voice making him flush.

“Not with Barty.” Regulus said softly, leaning toward James, “I haven’t trusted anyone like I trust you and I’m so sorry that I messed it up.”

“You haven’t messed it up.”

“Of course I have.” Regulus scoffed, before becoming serious, “Of course I fucking have, but I’ll make it better, I promise. I won’t be like that again. It won’t be like before. I promise.”

“You swear?” James begged.

“I swear.” Regulus brought his forehead to James’, breathing in his familiar scent, and felt the knots in his stomach release, “I swear it’ll be different now.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Regulus said incredulously, “It’s okay?”

“It’s okay, Reggie.” James murmured, “I trust you.”

“I’m learning to trust you.”

“I know.”

Regulus leaned closer and tilted his head questioningly at James. James nodded, parting his lips, and raised a shaking hand to the back of Regulus’ head, entangling his fingers in the soft fronds of black curls. Regulus sighed, leaning backwards into the comfort of James’ touch, feeling tension evaporate from his body. James saw red vapour emerging from between his fingers and fought a small smile, tightening his hold on Regulus’ hair and pulling gently. Regulus bent his head backward, exposing his slim throat, and James watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. James let out a teasing laugh and moved his head to run his tongue from Regulus’ exposed collarbone to his chin, feeling Regulus shiver in response. James was emboldened and brought another hand to Regulus’ throat, banding his fingers around his neck. Regulus bent his head further back, submitting to James’ touch.

Please.

“Like this?” James tightened his grip around Regulus’ throat and Regulus let out a choked moan.

Yes.

James removed his hand and Regulus deflated before tensing when James moved his head close to Regulus’ throat, breathing deliberately on his skin, satisfied when he felt goosebumps erect under his mouth. He nipped Regulus gently on the thin skin covering his Adam’s apple and Regulus groaned. He brought a finger to Regulus’ mouth and slipped it between his lips, shuddering when Regulus accepted its entry and sucked it, flicking his tongue on his finger pad. James thought he would let Regulus’ tongue lick his finger until his fingerprints were erased and bore only the mark of Regulus’ mouth. James swore when Regulus grazed his teeth on James’ knuckle and withdrew his finger.

“Kiss me.” James demanded.

Regulus fell forward, his body moving as a mass of heated cells, and he thought he might be burning from the inside. James’ hands cupped Regulus’ face and his skin was hot to the touch, his cheeks flushed, and James brought his lips to Regulus’. Again, the kiss was hungry, threatening in its urgency, and James let Regulus ravage him, feeling his insides throbbing. James smiled against Regulus’ lips when a moan escaped his mouth.

“I want you so much, James.” Regulus choked out, his eyes closed in pleasure, “Please.”

“I know.” James breathed against Regulus’ jaw, where he was peppering kisses, “I always want you.”

Regulus groaned and pushed James backward so he was lying flat against the floor, his chest heaving. His fingers fumbled with James’ black trousers, tugging them aggressively, letting out a growl of frustration as he shucked them past James’ hips to his knees. He began to trace around James’ groin with his fingers and James felt his head grow light, his cheeks flooding with colour, and now he was the one moaning.

“More.” James commanded, his voice steady whilst his heart was throbbing, “More. Now.”

Regulus brought his mouth where James wanted it and James swore, his hips bucking. Regulus had never done this to James before and the newness was so satisfying, so akin to the dreams James had awoken sweating from, that he thought he might burst already. He knew that Regulus sensed how sensitive he was and he pulled his mouth away before bringing his mouth to James’ whilst he removed his own trousers. James felt Regulus’ naked thighs straddling him, rubbing on his groin, and he thought he might pass out from how good it felt. Regulus’ eyes were dancing, as though he were enjoying teasing James, and James groaned throatily whilst he watched the shirtless Prince rock backward and forward above him.

“You’re not…” James breathed, “Fuck, you’re not giving me what I want.”

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want you.” James pleaded, his eyes wide.

Regulus grabbed James’ dick and sank onto it.

---

“Family dinner later, then?”

James was laid sweating, his head resting on Regulus’ damp chest. His chest was heaving and his mouth split into a wide grin.

“Family dinner later.” He confirmed.

Chapter Text

James

It was a number of hours later, after he and Regulus had entangled themselves within each other multiple times, that Regulus was arranging a dainty tiara on James’ untidy hair. Regulus was huffing through his nostrils in frustration, unable to balance the tiara delicately. James was smiling softly, watching Regulus’ brow furrow and his lips tighten as he continuously raised his hands to adjust it slightly.

“I have no idea how you’ve coped with hair like this.” Regulus muttered.

“It isn’t usually this messy!” James laughed.

Regulus stopped for a moment, his face relaxing.

“I suppose I did mess it up a little.”

“A little?” James chuckled.

“Okay, a lot.” Regulus admitted. He raised his eyes to James’ hair and continued shifting the tiara gently, threading pieces of James’ hair through the crown and enchanting the strands to loop around its hinges. He nodded, satisfied, as the tiara rested securely.

“You look…” Regulus’ voice had suddenly become breathless, “You look beautiful.”

James bowed his head. He and Regulus were both wearing velvet jackets of a deep emerald green, adorned with silver embroidery of vines and dragonflies. The jackets were lined with a silk design akin to a tapestry in silver and green hues. It felt slick against James’ back, fitting perfectly. James wondered how Regulus had known. Regulus’ legs were slickly dressed in black tailored trousers with shining black glitter edging the hems and waistband, the darts creating straight creases down the front that shadowed his knees. James was dressed more casually in looser fitting slacks, lower waisted and baggier, tapered at the ankles. The tiara on his head was the defining feature. It was a gleaming silver, having been subjected to multiple shining charms cast deftly from Regulus’ fingers, and jewelled with emerald crystals. It illuminated James’ dark hair in a casting of illuminated green light, creating a strange hue around his face similar to the forest green aura of Regulus’ door.

James was clearly marked as Regulus’ servant. He found that he liked that.

“You always look…” James swallowed, and he lowered his eyes, flushing, “You always look good, Reggie.”

“Good?” Regulus’ eyes were dancing and his mouth quirked, smiling.

“You know…” James cleared his throat.

Regulus’ eyes softened.

“I know.”

James nodded.

“Are you ready?” Regulus’ voice became more serious, “Remember what I said. I can’t acknowledge you. I can’t speak to you in tongues or publicly, I can’t look at you, I will have to pretend you don’t exist. It’s safer that no one knows we’re closer than servant and master. I might…” Regulus looked ashamed, “I might have to treat you in a way that I would never treat you, alright?”

“I know, Regulus.” James sighed, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” Regulus said darkly, “I’m so sorry, James. I don’t…I don’t want to ignore you.”

“You have to.” James said kindly, stretching a hand to cup Regulus’ cheek, noticing the anxious tremors under Regulus’ skin, “You keep me safe if you ignore me, okay?”

“I know. I wish I could keep you safe without having to pretend…pretend that you don’t mean anything to me.” Regulus shifted uncomfortably, but his cheek remained malleable and warm on James’ palm, “I want to keep you safe, I promise, but it’ll be hard.” Regulus let out a long, tense sigh, “It’ll be so fucking hard, especially…” Regulus swallowed, “Especially when you look like that.”

James let out a hollow laugh.

“Yeah, it seems a little unfair that I have to ignore you, too.”

“Better this way.”

“Better this way.” James confirmed, “Lead the way then, master.” He smiled mockingly, bending at his waist and bowing dramatically. Regulus giggled but it was strained, and he placed an arm around James’ shoulders before releasing it and walking away.

“Try to stay close.” Regulus whispered.

---

The hall was centred around an extravagant dark wood table framed by ornate golden chairs. Each chair was occupied, bar one, when Regulus and James entered. James remained a little behind Regulus, keeping his head bowed, but raised his eyes behind his lowered eyelids to observe the other Black family members. He felt a shiver echo through his body when he spotted Orion, seated at the head of the table, slouched in an arrogant sprawl across the thronelike seat. His hair was lank, so greasy that it appeared to drip down onto his shoulders, and his eyes were slack. James noted immediately that he’d been drinking and perused a stained red wine glass clutched tightly in Orion’s pale hands. He realised he felt disgusted, but he continued to follow Regulus, pace by pace, focusing on Regulus’ footsteps and grounding himself by listening to his fast breathing.

“Regulus.” Orion’s deep voice emerged. James was impressed that the Master seemed to have a greater grasp on his voice than on his body, but he was soon disquieted when Regulus tensed immediately before relaxing and responding, “Father.”

“Do sit down, boy.” Orion gestured with a shaking arm to his side. Regulus did not look at James and slipped down next to his father. James noticed with distaste for Orion how differently Regulus held himself to his father. He was regal, tense, his back straight, fingers drumming on the table. James remembered Regulus’ instructions – that he should avoid staring at Regulus and that he should join the other servants at the back of the hall. He continued to move away from Regulus, feeling increasingly exposed as he walked, his head bent so that his chin was close to his collarbone and his arms swept behind his back. He focused on the distinct lilt of Regulus’ voice as he exchanged small talk with his father and strained his ears to retain the familiar noise in his ears as he moved further down the impossibly large hall.

James reached the back of the hall and filed quietly into the ranks of servants, each wearing their own distinct coloured uniforms and perfumed by the scent of their master’s rooms, before raising his head slightly and considering the room.

Directly in front of him, a slim woman – so slim that her wrist bones protruded – was holding herself in a regal pose opposite Orion. She had dark hair, falling in tightly curled ringlets down to her waist, and James had noticed that her eyes were hooded and shadowed by exhaustion. She occasionally laughed mechanically at nothing. James felt instantly unsettled by her and guessed by her position at the head of the table that this was Bellatrix. The birthday girl, James thought bitterly, before moving his gaze to the woman to her left. She was also a lithe creature but her face was less hollow. She had the same high cheekbones and prominent brow. She was mostly identifiable by her platinum blonde hair, an enchantingly sleek sheet that was shoulder length. Her eyes were dark, glinting intelligently, but James noticed, his stomach unknotting slightly, that there was no malice glittering there. At her side, a smaller, daintier woman was sat, her legs and arms crossed, and her mousy hair allowed James to identify her as Andromeda. James noted that her eyes were distant, as though she were paying little attention, and her leg was bouncing with anxiety. James understood her nerves immediately. There was a dark sense of tension in the air, so palpable that James could almost taste it, and calming charms – a deep purple – were smoking at the hall’s ceiling. The ceiling itself was enchanted to appear as the night sky, constellations shining through the purple haze. The silver of the stars matched Regulus’ cufflinks.

Opposite the three women, two men – one around Bellatrix’s age and the other closer to James’ – were conversing intensely. Their expressions were serious but each of their mouths were drawn into an arrogant smirk. The younger of the two was slight, his shoulders prominent, and his face was distinctly angular, as though his features had been cut with a sharpened knife. Curtains of dark hair fell around his high forehead, a few strands dangling into pale grey eyes, and his full lips were taut. His older brother – they were too similar to not be brothers, James thought – was a little wider, his pale blue shirt straining slightly at his stomach, but his hair was a mess of dark curls littering his head. His eyes were a darker shade of steel grey. James felt sure they weren’t directly related to Regulus. There were similarities, in a sense. All three men, and Sirius, James thought bitterly, had the characteristic beauty of those raised in Palis, where faces were taut, long, angular, sharp, but Regulus’ brow was deeper and his nose slightly smaller.

“Rabastan, Rodolphus, do tell us about your enchanting castings on the southern border.” Orion commanded, reaching out a hand to rest it on his wife’s. Walburga was sat opposite Regulus, looking supremely bored yet faking enchantment with the company. Her lips were drawn in a suspiciously bright smile.

“Certainly.” The older of the two brothers inclined his head, “It was Rabastan’s brainchild. We felt it was imperative that Palis should be alerted if revolutionaries attempted to cross into Adis.” Rodolphus smirked, “We – Rabastan more so – felt it was even more crucial that revolutionaries were punished for crossing to support Dumbledore’s resistance.”

“Delightful. Do tell us more.” Regulus sounded bored but his tone was sufficiently haughty to convince James, and likely the Black family, that he was supportive of the venture.

“Rabastan thought that the border should demand a sacrifice for each crossing.” Rodolphus let out a shrill laugh, before composing himself, “A life at each crossing.”

“It’s genius.” Orion praised, “We deplete the numbers of the revolutionaries without lifting a finger. Now, Dumbledore will find that anyone who wishes to join him may find their numbers reduced by one each time. It makes it dangerous to join the resistance. It may deter others.”

Rabastan looked delighted, his lips curled in a cruel smile, and he bowed his head at clamours of support, his fringe falling softly over his eyes as he nodded. James was unsure who Dumbledore was but he felt a pang of pity for anyone seeking to escape this terrible family who would lose a loved one on their way. He made a mental note to ask Regulus about the resistance later, but he was jolted from his thoughts by his lover speaking.

“Quite genius.” Regulus acknowledged, but James noticed that his voice was tight, as though he were forcing out the words under duress, “Bella, you’re looking ravishing this evening. How does reaching twenty eight suns suit you?”

“Most well.” Bellatrix’s face lit at Regulus’ acknowledgement, “Thankyou, cousin. You’re not the only one to have noticed.”

“Now, now, Bella, there’s been no announcement yet.” Rodolphus smirked.

“So, announce it.” Bellatrix commanded, her voice shrill, and James flinched at how highly strung Regulus’ cousin was. The smile was instantly erased from her face and her eyebrows were raised, pulling the hooded skin around her eyes tight, giving her a demented look.

“Bella and I are to be married.” Rodolphus smiled, satisfied.

The room erupted in applause. James winced at the shrill, arrogant calls of congratulations. He felt distaste for Regulus, distaste for the room, as he saw Regulus clap enthusiastically, his face broken into a delighted smile. It’s not real, James insisted, noting the tension creating lines around Regulus’ eyes, he isn’t like them. He played the act well. James relaxed slightly, his shoulders drooping, and he realised he felt safe despite the threat in the room.

“We are most pleased for you, Rodolphus, Bellatrix.” Orion nodded at the fiancées in turn, “It is a good match. It is quite time for my dear son to be married soon.”

“I hope you don’t mean the one in a cell!” Bellatrix laughed maniacally, throwing her head back and exposing her throat. James felt a rush of fury, hot in his stomach, and thought how he’d love to slit that slim throat open and watch the blood spurt across the table.

“I do not.” Orion hissed, “You are not to speak of him, Bella. I have told you before.”

Bellatrix paled.

“You are lucky it is your birthday.” Orion’s eyes narrowed, his drunkenness slurring his words, “Regulus should be married soon, do you not think?”

“Certainly.” Regulus agreed, his voice low. James felt a surge of dizziness burn through his head and the threat of nausea rose in his stomach. His insides were burning, as though molten lava had been forced down his throat, and he prayed that the volcano bubbling inside him could not be seen outwardly. He clenched his fists to prevent his fingers shaking, planted his feet firmly on the floor to restrain himself from sprinting to Regulus and clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Walburga, darling, do think about a suitable match.” Orion ordered. Walburga nodded.

“Thankyou, father.” Regulus bowed his head. James saw a flash of anger pass momentarily in Regulus’ eyes and he could detect the vibration of fury radiating from Regulus’ body, likely from the mention of Sirius.

“Your servant is rather pretty, Regulus.” Bellatrix observed teasingly, turning her body fully to stare at James, “Shame he’s a Potter.”

“Indeed.” Regulus said levelly.

“Is it, boy?” Orion barked, his voice suddenly clear.

“It’s a shame he’s a Potter, father.” Regulus said cruelly, his mouth curling into a sneer, “He may be pretty, as cousin Bella rightly says, but he is not fit to scrape the dirt off Bella’s shoe. He will do fine for my purposes, though. We are coping rather well with one another.”

Orion relaxed at Regulus’ insults. James was shaking.

“I hope you remind him who is Master often, Regulus.” Orion said softly, “We do not tolerate softness in this House.”

“I do.”

“Is it true, Potter?” Bellatrix faced James, leering at him from her seat. James felt the other servants retract, the warmth of the collective disappearing instantly, and he was instantly exposed, faced with the threat of Regulus’ cousin.

“Yes.” James heard himself say.

“You shouldn’t mind this, then?” Bellatrix sneered. Before James could move, he had fallen instantly to the ground, and pain was wracking his limbs. His arms and legs were flailing, flinging themselves involuntarily across the floor, crashing unceremoniously onto the wooden floor with distinct cracks. The pain was like fire. It was all consuming, burning through his bones like an excruciating infection. James was gasping for air, but he could hardly think straight, and he felt his body elevate from the ground and writhe in the air. He was choking on the pain now, his throat burning, and he felt sure he was screaming. He heard the tiara slip from his head with a shrill clang and he winced, praying that the jewels had not cracked, but he had little time to worry because there was a searing stabbing in his ribs. There was drool collecting in his mouth, readying himself to be sick, but he resisted, clamping his mouth shut and forcing his eyes to stay closed. He would not allow this family to see his eyes roll back as they had for Regulus all afternoon.

“Alright, Bella, you’ve had your fun.” Regulus’ voice was level.

“A little more.” Bellatrix shrieked, twisting her wrist tightly, and James groaned sharply, feeling the fire intensify at the base of his back, before suddenly he was released and he fell to the floor in an indistinct pile of limbs. He was unable to move for a moment before he wrenched himself up determinedly, convinced that Regulus would need him to stand. He felt dizzy, his head swimming, but he was able to stand without support and he met Bellatrix’s eyes. Her cheeks were flushed, as though she were delighted with his suffering, but she looked disconcerted that he’d stood.

“I see you’ve had your fun with servants, Regulus.” Orion acknowledged quietly, “I am glad you’ve learned that we don’t form attachments to scum like these.” He cast his gaze aggressively at the horde of servants opposite him, who had moved closer to James again.

“Yes, father.” Regulus said quietly.

“Alright, alright. You’re all rather boring. You call this a party?” James started, shocked from his stupor by a familiar drawl that hours before had been moments from collapse.

Sirius Black was stood in the doorway.

---

The room instantly descended into chaos. Bellatrix stood from her chair, tensed and poised for a fight, spreading her arms as her eyes flitted wildly. Orion seemed utterly unprepared, struggling to right himself from his slump, and Walburga was stony faced and unmoing. James noted that Andromeda had gone missing moments ago, moments before Sirius’ emergence, and the other sister was stood at Bellatrix’s side.

“Leave, Sirius.” Orion said murderously.

“So I can die for you?” Sirius laughed, “Die so that dear Regulus can inherit this kingdom and burn it to the ground?”

“Leave.”

“I will not leave.” Sirius hissed, “It’s Bellatrix’s birthday. I have a right to be here.”

“You lost your right to be here the moment that you betrayed me.” Regulus sounded pained.

“Oh, Reggie, it’s so delightful to see you again. I suppose it suited you to have me rotting in a cell.” Sirius laughed manically, “Nice servant, by the way. I like how he stood after he was tortured. Lovely of you to watch.”

“Sirius…”

“I’ll be going now.” Sirius raised a hand, and no one moved a muscle to cast a trapping spell on him. Sirius spun on his heel, laughed a little more, before he tore out of the doorway, skipping down the hallways as though it were utterly hilarious that his family had chosen not to kill him. James concluded that each individual was either too drunk or too shocked to cast any spell. James knew that Regulus would never lift a spell against Sirius.

“Your little servant appears to be causing a commotion, Regulus.” Orion said, his voice tired, “I think it is best that we adjourn this dinner. I have matters…I have matters to deal with.”

Andromeda had appeared again. James, still swaying, frowned and focused on the small woman. She was mouthing something at Regulus.

It's done, James deciphered, he’s away.

James realised that Sirius’ body had a strange silver hue around it. His brain ached and he tried to understand why Sirius would appear so ghostly. Projection, James realised, his heart filling with admiration, it’s a projection. Sirius, despite the fact he was moments from dying earlier that day, had managed to project his corporeal self into this hall to taunt his family. No projection could be harmed, and James suddenly noted that Sirius had protected himself whilst teasing Orion.

“Potter, come along.” Regulus called. James hurried to his side and followed Regulus, who was taking enormous strides, down the endless corridors. James was shaking, his breathing decidedly uneven, and there were blacks shadows emerging in his vision. He was refraining himself, once again, from vomiting, and he was aching to grab Regulus’ arm, but the Black family was filing out from the hall, the noise raucous and frantic. He stopped himself, forcing his hands to stay at his sides, and moved unsteadily after Regulus’ graceful frame. He felt himself relax as he spotted, through blurred eyes, the smoking doorway of Regulus’ rooms. Regulus halted, allowing James to enter first, before checking behind him like a wild rabbit, his eyes narrowed and nostrils flaring. James collapsed onto the rug, his head spinning, and he felt a drunken swaying overtake his body.

“James?”

James’ ears were roaring.

“James?” Regulus sounded increasingly panicked, “James? Jesus. Fuck. Stay with me.”

James felt his eyes shutting slowly.

“James? Fuck, James, say something.”

James blacked out.

Chapter Text

Remus

It was Remus’ first day of training and he was already exhausted. There was a deep hum of power vibrating in the room that Dumbledore had assigned for the task and Remus found that his head throbbed, utterly overwhelmed by the sheer momentousness of the weeks ahead of him. He was surrounded by Dorcas, Lily, Evan and Barty, stood in a circle with thrums of charms smoking from their fingers, and Rory was skulking, his expression dark, at the end of the room. Remus’ heart was thudding. His shoulders felt weighted with responsibility, at the prospect of rescuing Sirius from a palace so impenetrable that no resistance had ever succeeded without discovery before. Even so, the prospect of seeing James was enough to force Remus to rise each time Barty threw a disabling curse at his legs, to fling a retaliatory charm at Evan when he cast an aggressive plethora of spells, to look Dorcas dead in the eye when she stood perusing him as if he were a weak soldier that she, the officer, was burdened with.

“Lupin, you’re not trying.” Barty laughed as Remus fell clumsily to the ground, his legs floundering, after Barty had deftly twisted one wrist and sent a clamping charm at his knees.

“I am trying.” Remus hissed through gritted teeth. Barty was stood in a dominant pose, his arms crossed and his teeth bared. He threw his head back and laughed mockingly as Remus clawed at the air, desperately trying to summon the still air into a wind spell to send Barty flying. He’s infuriating, Remus thought, stood like a Casanova with supreme confidence. Barty was twirling his comfort stick in one hand absent-mindedly, hardly watching Remus at all as if he was no threat.

“You might be trying, Remus, but what Barty is trying to say-” Lily shot a glare at Barty, who shrugged his shoulders and smirked, “At least, what I think Barty is trying to say is that you’re letting your emotions distract you.” Lily’s eyebrows quirked, “I know it’s a huge deal, Remus, what Dumbledore has signed you up for…”

“I signed up for it.” Remus shot back.

“Stupidly.” Rory muttered. Remus whirled on his heel.

“What, so you don’t think I’m good enough to do it now, Rory?” Remus gritted his teeth, forcing the words out, “I suppose the perfect Lupin son would be much better suited to throwing himself like a sacrificial lamb into a palace crawling with the Black family to save a Prince he’s never met, but that’s a real shame, Rory, because it’s me going.”

“I didn’t say that.” Rory raised his eyebrows at Lily, who shrugged in response.

“You meant it.” Remus growled, “I’m trying, alright?” He addressed everyone in the room, “But you’re not really training me.” He cocked his fingers as he said ‘training’, “You’re just casting spells at me and hoping I’ll dodge them. Surely you should be training me how to repel these spells, maybe how to perform them, and Barty – couldn’t you tell me a little more about Regulus?”

Barty had stopped laughing. His dark eyes narrowed.

“I couldn’t, actually.” Barty hissed. There was a threatening dark red wisp curling around his fingers, stretching into the smooth stick placed between two fingers, and Remus stared at the curse before meeting Barty’s flitting eyes. Evan moved closer to Barty, his shoulders squaring, and he smiled apologetically at Remus.

“I think it would help.”

“I’m sure it would.” Barty said bitterly, his voice low, “Unfortunately, little Lupin, you’ll have to manage Regulus yourself.”

“I could manage him better with your help.”

“My help could get him killed.” Barty paused, “It could get you killed.”

“I don’t think you care much for whether I’m killed.” Remus said lightly, shrugging, and Evan suppressed a laugh, “Go ahead.”

Barty’s eyebrows furrowed momentarily and his mouth quirked slowly.

“I appreciate your low regard for your life, Lupin.” Barty nodded, “I guess I could. Let’s sit down for a while.”

Dorcas and Lily sat together. Dorcas rested a hand on Remus’ shoulder reassuringly, muttering a quick ‘sorry if I was too harsh’ before moving closer to Lily and leaning her head on Lily’s shoulders. Lily blinked, relaxing into Dorcas’ touch, and winked at Remus before cupping her chin in her hands and watching Barty intently. Evan collapsed in a heap next to Barty, his legs strewn at chaotic angles, and placed a large hand, his fingers spread, on Barty’s thigh. At his touch, Barty instantly relaxed, the tension releasing momentarily from his shoulders, before his eyes darkened again. He waited for Rory to place himself quietly between Remus and Lily before he began to speak. His hands were twitching.

“Regulus isn’t who Albus thinks he is.” Barty said lowly, “He doesn’t believe in the Black cause. Sirius has always been the most outspoken but Regulus defied Orion daily in undetectable ways. His doorway charms – sorry, I should explain, the Black family all have detecting charms cast around the doorways to their rooms to detect intruders and alert the palace guards if anyone suspicious tries to enter – his doorway charms are dark green instead of deep purple. He rarely eats at family dinners and if he does, he’ll respond but write notes later in a notebook so he can analyse what his family are planning. He hides the notebook somewhere, I never found out where, but I’ve seen excerpts, and it’s full of plans and maps and scribbles in multiple languages and tongues. He’s planning something. He never told me, but I think he knows about the resistance or he’s planning to inform when he’s got enough on his family.”

“Okay.” Remus said slowly, “So Regulus isn’t the loyal Prince that Sirius thinks he is?”

“Sirius doesn’t think that.” Barty shook his head, “He’s trying to protect him, isn’t it obvious?”

“No.” Lily and Dorcas said simultaneously. Barty rolled his eyes.

“Right.” He sighed, “Sirius is the outspoken, rebellious Prince. He’s the one who was tortured throughout his childhood by his parents because he was always louder and he deliberately antagonised them. He did that to keep the attention away from Regulus. Sirius has known that Regulus isn’t who he pretends to be for a long time, perhaps since he was born, but he acts out – or at least he did – he acts out so that Regulus isn’t seen. The more invisible Regulus is, the safer he is, and Regulus can only be invisible if Sirius is visible.”

“Makes sense.” Rory said, although he looked sickened, “You said tortured?”

Barty’s eyes were wide.

“You didn’t know?” The whole group was staring at Barty, disbelieving, “Oh, right. Orion has tortured Sirius since Regulus was born. I think Sirius was able to play the perfect son until Regulus started showing some signs of resistance and Sirius had to stop pretending to protect Regulus. Orion has this special curse – some kind of pain inflicting one, I know it caused whipping marks on Regulus one time – that he used on Sirius. Regulus had to watch.” Barty paused, wiping a tear budding from his eye, “Orion killed one of Sirius’ servants who let Sirius wear a dress. Sirius covered for Regulus whenever he could. He took the punishments. It meant that Sirius became physically weaker.”

“And Regulus did nothing?” Lily sounded disgusted.

“He did nothing.” Barty confirmed, but his voice was tight, “It was an unspoken agreement. Regulus played the perfect Prince and made plans. Sirius played the rebel Prince and took the punishments.” Barty paused, “It disgusted me sometimes. Sirius would come to Regulus’ rooms with blood soaking his shirt and Regulus would tend to his wounds, but he never said a word. Not a word. I never understood how Regulus let Sirius made sacrifices for him like that but I suppose I don’t have a brother and there was…there was always something strange between them.”

“Something strange?” Rory enquired.

“Like their relationship was an exchange.” Barty admitted, lighting a cigarette casually, his eyes still flitting wildly. He inhaled deeply, “I always thought that the Black boys loved each other as much as they hated each other. Sirius did so much for Regulus and it was all visible, all loud, all clear to everyone, but Regulus did as much for Sirius in his own way.”

“It doesn’t sound like it.” Dorcas said darkly, shaking her head, before extending a hand and plucking Barty’s cigarette from his lips before inhaling sharply and pushing the smoke out from her full mouth aggressively. Her face was perfectly still, her jerky movements the only indication that she was unsettled.

“He did.” Barty responded, “I know how it sounds. I know you’ll all think that I think the best of Regulus because of…” Barty swallowed, “Because of everything. But when Sirius was hurt, Regulus would be silent when he was around, but as soon as Sirius left the room – he always left, it was too dangerous for him to stay – Regulus would scream until the morning. He’d scream all night.” Barty’s face drooped, the haunting memories clearly surfacing, “It was fucking vile, hearing that. He’d shriek and scream until he could barely speak the next day but the next day he’d be still and quiet and act as if nothing had happened, but he’d be…he’d be strange.”

‘Tell me more about that.” Remus pushed, wanting to know Regulus’ weaknesses.

“He’s volatile.” Evan volunteered, looking questioningly at Barty who nodded and gestured with one slim hand that Evan could continue, “Barty’s always said that Regulus could be one person in the morning and another by noon. He flits between moods. There’s something unhinged about him.”

“Not surprising, given his upbringing.” Lily huffed.

“Exactly.” Barty nodded, “Everything – I mean everything, Lupin – centres around the family. Regulus is the way he is because of his family. He’s insecure because he’s the second son, he’s sensitive because he was criticised constantly as a child, he’s angry all the time because he’s furious with himself for not doing enough to protect everyone from his parents, he’s devastated after losing Peter, and I-” Barty paused, looking sheepish, “I don’t think he took Orion exiling me particularly well, either.”

“Of course not.” Evan said mockingly. Barty silenced him with a furious glare.

“The most important thing is the brothers, Remus.” Barty emphasised, “I know Dumbledore wants to leave Regulus, but there’s no fucking way that Regulus will let you leave with Sirius without him. Sirius has protected Regulus for suns and I doubt Regulus will want that to stop, or if he does, he will probably want to return the favour. It’s important that you get to James and become close to Regulus, or at least persuade him to trust you that Sirius has got to leave.”

“That’s not the plan, Barty.” Lily implored.

“Fuck the plan.” Evan’s face stretched into a wide grin, “This is wicked.”

“Evan…” Barty said warningly.

“No, seriously, Barty.” Evan giggled, his face suddenly lit with shining inspiration, “Remus Lupin, infiltrator of the Black family?” He gestured to Barty, clapping his hands slowly together, “It’s genius. Remus has known James since they were fucking born, right?” Remus nodded, “Exactly. James trusts Remus. There’s no work to do there.” Remus inclined his head, acknowledging the truth in Evan’s words, “Regulus trusts James.” Barty rolled his eyes disparagingly, “Christ, Barty, can you stop being jealous for one second?” Barty stuck his tongue out, “So, as I was saying-” He shot a mockingly resentful look at Barty, “Regulus trusts James. James can make Regulus trust Remus, non?”

“Oui, mon chéri.”

“D’accord.” Evan nodded, “Maintenant…the spells. Allons-y!”

Barty’s eyes darkened with enthusiasm and he extended a hand to Evan, before pulling both of them up from the floor. He paused momentarily before lowering a hand to Remus and sweeping him into standing. Remus stumbled and Barty righted him, placing an arm round his shoulders. Barty did not have to say anything, but Remus knew. It was time.

---

It was Remus’ second day of training and he was still exhausted.

“Try this.” Dorcas said patiently, her hazel eyes kind, “Twist a finger like this, as though your finger is a screwdriver and you’re trying to fasten a screw…”

“Did someone say screw?” Evan called mischievously. Dorcas shook her head but her lips curled into a smile.

“Like I’m trying to fasten a screw?” Remus raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, exactly.” Lily confirmed, “Index finger is usually best, but no worries if another finger feels better.”

“Another finger always feels better.” Barty laughed, before he and Evan dissolved into giggles and clutched one another. Remus found himself chuckling. Barty flashed him a quick smile.

“Jesus Christ, shut up, you two.” Dorcas stuck her tongue out, “If you’re so sexually frustrated that you need to make jokes in a very serious situation, I’d suggest that you two finally…”

“Oh, we already have.” Barty said lightly. Evan’s mouth slid open.

Dorcas laughed.

“Cool. Can you shut up now?”

“Sure thing, Meadowes.” Evan stuttered. His face was flushed, and he pressed himself closer under Barty’s shoulder. Barty had one arm slung casually around Evan, but his hand was tight on Evan’s arm, and he wore an expression of satisfaction. Remus found that he was happy that Barty was able to show affection publicly after Evan felt so discarded.

“So, Remus, try again.” Lily said easily.

Remus pointed his index finger and rotated it to the right, then the left, and forced the energy tingling in his palm down to the single focal point. He felt a brief stinging before a mustard yellow cloud exploded from his finger, which shook from the impact, and it spewed into a straight line at Rory, who was stood casually opposite Remus. Rory’s expression changed – he looked panicked – before it relaxed and he nodded enthusiastically.

“Nice one, Remus, that’s-” Rory was silenced instantly on the gas’ impact with his body. It dissolved his mouth, creating a featureless fold of skin below his nose, and his eyes widened before forcibly shutting and becoming taut, fist-like black folds. Rory’s features were slowly disappearing. Remus felt claws of panic grab at his chest.

“Counter-charm, Barty.”

Barty continued to watch Rory, his face motionless.

“Counter-charm, Barty.”

Barty smiled as Rory’s nose began to dissolve into a flat plain. Rory’s face was slowly becoming a blank canvas.

“Counter-charm, Barty.” Remus said slowly, “Now.”

Barty did not move.

Remus felt rage boil in his stomach as he watched the boy observe Rory’s face dissolve into wet folds of skin dripping down his neck. He was sickened by Barty. He knew, then, that Barty could not be trusted. He summoned the strongest curse he knew and released it quickly, instinctively, from his hands. The royal blue light, akin to a jet of brightness, hit Barty and wracked him with pain. Barty was gasping, his eyes widening and watering, before a manic smile spread on his face and he lifted a shaking hand, twisting his wrist, at Rory. Rory immediately stumbled forward, his facial features reappearing instantly as though nothing had happened, and Remus released the charm from Barty before running to Rory. He clasped his arms around Rory, breathing heavily into his neck.

“Sorry, Rory, Jesus.” Remus heaved, “I’m so sorry.” He leaned backward briefly, touching Rory’s nose and the skin around his bright eyes, “Thank God you’re alright.” He turned away, his face a deathly stare, heading toward Barty with his fists raised. Barty raised an eyebrow, breaking his hand from Evan’s, his face stretching into a smirk.

“No need to curse me, Lupin.”

“Watch me.” Remus hissed.

“I taught you something.” Barty spoke slowly, as though Remus were a child, “Trust no one.”

“I would never fucking trust you.”

Barty laughed manically.

“Good. I wouldn’t trust me, either.” He said coolly, “The curse you cast at me there – that’s the level of cursing and magic you need to be producing constantly.”

“I can produce it constantly.” Remus spat.

“Consistently.” Barty eyed Remus, who was flushed, his chest heaving, “You’re not fit enough to cast a curse like that for an extended period of time, never mind repeatedly. I thought it was worth motivating you to produce something darker.”

“That’s what that was?” Rory spoke, his teeth chattering, “Motivation?”

“He’s going into a palace of people who should be in a mental asylum.” Barty said easily, “I can guarantee that Remus will be lucky if he doesn’t see someone tortured within his first day.”

“Right.” Rory nodded, “I suppose that makes sense.”

“It does.” Remus admitted, grinding his jaw, before eyeing Barty who was smiling, satisfied, his arms crossed, “Don’t think this changes anything, Crouch.”

“I won’t.” Barty smiled.

---

It was Remus’ third day of training and he was less exhausted.

“Barty took the day off today.” Lily said, smiling.

“Good.” Remus spat.

“He’s not so bad.”

“He’s insane, Lily.”

“It doesn’t make him bad.”

“Of course you’d say that.” Remus said, exasperated, “Why do you always see the best in people?”

“Why don’t you see the best in people?” Lily questioned. Remus spotted Dorcas smiling with admiration behind her friend. Remus paused.

“I don’t know.”

“Try.” Lily said easily, “Counter-charms today?”

---

It was Remus’ fourth and final day of training and he was not exhausted.

Barty had returned. He insisted that he would not prolong Rory’s suffering a moment longer ‘than absolutely necessary’, which Rory visibly blanched at, but Remus had to admit that he was an essential asset to the training. Even if he’s a nutter.

“So, Lupin…”

“Try Remus.”

“I thought you liked to call me Crouch.”

“And?”

“So I will call you Lupin.” Barty grinned through sharp teeth, his eyes glinting, “Bow.”

“Bow?” Remus scoffed.

“It’s only polite.” Barty smirked, “Don’t make me force you, Lupin. That won’t be pretty.”

“Hey, Evan?”

“Yeah?” Evan looked up from where he was chatting animatedly with Rory.

“Get a nicer boyfriend.” Remus huffed, before he bowed perfunctorily to Barty. He heard Evan laugh heartily and insist to Rory that Barty’s insanity made him extremely good in bed, before Barty threw a disabling charm at Remus’ legs.

Remus blocked it instantly, raising a shield charm, before retaliating with the curse from the day before. Barty was ready for it, but Remus had noticed that Barty shifted onto his left foot before he blocked, and Remus cast the curse again from his other hand to meet Barty where he moved. Barty’s eyes mometarily widened before he looked pleased and cast a half-hearted counter-curse before nodding.

“He’s ready.”

“Barty, it’s been five minutes…” Dorcas protested.

“He’s ready.” Barty’s voice became serious, “Trust me.”

“I thought we’d agreed I don’t trust you, Crouch.”

“On this…” Barty smiled, and this time it was genuine, “On this, you can trust me, Remus.”

Chapter Text

Regulus

Regulus felt himself twitching, his left eye flinching, and he lowered his unsteady gaze to where his hands were tremoring above James’ still form. James was not moving. He was totally immobile, his face, usually so full of life, paling. Regulus felt nausea clutching at his stomach and he found himself unable to move from James’ side. He continued to cast diagnostic charms, a deep blood red, over James’ frame. He was insatiable. He needed to see the pulsing crimson blotch above James’ heart that proved he was still alive. He watched the rhythmical rise and fall of James’ chest, the flood of relief that he was still breathing impossible to describe. Even so, he’d cast another diagnostic the moment that the previous one faded. He was sure that anything could change in a moment. He sat, wringing his hands, his fingers growing stiff and his wrist becoming sore as he constantly shot diagnostics over James’ body. The images of James’ health – although, admittedly, he was still unconscious – did nothing to slow Regulus’ thudding heart. It’s my fault, he thought murderously, it’s my fault that he’s laid here.

“James?” Regulus whispered. He thought he’d seen one of James’ eyelids flicker.

James tensed. His eyes flew open before twitching wildly, the pupils swelling. He began to stutter, the sounds nonsensical and forming no words, but the effort was too much and sweat began to bead on James’ upper lip.

“Rest.” Regulus instructed, forcing James down with one hand as he’d begun to rise before paling an ashen grey. James accepted his words and relaxed back onto the stone floor. His eyes, still bloodshot, met Regulus’. There was fear there. Regulus prayed it was not fear of him. Before long, James’ eyes shut again, and Regulus was alone once again. Alone with his thoughts. Everything you touch gets hurt, his brain tortured, look at him. He could have died because you thought you could control your family. Bellatrix could have killed him.

An unbridled rage rose in Regulus’ throat, acidic bile salting his mouth. Bellatrix had become more manic, more insane. Her desire to cause pain emanated from her wild eyes. He prayed that he would never look as demented as she did. He cursed softly. The truth was that he prayed he would never become as demented and cruel as all of them, although he wasn’t sure if he already was. He’d watched Orion banish Barty. He’d watched Orion kill Peter. He’d watched Bellatrix curse James.

He hadn’t lifted a finger for any of them.

He’d managed to persuade Orion to spare Barty but he wasn’t reassured by the fact Barty was not dead. Barty had been exiled. As far as Regulus knew, he was as good as dead if not six feet under. The thought made Regulus choke. The room’s evening darkness seemed to be descending on him like a suffocating blanket. Regulus blinked, forcing himself to push Barty far from his thoughts. He could not dwell on his straw-like hair and deep brown eyes now, not when James was unconscious at his crossed feet.

Regulus always thought he’d be good in a crisis. He was usually steady, cold even, but James…James was a different matter altogether. His heart was pounding, his pulse heavy in his neck, and he felt himself shaking as if he had been exposed to biting cold winds. He was sure there was something he should be doing, something that would help, lift the whiteness from James’ cheeks.

There was one person he could see.

It might be ridiculous, stupid, foolhardy.

Regulus was not feeling particularly rational right now.

It could get him killed.

Regulus was sure he would die if James did not move.

“Regulus, don’t.” James’ voice was so quiet that Regulus was sure he’d imagined it, but he flew to James’ side regardless, pressing his ear to his lips. He felt James’ hot, feverish breath on his face and shivered despite himself.

“Don’t what?” Regulus murmured.

“Do whatever you’re thinking.” James was straining to talk, “I can tell you’re thinking of…something risky.” Each word was an effort.

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are.” James sighed, “Don’t do it for me.”

Regulus made up his mind as soon as James finished speaking. This time, he would lift a finger. He would help James, run to the ends of the earth for James, risk his life for James. He would not sit here, quiet and helpless, as his parents would expect him to. He couldn’t watch James suffer any longer. He rose slowly, brushing off imaginary dust from the knees of his trousers – the glitter looked fucking stupid now – and felt a sharp ache as he withdrew from James’ side.

“I’ll be back.” He promised, “I swear I’ll be back. Wait here.”

The corners of James’ mouth quirked, a trace of his old self echoing on his face.

“Do I look like I’m going anywhere?”

Regulus smirked. He cast one final diagnostic and nodded, satisfied by the red swelling of James’ heart thudding steadily. He was still unsettled by the feverish sweat forming a sheen on James’ face, the slurring of his words, the deathly white pallor, the tremoring of his hands and eyes, but he knew he was heading to the right person.

---

“Hello, Regulus. You haven’t been here in a while.” Her voice was as soft as Regulus remembered it, her words floating from her mouth like music. There was a distinct scent of lavender in the room and Regulus smiled internally, remembering that she preferred to colour her hair with plants, noting the slight lilac tinge to her long platinum hair. Her hair was as messy as always, some strands forging together into straw-like folds. It was cluttered with flower petals, pieces of hay and there was a red blotch near the roots that Regulus was sure was from a berry. She was wearing a pale lavender coloured dress, gathered at the waist before falling gracefully into loose skirts, and white tassels cloaked the hem. Regulus found himself relaxing as he noticed the deep green gems hanging from silver threads hooked into her ears. My colours.

“I’m sorry, Dora.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Pandora’s pale blue eyes widened in true surprise, “I always knew you’d come back.”

“It’s been hard since…” Regulus swallowed.

“Barty.” Pandora said softly, “I know.”

“Yes.” Regulus nodded curtly, forcing himself to reject the swelling memories of him, Pandora and Barty picking flowers and creating blankets of petals to lie on during their legendary afternoon picnics.

“Something else has changed.” Pandora’s voice was curious. She tilted her head slightly, as though she was trying to hear something better. Her eyes were lit by a stealthy intrigue.

“Oh?” Regulus replied.

“Your heart is fuller.” Pandora remarked. Her tone was purely factual. Regulus knew that she genuinely could feel the swelling in his chest. His heart had felt fuller since the first time he’d kissed James Potter.

“I know.” Regulus admitted, “Don’t laugh.”

“I would never laugh, Regulus.” Pandora said, offended, “I’m happy for you. I always Saw that you would be happier with someone else.”

“You did?” Regulus asked shyly, looking up from his eyelashes, resisting the urge to push his hair in front of his eyes.

“I promise.” Pandora confirmed, reaching out a hand to clasp Regulus’ own. Her hands were deathly cold and fragile but she radiated such warmth that Regulus hardly noticed.

“Thanks, Dora.”

“You did it all yourself.” Pandora said in wonder, “I thought you might need a little help healing, but it seems you managed without the help I believed I Saw.” She smiled to herself, “Who is he?”

“He…he’s…”

“Indescribable?” Pandora suggested softly.

“Yes.” Regulus said, relieved that Pandora had said it for him. He envisioned that he would always be lost for words if anyone asked him to describe James Potter.

“He’s why you’re here, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry, Dora.” Regulus murmured, tightening his grip on her hand momentarily, “This isn’t a social call.”

“I know. I thought you might come for him.” Pandora’s voice was dreamy, “He’s unwell.” Her eyes darkened momentarily, “Your family.”

“Yes.”

“I thought they’d hurt someone you loved.”

“They’ve hurt many people that I love.” Regulus said shakily, feeling his chest contract.

“They’ve hurt people you had feelings for, yes.” Pandora said forcefully, before her voice took on a dreamlike quality once again, “They’ve hurt someone you love this time. You’re hoping I can help.”

“I don’t know…”

“If you love him?” Pandora’s nose crinkled, “I know you will.”

“I will?”

“Yes, Regulus. You are capable of loving someone.” Pandora said in a matter of fact tone, but Regulus thought he might collapse. Tension he didn’t know was there seemed to rush outside of his body. He knew he was scared of being close to James. He knew there was a reason he’d retracted from Barty every time he’d come closer. He knew he was terrified that he was like his father, unable to love anyone.

“Thankyou.” Regulus whispered, his eyes watering.

“Don’t thank me. You are who you are. You should thank the strength you have.” Pandora smiled slowly, “You’ve been through so much and you’re still here, risking everything to see me when you were told you could never see me again after Barty. You’re here for him.”

“Can you help?”

“I can.” Pandora said simply, “But I won’t.”

Regulus felt ice in his chest.

“You won’t?”

“I won’t help because I know you can help him without me.”

“I can’t, Dora.”

“You can do anything.” Pandora pressed her forehead to Regulus’, her icy eyes boring into his soul, “Remember what I told you. You are capable of loving someone.”

“Dora…”

“You’ll figure it out.” Pandora’s voice was dancing, her smile teasing, “You didn’t outsmart Barty and I for months without being the most intelligent of the three of us.”

“I miss you.” Regulus blurted out, “Please help me, Dora, I’ll do anything…I’ll get you out of here.” He gestured around the cell, which was a little more humane than Sirius’ and less barbaric, “I need you.”

“I am meant to be here.” Pandora insisted, “You…you are meant to be with him. Go.”

“I can’t do it, Pandora.” Regulus whimpered, feeling his voice wobble at the lump in his throat, “Heal him.”

“I’ll say it one more time.” Pandora pushed Regulus gently toward the bars of her cell, “You are capable of loving someone.”

Regulus stumbled from Pandora’s cell and she shut the cast iron door on him, giggling at his confusion, before she was gone, a vision of lilacs and lavenders and purples and platinum blonde and white. Regulus felt wounded. He tripped, disorientated as if he were drunk like his loathsome father, falling backward into the cold, damp walls of the lower levels of the castle. He breathed slowly, huffing out deep breaths, dizzy at the change in environment. It was deathly silent in this hallway. There was little light. Small enchanted candles flickered inconsistently, as though their caster could hardly be bothered to ensure their longevity. His chest was heaving. He’d risked everything for James and he hadn’t secured the help he needed. He was all James had and he wasn’t enough. Although Pandora was sure he could love someone, Regulus knew he couldn’t.

When he loved someone, he put them in danger.

---

“James?” Regulus had clawed his way back to his room, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

“Reggie…” James croaked.

He looked fucking broken.

“James, I can’t…” Regulus had begun to sob, “I can’t help you, I couldn’t do anything. I’m sorry. I don’t know…I don’t know if you’ll be alright, I don’t know what to fucking do, I always had Sirius here when they did this to me.”

James did not make a sound but a tear slipped down his cheek, beading in his eye before swelling and falling slowly.

“I wish I was better, James. I wish I could be who you think I am.” Regulus heaved, “I’ve failed you, I fail everyone, I always, always let people down. I can’t do anything. I can’t save anyone. I lost Peter, I lost Barty, now I’m going to lose you when I was just…”

James’ eyes dilated and focused on Regulus’ face.

“I’m going to lose you when I thought I might…” Regulus was straining, his tears falling damp onto James’ undershirt where he was collapsed on James’ chest, “I thought I might love you.”

The effect was instant. James’ body suddenly became heated, as though it was lit by an internal fire, and the air surrounding his collapsed huddle vibrated. The sound was thunderous like a storm raging outside and Regulus clapped his hands over his ears, convinced that he would lose James whilst the room began to quake softly. James’ chest was flooding with a deep emerald green, a radiant spread of colour spiking from his heart and colouring his entire body before it ceased at his fingertips and quelled. His colours.

James was still for a moment.

Regulus was sure he’d lost him.

It was curious, really, that James began to choke, his eyes rolling back.

It was even more curious when James’ cheeks flooded with colour and his eyes steadied and met Regulus’. It was the most curious thing when James began to sit up, stretching his fingers and flexing his wrists, and his body was suddenly filled with energy.

“Reggie?”

“Jesus Christ.” Regulus choked out, “You really fucking scared me then, Potter.”

“Good thing you saved me, right? I was getting a little tired of the melodramatics.” James laughed, stuttering a moment when his laughter clutched his chest and forced out a few small coughs, “You’re a real headcase sometimes.”

“Right.” Regulus rolled his eyes, “I save your life by telling you that I love you, and one of the first things you say is that I’m a real headcase? Honestly. Servants these days, they’re so ungrateful.” He was babbling, his voice racing.

“Be quiet.” James murmured, his expression softening, “Tell me you love me again.”

“James, don’t.” Regulus’ voice cracked, “I can’t. I just…I can’t…”

James’ brows quirked before his face fell into an unsure smile.

“Okay.”

“It’s not…I’m trying. I just…I just can’t.” Regulus stammered, his cheeks blushing, but he stretched out an arm to James and pulled him close, kissing the messy hair slicked to his head by sweat, “Try me another time, okay?”

“Another time.” James murmured, his breath hot on Regulus’ collarbone, “You’ll kill me one of these days.”

“I’m so fucking sorry that she did that to you.” Regulus whispered, a tear slipping from his eye and rolling down his already wet cheeks, “I’m even more sorry that I did nothing.”

“You did everything.” James responded, rising to press his forehead against Regulus’. His voice was soft.

“I did nothing.”

“I thought of you whilst she was torturing me, Reggie. The thought of you saved me. I stood up knowing that you would need me to stand. I kept myself conscious thinking of you.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Regulus was sniffling, “I’m so bad for you, James. You shouldn’t be tortured. You shouldn’t have to think of me to keep yourself alive.”

“I’d do anything for you.” James whispered, pressing a soft kiss to Regulus’ lips, “I hated every minute of it, Regulus, but when I stood up…seeing you…seeing you changes everything for me. Every time. Every time I see you, it’s like I’m seeing you for the first time. You are not bad for me.”

“I’m a bad person.” Regulus confessed.

“You are not a bad person, Regulus. You’re a good person that bad things have happened to.”

“I’m not good, James. Not like you.”

“No one is like me.” James joked, before his face fell serious, “You are good. You saved me.”

“I would always save you.” Regulus swore.

“I know.” James smiled against Regulus’ lips, “That’s why you’re a good person. There’s not many people who would keep me around after I’ve annoyed them for so long.”

“James.”

“Regulus.”

“Be serious.”

“I can be serious!” James grinned.

“You cannot.”

“Let me try.”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Regulus’ heart filled with joy. He felt weightless, as if he’d been taken from the ground and spun around the sun before landing on his feet, and his face broke into an unbridled smile. He was suddenly untethered from his chains to the floor, the metaphorical chains that kept him from admitting he could love someone. He’d broken them. He’d fucking done it.

He leaned forward and kissed his servant.

Later, Regulus would wonder how he’d lived without James Potter.

Later, curled around James’ small frame, Regulus would wonder how anyone lived without James Potter.

Chapter Text

James

“James?”

James was still heady from sleep. He felt warmer than he ever had and he burrowed backward into Regulus, who was wrapped round him like a blanket. Regulus’ mouth was breathing gently against James’ ear and he was shaking him slightly.

“James?”

“M’still asleep.”

“You’re talking.” Regulus retorted, before pausing, “Please tell me you don’t sleep talk.” He sounded horrified and James smiled sleepily.

“I don’t.”

“So you’re awake?” Regulus sounded relieved, “I have plans for today.”

“I’m happy here.” James said, pressing a kiss to Regulus’ hand where it was placed under his head. He heard Regulus sigh.

“I know.” Regulus said affectionately, kissing the back of James’ head where his hair was flat from sleep, “I want to show you something, though.”

“Sounds exciting.” James raised a hand, rubbing sleep away from his eyes with his fingers, before shuffling carefully and turning to face Regulus, “What’s the something?”

“It’s a surprise.” Regulus sounded offended, his face creasing slightly with worry, “You do like surprises though, right?”

“I like anything if it involves you.”

Regulus’ face broke into a smile and he pressed a delicate kiss between James’ eyebrows, before cupping his jaw with his spidery hands. His curls were messy, falling haphazardly at different angles around his ears, but he still looked beautiful. He always looks beautiful, James thought, a pang of fondness filling his chest. Regulus’ eyes softened, as though he could hear what James was thinking. They’d agreed in the throes of last night’s loving whispers that Regulus would never invade James’ mind without permission.

“It does involve me.”

“Excellent.” James kissed Regulus, smiling against his lips, “Do we have much time?”

“Of course.” Regulus murmured, responding to James’ kiss and placing a hand at the back of his head, wrenching his fingers in his hair. James edged closer, grabbing at Regulus’ waist. His heart thudded when Regulus shuddered at his touch, his fingers clutching at his bare hipbones and pulling him closer.

“How much time?”

“All the time in the world.”

---

James was pulling on a casual pair of wool trousers, tugging at the waist laces to tighten the waistband against his slim body. He watched Regulus bite his lip before shaking his head and turning away to shuck himself into a white shirt. He saw Regulus’ arms move slightly as they methodically fastened the buttons, before he outstretched a hand and summoned a pearl necklace from an obedient drawer that emerged from the wall. He gestured to James to come closer and placed the necklace in his hands. It was beautiful, the pearls an omniscient pale pink and glowing in the morning sunlight, casting silvered beams onto James’ hands.

“Fasten it for me?” Regulus suggested, bending his head forward and exposing his slim neck. James reached upward – Regulus was a little taller than him – and carefully secured the pearls. They fell heavily on Regulus’ exposed collarbone. He’d left several buttons of the shirt undone, showing his hairless pale chest that the pearls decorated.

“I like those.”

“You can borrow them sometime.” Regulus smiled. He adjusted the long sleeved black top James was wearing, frowning at the Black family crest on the right breast, “I hate you wearing servant clothes.”

“I’m a servant, Regulus.” James said dryly.

“I don’t like that you’re a servant.” Regulus responded darkly, his voice low.

“I know.” James leaned forward, his forehead on Regulus’, “It’s the way it has to be. For now.”

“For now?” Regulus tilted his head.

“Unless anything changes.” James corrected himself. Since Bellatrix’s disastrous celebratory dinner, thoughts of the resistance had been vibrating intrusively through his brain. He’d been sure for suns that the Blacks were secure on the throne, that no one would dare defy them, but it seemed that there was someone who was willing to fight. Dumbledore.

“Why would anything change?” Regulus sounded intrigued rather than perturbed.

“Not here.” James whispered, gesturing around the rooms, “Too many ears.”

Regulus nodded.

“We can talk later.” Regulus agreed, twisting his wrist with a slightly shaking hand to cast an emerald woollen travelling cloak over himself before repeating the movement to place a black cloak over James. James revelled in the heaviness of the fabric before pausing as he began to follow Regulus toward the doorway.

“Are we going far?”

“No.” Regulus frowned, “You can walk, James. You’re with me.”

---

James had been trudging behind Regulus for an hour before his senses were assaulted by the intense sharpness of salt. His nose twitched and he halted, inhaling deeply and feeling the tang of the sea in his throat. He closed his eyes, basking in the unfamiliar scent. He’d visited the Eastern Grimmuld Sea a number of times when he was young but he hardly remembered the days themselves. The memories were tinged by the fragrant grittiness of sand, the smooth roundness of pebbles softened by suns in the ocean, the warmth of the sun, but when he fought to recall the specific details of those days, he withdrew blanks. He frowned, feeling a hint of sadness as he struggled to remember his childhood. James thought with a pang of nostalgia how definitively his life seemed segregated.

Childhood.

Servanthood.

He supposed he knew he’d lost his innocence.

He didn’t think that he’d lost his affection for home. He didn’t think that he’d stopped constantly missing Remus and his parents. He didn’t think that he’d almost entirely forgotten that he was a servant to the royal family and that Palis was not where he belonged. That at Regulus’ side was not where he belonged.

He realised now that all those things were true.

He’d inadvertently forged a new identity.

He was a son. He was a friend. He was a teacher.

Now, he was a servant. He was a lover. He was a passive instrument in the House of Black, oiling its machinery and supporting the Prince.

He would never be a carefree boy playing on the beach again. He does remember frolicking in the sea with Remus and insisting that Remus swim underwater. He remembers Remus emerging, spluttering, from the navy water and insisting it was too cold, insisting that James shouldn’t swim underwater. He knew it would be cold. He remembers that a small part of him wanted Remus to be cold, even just for a moment.

He feels sick at the thought.

He remembers duelling Rory with driftwood, play-acting at bowing ceremoniously before they plunged toward one another, delayed by the thick layers of sand, and clanged the driftwood against one another until they splintered. He remembers feeling curious about whether bones would splinter in the same way – in fractions, before dividing entirely and falling useless to the soft bed of sand.

He remembers, suddenly, the fond watchfulness of his parents. Euphemia was leant into Fleamont, his arm slung casually around his wife’s shoulder. James remembered feeling jealous at the easy intimacy that swam between his parents. He wondered whether he and Regulus looked the same, if they would ever look the same. He punished the resentful thoughts that insisted he would never have a future with Regulus that involved watching their children playing, free of the world’s evil, on the beach.

He was a servant.

Servant.

Lover.

He felt suddenly sick.

“James?” Regulus had paced backward to where James was stood, his fists clenched and eyes closed. He knew he was tremoring. Regulus’ voice was edged with concern.

“I don’t have a future with you, Regulus.” James said wretchedly, “Do I?”

“James, I…”

“Unless the resistance wins, Reggie…”

“James.”

“There’s no future for us.” James said flatly, “This world will never allow a future for us unless something changes. I need something to change.”

“Why does anything need to change?” Regulus said shakily, “Are you not…are you not happy with me?”

“I’m as happy as I can be when I’m a servant to your family.” James replied resentfully, resisting from spitting at the floor, “I love what we have, Regulus, but it will all mean nothing if this world stays the same. There’s no future for this. Not right now.”

“I thought this was different.” Regulus was shaking, his eyes frantically searching for meaning in the flat darkness of James’ expression, “I can’t change the world, James.”

“I’m not asking you to change the world.”

“What are you asking me?”

“I don’t know.” James pushed a tense breath from his mouth, “I guess I feel like everything has changed. I used to live in Mydan, with two parents and a best friend, and now I’m a servant to a family that slaughtered my grandparents. I’m lucky my dad is still alive. I’m lucky to be alive. Your grandfather would have slaughtered us all.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No, he didn’t. But don’t you see? I’m the heir of the old royal family. I’m a Potter. You’re a Black. We…we fundamentally have no future. Not here. Not anywhere. I want to be with you, I want to watch our family playing on the beach, I want to know that I’m safe whether I’m at your side or not. Unless something changes, I won’t ever be safe to be with you. I’ll have to hide all the time. I don’t think…I don’t think I want to hide. I need the resistance to work, Regulus. We both do.”

“You could be my servant forever.”

“That’s fucking demeaning.” James swore angrily, “I don’t want to be your servant until I’m an old man and dying. I don’t want my body to be burned in a morgue that doesn’t hold funerals. I don’t want to be so unimportant that my ashes will be scattered with the ashes of a dozen other servants who have died in service.” James paused, “Regardless, I won’t die in your service. We’ve been lucky so far, Reggie, but someone…someone will find out.”

“James, please…”

“Someone will find out.” James whispered, “And they’ll kill me.”

“I thought that was a risk you wanted to take.”

“I have a family, Regulus!” James burst out, “I have a family, and I feel like I’ve forgotten everything that made me who I was before I met you. I’ve changed, Reggie, can’t you see? I’ve forgotten who I was before I was your servant. I’m not…I’m not me anymore.”

“I think you’ve become more you, actually.” Regulus placed a hand on James’ arm, relieved when he didn’t shake it off, “You’ve resisted me. You’ve told me when I’m wrong. You let me…you let me love you when you were wary of me.”

“You’re connecting everything to you.” James whispered, “I’m an extension of you now. I’m Regulus Black’s servant. Regulus Black’s lover.”

“I’m connecting everything to me because I can’t live without you, okay?” Regulus exclaimed, spinning on his heel frustratedly, “I see you and I see myself through your eyes. James…I…I need you.”

James stopped.

“I need you, too.”

“We can change this place, James. I promise that if the resistance comes to Palis, or I hear anything that might change our future, I promise that I will help them.” Regulus swore, “I swear to you, on everything between us, I swear that I will let the resistance do anything if it means that I can always have you near me.”

“You’d do that? Defy your parents?”

“Anything.” Regulus whispered, his eyes full of tears.

“You won’t be King.”

“I know.”

“They might hurt you.” James voiced his real fears. He was desperately sure that the resistance would not forgive Regulus for his role in allowing Peter to die or Barty to be banished. James knew that Regulus had resisted and pleaded and pushed for the two boys to be saved. The resistance could not know that without a Legilimens.

“I would let them.” Regulus moved his hands to cup both sides of James’ face, “I will do anything for us, James. You’ve seen how my father has treated Sirius. You watched what he did to Peter. You know what he’s done to Barty. Fuck, I don’t know if Barty is still alive. I don’t…I don’t want…I can’t watch him hurt you. He will never hurt you. I’ll do anything to make sure that he doesn’t hurt you, even if that means I have to betray him.” Regulus’ fingers tightened their grip on James’ jaw, “I would betray any of them for you.”

“Christ, you really do love me.” James joked, before his face fell serious, “Thankyou.”

“You could be the death of me, Potter.” Regulus murmured, “I’d greet death like an old friend if it kept you safe.”

“No one has to die in this situation.”

“I pray every day that you’re right.” Regulus smiled dryly.

James kissed him and felt the wetness of tears on Regulus’ cheeks when his fingers brushed under his eyes. He leaned backward, meeting Regulus’ gaze.

“I’ll wait with you. I’ll wait for the resistance with you.” James promised, “Just keep me safe until then.”

“I will.” Regulus replied, “I swear I will.”

“I know.”

“Thankyou for trusting me.” Regulus smiled, “Do you still fancy a picnic at the beach?” He took James’ hand, squeezing his fingers against his own, and pushed him lightly on the shoulder. His face was shining with tears but his smile was determined, almost grim in its insistence of existing. James thought he would never love anyone like he loved his Prince.

“Lead the way.”

---

Sirius

The Night Before

“Andy, I can’t…I don’t know if I can make it.” Sirius knew he was fading away. He knew he would die soon. He found that he couldn’t summon any hatred toward the idea.

“You can, Sirius. Don’t give up on me now.” Andromeda murmured urgently, “We haven’t got long. Just a little further. Don’t give up.”

“I gave up a long time ago.” Sirius murmured, but he responded to Andromeda when she clutched at his arm and half-dragged, half-supported him as she walked urgently, her head twitching at the slightest sound, down the cobbled streets of Palis. The cobbles did not respond to their footsteps. Andromeda had cast a temporary invisibility glamour over Sirius. She undoubtedly looked odd, her arm linked through an invisible arm, but she was focusing on moving as fast as possible, regardless of how suspicious a Princess of the House of Black looked appearing publicly during a private celebration.

“Shut up.” Andromeda hissed, “I’m not risking my life for you to die on me.”

“Two deaths in one night. What a drama that would cause.” Sirius cackled manically, “That would entertain Orion, I’m sure.”

“God, you really are insufferable.” Andromeda rolled her eyes, “If Regulus hadn’t insisted on extracting you, maybe you would have been better growing more insane in a cell.”

“You don’t mean that.” Sirius retorted, forcing himself to continue walking step-by-step, before he stopped suddenly, “Sorry, what did you say? Regulus organised this?”

“You could say organised.” Andromeda laughed without humour, “He threatened my lover. He said he’d leave him bleeding on my doormat if I didn’t get you out of there.”

“Nice of him.” Sirius smiled despite himself, “He’s always so charming.” Although he did not say as much to Andromeda, he felt a revival of determination to stay alive at the thought that Regulus had saved him. Inadvertently, admittedly, but his little brother had saved him.

Maybe Sirius had got him wrong after all.

Sirius walked with more purpose. His head was still swimming. He still felt as if his limbs belonged to another man. He was still sweating and dizzy, the cobbles tilting wildly in his vision. He was still emaciated, his wrists so thin that he was sure they’d snap at the slightest pressure. He was still moments from death.

Regulus had saved him.

He was following Andromeda blindly. His nose clung to the rose scent radiating from her slight frame. He focused on her methodical movements, her fast-paced walk, emulating every move she made. He forced himself to ignore the throbbing ache in his head which swelled each time their footsteps thudded on the cobbles.

Regulus had saved him.

He was swinging in and out of consciousness. He was momentarily blacking out. He was there, and then he wasn’t, and then he was, and then he wasn’t. He was sure this was the start of everything ending. He moved. Step-by-step.

Regulus had saved him.

He lost consciousness.

---

Sirius woke in a dimly lit room. His nose twitched at the slightly muggy smell, alike to a dense fog that sinks onto the land at the end of a hot summer’s day. He felt assaulted by its heaviness and felt the distinct wetness of sweat soaking him, plastering his white undershirt to his skin. He had lost so much weight so quickly that there were folds of skin floundering uselessly at his waist and under his arms.

He had never felt so ugly.

“Prince Black?”

He couldn’t summon his voice.

“Prince Sirius? Are you awake?”

He couldn’t open his eyes.

“Sirius?”

He forced his eyes to open. A tall handsome man was bent over him, casting healing charms frantically. There were so many charms emanating from the man’s hands that the air had acquired a strange hue of colour. There were highlights of deep and pale blues and an emerald green that reminded Sirius painfully of Regulus’ favourite colour. He always wore shirts in emerald. He pushed the thought away.

“Hello.”

“Thank Christ, you’re alive.” The man turned away briefly, “Alice, he’s alive!”

“You sound surprised.” Sirius smiled weakly. He was relieved when the man smiled back.

“You were minutes from death’s door, Sirius. I’m surprised you’re able to talk.” He frowned briefly, “Your diagnostic charms are a real mess. I’m struggling to decipher what exactly is wrong, but I’ve cast some basic rehydration and nourishment replenishing spells. Alice will know what to do. She’s better at this. She heals people regularly.” He smiled apologetically, “It isn’t hard to find clientele in this area of the world.”

“Where exactly are we?”

“I can’t tell you that now, I’m afraid. It’s not safe for the moment. I promise that you won’t be found, though. Everything will be alright.”

“Okay.” Sirius relaxed back into the plush armchair he’d been placed in. He found he was regaining some feeling in his fingers and toes and flexed them experimentally. He felt a spark of pain and grimaced but he was glad that they responded, excepting a few that were clearly broken. He knew he’d had broken bones, but the lack of food and water had been his priority.

“Your fingers will be fine. Alice can sort broken bones quickly. It might hurt a little.”

“Who’s Alice?”

“My apologies, Sirius.” The man bowed quickly, “Alice is my wife. I’m Frank.” He extended a hand and allowed Sirius to weakly shake his hand politely.

“Hi, Frank. I’m Sirius.” He smirked.

“I know.” Frank said quietly, “I’m so glad you’re alive. Andromeda was concerned that you wouldn’t make it.”

“Yeah, well. I was already considering how I could orchestrate my funeral from hell before I blacked out.”

“You’re funny.” A steady voice responded. It emanated from a slight woman with short cropped dark hair. Her eyes were a stable brown and her mouth was kind, the skin at its sides creased by constant smiling.

“I try.”

“I’m Alice, Sirius.”

“Hello.”

“I’d have preferred to have met you in other circumstances, but…”

“These are great circumstances. I’m not sure what you mean.” Sirius parred.

“If you say so.” Alice raised her eyebrows, before turning to her husband, “Frank, I’m going to need my more expensive supplies.”

“I can pay you for those. I’m rich, you know? Being a Prince and all.” Sirius drawled.

“Yes, you look very princely.” Alice said sincerely, the quirk of her mouth betraying her amusement, “It’s the pain alleviator charm talking, Frank. He will go under again if we don’t work fast. Get the expensive supplies. We need to do this tonight.”

Frank hurried away.

“Now, Sirius. Why don’t you start by telling me what hurts?”

“Everything.” Sirius whispered weakly.

“I thought as much.” Alice’s voice softened. She kneeled by his side and gently rested her hand on his shoulders. The bone was prominent through his shirt.

“I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?”

“That I’m so ill.” Sirius whispered, his eyes filling with tears, “That you’re having to care for me. That you’re probably in danger now. That you’re using expensive supplies on me.”

“Sirius…”

“I’m sorry.” Tears fell onto his cheeks.

“We don’t trade lives, Sirius. We save people because it’s the right thing to do. You need saving. We will save you.” Alice said, as though it were perfectly simple, “As for us being in danger now…your father hasn’t liked us for some time.”

“My father doesn’t like many people.”

“He does not.” Alice agreed, “Frank’s family supported the Potters when your father’s family usurped the throne. We’ve been watched for some time. We’re safe here, Sirius. You’re safe here.”

“Thankyou.”

“Let’s try again. Tell me what hurts most.”

His heart.

Sirius began to speak.

Chapter Text

James

Regulus was sprawled across his cape, which he’d thrown haphazardly across the sand. His head was tilted back, the sun dancing across his angular face. His mouth was relaxed, stretching into a casual smile, and he seemed immune to the slight chill in the breeze that ruffled his curls. James felt the warmth of fondness rush through him.

“You like the beach?”

Regulus looked across at James, his eyes creasing as he smiled.

“Of course. Look at it.”

James followed Regulus’ watchful gaze. The beach was a huge expanse of white, the sand stretching for miles as far as James could see. The sea was gently lapping at the sand’s edges, the waves swallowing inches of sand as they reached up the beach. It was a little rougher beyond the beach’s reach, the waves thrashing temperamentally, and James thought that Regulus was like the ocean. Calm at the surface. Tumultuous underneath.

“Do you come here often?” James asked.

“I used to.” Regulus smiled sadly, “Barty and I…we used to come sometimes with our friend, Dora.”

“Sounds nice.” James swallowed the bite of jealousy.

“Yeah, they were happy days. I miss those times.”

“I’m sorry.” James said softly, “Is it strange being here with me?”

“That’s okay.” Regulus paused, “No, it’s not. I’ve actually avoided coming here since Barty was exiled. I was scared that I’d find it too hard.”

“And do you?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m with you.” Regulus said simply, “I couldn’t have come alone. It would feel too empty. Barty was always so loud.” Regulus laughed, “He always swum, even if it was raining or the wind was so cold that I’d be wearing multiple cloaks. He never complained that he was cold. It was like he was invincible to weather.”

“He sounds fun.” James accepted. He realised that Regulus rarely spoke about his friends or his life before him, “Did you ever swim?”

“Sometimes.” Regulus smirked, “I was never as brave as Barty. I only swim when it’s really warm out. I don’t think it’s worth swimming when it’s not warm enough to dry off in the sun when you get out.”

“That’s fair enough.” James smiled, “I didn’t take you for a fair weather swimmer.”

“I prefer warmer weather. It makes everything more beautiful. Everything looks better in the sun, don’t you think?”

“I suppose, although I think there’s something beautiful about rain. Whenever it rains, I always hope that the flowers get the water they need and that the rivers rise high enough for the fish and that the birds have someplace dry to wait the weather out.”

“How melancholy.” Regulus said dryly.

“The world wouldn’t function without rain. We’d have no food, no forests, no crops, no rivers, no animals.”

“That’s true. Imagine a world without the sun though.”

“I don’t have to.” James said softly, meeting Regulus’ eyes, which widened with realisation before he shook his head dismissively, his mouth sneering slightly.

“I’m more like a frost than the sun.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re the sun in this…” Regulus paused, looking unsure, “In whatever this is. You’re the sun.”

“Nope.” James refused, “Tell me why you think that.” He laughed, “And then I’ll tell you why you’re wrong.”

“It’s hard to explain.” Regulus frowned.

“Try.” James suggested.

“You soften everything. I always thought that life was grey and miserable with the occasional flash of colour. I met you and…you lit everything up. I tried to ignore it. I pushed you away, ignored you, because everything was too bright and I was overwhelmed. I don’t know what it is, but you make everything shinier. My room was dark before. It always felt like…like a cell? I don’t know. When you came into it…I started seeing the beautiful things. You always spend so much time on the glasswork. I couldn’t see the pink in the elephant or the orange in the stapler until I saw you polishing them. Once I saw the colour…it was so bright.” Regulus was silent for a moment, blushing gently, “When we’re together, when I kiss you, I feel like I get to share some of your light, even just for a minute. It makes me feel brighter. Stronger. Like the dark of the world isn’t always so bad if you have some light in it.”

“Regulus…”

“I think I’m different now.” Regulus pushed on, his voice steadier, “I sometimes felt like I was a ghost. I only felt alive when Orion used to punish me, and I’d think, oh, I actually do exist, people can see me. I thought the only way to wake me up was violence. The numbness only ever went away when I was being hurt.” Regulus swallowed, “And then I met you, and the numbness kept disappearing. It was for seconds at first. It was like I’d been shocked awake. Made to feel something. I got scared because the numbness was going away for longer and longer periods and I thought, who am I if I’m awake? But you seemed to like me. You weren’t scared of me.”

There was a moment of deadly silence.

“You didn’t hurt me to wake me up.” Regulus whispered.

“I’d never hurt you.” James felt tears prickling hot in his eyes. He remembered that the first time he’d thought Regulus looked truly alive was after he’d kissed him. He remembered thinking that Regulus looked more awake.

“I know.” Regulus smiled weakly, “I know you wouldn’t. Before you, though. Before you, I thought that I was going to be numb every second of every day of my life unless Orion punished me. And then I’d feel pain. I was always numb until I was in pain.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.” Regulus insisted, his words flooding out in a rush, “I’m grateful. You made me realise that I wasn’t destined to be a ghost unless I was being tortured.”

“You could never be a ghost.” James said gently, wiping a tear from Regulus’ cheek with his thumb, “You’ve always been bright to me.”

“Thanks.” Regulus smiled weakly, “I’ve got brighter because of you.”

“I know you have.” James admitted, “I noticed that you seemed more alive once we’d…the first time we kissed, I thought you had never looked so alive.”

“I felt alive.” Regulus whispered.

“Stay with me.” James murmured, bringing his forehead against Regulus’, “I always want to brighten everything for you. If I can do that for you, I want to do that forever.”

“Forever?” Regulus’ breath was hot on James’ mouth.

“Forever.” James confirmed, kissing Regulus softly. Regulus clutched at his face, as though he had to hold James tightly to make sure that he was there, that he was his. James rested his hand against Regulus’ and felt him breathe out a sigh of relief into his mouth. He deepened the kiss, pressing his lips tighter against Regulus’ and heaving breathy sighs into his mouth. Regulus was moaning into James’ mouth before he pulled away, his eyes wild, his hair rumpled and curling at the roots with sweat.

“I feel drunk when I kiss you.” He burst out, before clapping a hand over his mouth.

“Me too.” James laughed, “That’s okay. I always feel drunk when I touch you.”

“Oh, good.” Regulus smiled, relieved, “It’s a nice feeling.”

“It is.” James confirmed, before his voice became serious, “I will be your sun. Always. If you’ll let me.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Regulus shook his head.

“What?”

“I’ll always let you. I’m worried you won’t let me be yours if…if things change. That you’ll be ashamed of me.”

“I would never be ashamed of you.” James swore, taking Regulus’ hand in his own and massaging his palm with his fingers, “You aren’t like your father, Reggie. I’ll make sure that the resistance knows that when they come. I’ll protect you.”

“Sirius used to protect me.”

“I know.” James replied, “You’ll have both of us, then, won’t you?”

“He got out safe.” Regulus grinned, “Andromeda got him out. He’s somewhere safe.”

“That’s amazing.” James smiled, “I thought that you’d arranged something at the dinner. I knew you could do it.”

“You did?”

“Of course. You’re not cruel, Reggie.” He rubbed Regulus’ palm softly, feeling the muscles relax under his touch, “I know that you and Sirius have had a difficult relationship, but you saved him. He needed you and you were there. I knew you would be.”

“Thanks, James.” Regulus met James’ eyes, “Sirius always used to distract Orion if he was planning to hurt me. He’d do something worse, something blatant and obvious and deliberate. It would distract Orion for long enough that I could get out of the way. He’d take the punishment.” Regulus’ voice became shaky, “I’ve always felt guilty about it. I never waited to watch what happened to him. I just took the protection and ran away like a coward. I let him get himself hurt for me and I never lifted a finger to protect him.”

“Sirius made his own choices.” James vowed, “He chose to protect you, Reggie. He didn’t want you to be hurt.”

“Sometimes I wish he’d let me be hurt.” Regulus whispered, “Instead I just remember the screaming.”

“I’m sorry. For both of you.”

“So am I.” Regulus agreed, “Maybe me and Sirius will never forgive each other.”

“Why do you have to forgive Sirius?”

“For letting me escape. For the guilt.” Regulus blinked, “It sounds stupid, right? That he was the one that was tortured in my place, and I can’t forgive him? But every time he made the choice to step in front of me, I felt like the worst brother in the world. The worst person in the world. Because I let him do that, and I felt relieved that it was him who was hurt.” He sounded sickened, “I heard the screaming. I’d listen to the screams and wonder how long it would last this time. I’d hear Orion lecturing him whilst he cast torture spells. I’d wait for the pause. Hope that this spell was the last one.” Regulus was paling, his hands shaking, “It took me years to summon the courage to heal Sirius afterward. It was Barty who pushed me to do that. I didn’t…I didn’t want to risk healing Sirius and being punished for it. That’s sick, isn’t it? That Sirius was tortured for me, in my place, and I was frightened of being punished for healing him after Orion broke his bones and split open his skin and cast cuts into him.”

“It’s not sick.” James insisted, though he felt nauseated at the thought of the two Black brothers suffering, “You did heal him eventually. You were brave. You were brave because Sirius had taught you to be brave. It doesn’t make you a bad person for being scared, Reggie. Every person would be scared in your position.”

“Not Sirius.” Regulus murmured.

“No, not Sirius.” James admitted, “But you did what you could. You couldn’t have done any more in the state that you were in. You did everything that you had the capacity to do. There’s no standard for situations like that. You navigated it the best you could. I’m sure Sirius doesn’t blame you.”

“No, he doesn’t. But I do.” Regulus said darkly, “I’m sorry…it’s just…I don’t know. I’ll be alright.”

“I know you will.” James reassured him softly.

There was a long stretch of silence. James was holding both of Regulus’ hands, stroking his fingers methodically with his thumbs, and smiling steadily whilst meeting his eyes. Regulus looked untouchably sad, as though he were miles away, but James carried on watching him and maintained the touch on his hands. He knew that he was disassociating. He watched Regulus’ eyes become vacant and his grip on James’ hands loosened. He was swaying slightly, moving as though the wind was forcing him. His jaw was slack. There were miles between them. States. Countries. Worlds. Universes. Regulus was nowhere. James just stayed there, right with him. He stayed where Regulus could feel him. He stayed because Regulus needed him to.

Several minutes passed. James did not move. He lifted one of Regulus’ hands and pressed a kiss to each finger, meeting each fingertip with his lips methodically. He breathed gently on his palms. He rested his cheek on his hands. Eventually, Regulus’ fingers began to flex. His eyes swam back into focus. They were haunted, but he was back.

“Can we do the picnic now?” Regulus whispered.

“You brought a picnic?” He understood that Regulus was done talking. He adapted his voice to sound cheerful. Regulus smiled gratefully.

“Obviously.” Regulus scoffed, before withdrawing his hands from James’ and flicking both middle and ring fingers out into the salted ocean air. A picnic basket erupted from the sand in front of them. It emerged untouched by sand, pristine as though a protection charm had been cast around it – James noticed by the shimmer at its hinges that it had – and swung open dramatically to announce its entrance. Regulus leaned forward, pulling a bottle of champagne from the basket, a punnet of neatly chopped strawberries and an assortment of sweetened pastries. He smiled uncertainly at James.

“It’s perfect. Thankyou.”

Regulus’ face broke into a grin.

“I’ve had this planned since I knew about the family dinner. I thought we might need the day away.”

“I think you were probably right.” James laughed.

“I was definitely right.” Regulus giggled, “I should be a prophet.”

He deftly uncorked the champagne, taking care that the liquid didn’t spill, and reached for two glasses to fill before pressing one into James’ outstretched hand. James took it and sipped the liquid. It danced enchantingly in his mouth, the slightly sour taste barely noticeable whilst the bubbles popped on his tongue. He smiled instantly. Regulus watched his reaction and burst out laughing.

“Have you never had champagne before?” He teased incredulously.

“Nope. No occasion for it.” James admitted, blushing, before taking another sip and shuddering at the light-headedness that dizzied his head.

“Well, I’ll raise a toast.” Regulus dipped his head dramatically before raising his glass toward James and winking, “To us.”

“To us.” James repeated.

The glasses clinked.

It felt like a promise.

Remus

“It’s agreed. Mr Lupin will leave later this afternoon alongside Ms Meadowes.” Dumbledore confirmed to the assembled resistance. Barty’s expression was dark, his thinly drawn mouth a betrayal of his reservations. Evan squeezed his hand reassuringly and Barty’s face relaxed slightly. He turned to Evan and nodded in acknowledgement, bumping him affectionately on the shoulder. Evan’s face lit up. Remus smiled to himself.

“Please wish your best to Mr. Lupin. This is a great challenge.”

There was a chorus of goodwill that swelled in the room. Remus closed his eyes and vowed that he would always remember this send-off, no matter what awaited him. He thought he could hear Lyall’s voice. He knew he was imagining it but basked in the vision regardless. He leaned into Rory, who instantly enveloped him in his arms, resting his chin on Remus’ head. He whispered something to Remus but Remus did not hear it. He knew what he’d said without listening. Rory was the steadiest person that Remus knew. He’d steadied him for his whole life.

Dorcas had been chosen to accompany Remus. Remus was unsure what had made Dumbledore agree to send another young member, but Barty had implied that there was someone in Palis that Dorcas was desperate to see again. Remus supposed he would find out who that was soon enough.

Remus knew this trip would change his life.

He would be lying if he said that he wasn’t hoping that Sirius Black would partake in that.

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus scarcely remembered the goodbyes. The moments had passed in a blur of tears, muttered ‘good luck’s and tight embraces. He had swung in and out of reality, transcending from the clearing crowded with people into his throbbing head. He willed himself to remember each face that insisted he would come back. He forced himself to forget the distinct fear written all over Rory’s face. He thought he would turn back instantly if he focused on Rory’s face for too long.

“Don’t cry, Remus. We’ll be okay.” Dorcas’ soft voice murmured.

Remus hadn’t realised he was crying. He reached a cold hand to his cheeks and shrank back from the wetness. He felt momentarily disgusted at himself.

“Sorry.” He muttered, the word barely a breath across the howling wind.

“Don’t apologise.” Dorcas rested a hand briefly on his shoulder, before retracting it and trudging forward. She was forcing her feet methodically through the ankle high snow, leaving tracks. Tracks that would, for a brief moment, remind the kingdom that they were here. Tracks that would disappear when the next snow fell.

“It feels strange.” Remus said, unsure why he was explaining himself to Dorcas, but her face was warm, her eyes inquisitive, “Leaving him, I mean. I always thought he would leave me first, because he’s the oldest, you know?” He waited for confirmation, and Dorcas nodded, “I felt jealous of Rory for suns because he was the oldest, the cleverest, the most handsome, the one who demanded attention in every room he went into. I always felt insignificant next to him. I’m not sure why, Lyall didn’t really make me feel inferior. I think I always imagined it. That he preferred Rory, I mean.” Remus felt a curious lump in his throat and swallowed resistantly, “I think he loved us both. I just didn’t think I’d leave Rory first.”

“You’re not leaving him, Remus.” Dorcas said softly, “You’ll come back.”

“But if I don’t?”

“Has your father ever left you?”

There was a silence that seemed to stretch for an age.

“No.” Remus admitted, “He hasn’t.”

“So if you don’t come back, you haven’t left him.” Dorcas paused, halting in the snow, the flakes drifting around her glowing face, “Those we love are always with us.” She pressed a gloved hand to Remus’ chest, “In here.”

He met Dorcas’ eyes. The lilac irises had darkened slightly, swollen with tears, but her gaze was steady. In that moment, a swell of understanding passed between them and Remus felt a warmth spread from her eyes into his heart.

“You lost someone.” Remus said.

“I lost everyone.” Dorcas whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t bring them back.” Dorcas snapped, before swallowing and shaking her head, “Sorry. It’s just…everyone says they’re sorry.” She began to move again, stomping aggressively through the frozen crust of the snow into the powdery lightness beneath, her braids shifting in the wind, “But apologies don’t bring them back.” She spat, “They died for me.”

“Dorcas…”

“Don’t.” She said firmly, “Just don’t. I was a fool. My parents were killed to teach me a lesson.”

“Jesus.”

“Sadly he wasn’t around.” She parred, a trace of the usual lightness filtering into her sombre voice, “I learned my lesson, trust me. I learned to trust no one. To love no one. To stay away from anything that could make a fool out of me.”

“You’re not a fool. It isn’t foolish to love someone.” Remus said quietly, following Dorcas in her determined march toward the border.

“It’s foolish to love a girl.” She met his eyes again, throwing a glance over her shoulder, “At least, I was a fool to love her so openly. It put us both in danger and it got my parents killed. We were a loyal family. Or at least we were, until I started playing like an idiotic child with her. She was another child of loyalists. We thought we were being rebellious, inventive. It always felt like a game. A dangerous game. We thought we were playing the Blacks. Playing Orion. It kept things exciting, you know? Trying to stay hidden.” She paused, laughing bitterly, “It turned out that Orion had known the whole time, that her parents had been protesting for nearly a sun that it was a phase, that it wouldn’t last. But it did last. It lasted too long.”

“That’s…”

“There’s nothing you can say that will bring my parents back, Remus, or save her from a lifetime of serving that family.” She spat on the floor, the spittle freezing instantly as it splashed decadently on the snow, “I was an idiot. I wish that I’d never met her.”

“You don’t.”

Dorcas glared at him.

“Don’t speak for me, Lupin.” Remus noted the use of his surname, but he smiled wryly. Dorcas was taken aback, her expression surprised that he smiled at her harsh tones.

“It’s better to love and lose someone than not love at all.” He shrugged, “That’s what Lyall used to say.”

“Smart man, your father.” Dorcas smiled reluctantly.

“Those memories are important, Dorcas. They form part of who you are.” Remus said slowly, “You loved her, and you lost her parents for her, and I’m guessing you were exiled for loving her-” Dorcas nodded, “But you loved her all the same. You weren’t to know, right? You didn’t know that it would lead to what it did. Your parents died for you loving her, but it wasn’t a mistake. Loving someone is never a mistake. Being happy is never a mistake, Dorcas.”

“Thanks, Remus.” Dorcas’ eyes were watery, “Means a lot.” She mumbled, “Anyway, fuck me, can we talk about something a little bit more cheerful?”

“Sure.” Remus recognised the signal that Dorcas was done talking for now, “What’s your favourite animal?”

They chattered absent-mindedly about pointless things for hours. Dorcas had a throaty laugh that seemed unsuited to her small stature, but Remus soon saw that her laugh was entirely appropriate for her. She was indisputably warm and yet sharp the moment that Remus said something she disagreed with. Her laugh, throaty and loud and akin to a seal’s bark, was as large as her – she, Remus thought, was larger than life, even though life had been unkind to her. There was something strangely omniscient about Dorcas. She was present always – she had an answer for everything – but there was a constant glow in her eyes that seemed to throb and pulse when she was talking animatedly about something. She often seemed possessed when she spoke, as though there was a person inside her that was waiting to emerge and then burst laughing and chatting from her, desperate to make noise.

“Wait.” She halted abruptly. Remus went careering into the back of her and muttered embarrassed apologies, which she waved off with a dismissive twist of her wrist. She was staring intently at a stretch of ground. Remus saw nothing different about it and went to step forward but she outstretched an arm and shoved him backward with surprising strength. She hissed “wait!” at him before conjuring a globe of lilac fire in her palm and throwing it at the air above the snow. It travelled in a ball of colour from her hand before fizzing and dissipating with a loud crack when it hit an invisible wall. Remus started. Dorcas smirked, before turning to him.

“See? We’re at the border.”

Remus felt heavy nausea descend on his stomach. He had been freezing, conjuring warming charms into his pockets, but now he was shivering violently yet drenched in sweat. He was heaving, his breaths huffing out sporadically, hot and fast, and he felt claws wrench at his chest. He sank to his knees, his hands plunging into snow so cold that he jolted his hands back in shock. He barely noticed the feeling, so cold that it felt like his hands were burning, other than the reflexive movement. He heard roaring in his ears. It was so loud and he knew it wasn’t the wind.

“Fuck, sorry, Remus. I should have…I don’t know, fuck. Can you hear me?” Dorcas’ voice was rushed and he could hear the panic in her low tones, “Remus. Talk to me. Are you alright? Come on, Remus, we need to…we need to move.” Her voice was rising, “This border is watched. We have to move.”

Remus could not move.

“Remus. REMUS!” She was shouting now but Remus thought he was in another world to Dorcas, a bubble where her panic couldn’t touch him, where it was warm and silent, “Jesus. I don’t…I don’t know what to do. I can’t leave you. Remus? Remus, come back. Remus! REMUS!”

He fell sideways into the snow.

---

Remus was squinting, his eyes like slits in a snake’s head, and the world was dimly lit by a lilac hue. He was so warm. His hands were itching, prickling as if struck by needles, shocked by the sudden change from ice cold to flaming heat. He couldn’t work out why he was so warm, why the world was silent, why Dorcas wasn’t screaming at him anymore. He didn’t understand why he no longer felt sick. He didn’t understand why his chest was loose. He couldn’t hear Dorcas. He couldn’t hear anything. All he could feel was warmth. All he could see was lilac.

“Remus?” Dorcas’ voice was tentative, “I wasn’t expecting to have to do this so soon, but here we are.”

Remus was intrigued and opened his eyes.

He gasped.

Dorcas was surrounded by tiny creatures, each lit by a lilac glow. Remus peered closer and saw the creatures were supported by miniature pairs of wings, thrumming powerfully against the wind. Their faces were contorted in concentration, wrinkled by suns of life, with teeth like fangs bared in anticipation of a war. Dorcas’ arms were outstretched. The creatures were floating – no, flying – around her arms and head, the beat of their wings fiercely loyal, and the lilac mist around Dorcas was growing darker. Her head was thrown back, her throat exposed, whilst the creatures descended upon Remus and lightly danced across his body. Remus felt their tiny hands, which were surprisingly soft, reach under his legs and arms and head before their wings beat faster and stronger. Remus was being lifted from the ground. Their strength was surely impossible. Remus shook his head, disbelieving, but the small-winged fellows growled and he became still again, fearful of dislodging their tight grip on him. They lifted him insistently and he rose higher above the ground until he could see the tight crown of the top of Dorcas’ head. It was then that the creatures moved toward the border and Remus tried to resist, kicking some from his feet which flew back harder towards his shoes and held on tighter. He was shouting but no words came from his mouth. He braced himself as the border met his feet, but he felt no pain. He thought that he was in a strange dream, that he'd fallen asleep and had imagined that some fantastical winged animals had saved him, but when he looked behind him, he saw Dorcas was travelling on the same blanket of wings.

He landed softly.

Nothing bad had happened.

No one had died.

As soon as Dorcas’ feet rested safely on the compacted snow, she spoke a few words in a beautiful and melancholy language before bowing. The winged creatures collected together into an enormous ball, like a hive, and disappeared in a mist of purple.

“Faeries.” Remus said in awe.

“Faeries.” Dorcas smiled, “Smaller than you’d think, no?”

“Definitely.” Remus barely managed to speak.

“There’s different sizes.” Dorcas said matter-of-factly, smiling at Remus’ incredulous expression, “My mother was a faerie. Little larger than those, though.” She laughed, “Those are forest faeries.”

“Wow.”

“My mother made sure that we could speak faerie as soon as we could talk. We’d spend hours in the garden, chattering as tiny children to faeries. I always found the forest faeries easiest.” She shrugged, “Less argumentative than water dwellers – they’re a real nightmare.” She smiled dryly, extending a finger with a tiny silvery scar on its tip, “Bitten me more than once, but I probably deserved it. They’re fickle creatures, faeries. You’ve got to be polite to them, or they’re not interested. They don’t have any loyalties or sense of politics. They’ll help you…if you ask nicely.” She smiled, and Remus saw a hint of the fanged grimace of the faeries in her mouth, “They’ll heal wounded travellers, though. I guess you looked wounded. The border…it doesn’t seem to affect them. I suspected it, but Dumbledore didn’t believe me. I was nearly certain that faerie magic could surpass any dark magic that the Blacks had used to enchant the border.”

“Nearly certain?” Remus raised his eyebrows, “We could have been vaporised.”

“Yeah, well. We’re not.” Dorcas danced away.

“No.” Remus admitted, “But we could have been.” He added under his breath. He felt a knot in his stomach. Dumbledore hadn’t listened to Dorcas. If he had…Lyall. Lyall could still be alive. He swallowed the burn of tentative resentment in his throat. He focused on following Dorcas’ determined footsteps.

He’d passed through the border where atoms of Lyall remained.

He’d felt Lyall for a moment.

For now…that was enough.

Sirius

Sirius was feeling a little better. He was undoubtedly still weak. Every morning, he woke up with stiffness plaguing his joints. He felt anxiety stir in his stomach whenever he heard loud noises. He jolted at bright lights. He was sensitive to unfamiliar smells. But there was something there, something that kept him fighting. He wasn’t his old self but he knew he could be. It was this hope that made him force himself to eat, to drink, to go on painful walks around Frank and Alice’s ramshackle house, to stretch, catlike, in the mornings and ignore the stabs of pain that wracked his limbs. Alice insisted that there was nothing physically wrong with him. She’d healed every broken bone, every fracture, every splinter, every sprain.

But Sirius’ body was exhausted. It ached from suns of fighting. It ached because it had been pushed to breaking point, because it had been broken, but it had been dragged, kicking and screaming, back to life. It was sure that it should be dead. Sirius thought that his body was disappointed he was alive.

He supposed that he was disappointed too.

Alice kept insisting that he was experiencing something she called ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’. She was sure that he was ‘inherently depressed’.

Sirius thought that he was ready to die when he was shut in that cell by his father. Perhaps ‘shut’ was too generous. He was kicked into the cell. Alice thought that his ribs were cracked by his father’s steel-capped boots. He couldn’t even think of his father’s name. Each time he tried, his lips attempted to form the sounds, but his mouth would shut with a decisive hiss.

Alice thought that he was employing avoidance tactics.

Sirius thought that he’d been employing avoidance tactics since he was born. Sirius thought that he’d lived in fear of one man for his whole life. Sirius thought, actually, that he was entitled to avoid speaking the name of someone who had tortured him for hours on end with pleasure. He knew that refusing to speak that name did not help him heal.

Sirius wasn’t sure he wanted to heal.

His heart ached. His limbs ached. His mind ached.

Alice thought that he wasn’t trying to get better.

Sirius thought that he didn’t care if he got better.

“Sirius?” Alice’s voice was always disappointed. Sirius knew that she wasn’t disappointed in him. She was disappointed in the world. Disappointed that a boy of barely nineteen suns was so broken.

“Alice.” Sirius forced himself to drawl, “Such a pleasure.” He scoured his eyes over his body, drenched in sweat and naked but for a pair of underwear, “We really must stop meeting like this.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Alice scolded, pressing a cold flannel to his forehead.

“Do what? Be irresistibly charming? I can’t help that, Alice, it’s just who I am.” Sirius sounded exhausted, but he was determined to keep up the pretence. If he wasn’t sarcastic, he was no one. He was the same boy that his father had called faceless. Boring. Bland.

“You’re exhausted, Sirius. Please stop wasting energy on being funny.”

“It’s not a waste if you’re amused, love.” Sirius chuckled dryly. It was without humour.

“I’m not amused.” Alice murmured, “It doesn’t amuse me at all, actually. It hurts us both. It hurts that you hide behind the façade.”

“Who says it’s a façade?” Sirius attempted to par, but his drawl became a whisper and his face crumpled. Alice was instantly at his side as soon as tears leaked from his eyes. Sirius felt a flush of embarrassment. He couldn’t cry. His father didn’t like him to cry.

“It’s okay, Sirius. You don’t have to pretend here.”

“I always have to pretend.” Sirius whispered through his tears. His hands were clapped against his face and Alice pressed her head closer to his, straining to hear him.

“I know, but you don’t have to do that here.”

“I can’t…I can’t be who you want me to be. I can’t fight him.”

“No one is asking you to fight him.” Alice’s voice was firm, “You’re fighting him enough by staying alive. You can stay here and hide for the rest of your life, but you won’t. You won’t hide from him. One day, you’ll fight him. I know you will, but that’s your decision and your decision alone. No one will ask you to fight him because they won’t have to. You’ll want to fight him.”

“Why?” Sirius’ voice cracked, “Why will I want to fight him?”

“You won’t be able to rest if you don’t.” Alice said simply, “I don’t know you, Sirius, but from what I’ve seen and from what I’ve heard – forgive me if this is presumptuous – that man did things to you that a parent should never do to his child, did things to you that no person should do to anyone. He has tried to break you. You haven’t broken. You will not rest until you break him, because if you don’t break him, you know that he will break someone else. You know that he will seek out someone else, someone to hurt you, probably that brother of yours. You will want to break him before he breaks Regulus. I know that you will want to fight him. It might seem impossible now-” Sirius was beginning to rise from the bed, his hands balled into fists, “But it will be possible because you will make it possible. I know you will.” Her voice was determined, her faith in him vibrating into a blanket of warmth that descended on Sirius like a cloak, “You are strong, Sirius, far stronger than you think. He has broken many people. He has not broken you.”

“I feel broken.”

“You are not broken.” Alice lowered her voice, “You made it here. You’re still alive. When you came…I don’t know, Sirius, we thought you were dead. We didn’t think you’d make it through the night, but you did. You know why?”

“Do tell me.” Sirius bit back his sarcasm.

“You wanted to.” Alice said softly, “You made it through the night because you wanted to make it through. Let me tell you why you wanted to make it through the night.”

“You don’t need to tell me.” Sirius grimaced, “I made it through the night because I couldn’t rest until he was dead.”

“Exactly.”

“Thankyou.”

“Don’t thank me, Sirius. Thank Regulus. He saved you. He forced Andromeda to bring you here. I know very little, but I’ve had…small insights into your mind. You want to save him.”

“Of course I do. He’s my little brother.”

“And that is the reason. That is the reason that you will make it. You will fight him for your little brother. You will fight him for every servant he’s killed, every soul he’s exiled, every throat he’s slit. You will fight him for every bone he’s broken, every curse he’s cast, every moment he hurt someone. You will fight him because you are not the only one he has hurt and you are a selfless person. You will fight him because you will not rest until you don’t.”

“I know.”

“I know you do.” Alice said kindly, “Now, rest. No fighting can be done by a bag of bones.” She smiled warmly. There was a twinkle in her eye. She raised the cool flannel to his forehead again and cast pain relieving charms over his body.

Sirius’ chest was suddenly lighter.

Chapter Text

Evan

Evan was stood close to Barty in the dome, their shoulders brushing. Barty was lighting another cigarette, smiling wryly at Evan when he raised his eyebrows as Barty pressed the filter to his lips straight after he’d discarded a smoked butt. Barty shrugged and clasped the fingertip of his slim index finger to his thumb, conjuring a flickering emerald flame, before lowering the cigarette to the fire. It lit with a sizzling sound.

“Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Evan observed.

“What feels weird?”

“Dorcas not being here.” Evan gestured at the dome, “This was her project. Hers and Lily’s. Do you remember the hours they spent together?” He laughed dryly, “We thought there was something going on between them and all this time they were creating a warm place for us to smoke.”

“Yeah.” Barty swallowed. Evan pushed lightly against him, feeling Barty soften into his touch. His eyes closed momentarily. Evan watched Barty swallow, his throat pulsing, and pushed a surge of attraction down whilst he stared at Barty’s veined neck.

“I miss her.”

“It’s been two days, Rosier.” Barty smirked, but the wet glint in his eyes betrayed his casual voice. He paused, “I miss her too. Always kept me in line.”

“Someone has to.”

“Guess that’s your job now.” Barty met Evan’s eyes. His stare was intense. He maintained eye contact whilst inhaling a deep breath of smoke before forcefully pushing it in a stream of grey from his full lips. He removed the cigarette from his mouth, placing it deftly behind his ear where it smoked insistently, and moved forward. He pressed a gentle kiss to Evan’s mouth. Evan sighed in pleasure and plucked the cigarette from Barty’s ears, taking a grateful drag, before holding it between his fingers whilst he kissed Barty in return. Barty smiled against his lips and placed his hand at the back of Evan’s head, giving the soft strands of platinum a testing tug. Evan moaned quietly and Barty laughed softly, the tobacco smoke on his breath prominent in Evan’s nose.

“I think…” Barty drew back for a moment, his eyes dark, “I think I might…”

“Don’t say it yet, Barty. You’re not ready.” Evan said softly.

“But it’s there, Evan.” Barty murmured.

“I know.” Evan smiled, his heart fluttering, “Say it when the war’s over. When we know that we’ll always be there for each other.”

“After the war’s over, then.” Barty said, “I’ll love you when the war’s over.”

Evan pressed his forehead to Barty’s and looked into Barty’s damp eyes, his eyelashes long and extravagant.

“I’ll love you when the war’s over, too.”

“I know.”

“Jesus, are you two done yet?” An impatient voice drawled from a distance.

Evan did not even attempt to move away from Barty. He’d noticed Barty flinch but reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before he turned around. Lily was stood, arms folded, eyes blazing.

“Evans?” Evan asked, “What’s up? You look…pissed?”

“Guess I am.” Lily said forcefully, “Remus and Dorcas left yesterday.”

“We noticed.” Barty said questioningly, “I’m unsure why that would annoy you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Lily said sarcastically, “Maybe because it’s a suicide mission? Because Dumbledore’s sent two kids into a lions den and doesn’t seem worried if they’ll return? Because Dorcas is going for one reason, and one reason only? Because Dorcas thinks it’s best if she dies fighting for the resistance rather than staying alive for her parents? Because Rory is worried sick about Remus? Because Remus is young and inexperienced and going to see his best friend who is in love with the enemy?”

“When you put it like that…” Evan agreed, looking amused. He folded his arms against his chest after he took a last drag from Barty’s cigarette and passed it to Barty’s outstretched fingers. He noticed Barty was tremoring slightly.

“I’m wondering what we’re planning to do about it.” Lily smiled. There was a distinct air of mischief about her. Evan thought she glowed with it.

“I personally was not planning to do anything about it.” Barty said nonchalantly, puffing on his cigarette determinedly whilst his fingers shook.

“Oh, I know, Crouch. We all know you would never risk your arse for someone else.” Lily sniffed dismissively, “Let alone set foot in Palis again.”

Barty’s eyes flashed and he began to stutter before Evan silenced him with an intense look.

“Lily, come on. Obviously Barty doesn’t want to go back – he was exiled out here.” Evan answered for him, “We chose to be here.”

“Did we?” Lily bit back, “My entire family was killed and I was alone. I walked for miles. I walked until I couldn’t see straight. I walked, remembering how still they were when I walked into the house. I’d been for a hike, you see. When I got back, they were dead. I still…I still don’t know why.” Her voice was shaking slightly, “And you, Evan? You didn’t choose to be here. Your family were cruel. You had nowhere else to go.” Evan inclined his head – this was probably a fair assessment – but he felt his stomach stir with discomfort, “Tell me, right now, whether both of you would rather have escaped somewhere where we didn’t have to fight. Where our leader didn’t send children to fight his battles for him.”

“We aren’t children.” Barty retorted.

“We’re as good as.” Lily swallowed, “I don’t want Remus to die, Barty. I don’t want Dorcas to die. But they will.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Maybe not. Maybe they won’t, if they’re lucky. Dumbledore let them leave without any instructions about how to survive the border – which we know can kill after Lyall died – or how to fool the officials in Jerin. They could be killed or imprisoned before they even get to Palis…Palis itself is a whole other nightmare.”

“She’s right, Barty.” Evan turned to face Barty, whose face was contorted in distaste, “We know she is. Barty’s been saying for ages that Dumbledore’s got this whole fucking thing wrong.”

“Have you?” Lily sounded shocked.

“Yeah.” Barty said in a low voice.

“Why?”

“He’s only ever used me for information.” Barty shrugged, “I remember arriving here. He basically interrogated me when I arrived. For hours. Anything I could remember, he wanted. Anything that could be useful.” Barty paused, looking venomous, “He hasn’t spoken to me alone since. I guess I was valuable for a few hours to tell him about the floor plans of the castles.”

“Barty…” Evan began. Barty waved a hand. It’s nothing, Evan could deduce.

“I’m sick of Dumbledore placing other people in danger.” Lily insisted, “He hasn’t set foot in Palis for suns. He will never endanger himself. He’s sent his own brother into Kalyat. He’s sent Remus and Dorcas to rescue James. I don’t even know why we need James. I think it’s a ploy to keep Fleamont and Effie happy.”

“Probably.” Evan agreed. Barty nodded in assent.

“I want to go.”

“Where?”

Evan already knew the answer.

“Palis, obviously.”

“I thought we were children.” Barty smirked.

“Well, yes. But five children is better than two, no?” Lily returned his smirk.

Evan felt a surge of admiration. Barty was always energised by danger. This was no different. There was a light in him now that seemed to burn through his skin to light his eyes.

“Safety in numbers.” Barty agreed. His eyes were dangerous. Evan felt a quiver of desire shiver through his skin. He knew Barty was a little insane, a little unstable, but Evan rarely felt closer to Barty than when he was struck by inspiration. It was like Barty was the sun, on fire and incessant and intense, and Evan was a planet, tied inexplicably to its light and energy and intensity. He could not help but revolve around him.

“What about you, Rosier?” Barty’s voice was dancing, “Are you in?”

Evan knew he would go wherever Barty went. He pretended to consider, before breaking into laughter and nodding.

“Knew it.” Lily smiled, satisfied, “We should learn glamour charms. There’s absolutely no chance that you two are getting through Jerin as Evan and Barty, despite your many attributes. You’ll have to look like someone else.”

“Shame. I’m so pretty.” Barty teased. Lily smirked. Evan blushed.

“Yeah, alright, Crouch.” Lily laughed, “Have you finished smoking, or can we start?”

“No consideration for our nicotine addictions.” Barty said in a mock-whisper, “Can you believe it?”

“I heard you!” Lily shouted over her shoulder.

Barty pulled Evan towards him, tucking the smaller boy under his shoulder, and pressed his lips to his ear.

“I’ll love you when the war’s over, right, Evan? Looks like we’re starting it.”

---

Sirius

Alice had allowed Sirius to leave the cottage.

“Don’t go anywhere stupid.” Alice insisted, her voice like a hiss. Sirius would have laughed if it wasn’t for the deep concern in her eyes. Of course he would go somewhere stupid.

“Course not, Ali.” Sirius mock saluted, before spinning on his heel, laughing as Alice attempted to swat him with a tea towel she’d been using to dry the dishes.

It did not take Sirius long to realise he was in Jerin. Alice had ensured that his hair was cut shorter, cropped in tight curls around his ears, and she’d cast several complicated glamours over him before she’d let him out of the door. Sirius found the stuffy heat of the glamour charms uncomfortable, but he couldn’t complain – the fresh air was welcome. He took great gulps, feeling his lungs inhale gratefully. Months of imprisonment made him look like a madman, but he laughed with glee each time a Jerinian threw him an indignant look at his audacious breathing. He found he wanted to make noise all the time now. He’d been quiet for so long and now he felt frighteningly awake, as if he had been shocked alive, scraped from the surface of death and thrust insistently into life.

He was on his third venture from the cottage and he was becoming braver with each trip. He thought that he’d head towards the south of the city and look at the vast barrenness of the lands beyond. The lands that he knew led to Adis. He was striding confidently through the cobbled streets, admiring the old-fashioned and faded bunting strung across the streets, linked by ties to turrets and lookouts. Even disguised, he attracted attention. There was a nonchalant arrogance to his walk, the strut in his shoulders, but the gauntness of his face – artificially plumped by Alice’s spells – was gone. He didn’t look like him, the subtle changes – a larger nose, a wider forehead, lower cheekbones, softening around the jaw – disguising him from any suspicious Palis supporter, but he was handsome nonetheless. His eyes were bright. His cheeks were flushed from the brisk air. He was alive.

He was alive.

Sirius could hardly believe that he was a free man, that he was walking the streets of Jerin without his father’s low voice taunting him in his ears. He pushed the thoughts of his father from his mind. He still couldn’t think his name. They choked him – thoughts of his father, thoughts of torture, thoughts of Regulus without him – but the clean air relieved some of the inexplicable tension in his chest. He knew that he would have to create a plan. He knew that he could not lounge these streets forever. For now, though, he would go to the south border.

He was walking, casting his eyes over the daily activities of those around him, before he started suddenly.

“No fucking way.” He murmured, before breaking into a sprint. He was chasing a blurred image. He was sure he was mistaken, that he couldn’t be here, but he was sprinting nonetheless, the exertion pulling at his chest. He was sure Alice had told him not to run, but what choice did he have? He couldn’t let him go without saying-

“Hello?”

“Hello.” Sirius said breathily, “Lovely to see you.”

“Sorry, who are you?”

“Who am I?” Sirius barked out a laugh, “Fuck me, Remus, you’re not half slow.”

Remus Lupin.

Remus Lupin in Jerin.

“Sirius?” Sirius hushed him instantly, giving his shoulder a half-hearted shove, “Sirius Black? What the fuck are you doing here?” Lupin’s eyes were wild, but there was a relieved smirk on his face, “Looks like our rescue mission isn’t necessary, Dorcas.” He said, giggling, to his companion. Sirius noticed she was pretty and swallowed the bitter taste of jealousy.

“How did you know it was me?” Sirius asked lowly, “I’m supposed to have glamours on.”

“Just your voice.” Lupin shrugged, acting casual, but Sirius saw the blush creeping into his cheeks, “You drawl.”

“I drawl?” Sirius laughed disbelievingly, “Is he usually this rude?” He addressed his second sentence to the girl – Dorcas, he thought – who smiled, nodding.

“Yes, you drawl.” Lupin rolled his eyes, “You’ve failed to answer my question. Why are you here?”

“Ah, that’s a long story.” Sirius smirked.

“I haven’t got all day, Black.”

“It’s rude to address someone by their surname.” Sirius hadn’t meant to say it, but now he had, and he saw a flicker of disdain pass through Lupin’s eyes.

“Shame.” Lupin said unconvincingly, “Tell us. We’ve been sent to save you. Doesn’t look like you need saving.”

“Yeah, I’ve had a wonderful time. Months in a cell. Multiple broken bones. Post traumatic stress disorder – I don’t actually know what that means, but Alice is sure I’ve got it. Some kind of trauma response. I don’t think I’ve been through any trauma, do you?” Sirius laughed without humour, “If you’re so intent on saving me, Remus, you’d think you’d be happier to see me.”

“Oh, I am.” Lupin said threateningly, “I’m not thrilled to see the person who rather clumsily handled the news of my father’s death, actually.”

“Sorry about that.” Sirius admitted, meaning it.

“Okay.” Lupin accepted, his face softening, “Is Alice a friend?”

“She’s safe.” Sirius paused, “She’s one of us.”

“Right.”

Sirius could tell he was losing him.

“You’ve come a long way, haven’t you?” Sirius said hurriedly, “Come to Alice’s. It’s safe. Warm. She has food. Usually lots of it.” He patted his stomach, “I’m getting fat. You know I’m safe. You can rest before you…carry on? Or go home?” He laughed, “Who knows. It’s a crazy world out there.”

“Seems it is.” Remus said softly, before turning to Dorcas, “What do you think?”

Dorcas gestured at Sirius, shrugging. Seems okay, Sirius gathered she was saying. Remus nodded as though he’d heard her.

“Alright then, Black. Go ahead.” Remus bowed dramatically, huffing and rolling his eyes, but there was the ghost of a smile etched on his face. Sirius thought, in passing, that Remus Lupin could look rather pretty if he smiled. Sirius also thought that he ought to not think that Remus Lupin could be rather pretty at all.

“Come, my young ones.” Sirius said dramatically, “I have much to show you.”

“Jesus Christ.” Sirius heard Remus whisper, “Please tell me that he’s not usually like this.”

“Oh, I am.” Sirius shouted over his shoulder. He heard Remus laugh.

Sirius had never walked so quickly.

Chapter Text

Sirius

“Alice?” His voice was jubilant. He willed Alice to emerge, like she always did, smiling and inevitably scolding him for failing to take off his shoes before he entered the house. He wasn’t unsettled by the silence. Alice would never rush to him. She’d take her time, swaying through the doors, some strange object balanced on her hip, before she’d greet him. He stood, hands on hips, grinning over his shoulder at Remus (who was stony faced) and Dorcas (who looked completely neutral).

“Alice?” He paused, a little uncertain, “Alice, are you there? Alice?”

The silence was suddenly disturbing.

Sirius didn’t know why he knew or how he knew, but he knew that there was something wrong. His skin was prickling uneasily and his throat became instantly dry. He swallowed, unclenching and clenching his fingers into his palms. He stood as still as he could, his ears attentive to any noises – anything – that might indicate Alice had simply taken a little longer than normal. That Frank was running an errand. Strangely, he knew that the silence would stretch onward until he moved.

“Sirius?” Remus said, his voice shaking slightly, “Is everything okay?”

Sirius could not bring himself to answer.

He moved forward slowly, holding a hand out behind him to stop Remus and Dorcas from following him. He padded as quietly as he could, removing his shoes to walk barefoot, and reached the kitchen. He flinched. The floor was littered with broken glass, discarded pots and pans, a used tea towel lying haphazardly across the tiles. Alice and Frank were messy, but this…this was deliberate. It was an attempt to scare. There was a metallic stench in the air. Sirius peered at a shimmering black charm curling underneath the cupboards, disappearing slowly to leak into the warmth of their doors. He felt his head swim. He had seen that charm before. It did not deserve to be called a charm.

“Sirius?”

Sirius could not move his mouth.

“Sirius? I think…I think you’d better come here.” Remus’ voice cracked. Sirius knew from the swelling fear in Remus’ voice that he was crying. Sirius knew he was crying because his cheeks were wet, because his eyes were blurry, because his chin was tremoring. He strode, blinded by grief, towards the voice that was repeatedly calling his name.

They were on the floor.

They were on the floor.

They were on the fucking floor and they weren’t moving.

Their hands were stretched toward one another but could not touch.

Her mouth was open in a scream.

His mouth was still.

Her eyes were stretched wide.

His eyes were slits.

He’d had no time to scream.

She’d seen him die.

Remus

He heard Sirius scream before he saw his mouth open. He had heard screams before. He’d heard his father scream as he died. He’d never heard anything like this. He was like a wretched animal that had been kicked in a fit of anger. He was screaming as if he would never feel warmth again. It was shrill, throaty, excruciating, it knew no bounds. It filled the room and yet made the room feel empty. It was the scream of a boy who had known so much pain that he was filled with it, consumed by it, the scream of a boy who could do nothing but scream and sob in between breathes at the sight of his two saviours strewn across the floor. Remus could not move, could not drag his eyes from Alice and the man beside her. There was no mark of death upon them. It was as if she had screamed herself to death. Remus felt sick at the thought of a spell that could silence someone, leave them stone cold, without so much as leaving a trace. Her face was still, so still. It was her eyes that haunted Remus the most. They were glassy, motionless, completely still like the rest of her, but the fear she’d felt before her death was etched all over them. The whites were exposed, her pupils dilated, the skin pulled tight. Remus felt his stomach stir and bent over, retching. Dorcas flew to his side.

“Remus, we need to leave.” She murmured urgently, “They know he’s here. We have to leave.”

It did not take Remus long to realise who ‘they’ were.

The mysterious ‘they’. The murderers. The torturers. The controllers. The tyrants. The mysterious ‘they’ who had slain Alice and her companion for harbouring a Prince that ‘they’ viewed as treacherous. The mysterious ‘they’ who had enchanted a border to murder Lyall. The same ‘they’ who had banished Barty into exile, who had bewitched Evan’s parents with their charms, who had murdered Lily’s family. The fucking they, Remus thought venomously, and he found himself filled with terrible pain. He began to raise his hands and pushed Dorcas away, gently, but then he flung himself at Sirius and wrapped his arms around the shrieking boy. Sirius resisted, flexing his shoulders and jutting out his elbows to push his assailant away, but soon he fell into Remus’ outstretched arms and carried on screaming there. Remus felt the vibrations of Sirius’ pain, muffled by his chest, and began to cry gently, his tears falling onto Sirius’ soft curls. He’d known Sirius for less than an hour and he already missed the smile on his face that he’d clearly worked so hard to bring back.

“Remus, look at the note.” Dorcas whispered. Her voice carried through Sirius’ screams and she moved slowly, peeling a note pinned to Alice’s t shirt, flinching when blood bloomed where she’d pulled it from Alice’s body. Dorcas swore under her breath. The mysterious ‘they’ had pinned the note to Alice’s skin. She cast a quelling charm instantly over Alice’s chest and extended the note into Remus’ view, her hand shaking.

We know you’re here.

A sudden silence descended over the room and Remus realised that he had subconsciously read it internally rather than reading it out. Sirius had stopped screaming and, his face red and his eyes puffy, looked at Remus in disbelief. Remus nodded, flicking his eyes to Dorcas and shaking his head imperceptibly. Sirius narrowed his eyes before closing his eyes in assent. He flickered them open instantly and raised an intensely tremoring hand to Dorcas, who passed the note to him.

“We need to leave.” Sirius said, his voice croaky, “Now.”

Dorcas met Remus’ eyes and raised her hands before making a series of strange guttural noises in her throat. Remus backed away from her, pulling Sirius with him to the doorway as thousands of ebony faeries poured through the windows. They assembled in a cloud around Dorcas who clicked her tongue before the faeries descended upon Alice and her companion – Frank, Sirius breathed into his head – and covered them in a cloud of blackness. Their bodies were no longer visible, disguised by a hive of mournful activity, the faeries beating their wings in a melancholic rhythm that made Remus’ heart shiver. As their wings throbbed, a lilac mist rose around the faeries and swelled into a magenta crescendo at the ceiling before suddenly dropping at a speed Remus barely perceived. The mist covered the faeries who took on a strange purple-navy hue and dropped like a cloak over the bodies. Remus blinked, hardly believing what he was watching, as the mist disappeared with a thud into Alice and Frank and illuminated the bodies from their chests. The faeries continued to beat their wings, creating a chantlike noise, as the mist lit each limb into lilac. It was moments before Remus realised he had instinctively reached for Sirius’ hand and he felt himself blush, despite the disgustingly sad situation, feeling the heat of Sirius’ hand squeeze his back. The bodies were now glowing in an offensively iridescent purple. Dorcas made a final screeching noise, like a call to battle, and the faeries thrummed together. The bodies were lit by a magenta fire but the burning was not literal – there was no scorched flesh or stink of burning hair – and the bodies disappeared within minutes into two small piles of lilac sand. Dorcas moved her fingers in a flexing motion and the sand descended into two separate clouds of faerie, who had formed into swelling bubbles during the burning. The faeries transformed simultaneously with the pouring of the sand into two matte black boxes. Dorcas bowed, although the faeries were no more, and took the boxes quivering in mid-air. She passed them to Sirius and her face was solemn, although lit by the power of faerie magic.

“I can’t…” Sirius croaked, “I can never thank you enough.”

Dorcas inclined her head.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” She said formally, “I really think we ought to move, but at least we can take them with us now.” Her face turned venomous, “I didn’t want them to find the people who clearly saved your life.”

“They did more than save me.”

“Perhaps, but that’s what matters to you.” Dorcas paused, “That’s what matters to us. It’s just another reason to get those bastards.” Remus nodded in response and felt Sirius’ body move as he did the same, heard the small click in his throat as he tried to speak and failed. He squeezed Sirius’ hand once more before he carefully dropped it.

“We need to move.” He said brusquely.

James

“You never told me about the resistance.” James said, his hand trailing lazily over Regulus’ bare back. It reminded him of the moon’s surface. It was smooth, unblemished, bar two dimples akin to craters at the base, level with his waist. He stroked his index finger down Regulus’ spine, feeling him shiver, and smiled to himself, before he reached the base and spread his hand, placing his index and pinky finger in the dimples. He stretched his hand across its palm, revelling in the slight fiery pain it caused, circling his fingers in the dimples and feeling the breath of Regulus’ sigh tickle his shoulder.

“I can tell you about that.” Regulus replied, his words vibrating onto James’ skin, “I can think of better times to talk about that, though.”

“So can I.” James smiled despite the stir in his stomach present whenever Regulus deflected questions about the resistance, “Come here.”

Regulus moved instantly, his head lifting from James’ shoulder and bringing a rush of cold air onto the warm skin. He swung his leg over James’ waist and straddled him across his crotch before he trailed his thumb over his lips. He’s so adorable, thought James, but so deadly. There was a mischievous glint shining in Regulus’ eyes, lighting the dark irises, and a smirk played on his lips. He pushed his thumb into James’ mouth who accepted it gratefully, rolling his eyes teasingly, before he ran his tongue against the pad of his thumb, delighting as Regulus visibly shuddered.

“Fucking hell. Never gets old.” Regulus grimaced, throwing his head back briefly.

James swiped his tongue across the pad again and Regulus smirked, but James could feel his hardness against his own, even if Regulus was pretending to be casual. He met Regulus’ eyes, which had darkened with wanting, and grazed his teeth against the same spot of Regulus’ thumb. He watched as Regulus cleared his throat and huffed out a breathy sigh of pleasure, closing his eyes momentarily as if to disguise its effect.

“I can find something better for you to suck, James.” Regulus challenged. James raised a hand from beneath Regulus’ thigh and trailed a finger lightly up Regulus’ hardness, moving his finger so slowly that he was torturing himself as much as the boy breathing deeply on his lap. He ran a thumb over the tip, feeling it quiver under Regulus’ undergarments, massaging it gently and grinning when a small spot of wetness dampened the fabric and his thumb.

“I’m not sure you could last for that, Reggie.” James teased before he raised his slightly glistening thumb to his own mouth and sucking it, closing his eyes at the salted taste. Regulus bent forwards and kissed James, lowering his length onto James’ stomach where it pressed hard against him, the dampness of the fabric leaving a small trail of love. James bent his head upwards and met Regulus’ lips gratefully, breathing him in whilst he kissed him back, clenching a hand in his curls. He felt a small burst of wetness in his own undergarments, the slightest of dampness edging out, and knew he was close. Knew he was close, just from kissing and touching the Prince. Regulus had felt the wetness against his leg and rocked gently on James’ crotch as he kissed him, rubbing his pelvis up and down James’ hardness. James felt the tension building within him, aching for a release, before Regulus raised his hips from him, leaving a rush of cold air to quell the feeling.

“Fuck.” James growled against Regulus’ mouth, feeling it smirk satisfiedly. Regulus leant backward and stood briefly, pulling his undergarments down, his length springing from the release of the tight clothes. James felt his breath catch in his throat as he watched Regulus bend downwards and persuade James’ clothes from his waist. Every touch of Regulus’ fingertips was electric, sending hot shocks through James. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on inhaling in and out, in and out, before suddenly Regulus was pressing himself against James’ entrance. James opened his eyes, saw Regulus’ eyes were dark, watched beads of sweat drip from Regulus’ forehead, but saw the question forming on his lips.

“Yes.” James nodded vigorously, edging himself closer to Regulus, “Yes. Always yes.”

Regulus pushed himself into James and James took a short breath of pain before the fullness made the feeling in his pelvis swell. Regulus placed a hand on James’ length as he rocked in and out, huffing out breaths to stop himself from reaching ecstasy too soon, his eyes closed. He always said watching James take him made him cum quicker.

“Please.” James croaked, “Let me have you.”

Regulus pulled out so quickly that James gasped at the loss of the fullness but Regulus was soon bent forwards, exposing himself. James edged his length slowly into Regulus, placing his hands on Regulus’ hips and listening for any warnings that he was in pain, but Regulus was backing himself onto James, insisting physically that he enter fully. James groaned loudly and pushed himself hard into Regulus, who whined in pleasure, as James pressed in and out, massaging himself with Regulus into a quick but satisfying orgasm. When he recovered from shuddering and swearing repeatedly, he bent forwards, still filling Regulus, to massage Regulus’ throbbing hardness with his own hands from behind. Regulus was moaning, his voice high and breathy, begging him to finish him, and soon James’ hands were wet and warm.

They cleaned up slowly, washing each other tenderly with water and enchanted soaps.

“Fuck.”

Regulus was sweating still but he grinned lazily, his jaw slack.

“Fuck.” He agreed.

“We got lucky.”

“We did.” Regulus smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, “I really did.”

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus was trudging aimlessly through the snow. They’d mutually agreed – although, actually, he and Dorcas had agreed as Sirius was silent – that there was no choice but to leave any traces of civilisation behind. Remus had tired hours ago of casting melting charms in front of their path to make the going easier. Dorcas had lasted a little longer at casting disguising spells on their footsteps, restoring the snow to its untrodden perfection, but even she had become exhausted. Remus felt like all energy he’d ever possessed had been drained from him. He felt like a corpse, dragging his feet through the knee-deep snow using sheer determination.

He’d always loved snow. He and James had celebrated every year when the first snowflakes stuck on the lush farmland in Mydan. It had gradually become a competition over the years to see who could predict the day of the first snowfall. It was a tricky game. He’d tried to study the clouds as Lyall had always insisted that the clouds become grey and dense, or ‘fit to burst’ as he called it. He’d watched their colour and shape for signs that they were ready to release a flurry of powdery white snow. He’d felt the bitter cold in the air, knowing that snow would fall only if the air was dry, crisp, bitingly cold, the kind of air that allowed Remus to blow puffs of cigarette smoke into it and create short-lived shapes. He’d studied the weather, he was sure, but even so…James had always beaten him. He’d dance joyfully across the small patch of land that separated their two houses and had adopted a habit of clutching a fistful of snow, however pitiful, in his warm hands. Even as it melted, he’d insist that it was a snow day. He was always right.

It was these warm memories of James that forced Remus to keep going. James would live to predict another snowfall in Mydan if Remus could help it. Remus shook away his doubts, forcibly pushed the image of Rory worried sick in Adis away, made himself stop thinking of Evan, of Barty, of Lily, of Cleo, of Seb and Hugo, of Saul and Gabriel. It was useless to dwell on people that he wasn’t sure, deep in his stomach, he would ever see again. Still, he couldn’t ignore the last time he’d seen Rory. He felt nauseous every time he thought about the fact he could have stayed. He could have stayed away from the conflict, allowed someone else to rescue James, but he knew he’d never forgive himself if something happened to James and he hadn’t lifted a finger to help.

Noble.

Remus spun around, looking for the source of the laughing hiss in his head. Dorcas appeared to be sleepwalking, her eyelids hung low from lack of sleep, but she was making steady if not mildly lopsided progress through the snow. His eyes narrowed. He knew there was one person in their unlikely party that could push thoughts into heads, and it was not Dorcas. He had been avoiding him. He was sure he would want to be left alone. He knew that he would if he had witnessed as much suffering as he had in a tragically short life. Despite all of this, Remus searched the blank landscape for Sirius and started when he found him, struggling determinedly, right at his side.

“Hello.”

Sirius did not respond. His head was hanging so low that his pointed chin was close to meeting his collarbones. His eyes were drooped, the eyelids hardly open, forming small slits in his grey face. Remus moved closer, brushing shoulders with him to guide him gently with his own movement, and he felt a rush of relief in his stomach that did not belong to him. He lifted his head, searching for a sign that Sirius was acknowledging him, but Sirius continued to move as though he were completely alone. His expression was indecipherable. No, Remus thought, it was blank. His face was partially covered by a shadow of lank curls that had become greasy from the constant moisture of the snow. From the small slices of angular features that Remus could see, it was obvious that he had been crying. There were fallen tears swelling like raindrops on his cheeks. Remus saw the ghost of a tear leak its way out from his eye and watched as Sirius’ hand made a small twitch, as if it was accustomed to wiping tears away instantly, before it fell uselessly and made no attempt to move again.

“I’ve never been allowed to cry.”

Remus was startled by the low voice. It was so quiet that Dorcas did not turn around. She continued to move methodically, leading Remus and Sirius. Remus felt a swell of grateful relief in his stomach as he saw she had begun to cast melting charms in his place and found that his knees relaxed from cold stiffness once he was able to walk normally through shallow pools of molten snow.

“I’m sorry.” Remus meant it.

“Don’t be. I’m crying now, aren’t I?” There was a definite hiss in Sirius’ response, a defensive bite of sarcasm. Remus flinched but tried to still his movements. His shoulder was still pressed closely against Sirius’ arm. He was a little taller than Sirius and he was grateful for it as Sirius did not show any indication that he’d felt Remus twitch.

“You’re allowed to cry, Sirius. It’s terrible what happened back there.” Remus paused, gauging Sirius’ reaction, but he carried on walking behind Dorcas as if he hadn’t heard Remus speak, “I really am sorry.” He said, with feeling, “About everything, I mean.” He added quickly, “It’s…there’s not really any way to describe everything, is there? But…” He could hear Sirius breathing harshly and the small shake of his shoulders. Remus felt a ball of pity form in his stomach. He was crying again. “But I’m here if you need me, alright? You don’t need to say anything, but I’m right here.”

There was a long silence.

“Thanks, Remus.”

Remus smiled weakly, even though Sirius could not see him. He had still not lifted his gaze from watching his feet, but he gave Remus a careful nudge of appreciation. That was all – just a nudge – but it made Remus sigh with relief. He’d not overstepped. Thank fuck, Remus thought, he could probably eat you for breakfast. Sirius snorted briefly. It was a wet snort, hindered in its amusement by the swell of tears in Sirius’ throat, but Remus felt a flutter of joy. He’d made him laugh. In his darkest moments, he’d made him laugh. Granted, Sirius shouldn’t be reading Remus’ thoughts, but still. He’d made him laugh.

“Sirius? Remus?” Dorcas called. She was a little ahead, but Remus dragged his gaze reluctantly from its scrutiny of Sirius and saw that Dorcas had paused in the centre of a clearing shadowed by impossibly tall trees. The trees were swaying – whether with the wind or with magic, Remus was unsure – but the clearing was sheltered. The wind was quieter and the snow had not appeared to settle in the centre, having likely caught on the trees.

“Cas?” Remus called, moving slightly quicker with Sirius reluctantly hurrying in tow, “What’s up?”

“I think we should stop here.” Dorcas said with authority, “We’re exhausted.” She paused, before glancing at Sirius, who had descended unceremoniously to the ground at Dorcas’ words, “He’s exhausted.”

“He can probably hear you.” Remus replied, but Dorcas’ face was stony, “Sorry. Let’s stop here. You’re right. I feel pretty dizzy.”

“Let me do the protective charms. Stand behind me.” Dorcas cast a quick glance at Sirius, who looked dazed, his eyes glassy, “Maybe I’ll stand in front of you.” There was a hint of humour in her voice but she said it so flatly that Remus did not smile. She moved gracefully, like she always did, to stand in front of Sirius. Remus swiftly moved to stand between her elegant form and Sirius, who was seemingly unaware of anything occurring around him. Remus watched in amazement as Dorcas moved her hands in seamless circular motions whilst she whispered repetitive chants under her breath. As she twisted shimmering silver charms between her fingers, Remus noted the dome that was beginning to erect around them. Its boundaries met gently, fizzing at their joining, before sealing them from the world.

“This is how you made the dome in Adis.” Remus said in wonder.

“Yes.” Dorcas smiled appreciatively over her shoulder, “Now, hush. Let me finish.”

Remus bowed his head and continued to observe her deft spellwork.

She’s quite something, a quiet voice said in his head. It was riddled with exhaustion, its words slurred. Remus nodded before crouching next to Sirius. His eyes were closed. Remus felt an impending sense of doom descend on him as he brought his ear to Sirius’ mouth. He was still breathing, but it was erratic and halting.

“Cas?” Remus said, “Dorcas? Dorcas, there’s…there’s something wrong.”

Dorcas had finished her charms and descended like a blur of lilac and dark skin to Remus’ side. She raised a hand over Sirius’ mouth and a stream of lilac dribbled from her palm.

“What are you doing?” Remus said agitatedly, “I don’t know if it’s the time for faerie experimentation, Cas.”

Dorcas’ eyes darkened as she glared at him.

“Be quiet, Lupin.” She hissed, “I know what I’m doing.”

Remus forced himself to relax. He watched as Dorcas’ palm continued to drip with a lilac gas that leaked its way through imperceptible gaps in Sirius’ lips whilst she flexed the fingers of her other hand over Sirius’ heart.

“He’s going to be okay.” Dorcas murmured quietly, “He’s exhausted. He’s in so much pain, Remus. Physically he’s fine, probably in better health than either of us, but his soul…it’s damaged. There’s something that I can’t quite feel, but it’s almost certainly broken.”

“His soul?” Remus scoffed. He’d never heard anyone talk of such things.

“Yes, Remus, his soul.” Dorcas confirmed, continuing her deft work over Sirius’ motionless figure, “He’s perfectly intact physically but his soul has been battered by everything that he’s witnessed. Souls – that is, what we understand to be souls, although some believe souls are a projection of a human’s heart into the head – are fragile. We’re born with souls that require strengthening. Imagine a soul to be a piece of glass with some splinters, some imperfections. A person who hasn’t experienced any trauma, who has never seen death, will grow to develop a soul that would be best described, in our analogy, as a sheet of perfect glass. It would have no cracks, no splinters. Its edges would be perfectly smooth. There would be nothing, metaphorically, that could weaken its structure.” Remus nodded, open-mouthed, keen for her to continue, “Sirius has a damaged soul. I’d compare Sirius’ soul to a smashed windowpane. It has little structural integrity left. It would, as a sheet of glass, almost certainly have large holes in it, enormous cracks. Its edges would be sharp and jagged like our highest mountain ranges. He’s been through so much, Remus, and his soul has reaped the consequences of that.”

“So…to summarise, his soul is fucked?”

Dorcas fought back a sad smile.

“Yes. To echo your clearly poetic way with words, his soul is fucked.”

“Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.” Dorcas agreed. Sirius was breathing more steadily now. Remus watched the huffs of warm breath emerging from his mouth that turned into clouds in the cold air. He was asleep.

“Can it be…”

“Mended?” Dorcas paused, “I’ve seen a few broken souls in my time, Remus, but none as shattered as this. He’s lucky he’s so well physically. There’s few people who would survive this. I guess…I guess he’s incredibly strong.” She smiled fondly at Sirius’ sleeping form. Remus thought he looked a little like a cherub from the artwork that Lyall had loved, “To talk of healing a soul like Sirius’ is to attempt to predict every year’s snowfall…possible, but equally difficult. Maybe, for some, impossible.”

“I know someone who can predict the snowfall every year.”

“You’d better hope that you learned a thing or two from them.” Dorcas pulled her hands away from Sirius and rested a hand on Remus’ shoulder, “He’s going to need you, Remus. I can feel it.”

Chapter Text

James

He was laid at Regulus’ feet. His shoulders were relaxed, the taut tension across his back of weeks before a distant memory. His nostrils were slightly flared at the base, inhaling the clean, sweetened scent of Regulus’ heels. Regulus’ skin, pulled tight across the base of his foot, was so pale that it seemed translucent in the silver moonlight flooding into the room. James bent his head forwards momentarily and kissed Regulus’ heel softly. He heard Regulus exhale and watched his face relax into a lazy smirk before he met James’ eyes.

“You don’t have to sleep down there, James.” He said softly, brushing a curl gently from its haphazard descent into his eyes.

“I don’t mind.” James whispered, “I’m comfortable.”

Regulus surveyed James’ lanky body, his mouth stretching into a smile as his eyes flitted over James’ long limbs, his spidery fingers splayed on the carpet, one foot’s toes curled protectively under his knee. He’d cast a comfort charm over the thick carpet under James and insisted that James used a pillow – although, once again, Regulus noticed that he’d discarded it to push his face closer to Regulus’ feet.

“I know, but…”

“But?” James’ face tilted up at him, his brow lowered with slight concern.

“I think it sends the wrong message.”

“To who?”

“To you.”

“What’s the wrong message?”

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“Regulus? What’s the message?”

Regulus opened his mouth several times, attempting to speak, but his throat closed dryly at each attempt. Regulus shook his head, looking frustrated, his wide eyes appealing to James.

“Reggie...you can tell me.” He touched Regulus’ foot with a careful hand, noticing that Regulus did not flinch, “You can trust me, remember?” Regulus nodded silently, “What’s the message?”

“That…” Regulus swallowed, “That I think you’re beneath me. That I think…I think you belong on the floor.”

“He does belong on the floor.”

James felt his body freeze. The blood began to roar in his ears. His heart was pounding so intensely that he felt its erratic beat in his fingertips and he tried to still the shaking in his hands, determined that he would not acknowledge the presence in the room. He was sure he’d imagined it. He was certain that he could not be here. He tried to breathe, to force air out through his mouth, to inhale it through his nose. He was sure that they were alone, that it was just him and Regulus, that it was a dream, no, a nightmare. He continued to peddle this illusion, refusing to look up, but Regulus had scrambled his feet away from James’ face and he was standing, his ankles tremoring close to James’ shoulders.

“Father.” Regulus bowed his head, “What a surprise.” If he was frightened, he did not show it. His toes were flexing nervously in the thick piled carpet but his voice was level, betraying no emotion, no fear. He showed none of the terror that was curling anxiously in James’ stomach.

“Regulus.” James heard the response and cowered more forcefully into the carpet, determined that he would not be noticed, although his shaking body was making embarrassingly frequent shuffling noises against the floor.

“Why are you here?” Regulus sounded tired.

There was a sound that resembled a gunshot. James started. He saw Regulus stumble back, his feet retreating at speed backwards before he fell like a ragdoll onto the armchair. His father stepped over James, his cloak dragging painfully over his back, and stood towering over Regulus.

“You will not speak to me that way.” Orion whispered, “I thought we’d made that clear.”

“Yes, father.” Regulus replied obediently. A smattering of red blotches was appearing over one of his cheeks. His hand twitched, meaning to touch it gently, but he stilled the unconscious movement instantly. He could not show weakness.

“Did I not also make it clear that you were to behave appropriately with your newest servant, Regulus?” Orion hissed.

“Yes, father.” Regulus said, a slight tremor detectable in his voice. James felt intense nausea descend like a threat into his stomach.

“So, Regulus…” Orion’s voice was menacing and James knew without looking at him that he was smirking, revelling in the situation, “Tell me why you’re fucking the most dangerous challenge to our throne in the whole Kingdom.”

“James, dangerous?” Regulus scoffed, before his eyes grew wide, “How did you…how do you…you can’t know.” There was another sound like a gunshot. James watched Regulus’ cheek grow more red. Orion hadn’t moved a muscle. He’d developed a charm – or a curse, James thought, his own cheeks reddening in anger – to slap his sons from a distance. Perhaps he couldn’t bear to feel himself harm them. The clinical nature of it made James shake.

“Bellatrix suspected you.” Orion said simply, as though it were obvious, “Her little escapade at her birthday dinner unsettled you. She noticed. I noticed. You were trying so hard to pretend that your servant was indispensable, another toy to the family.” Orion’s cold laugh was devoid of amusement, “You watched her torture him. You did not move, but you haven’t become so good at concealing your thoughts just yet. I knew you wanted to kill her.” There was a deadly silence, “So the natural conclusion was obvious. Why would little Prince Regulus want to slaughter his cousin? What was the image you were picturing…? I think you wanted to slit her throat, did you not? Watch her bleed out, watch the blood drain from her eyes, watch the light go from her eyes? You painted quite the vivid picture for me to see.”

“She was challenging my authority.” Regulus said, the façade of sulkiness nearly convincing, “She thought I couldn’t punish my own servant correctly.” His voice was scathing, “I am the heir, father. She had no right to perform such a spectacle.”

“Learn to hide your thoughts, Regulus.” Orion murmured, “I can still hear them. You are quite the performer yourself, are you not?”

“Father…”

“Do not beg.” Orion silenced him, “I warned you about this. I warned you that I could not tolerate another situation like the Crouch boy.”

“I’m not…”

“You have been fucking him.” Orion said silkily, “Have you been fucking him, Regulus? Or…” Orion paused, before he laughed throatily, meaningfully, “Perhaps he’s been fucking you…the ultimate humiliation.”

“Father, please.”

“I told you not to beg, Regulus.” Orion twisted his wrist and Regulus’ head snapped backwards, exposing his throat, where a welt of marks appeared, “Tell me.” Orion curled his index finger and Regulus’ eyes began to bulge. James realised with a sickening pang that Orion was choking him. James tried to move, but he was fixed to the floor. His hands were stuck to the carpet as if bound by glue, but he narrowed his eyes and saw a faint shimmering charm rising from his fingers. He’d been charmed to stay still. His ears were filled with the awful sound of Regulus struggling for air, his face slowly turning purple, and he felt his eyes grow hot with tears.

He was watching him suffer.

He could do nothing about it.

“Is the Potter boy your lover, Regulus?” Orion whispered.

Regulus shook his head, forcing himself to move whilst he gulped frantically at the air and clutched at his throat as his eyes grew whiter and pulsed with red veins.

“Don’t lie.” Orion gave a final jerk of his wrist and Regulus fell from the armchair into a haphazard heap of jerking nerves onto the floor beside James.

“I wish you’d admitted it.” Orion said, “It would make this so much easier.”

Regulus did not respond. He was twitching, his eyes gradually returning to their normal state, but his eyelids were half-closed and there was a faint trail of saliva dribbling from his slackened mouth. His hands were clutching at empty air, desperate to touch James, but Orion’s charm forced him to retract each time as though it was burning his skin. James wanted to reach him. He wanted to touch him, to cradle him in his arms and whisper that it’s all going to be okay into his soft curls, to kiss his ears, to gently wipe the sweat from his brow, to bring his back tight against his chest. He could not reach him. He stayed still.

He stayed still until Orion released the charm and he darted forward, shuffling his body towards Regulus, before he was torn from his love by an impossibly strong hand clutching at his neck. He knew instantly that he shouldn’t resist. He watched Regulus, tortured into submission, charmed into stillness. He watched Regulus’ eyes darken with tears and forced himself to stay still when Regulus mouthed I will always love you. He watched until he could not see Regulus anymore and his ankles were dragging on the ground. He watched until he could not see Regulus anymore and his neck skin was ripping from Orion’s tight hold. He felt no pain.

---

Remus

“Something’s wrong.” Dorcas hissed, “Look at him.”

Remus followed her worried eyes to Sirius, who was twitching spasmodically on the floor.

“He doesn’t look any different to how he did last night, Cas.”

“Something feels different somehow.” Dorcas closed her eyes, extending her neck so that her head was leaning backwards and her braids swung gently around her hips in the wind. She was silent, moving her lips without noise as she consulted with some spiritual being that Remus could simply not feel.

“It’s his brother.” Dorcas said flatly.

“What?” Remus replied incredulously, “His brother? The smarmy little git enchanting James?”

“I’m not so sure he’s a smarmy little git, Remus.” Dorcas said in a low voice, flitting her eyes towards Sirius, who had gone still and appeared to be sleeping under the gentle night sky, “He’s in pain.”

“Who? Regulus or Sirius?”

“Both.” Dorcas said simply.

“Dorcas, you know that I really appreciate you and everything, but could you please stop talking in riddles? Tell me what’s happening.” He demanded, feeling a prickle of tension in his stomach. Sirius was far more vulnerable than he’d expected. He’d watched him sleeping earlier that night, his mouth slightly open, his curls cascading down the side of his angular face. He looked childlike asleep. Remus thought he looked far more peaceful in his dreams than he could ever imagine Sirius appearing awake.

“It’s hard to say anything conclusive, Remus.” Dorcas screwed her nose up, looking frustrated, “But I think…I don’t know, it’s just that there’s an unusual bond between Sirius and his brother. Sirius is in pain – we talked about his soul earlier, remember? – but this is different. His throat hurts. His cheeks are red, you see? His brother has been slapped and choked, I think, but Sirius has the marks too. It’s strange, really, because we know Sirius had broken bones and was severely ill whilst in his cell, but our sources had no reports of Regulus feeling the same way. It appears to be a one way connection.”

“Right.” Remus said, feeling sceptical.

“Remus, look at him.” Dorcas murmured sympathetically. Sirius was now writhing in his sleep. He was uttering strange noises that made no sense to Remus’ ears but Dorcas was closing her eyes and appeared to be intently listening to the murmurings escaping Sirius’ slim open mouth.

“He’s lost James.” Dorcas whispered, as if in a trance, before she opened her lilac eyes, “He’s lost James, Remus. James…he’s not safe.”

Remus felt his stomach drop and before he had time to respond, Sirius jolted suddenly awake and met Dorcas’ lit eyes. He nodded gently at her, his chest heaving, rivulets of sweat dripping around his throat down into his undershirt, and then he looked at Remus. He felt his stomach churn as Sirius’ grey eyes bore into him.

“My father has James.” Sirius said, his voice with a distinct flat quality to it, “He tortured Regulus and now he has James.”

“Sirius, you’re too weak…” Dorcas began as Sirius shifted suddenly, attempting to stand up, and she was silenced by the furious anger churning in Sirius’ eyes.

“We need to move, Dorcas.” He said, indicating his word was final, “My little brother…I don’t know if he’ll survive this. And James?” He met Remus’ eyes once more, his face torn in sympathy, “James is as good as dead.”

---

Sirius

Remus was moving as though possessed. He was striding with determination ahead of Dorcas and Sirius, casting melting charms lit by a furious glow at the snow that were so strong that the snow dissipated in a cloud of steam rather than streaming as water. His curled hair was pushed back off his forehead by a thick black band tucked behind his ears and he was scouring the horizons constantly, his head moving methodically left and right, certain that he could destroy any danger at a moment’s notice. Sirius felt a regretful twinge in his stomach at his bluntness earlier, but he knew better than anyone what Orion could do when possessed by an anger deeper than anything Remus could summon. He knew better than anyone how James would suffer over the next few days, unless Orion was careless with Regulus’ feelings and had slit his throat already. Somehow, Sirius knew that he hadn’t. He’d have felt Regulus falling apart, piece by piece, and so far, although he was grossly injured, his little brother was alive. His own nerves were torn. He felt distinctly sick, as if he’d eaten too much at an indulgent, arrogant family dinner and was now ready to regurgitate it, like he used to, into an inviting toilet bowl. He’d always made himself sick after family dinners. He hated seeing Orion devouring food like the old stories of Henry VIII, who had supposedly destroyed wife after wife, only Orion destroyed his family, piece by piece, without ever showing the bravery or commitment to murder them. It had often irritated him, how Orion toyed with him like a plaything, casting torturous spells so painful that Sirius had often blacked out, but he never committed. He never casted the final spell. He never uttered ‘crucio’ and ended Sirius’ pain indefinitely. He liked to keep him alive.

“Sirius?” Dorcas asked timidly, “Are you alright?”

What a stupid question, Sirius thought venomously. Dorcas had lost her family, Sirius knew. He knew because he’d lost his own family the moment he had been born.

“I will be.” Sirius responded, “Once I’ve detached my father’s head from his neck.” He looked across at Dorcas, expecting her to be surprised or shocked, but her gaze was steady.

“I know you will.” She said, “I guess we just have to get to him first.”

“I can get to him.” Sirius promised, “Even if it nearly fucking kills me like it did last time, I’ll get to him. He can’t touch Regulus.”

“Why is it different from him hurting you?” Dorcas asked insightfully, her face inquisitive but gentle, “Why is it different that he’s finally hurt Regulus after years of hurting you?”

“Because I was the sacrificial lamb.” Sirius whispered, before his voice grew louder, “I always took the hit for him. I never wanted him to be hurt. I used to distract my father, you see? If it ever even looked like he was considering hurting Regulus, I’d get in the way. Do something that I knew would get a finger broken, or an ear cut, or a nail pulled out, or give me nightmares for weeks. I never wanted Regulus to be hurt. I don’t fucking know why I did it, because Regulus was so happy to be the perfect son. He never…he never seemed to get it. He used to hear me scream, I know he did, but he’d block me hearing his tongues the moment I tried. I don’t think it bothered him. Maybe it was easier for him, to watch me be tortured, knowing he was safe. He never got in the way for me.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for him.” Dorcas said gently, “I’m almost certain that it did bother him.”

“He never showed it.”

“People often don’t.” Her voice was so soft that Sirius’ eyes welled with hot tears. He swiped a hand at them, embarrassed, before Dorcas caught his hand and met his eyes, “You can cry in front of me. You don’t need to hide it.” She looked briefly ahead at Remus, “You can cry in front of both of us. You’re safe here.”

“I’ve never been safe anywhere.” Sirius whispered.

“I know.” Dorcas said simply, “You won’t believe me for a while, I guess. But you’re safe with us, I promise. Neither of us are going to hurt you.”

“Thankyou.”

A comfortable silence descended between the pair as they followed Remus’ tracks through the snow. Sirius felt, for a moment, that perhaps he would be alright.

Stop.

His head began to pound.

Stay still and we’ll spare your friends.

His ears were ringing.

Don’t make a sound.

He fastened his mouth shut.

We are coming.

He stayed still, stopping suddenly in the snow.

“Sirius? What is it?” Dorcas rushed toward him, “Sirius?”

His eyes had glazed over and he was stood perfectly still. There were strange movements running across his face, his skin flinching slightly as though a fly was bothering him, but he made no attempt to hold his face still.

“Remus?” Dorcas called, “Remus, come here!” Her voice was growing increasingly panicked, “Remus, fuck, he’s…he’s gone, Remus, he’s not listening!” Sirius heard Remus move clumsily back toward them, but he was hearing the sounds as if he was a stranger. He had the strange feeling that he wasn’t really here at all.

“Sirius?” Remus said lowly, “What’s wrong? Can you hear us?”

He could hear him, but he could not speak.

“Sirius?” Remus came closer, his lips a moment’s nudge from his ear, “Speak in tongues.”

They’re coming.

The response was stuttering, unsure.

Who?

My family. They’re coming. I’ve been commanded to stay still and be silent. I can’t move. It’s…it’s an enchantment. The tongues stop you from doing anything that the whisperer didn’t agree to. I can’t move, Remus.

Sirius distantly heard Remus making suggestions to Dorcas.

“You don’t think it’s that tongues thing, do you?” Remus’ voice was level but Sirius could hear the panic in his head, “Maybe he can’t move.”

“Maybe.” Dorcas sounded doubtful, “I think he’s too weak. We shouldn’t have moved.”

“Dorcas, it’s the tongues. I can tell. Look at his eyes – they’re all glassy, see?”

“I do.”

“Someone’s coming.” Remus instructed, “Get ready. I think there’ll be a fight.”

It’s not my father.

“I doubt it’ll be Orion, though. He wouldn’t come personally if he has James to take care of.” Remus translated.

“Okay.” Dorcas’ voice betrayed some fear but she was extending her arms and Sirius knew somehow that she was summoning the faeries.

“It’ll be alright, Cas. I’m here.” Remus extended his hand and took her hand before he took Sirius’ tentatively. Sirius seemed to wake from his trance and he met Remus’ eyes. In that instant, Remus knew that this was it. He – Sirius – was it.

A shrill voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hello, little cousin. I hear you’ve been running away from dearest daddy again.”

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus shivered at the woman’s words. He raised his eyes from the panicked glance he’d exchanged with Dorcas and spared a minute to peruse their three assailants. Sirius’ cousin was impossibly slim, her collarbones showing prominently under a plain black long sleeved top. Her hair was close in shade to Sirius’ but it lacked the warm brown hue of her cousin’s – it was far more black, making her hollowed, sharp face appear pale like the snow at her feet. There was something intrinsically unsettling about her, Remus noted. Her eyes were maddened, flitting dangerously around the scene as if she was permanently startled, and her mouth was frozen in a dangerous grin, her sharp teeth glinting. At her side, a similarly lithe woman was stood. Her hair was platinum blonde and impossibly straight whereas the other girl’s was curled tightly into ringlets. Their features were obviously similar – their brows dominated their faces, their cheekbones appeared like slices cut by knives, their waists were slim, their hands were skeletal where they hung, twisting tensely, at their sides. Remus thought they must be sisters.

Bellatrix. Narcissa to her left.

Remus did not acknowledge the hissed introductions in his head but he was grateful of it. He recalled that there were three sisters in this family and noted the decided absence of the youngest. Her name – Andromeda – came to his mind. He wondered why she was not here. He turned his attention to the sole man in their group. He was smaller than the sisters, his statute similar to that of a squat pig, and his face was swollen and round. There were tufts of dark hair appearing sporadically over his head but his hairline was high, exposing a shiny forehead, and his eyes were equally piglike to his shape, although green and bright. He seemed to worship the sisters, Remus thought, seeing him cast adoring glances at each in turn, but there was something strange about the dynamic.

Dolohov. He’s Bellatrix’s servant.

Remus restrained himself from curling his lip in distaste. He wouldn’t relish disabling a servant who had no choice but to attack them. There was something decidedly cruel about forcing a servant to attend a battle in which there could somehow be no winners. If he, Dorcas and Sirius emerged victorious, Sirius would have harmed his cousins. If the others emerged victorious, Dolohov would need to harm them, and Remus reasoned that it was unlikely Dolohov had any personal quarrel with himself or Dorcas or indeed Sirius. It was more likely that Dolohov was a former dissident or that he had been employed as a servant, like James, to punish his family or quell any dissent in his community. Remus forced himself to steel his resolve. He could not feel pity for any servant that would attack him without question, no matter how unfair it seemed.

“Bellatrix.” Sirius’ lip curled, “What a pleasure, as always.”

“There’s no need to put on formalities, dearest. We all know that you harbour no affection for me.” Bellatrix laughed, but Remus shivered. There was no humour in that sound. It was cold and affected, a lie of emotion designed to unsettle.

“I strongly suspect I will lose any possibility of affection fairly shortly.” Sirius laughed dryly, a heartless chuckle that suspended Remus’ heart for an instant, “I’m sure we can resolve this amicably, Bella. We did play together as tiny tots after all.”

“I don’t recall us playing together.” Bellatrix said coolly, “I remember I destroyed your toys on occasion. That always did make you cry.” She looked faintly amused, although there was a shadow of distaste on Narcissa’s beautiful face.

“We shouldn’t touch what isn’t ours.” Sirius said in a monotone, as though he was reciting an age-old proverb.

“Your father’s great saying.” Bellatrix giggled insanely, twisting a lock of curled hair around her fingers, “It’s a real shame he isn’t here now. I see you’ve acquired yourself a pretty boy to travel with. It would be so unfortunate if I destroyed him too, would it not?”

“Don’t.” Sirius warned.

“Apologies, cousin, I don’t wish to rile you.” Bellatrix smiled, exposing her fanglike teeth, steadying Narcissa with an outstretched hand, who had started at Bellatrix’s threat of Remus, “We can do this quietly, if you agree to surrender and come to Palis with us.” She met Sirius’ disgusted gaze, “Although somehow I doubt you’ll do that.” She whispered.

“You’re right to doubt it.” Sirius said lowly, “You’ll have to drag my cold, dead body to Palis if my father wishes to see me again.”

“I thought you’d say that.” Bellatrix looked oddly cheerful, “I suppose your pretty boy will be hurt in that case. You always were so poor at looking after your things.”

Before Sirius could compose a retort, Bellatrix had crouched so quickly that Remus scarcely noticed she’d moved until she cast a disarming charm instantly at Dorcas. Dorcas’ mouth opened in an ‘o’ of shock and she was instantly frozen, although she appeared unharmed.

“Kill the spare!” She hissed at Narcissa, who did not move, her eyes remaining blank and unmoving, but Bellatrix was not perturbed or otherwise did not notice her sister’s lack of movement. She spun on her heels and engaged instantly in a silent hurling of charms with Sirius. Remus’ heart leapt in his mouth.

Remus scarcely had time to leap to Sirius’ defence before Dolohov had moved quickly to face him, a snarl erupting on his oddly placid face. Remus’ hands moved instinctively in front of him, level squarely with his shoulders, and he felt the distinctive thrum of magic throbbing in his fingertips. He met Dolohov’s eyes, pleading internally that he’d see a flash of fear or regret, but the servant’s eyes were stony. Dolohov raised a finger and curled it toward himself, smirking incessantly, and Remus jolted as the spell caused magically enhanced vines to spring from the ground and twist tightly around his ankles. He sunk to his knees as the vines crept insistently up his legs, pulling him downward to the ground as he felt force around his shoulders. Vines had erupted from the snow crusted soil and were fastening across his chest. He gasped for air as their grip tightened and he saw Dolohov, his arms folded across his chest, muttering incantations with his eyes firmly set on the vines. He appeared to look through Remus, to ignore his increasingly purple face and gulping throat, and focus on the vines, their strength, their tightening, their growth. Remus’ vision was fading in and out, spots of blackness appearing at the periphery of his eyeline, and he felt like he was flashing in and out of consciousness. A vine was beginning to snake its way around his neck and the vines were forming a cage around him. He thought that this was the end.

He flinched as blasts of indeterminately hot air struck at the vines, releasing him instantly from their clutches. He collapsed as the vines receded, forlorn and shrieking, into the soil, and he was twitching on the ground as he gasped for air, clutching his throat and writhing in pain.

“Don’t touch him.” Remus’ body shook as he listened to Sirius threaten Dolohov, “Don’t touch him, Dolohov, I’m warning you.”

Dolohov did not respond.

“Dammit, Bella, why did you charm the servant? He can’t even understand that I’ll kill him if he touches Remus again.” Sirius drawled, his voice confident. Remus forced his eyes open, wincing at the brightness of the snow, and saw Bellatrix trapped inside a gigantic bubble, floating at Sirius’ side as he casually twitched a wrist, sending Bellatrix spinning around in a dizzying mess within the bubble. He laughed, looking every inch the arrogant Prince, and Remus suppressed a shiver of desire and horror. The utter control that Sirius was exhibiting – the slow walk toward Dolohov, Bellatrix’s suspended form in the bubble tailing him, the relaxed slackness of his jaw – was addictive to Remus. He craved it.

“I’m not charmed.” Dolohov responded in a blank voice. Remus suppressed an involuntary chuckle. The servant’s green eyes were increasingly masked by a milky whiteness and his jaw was slackening. The magic that had pulsed through him was ebbing slowly away. There was an odd pale blue substance that was wisping gently through the sky before it collided with Sirius and seemed to absorb through his skin into his throat, where it glowed intensely before settling. Sirius’ eyes grew wider as he realised that he was growing stronger. Bella’s imprisonment, Remus assumed, was causing the charm to wear off from Dolohov. Remus had suspected that Dolohov did not possess the power to erect vines from their roots deep within the ground before instructing them to choke someone. Bellatrix had been puppeteering her servant, Remus realised, and now Bellatrix was contained, Dolohov was losing her power…and Sirius was absorbing it. Remus felt euphoria build in his chest.

“Remus?” Sirius whispered. Remus met his eyes. Remus had never thought that a person’s eyes could be so beautiful but he was meeting Sirius’ eyes and he thought he might be sick with adoration, that he might feel overwhelmed because he was enchanted by him. He nodded, agreeing to anything, agreeing that Sirius should do it.

Sirius broke the stare.

He lifted his hands.

He performed two spells – one from each index finger – both a startling purple in colour. Each were intense and powerful and a mark of Sirius’ skill, shooting in unison at their targets, before the curse collided with each body – piercing the bubble first in Bellatrix’s case – and struck them forcefully.

Dolohov fell first.

Bellatrix fell second.

Sirius had killed them both.

Regulus

Regulus woke with a start. His head lolled forwards and he realised with a pang of nausea that he’d been indescribably drunk the night before. It was perhaps unfair to describe it as the night, a gross misstatement. He’d started drinking the moment he’d come round from Orion’s assault. He’d started drinking the moment he’d realised James was gone. The moment he’d remembered the deadness in James’ eyes, the sheer mortality in those grey circles underneath his eyelids, the dragging resignation of his ankles scraping on the floors. He'd started drinking when the image of his father hauling James away would not stop replaying in his head. It was all he knew. Drink to survive. Drink to suffer. Drink to forget. He thought he might drink himself to death if Orion’s intervention meant he had to live in a world without James. Aside from the hangover, there was a dull ache in his stomach that formed a heavy lump in his throat. His hair was dank, hanging greasily around his jaw, stinking of red wine like the alcoholics in the whorehouses. He couldn’t bring himself to care or to move the hair an inch away from his eye, where it was casting strange shadows in his vision to interrupt the morning light. The light itself made him feel even more sick. It was disgusting to Regulus that the morning still dared to rise when James Potter had been taken away from him. It was not right that the sun could still exist when James was gone.

He thought he’d heard some form of instruction in his mind when he woke joltingly from an interrupted alcohol-fuelled slumber, but his mind was quiet. He could hear no tongues. He hoped he’d never hear his father’s voice again but there was an insistent pit in his stomach that knew Orion would return. Regulus knew from previous indiscretions (he forced himself to refrain from thinking about Barty) that Orion enjoyed gloating about punishing anyone that Regulus cared about. Regulus thought he’d cared about the servants that were taken from him if they showed him a moment’s kindness. Regulus thought he’d cared about Barty.

He had cared about nothing until James.

His heart was screaming. The alcohol infused numbness was beginning to subside and it was replaced by such raw emotional pain that Regulus was sure he would never find the words to articulate it to anyone. His brain was so confused from the torture that there was little capacity in him to scramble within it to reap any form of understanding of his feelings. Instead, he hurt intensely, he hurt so deeply that he was scratching his arms with his sharp fingernails before he could stop himself, and he was reaching for the bottle of red wine at his hip again, tipping the sour liquid down his throat. It was not long before he was drunk again, his room tilting sideways as if he was caught in a disorientating dream, and his head was lolling across his shoulders like he’d deliberately dislocated his neck. Soon, his room was cloaked in the darkness of the night, and he was dreaming of James, of kissing him, of feeling his skin, of whispering I love you into his ear.

He woke every hour under the stars with a start, lonely, holding himself.

The moon thought it had never lit such a sad figure.

James

James had survived for hours.

He tried not to remember it.

His fingers were all broken. He remembered Orion methodically casting spells at each knuckle, the King’s expression simultaneously lazy and eager. He remembered screaming until his throat felt raw and he could scream no more, just emit pathetic rasping noises. He hadn’t seen broken bones on himself before. His fingers moved uselessly, each screaming a different hue of agony, and he could not lift his wrists to cradle either hand. He was too weak. Too broken.

He tried not to remember it.

His penis was sore. Orion had lit a fire and heated a poker. James’ mind blurred his memories of those moments but he was certain that it involved a poker, a branding, his groin. He thought that Regulus would never find him beautiful again.

He tried not to remember it.

Orion had shaved his hair the moment he’d enclosed him in this cell. James’ head was bare but it had become itchy in the damp air and he was certain that insects were feasting on the moist scalp exposed. He had become certain that Regulus would never find him beautiful again. He couldn’t raise his hands to feel his head or to certify that his eye sockets were sunken or to run his fingers over the many scratches and cuts that Orion had cast into the skin on his arms. He knew that he was not beautiful anymore. He suspected that he appeared like a broken puppet doll that a child had become tired of and had thrown against the wall. He was tired of himself. He found himself begging for death.

He tried not to remember it.

Chapter Text

Remus

Sirius was howling. Remus was frozen, stood immobile in the centre of the clearing. Bellatrix was crumbled on the snow, a faint dribble of blood trickling from her mouth, her eyes stretched wide. She looked saturated with insanity even in death. Remus couldn’t feel pity for her but the stillness was unsettling, even if the claws of fear had begun to relax in his chest. Dolohov remained pathetic in death. His eyes were glassy, devoid of any personality, and Remus felt a tug of guilt in his stomach. He hadn’t cast the killing curse but he had a strange sense that Sirius had murdered Dolohov to protect him. Those vines, fuelled by Bellatrix’s possession of Dolohov, would have killed him. Somehow he couldn’t summon real regret in his chest. His chest was choosing to glow at the idea that Sirius had saved him.

He heard a strange chuckle from his side and spun around. He’d forgotten Narcissa was alive. He’d forgotten almost totally that Narcissa had neglected to attack him or Dorcas or even Sirius. He’d also forgotten that Narcissa had watched her cousin kill her sister. He turned to see Narcissa’s eyes lit by a furious anger but there was a wry grin on her face. She was watchfully gazing at Sirius, who was bent over, sobbing and shrieking, and seemed vaguely amused. Remus was certain it wasn’t genuine. He began to tense up and moved closer to Sirius, who seemed utterly unaware of his presence, but Narcissa stalked him.

“Please don’t defend him.” She laughed, as if it were quaintly adorable that Remus was stood, arms outstretched, in front of Sirius like a human barrier. Her words were quiet over Sirius’ screams but Remus heard them nonetheless – there was something menacing about them. He knew, ice clawing at his heart, that she would kill him if he got in the way.

“You don’t seem to enjoy conflict.” Remus responded, gesturing to the scene around him, “You didn’t attack us.” A flicker of doubt flitted across Narcissa’s face, but she snarled, her beautiful face marred by an ugly expression.

“I don’t enjoy hurting others for no reason, no. I’m loyal to my family.”

“Not loyal enough to attack us for them?” Remus taunted. He was delaying time. He was praying that the strength of Bellatrix’s disabling charm on Dorcas would decline. He was hoping, although it felt futile, that Sirius would somehow shock himself awake. He hoped that Narcissa didn’t notice that he was engaging her in this verbal war to allow his companions more time to support him.

“It’s interesting that a boy with no parents is speaking to me of loyalty.” Narcissa raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing at her lips. Remus had intended to remain calm. He was attempting to suppress the white hot rage licking at his heart. He could feel the heat in his fingertips threatening to eject a stream of curses at Narcissa. He felt blind. His eyes were blurring. He was sure they were blurring with tears.

“Don’t you dare…” He heard himself hiss, “Don’t speak about them.”

“My sister is lying dead at your feet.” Narcissa retaliated, her eyes flashing, “You have lost your father to my family. I understand that it’s painful. That pain has not halted you from attacking the family members of others.”

“As I recall, you attacked us.” Remus spat.

“Perhaps. Mere technicalities.” Narcissa inclined her head, smirking, “You didn’t retreat.”

“I don’t remember if we were given a chance to retreat.”

“Well, Bella was keen that she brought Sirius back.”

“In a perfectly familial, cousin-loving way, I’m sure.”

“Of course. She would have hated it if he were imprisoned again.” Narcissa’s lip curled as she perused Sirius with disgust, “We wouldn’t want to traumatise him all over again.”

“You have no idea what you’ve done to him. What you let happen to him in that castle.” A quiet voice became stronger as her words progressed, “Perhaps it’s a funny family joke to you that Orion tortured Sirius until he was unconscious? That he had multiple broken bones? That his lungs were damaged from breathing the air in that cell? That he hadn’t eaten for weeks? That he was so malnourished he could have died?”

“It’s not funny.” Narcissa had markedly paled, “We were told he was exiled to an area in Palis.”

“I think you knew that wasn’t true.” Dorcas pushed.

“I didn’t ask questions.” Narcissa whispered, “None of us ask questions.”

“Maybe you should.”

“I have a son.” Narcissa placed a hand on her swollen belly, “I will have a son. I can’t…I can’t ask questions. It would put us in danger.”

“So it’s perfectly fine for Sirius to suffer and be tortured by that bastard you call a King, as long as you’re okay?” Dorcas sounded disgusted.

“It’s not like that.” Narcissa hissed.

“It sounds like that to me.” Remus shrugged, the casual gesture hiding the way his heart was hammering in his chest. He was so relieved that Dorcas was able to speak, although she still seemed oddly still, that the sweat in his palms was slowly residing.

“Maybe it sounds like that, I don’t know.” Narcissa pushed a hand through her platinum hair, disturbing its neat straightness framed around her slight face, “You don’t understand.” She paused, “You could never understand.”

“Try us.” Dorcas suggested, her voice softer.

“We live in fear.” Narcissa whispered, blushing at her admittance, “It isn’t a normal family.”

“We know.” Dorcas moved closer to Narcissa, who flinched at the movement, “We know it isn’t a normal family. There are few families that would battle against each other to stay safe.”

“I think Bella was loyal to Orion to stay safe.” Narcissa reasoned, forcing herself to look at her limp sister, sprawled on the snow, the blood from her mouth staining the fresh snowfall a deep crimson, “She was different when she was younger.”

“I’m sure you all were.” Remus said sympathetically.

“We used to play together.” Narcissa was staring blankly at Bellatrix’s body, “We all did. Regulus, Sirius, Bella, Andy, me, sometimes Rodolphus and Rabastan.” Narcissa paused, “Bella was engaged.” Her voice lowered to a whisper and her eyes welled with tears, “I’d hoped that Rodolphus would…temper her slightly. She’d got a little…I don’t know…difficult in recent suns.”

“I’m sorry.” Dorcas said. Remus knew it was sincere.

“I didn’t want to come here.” Narcissa murmured, “I didn’t…I thought Sirius should be able to run if he needed to. I guess, like I said, that we all knew that Sirius wasn’t safe. I think we all ignored it.” She shook her head frustratedly, “Bella wanted to bring him back. She needed Orion’s favour to bless the engagement.” She looked desolate, “Although a blessing from Orion for an engagement seems a ridiculous reason to attack your cousin and his friends.”

“Nothing seems ridiculous if you’ve lived your life in danger.” Dorcas comforted Narcissa, daring to place a hand on her shoulder, “I understand that you fear for your son. I get it, I really do, but you don’t want to raise your son in a Kingdom where you need to attack your family to keep him safe. It’s not what he’d want his mother to do for him.”

Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears and her lip began to tremble. She looked, for a moment, childlike. She was so vulnerable for those few moments that Remus felt a tug of sympathy for her. Her belly was slightly rounded. He prayed that Narcissa’s son would be born into a new Kingdom, secured by the resistance, where his mother didn’t feel obliged to attack her cousin or any of her family to stay safe under Orion’s watchful eye.

“I know.” Narcissa whispered.

“Wonderful.” A sarcastic voice drawled, “I’m getting a little cold here. Shall we look for some shelter?”

“Sirius…” Narcissa moved towards him. Sirius flinched but Narcissa pushed closer and wrapped her arms determinedly around her cousin, who stood unmoving before he melted into her embrace. Remus felt his heart swell, looking at Sirius, his curls tangled in Narcissa’s hand, the small of his back enveloped by her arm. She heard Narcissa whispering gently into Sirius’ hair. Sirius was nodding gently in agreement. They broke apart a few moments later.

“Narcissa will travel with us to Palis.” Sirius said with authority, “We need to bury Bella and Dolohov first. Properly.” His eyes were flaming, “I want to do it properly, even if…” He smiled wryly, “Even if they were trying to kill us.” He looked at Bella’s body forlornly, “She was family.” He met Remus’ eyes and Remus nodded reassuringly, agreeing.

“We can bury them.” Dorcas agreed, smiling cautiously at Narcissa who nodded coolly in response, “Remus and I can stand back, if you two-” She gestured at Sirius and Narcissa, who were stood close together, “Would like to do it.”

“Thankyou.” Sirius smiled, his eyes watering.

You’re okay? Remus insistently pushed the thought into Sirius’ head. He saw Sirius blink in shock before his mouth broke into a careful, weak smile.

I will be.

---

Regulus

Regulus supposed he had to move from the floor at some stage. He was unsure what time of day it was. The night and day seemed to blur into one another, the sky seemingly smearing from an intense bright white into an inky navy within seconds, the morning birdsong transitioning seamlessly into the haunting calls of owls, the forlorn howls of wolves and the shrill shrieks of foxes. He didn’t hear any of them. It was numbness that dominated his feelings. He could feel very little. His jaw was so slack from drinking constantly that he doubted he could adequately form words. His eyes were sliding in and out of attention. One moment his vision was sharp and he could see every feature in his room in clear focus. Another moment and his vision slid out of consciousness, blurred by perturbing clear floaters and foregone eyelashes and the crusted sleep he hadn’t bothered to remove.

He thought it had been two or three days since James had gone.

He thought it had been two or three days since his heart had broken, since life as he knew it and liked it had ended, since Orion had murdered some unspeakable warmth in his heart.

He also thought that it would be a great disservice to James if he drank himself to death, but he couldn’t stop himself from clutching the bottle of wine and tipping it gratefully into his mouth. His lips were stained a deep purple. His tongue was dry. His teeth were sore. He’d been drinking for two or three days. He couldn’t remember if he’d eaten but there was no swollen lump of hunger in his stomach.

Maybe he simply wasn’t hungry.

It had occurred to him that he was of no use to James in this state, if he could somehow launch a rescue mission without any help, but the alcohol was useful. It made him feel safer because it made him feel nothing. He felt nothing until he’d sobered up and he was sobbing again and clawing at his arms that were so raw from cuts that they stung, even in his drunken state. He would crawl across his room, the floor swaying in an entirely non-magical way, and collapse onto the rug under the armchair. He'd press his nose to the rug, inhaling any scent of James that remained, although he was sure that James hadn’t existed, that he’d imagined him, because there was no trace of James anywhere. Maybe his drunken nose couldn’t smell him. Maybe James had never been here at all.

It was on the fourth day that Regulus thought he should move from the floor. He was disgustingly hungover. He’d wasted a few hours vomiting. Some of it had splattered on his hands and his bare chest. The scent was starting to bother him and his stomach was threatening to wrench again, but he was breathing determinedly through his mouth. His head was undoubtedly in enormous pain. Any slight noise – the brush of his hand on the carpet, the sniffing of his nose trying to clear his airways – was jarring, creating a huge pang in his head.

All of it seemed inconsequential when he knew that James was likely being tortured.

There were some people that Regulus thought he could speak to. It was dangerous. It was foolhardy, potentially ridiculous, undoubtedly reckless, but he knew he had allies here. He thought he would accept any punishment from his father if he had tried to save James. He would die if he could die knowing that he’d tried to save his love. He’d begun to murmur to himself, scrawling notes on the leather bound notepad, attempting to formulate a plan. He probably looked insane but he didn’t care. The notes were likely illegible, spidery and maddening. He knew he wouldn’t be able to read them fairly soon, but the ideas were clear in his head. That was what mattered.

He'd try his family first.

“Andy?” He was hissing outside her door again. He knew it was unlikely that she would be pleased to see him after his last visit, but she was the sole member of the family that he trusted to any degree. Apart from Sirius, he thought resentfully, but Sirius isn’t here. She wasn’t answering. He thought about charming the door open but he felt a pit of tension in his stomach that suggested that would be a poor idea.

“Regulus?” Andy opened the door forcefully, her eyes wide, before her nose scrunched up in disgust, “Jesus, Reg, what happened to you?”

“Long story.” Regulus said in a bored tone, “Can I come in?”

He went to his friend next.

“Dora?” Regulus whispered, “Are you awake?”

Her singsong voice emanated out of the darkness.

“Of course.” Pandora smiled absent-mindedly, her eyes vacant, “It’s the middle of the day.”

“Yeah, well, I haven’t been sleeping so good.”

“I know.” Pandora said simply, “I could feel that you were in pain. Your heart was sad.” He felt his shoulders instantly relax. She knew him.

“I don’t know what to do.” Regulus sighed, “Help me.”

“I will always help you, Reg.” Pandora said sincerely.

He tried the kitchens next.

“Marlene?”

“Fuck me.” Marlene’s eyes were harsh, “You are in a state.”

“Yes.” Regulus said quietly, “I know that you lost everyone because of my father. I never resisted him. I let others take the hit. I’ve lost someone, someone I think I love.”

“Big deal.” Marlene crossed her arms.

“I’m sorry.” Regulus dipped his head, “I really am. I need your help. Maybe…maybe I can help you too.”

“I doubt that.”

“Marlene, please.” Regulus whispered, his voice croaking, “I need you. James…James said you helped him. That you helped Sirius.”

“You lost James?” Her voice was disbelieving, wobbling slightly.

“I lost James.”

“Talk to me.”

Regulus returned to his room. The plan was in motion. They were ready. He was ready.

Chapter Text

Evan

“I think we should go through Kalyat.” Barty shrugged, blowing a thin hiss of smoke from his full lips.

“Why?” Lily sounded incredulous, “None of us are Kalyatti. We don’t know the mountains. We could…” She looked panicked for a moment, “We could freeze to death?”

“They’re expecting resistance members in Jerin now. The Lupins, Fleamont, Effie, Remus and Dorcas…it’s too dangerous. They’ve seen too many people go through there.” Barty reasoned, meeting Evan’s eyes, “Besides, Moody might be there. Can’t be so bad.”

“Moody also said that the Kalyattis are starving.” Evan responded, “Nothing to make a community friendly to newcomers like struggling to eat.” Barty snorted but his eyes went dark briefly as he concentrated.

“Good point.” Lily said, impressed, “So there’s mountains, no food, but no suspicious guards. I love our odds.”

“Oh, me too.” A familiar voice interrupted, “Your odds are great. Be better with me there, though.”

“How long have you been following us?” Barty demanded, his tone accusatory, before he turned to Evan smirking, “Honestly, we’re going to rescue a Lupin and another one turns up. It’s like they’ve got a death wish.”

“The whole time.” Rory grinned, resting his hand on Lily’s shoulder briefly as she blushed.

“The whole time?” Barty sounded incredulous.

“I used to set traps for animals. I’ve been following animals silently for suns.” Rory bent his head modestly, “They never heard me coming.”

“Nor did we.” Evan muttered, “Were we easy to find?”

“Do you want the truth?” Rory smirked.

“I guess not.” Barty parred, his face deadpan, “Guess you can come along though, big Lupin.”

“Thanks.” Rory said, his tone indicating that he was anything but grateful, before he moved to embrace Evan and Barty in turn, “It’s good to see you all.”

“I guess it’s good to see you, too.” Evan admitted, “Many hands…”

“Make light work.” Rory returned his smile, brushing his hair out of his eyes, before he turned to Barty, “I agree. I mean, I agree we should go through Kalyat. It’s more dangerous in other ways than Jerin, but I think it’ll be easier to escape through Kalyat unnoticed. The guards in Jerin could recognise me and I can’t cast glamour charms as well as I’d like yet.”

“I like this guy.” Barty whispered to Evan, before his voice rose in volume, “So we’re all in agreement?”

“Not quite.” Lily huffed, but she met Rory’s eyes and smiled gently, “Alright. We can go through Kalyat.”

“Do we know if Moody managed to establish any presence in Kalyat?” Evan enquired thoughtfully, “I remember he was focusing on Valis last time he spoke to Albus.”

“No idea.” Barty shrugged, lighting another cigarette and forcefully blowing out a stream of smoke close to Rory, who wrinkled his nose distastefully, “I think it’s possible that he’s moved to Kalyat. I think Moody was starting to think that Valis was a lost cause. Hard to persuade people that joining the resistance is possible when the whole place was decimated during the civil war.”

“True.” Rory inclined his head, “I think he’ll have moved on.”

“Even if he hasn’t…” Evan began, before Barty interrupted him, “We don’t need him.” Evan smiled in agreement. Lily and Rory looked briefly amused. Evan felt himself blush. He hadn’t realised that he and Barty had begun to finish each other’s sentences.

“Agreed. We didn’t set out needing anyone.” Lily said defiantly, “We don’t need him. We can do this alone.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t be so confident, little girl.”

Evan froze. He felt his blood run cold. He knew that voice. That voice had been a childhood friend until it had stayed loyal to Orion when Evan couldn’t. That voice had become a threat. A voice that had condemned him to Orion and his parents. A voice that had contributed to the voices that forced Evan into voluntary exile. He thought he would never hear that voice again, although he’d headed toward it.

“Please don’t try to run.” Rodolphus was grinning menacingly, his teeth exposed, “It’ll only make this harder.” Lily halted around five paces from Evan, where she’d started running and ground to a harsh stop in the snow at Rodolphus’ words. Rodolphus’ steel grey eyes were glinting. He looked at Evan and his lip curled in satisfaction. Evan knew he’d been waiting for this moment. The moment that Rodolphus could find him and drag him, dead or barely alive, into Palis to let Evan’s parents spit on his grave.

“Did you never read a book or something?” Barty drawled, “I thought ambushes were supposed to be, you know, ambushes. That’s when you attack us when we’re least expecting it and we’re completely defenceless to your incredible magic. Although maybe I’m overestimating you.” He was grinning manically, twirling his trusted polished stick in his hands. He looked like a madman. A confident madman, taunting his assailants, awaiting their attack as if he wanted it.

“Ah, Crouch.” Rodolphus’ mouth stretched into a manic grin, “I heard that you’d been exiled. Bending the Prince over too much, I assume?”

Barty’s eyes darkened. Evan saw the muscle twitching in his jaw.

“Of course.” Barty bent forward into a dramatic bow, “I suppose I fuck too good and Orion was getting jealous.” He giggled when he rose up, a thin sheen of sweat glowing on his face.

“How dare you insult our Master?” Rodolphus sneered, “You’re a stain on our society. I’d love to wipe you out.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would. It’s unfortunate I’ll wipe you out first.” Barty twisted on his heel, a dark purple charm erupting from his fingertips, and he rose one hand, which tremored slightly, to direct it at Rodolphus. Rodolphus’ eyes widened in surprise before his mouth thinned into a slim line and his brow furrowed in concentration. He made a single flick of his wrist and deflected Barty’s curse at a nearby tree, which instantly caught fire, lighting Barty’s eyes with an impossibly bright orange glow. Barty summoned the flames toward him, making complex movements with his fingers and growling with exertion as he compressed the fire into a compact ball, which he flicked casually at Rodolphus. It met its mark. Rodolphus’ black slacks were engulfed by enhanced flames instantly. Although Rodolphus quenched the fire quickly with a hose of water directed from his palm, his slacks remained smoking and Evan could see the blanched pink of burned skin showing through the holes in the slacks. Rodolphus’ face twisted with anger and he began casting curses in quick succession at Barty, the curses coloured emerald green and deep navy and electric blue, all streaming in a light show unlike anything that Evan had ever seen before. Barty did not look perturbed. He waited until the last possible moment with each curse, the moment that it was close to brushing him, before he made a quick swiping movement with his arm and cast a shield charm that rebounded the curses towards Rodolphus. His opponent grimaced and pushed both hands downwards at his sides, when he began to raise off the ground. He was inches off the ground when Barty summoned roots from the soil to fasten around Rodolphus’ angles to prevent the hovering charm from levitating its caster.

“Flying away, are we?” Barty taunted, “You fucking coward. Let’s do this properly.” Rodolphus dispelled the hovering charm and Barty disabled the roots, freeing Rodolphus, who landed haphazardly on one ankle. Evan heard the sickening crunch as it broke. Rodolphus shrieked briefly with pain and his eyes seemed to turn black, lit only by fury and the still-burning tree at Barty’s side. He pressed both hands together before releasing them suddenly, a curse of pure black emerging from both palms before both streams met and thickened into a stream of ebony directed at Barty. Barty did not flinch. He laughed, his throat stretching backward, before he seemingly caught the curse, as if this was a childhood game of football, not a deadly duel. He held the curse for a moment, his fingertips staining black, before he closed his eyes with effort and the throbbing ball of magic in his fists ebbed into a purple colour. There was no time for Rodolphus to move. Barty threw the ball, his arm flexing and releasing, his fingers splayed, and the curse hit Rodolphus squarely in the chest.

It took a moment for Rodolphus to fall.

It took another moment for the light to dim in Rodolphus’ eyes.

It took one more moment for Rodolphus to rattle out one last breath.

It was a moment later that Rodolphus was still.

It was the next moment that Evan ran to Barty, flung his arms around him, felt the sobs he’d contained in his chest erupt. Wet tears were pouring hot from his eyes and he was sobbing into Barty’s shirt, dampening the fabric in no time at all. He clasped his hands around Barty’s back, feeling Barty’s chest shake with exertion. He felt the heat emanating from Barty. He felt Barty lean backward and take his face in his hands, one hand on each side of his jaw, and meet his eyes.

“I’m okay, Ev.” Barty whispered.

“I know.” Evan murmured, his words like a vow.

“Stop crying, Ev. I’m okay. I’m still here.” Barty said lowly into his ear.

“I’ll love you when the war’s over, right?” Evan said lightly, “Try and stay around till then, okay?”

“Course. I’ll love you when the war’s over.” Barty promised. His eyes were wet.

It took a moment for Evan to feel an intense burning in his back.

It took another moment for Evan to whirl around and see Rabastan Lestrange screaming, fire balled in his wrists. He was stood beneath the burning tree, enchanting a stream of fire into his hands. A stream of fire that had hit Evan.

It took one more moment for Evan to collapse to his knees.

It took a mere moment for Barty to fall to Evan’s side and whisper sweet nothings in his ear.

“Evan, stay with me.”

Evan could hear nothing.

“Evan, fuck, stay with me. Don’t leave.” Barty’s voice was beginning to wobble.

Evan could hear Rory in the distance, murdering Rabastan.

“Evan.”

Evan couldn’t respond. His mouth was sealed shut.

“Evan, please. I can’t lose you.” Barty was sobbing, “Evan, fucking hell, stay alive for me. Don’t go.” Evan’s eyes were beginning to close, “Evan, I love you, fuck, I love you now, okay? Fuck loving you when the war’s over. I love you now.”

Evan was losing consciousness.

“Evan…EVAN!!” Barty was shrieking, his voice tortured, “Rory? Lily? Do something. FUCKING DO SOMETHING! WE’RE LOSING HIM!”

Evan heard Rory and Lily sprint through the snow to Barty’s side. He heard Lily murmuring he’s gone, Barty, and Evan could hear Barty screaming, could hear Barty gagging, could hear him sobbing, could hear him throwing displacement charms at Lily and Rory to throw them six feet away.

Then

there

was

silence.

Chapter Text

Lily

Lily ran to Barty’s side as soon as Evan fell. Barty was oddly still. He wasn’t screaming. He wasn’t crying. He was knelt, unmoving, at Evan’s side, murmuring indecipherable words into Evan’s unhearing ears. He was cradling Evan’s head in his arms, the platinum blonde strands pale against his dark jacket, Evan’s head lolling uselessly against his paling neck as Barty rocked it gently. Evan’s hair had seemingly lost its luminescence already. The bleached strands already seemed grey. His eyes were wide open, stunned, the bright blue dulling slowly as veins of blood began to leak into the whites. Barty didn’t seem to notice. His lips were close to Evan’s ear and moving quickly, as though he could whisper him back to life.

“Barty.” Lily whispered, placing a hand carefully on his shoulder. He didn’t look up, didn’t make any noise to show that he’d heard her. She clenched her fingers around his shoulder.

“Barty?” She said, slightly louder, hearing the shaking in her own voice. He didn’t move.

“Barty? You need to let him go. We need to…we need to bury him.”

Barty started before he raised his head from Evan’s and met her eyes. His eyes were cold.

“He’s not dead.” He said flatly.

Lily felt her heart break.

“Barty…he’s gone.”

“He can’t be gone.” Barty’s voice was monotonous, “He said he wouldn’t leave me, you see?” Barty looked at Lily, his eyes pleading, welling with tears, “He’s not gone. This is all…it’s all a joke, see? He’ll wake up.” He paused, “I know he will, Lily. I can’t bury him.” He looked down at Evan, a soft smile on his face, “He’s scared of closed spaces. I can’t bury him, because when he wakes up, he’ll be in the dark and it’ll be cold and…” He was beginning to sob, “It’d be cold and he hates cold, dark spaces, he’s claustrophobic, and I won’t be there when he wakes up…” He was wailing now.

“Barty.” Rory said steadily, appearing at Lily’s shoulder, “He isn’t going to wake up.”

“Look, Lupin, I know you’re narrow minded, but I promise, he isn’t dead.” Barty insisted, gesturing to Evan’s hardening, grey body, “He’ll wake up soon. He likes to play jokes on me.”

“He won’t wake up, Barty. He’s dead.” Rory’s voice was gentler now, and he moved to kneel at Barty’s side, his long fingers closing Evan’s eyelids as his eyes grew increasingly cloudy.

“HE ISN’T DEAD!” Barty screamed. Rory didn’t flinch and carefully lifted Evan from Barty’s knee, lowering him gently onto the snow, before he wrapped his arms around Barty as Barty sobbed. He stroked Barty’s hair, murmured into his ear, wrapped his arms tighter and tighter around him as Barty struggled and strained, his fingers stretched wide, trying to reach Evan. Rory met Lily’s eyes and nodded.

She understood instantly. She began to cast preservation charms, ignoring the nauseous pit in her stomach that reminded her of the last time she’d cast these spells over her parents and her little sister, focusing on Evan’s still form as Barty shook in Rory’s arms. She moved quickly, keeping a careful watch on Barty’s incessant twitching, and she gestured with a shaking hand at the ground. It erupted, piles of soil clouding into whirls and landing with a sickening thud at the side of an increasingly large hole. She transfigured Evan’s coat into a blanket, leaning forward to tuck it around him, exposing his long, fragile neck and angelic face, before she levitated his stiff body and lowered it carefully into his grave.

“Rory? Let him go.” She whispered. Rory’s eyes widened, as though she were mad, but he nodded and released Barty from his grip. Barty struggled forward, falling onto his hands and knees into clumps of soil clustered around the grave, and he screamed before he fell suddenly silent and met Lily’s eyes. He shook his head.

“Give me a minute, okay? A minute alone with him. I promise I won’t…” He shuddered a heaving breath, “I won’t move him.”

Lily grasped Rory’s hand, pulling him from the ground, heaving with the effort, and she felt the tension dissipate from her chest as Rory slung an arm around her as they walked steadily away, leaving Barty with the boy he loved.

Regulus

Regulus awoke from the floor with a start. His eyes were cloudy from sleep and he lifted a deft hand to scrape the crusts from his inner corners, focusing on the slight tinge of pain from his fingernails as he raked dust from his face. He was tense already. He knew this – what he had planned, at least – was dangerous. He knew he was asking his friends to risk their lives for a servant that he shouldn’t love the way he did.

He started at a hiss from his enchanted archway before his mother walked into his room. She moved slowly at first, her light footsteps gentle on the floor, before she sank into the armchair above him.

“Regulus?” His mother’s tentative voice started, “I’m afraid we have sad news.”

Regulus’ heart began to thud. He felt his pulse pounding in his neck, felt heat begin to rise in his face, and sweat prickled on his fingertips.

“Bellatrix has passed away.”

Regulus felt relief dissipate from his chest, spreading warmly into his hands, but he quelled any satisfaction at his insane cousin’s death by bowing his head and pretending to sniffle.

“Your father found out this morning. It seems she launched an attack, on your father’s orders, on Sirius and other resistance fighters.” Walburga stated slowly, “Narcissa’s whereabouts are unknown, but we know Bellatrix is dead. Her portrait has begun to take form in your father’s hallway.”

“I’m sorry.” Regulus huffed, hiding a smirk, “I know you were close.”

“Thankyou, Regulus.” Walburga sounded disturbed, as though she’d been awake for hours, “I know that you and your cousin weren’t always…you didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but I know this will be a huge loss for you.”

“Of course.” Regulus said steadily, “I suppose Sirius killed her.” He felt a burst of joy erupt in his stomach at the thought of Sirius’ hands casting the spell that saw Bellatrix fall, defeated, pathetic, to the ground. He pushed the feeling away.

“We don’t know.” Walburga’s voice was swollen with tears, “I would hope that even Sirius would not murder his family.”

“Perhaps not.” Regulus shook his head, “Silly of me. Do we know the names of the resistance fighters?”

“Not yet.” Walburga whispered, “I expect that your father will implore you to search for your brother, although I’m not sure that’s wise.”

“Why is that, mother?” Regulus said earnestly, widening his eyes as he looked at his mother’s ageing face, lined from years of frowning. Her gaze softened as she stared at her son, who appeared to desire nothing more than to capture his wayward brother.

“If Sirius is dangerous…I don’t wish for you to be in harm’s way.”

“I can handle him.” Regulus feigned arrogance, sniffing as if he were offended, “I always won our playfights as children.”

“So you did.” Walburga smiled fondly, “But I think this is perhaps best left to others, dearest.”

“Whatever you think best, mother.” Regulus inclined his head submissively, “Might I ask what your plans are for today? On the basis of such news?”

“I think your father will plan a funeral, although we think it’s best to await Narcissa’s arrival. We can only hope that she escaped. Andromeda is safe in the castle, of course, and we’ve had no news of prisoner escapes.” Walburga frowned, “It’s strange, truly, for resistance fighters to be so close to Palis. We both fear that they’ve grown stronger recently to risk this.”

“I’ll keep Narcissa in my thoughts.” Regulus’ head seemed to burn with ideas and he was speaking before he’d thought to stop, “I might visit Andy.”

“I think that would be wise.” Walburga said kindly, “I imagine she’s worried sick, what with Bellatrix dead and Narcissa missing.” She rested a hand on Regulus’ curls, “You are such a kind boy.”

Regulus smiled shyly, nausea churning in his stomach at his mother’s unadulterated favouritism for him, but he let her massage her fingers into his hair without flinching. He hated her as much as he hated his father. She’d watched him beat her. She’d let him send Barty away. She’d let him murder Peter. She knew where James was.

“I believe your father will be heightening security, Regulus.” She met his eyes and Regulus felt a chill throb through him as he noted how cold her gaze was, “Do be careful where those feet of yours take you in the castle from now on, won’t you?”

She knows.

“Of course, mother.” Regulus batted his eyelashes prettily, “I don’t wander so much nowadays.”

“I think it would be wise if you did not lie to me.” Walburga said sternly, her fingers tightening in his hair as she bent his head back. Regulus winced, feeling the roots burn at her pulling, “Whatever you are planning, Regulus, please do stop.”

“I’m not planning anything-” His voice broke as she yanked his head backwards, tightening her grip on his hair so much that his forehead was stretched taut against his head.

“Do not lie.” She hissed, her other hand whistling through the air to slap him keenly on his cheek. He fell backwards, his hand instantly rising to cup his cheek, which was hot and smarting from her swipe, and he curled defensively into himself, his knees tucked under his chin.

“Like a weak little baby.” She swept her eyes over him, “You are a weak little baby. Your mind cannot play tricks on me yet, Regulus. I know that you are planning something and you are to remain in your room until I find out what.”

“I’m…”

“Be quiet.” She cast a spell that recoiled through his legs as though he’d been punched in his gut, “Good day, Regulus.” She swept out of his room, her cloak swishing around her ankles.

Regulus felt tears burn hot in his eyes and raised a shaking hand to wipe them quickly from his eyes. His mother was right. He was weak. He would lie here for hours, he knew, cradling his injuries, casting cooling charms on his cheek, casting diagnostics over his stomach, trying desperately to make sure that she’d done nothing irreversible.

James was waiting for him.

James was waiting for him, and he couldn’t save him.

Sirius

“Something’s wrong.” Sirius halted in his path, sending Dorcas careering into his back.

“There’s an awful lot wrong, actually, dear cousin.” Narcissa parred sarcastically, “You’ve killed your cousin, you’re trailing your other cousin into a war with her uncle, you’ve accumulated two complete strangers into the fight, but otherwise, I’d say the weather is just lovely.”

“Be quiet.” Remus snapped, before he rushed to Sirius’ side and placed two strong hands on his shoulders. He pressed his forehead gently against Sirius’ and whispered, “Tell me what’s wrong. What have you seen?”

Sirius flushed from Remus’ closeness but forced himself to focus, closing his eyes. He could see whirls of his mother, her dark cloaks circling like kaleidoscopes in his head, and Regulus, bent into a foetal position at her feet, his eyelids wet, curls dank and unwashed. The dark green tinge of the vision told him that he was in Regulus’ room. He tightened his jaw and scrunched his eyes, forcing himself to watch the scene. He watched Walburga stroke Regulus’ curls before she began to hiss in low, snake-like tones at his brother and strike him forcefully against his cheek. Sirius felt a wave of nausea.

“Regulus was planning something.” He whispered, before he plunged back into the vision. He forced himself to delve into his brother’s head, to decipher anything that could tell him why Walburga had hit her favoured son. He could hear one word, pulsing through his brain like a talisman. James. James. James. James.

“They’ve got James.” Sirius swallowed. He opened his eyes, saw his own panic reflected in Remus’ hazel irises, “Fuck, Remus, they’ve got James. They know. It was real, all of it. Regulus…fucking Reggie, Remus, he’s in love with him. With James. It’s real this time.”

Remus swallowed.

“We were told that Regulus had bewitched James.” He paused, his eyes taking on a doubtful darkness, “We were told this by you, actually, Sirius.” He pulled his head away from Sirius, his hands flying from Sirius’ shoulders to his sides, “All this time, we thought we needed to rescue James from Regulus, because Regulus might fucking murder him like we thought he’d let Orion murder Peter.”

“Well.” Sirius said hesitantly, seeing the burning anger in Remus’ eyes, “Unfortunately that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“Unfortunately?!” Remus’ voice began to raise, “My best friend is likely being tortured by your godforsaken lunatic parents right now, and Regulus has been trying to save him – unsuccessfully, might I add – and all you can say is that it’s unfortunate?” Remus’ eyes were blazing, his hands flexing and unflexing at his sides, small bursts of magic erupting into luminescent colours, and he was stood squarely, his strong shoulders broad against the snow-lit sky. His curls were gently falling onto his forehead, soft and…beautiful.

Sirius was moving to Remus before he could stop himself.

Sirius’ lips were on Remus’ before he had a moment to think.

Sirius’ hands were in Remus’ soft hair. He’d imagined kissing Remus before, of course he had, but now his lips were moving gently against Remus’, and he was kissing him back. He was kissing him back, angrily, intensely, his teeth clipping at Sirius’ bottom lip as though he were trying to chide him. Remus’ hand was at the base of Sirius’ back and his fingernails were scratching at the fabric between his fingers and Sirius’ skin and he was tugging at Sirius’ clothes as though their very existence was offensive. Sirius found himself sweating, felt the small pools of wetness swelling under his arms and on his chest, found the heat indescribable in the pit of his stomach.

“What the fuck is this?” Narcissa’s slow drawl broke Sirius and Remus apart.

“Sorry.” Sirius said sheepishly, wiping his mouth casually as he watched Remus’ expression move from drunken to confused, “Had to be done.”

“Unfortunately.” Remus smirked, “Let’s move on, shall we?” He pushed his shoulder against Sirius’ before he moved to bring Narcissa and Dorcas closer to discuss their plans.

Chapter Text

Regulus

Regulus thought time had passed but he couldn’t be sure whether it had been hours or days. The stiffening ache in his knees and elbows, shining red in patches from the pressure of the floor, wasn’t so severe that he couldn’t stand, and he tried, shakily, to raise himself hesitantly onto the armchair. His stomach was throbbing and there was an absurd ringing in his ears that disorientated him briefly before he swallowed and the volume lowered slightly. He collapsed onto the armchair once he’d fumbled high enough to reach it and he rested, breathing heavily, whilst he raked his thoughts for memories of the assault. His mother knew that he was planning something – although she was clearly oblivious on the details. She likely knew that it involved James, because Regulus’ mind was thudding James, James, James, like a repetitive, insistent talisman, but he was near certain that her knowledge was limited to that. He hadn’t managed to close his mind entirely to her but she hadn’t ravaged everything. There was a steady thrum in his stomach that made him sure that she hadn’t attacked Andy, or Dora, or Marlene. The public executions would have been below his window. He would have known. This realisation gave rise to a warm conviction of hope, swelling carefully in his heart, but he was cautious not to celebrate. Any abrupt expression of emotion – any jubilancy, any celebration – would alert his parents that he was awake. He wanted Walburga to believe she had silenced him.

Still situated haphazardly on the armchair, shirtless and pants slung low on his slim waist, he cast a charm at the glowing emerald entrance to his quarters. The charm – a simple raindrop casting – didn’t rebound. A raincloud developed stormily above the archway and rain droplets flowed thickly from its swelling whiteness. A smile curled on his lips. She hadn’t locked him in. She’d been so arrogant, he thought resentfully, so arrogant to think that slapping him and warning him to stay in his room would be sufficient. He must have been a coward when he was younger for her to perceive him as so weak. He shook his head, determined to dispel any disloyal thoughts of self-doubt from his mind, and cracked his knuckles in a decisive mood before dispelling the charm lazily.

He could still rescue James.

He could still rescue James.

He would still rescue James, and he knew he was willing to die to save him from the hell that his father would have conjured for his love. Orion seemed to torture Regulus’ lovers in a particularly cruel, crazed way, as if he wished he could treat Regulus like a normal citizen subject to his mania, but he couldn’t risk harming the Prince and dispelled his anger onto those close to him instead. Regulus thought that Orion had chosen Sirius as another scapegoat and felt a sick pit of self-hatred gather in his throat before he swallowed and forced himself to remember that Sirius had escaped because he’d enlisted Andy. He preferred to forget that he’d threatened Andy’s lover in the process, but he hadn’t really meant it, had he? He had no intention of murdering the handsome gardener that she disappeared into the greenhouses with, but Andy knew that he was his father’s son, and perhaps that was threatening enough. Regulus felt a little sick knowing that anyone who had ever known Orion would always see a little of his father in him.

He was jolted from his thoughts as he remembered that he’d agreed that the plan would be enacted the day after his discussions with Dora, Andy and Marlene. He was unsure whether it was the day after. He’d felt distinctly sick since Walburga had hit his head and knew that he was likely concussed, but the scent of bright daytime air in his room, swept in by the open window, told his disorientated mind that it was the day he’d intended. He strode purposefully to his nightstand, where a clock stood proudly, and he froze. He had less than ten minutes to move to his agreed position.

Glamours, Regulus, he told himself, glamours. He raised his shaking fingers to his jaw and concentrated on manipulating the flesh with spellwork, feeling the muscles twitch and throb in his face as he forcibly changed his appearance. He made his cheekbones swell, thickening his brow so that his eyes (persuaded to flush a nondescript brown) were deeply set between a larger, thicker nose. Focusing on the mass of soft curls on his head, his brow furrowed and the curls straightened into lank strands in a non-descript mousy brown. He shortened them, feeling soft hair tickle his bare shoulders, and pushed the hair back with one hand, damp with sweat, so that it was smooth against his head. Treading carefully to his mirror, he hid a smirk at his reflection. He had never been less handsome. He touched his face, tracing the lack of bone definition, his lip curling at the bulbous chin. He recognised himself only by the determined set of his mouth and the glint of hatred in eyes that were not his.

Regulus?

Andy.

You’re ready?

He set his mouth in a grim line.

As ready as I’ll ever be, sweetheart.

That’s good enough for me.

He could hear the nerves trembling in Andromeda’s tongues and hoped that he sounded more confident than the tremors in his hands betrayed. He flicked his wrist and conjured a shirt from the hidden wardrobe, slipping it around his shoulders with little effort, before shakily fastening the buttons. He cast a crumpling charm over the shirt so that creases and stains steadily appeared across it, doing the same to his slack black trousers, before he slipped his feet into cracked shoes that he’d stolen from the gardeners’ shed after he’d spoken to Marlene. He took a deep breath and steadily moved towards the archway, feeling its intoxicating smoke waft over him, before it released him into the corridor and he was facing Andromeda. She was not Andromeda as he knew her. She had taken on the appearance of her own maid, a little waif of a woman recognisable only by a tumble of dark curls arranged haphazardly on her slight head and puzzlingly ice blue eyes. She nodded nervously at Regulus before she took his hand and whispered so quietly that Regulus strained to hear her.

“We succeed at this, or we die, Reggie.” She paused, “I assume that you know that.”

Regulus felt tears swell hotly in his eyes. He wiped them away frustratedly and nodded. He knew. He knew that his cousin was risking her life to save a servant descended from the former royal family, simply because he loved him. He felt a wave of love pass intensely through him and he took a step forward, enveloping her in his arms, and he felt Andy relax briefly before she pushed him away.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

She began to move, catlike, through the corridor’s shadows, gesturing to him whenever she sensed that someone was close to halt, and beckoning when the coast was clear. She nodded to other servants in a manner so intimately similar to that of the maid that she was impersonating that Regulus felt an odd chill clasp his stomach, although he thought with a deep sadness that he would be able to imitate James at any moment. He remembered everything about him. He would always remember everything about him. His hands clenched into fists and he moved faster, more deftly, ignoring the pain clawing in his stomach and his legs from Walburga’s assault, his resolve stiffening. There was nothing more to be done. He would save James or he would die in the attempt.

“Come on, lover boy.” Andy hissed, “We’re close.”

Regulus had been so preoccupied by his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed that the castle had taken on an intoxicatingly cold air, as if the temperatures had plummeted instantly below freezing, as they’d moved slowly towards the south tower. It was a turret, navigated only using tumbling, dilapidated staircases, and lit by flickering lanterns lining each minuscule window. There were cobwebs sweeping across the walls, large spiders crawling without fear across their lightly condensed spin, and there was an eery silence that was broken only by his and Andromeda’s breath. His chest was heaving in the cold. He felt instantly uneasy, sure that his lungs would resign to their fate at any second, but he steadied himself and closed his eyes, focusing on the rhythm of the rise and fall of his chest, moving forward towards the staircases as he and Andromeda passed through the entrance into the south tower. Regulus had been sure that his father would place guards at its entrance, but it seemed that his mother’s arrogance knew no bounds and she had underestimated him. He began to descend down the staircase, careful to miss the whistling gaps where stairs once dwelled, and checked regularly over his shoulder to ensure that Andy was following him. Her eyes – or rather her maid’s eyes – were wide and alert, and Regulus was reminded with a jolt that she looked like a wild rabbit. James had always chuckled when he’d said that Regulus was like one of the garden pests. He smiled gently to himself and dwelled on the memory of James’ throaty laugh before he focused stiffly on the stairs below him as the light darkened. Windows gradually disappeared from the tower’s walls, no longer lighting their path.

“All good, Reggie?”

He breathed slowly.

“All good. I think we’re nearly there if I’m right.”

Regulus was convinced that Orion would house James in the most desolate cell that the castle possessed. It was buried deep in the south tower’s basement, isolated from any of the castle’s inhabitants, servant or family. No one could hear James scream. Orion had likely abandoned him to die down here. Regulus knew that James would share a cell with ghosts. He suppressed a shiver at the thought of the Kingdom’s sunshine repressed in a cell devoid of light and sound and forced himself to drag his mind away from imagining the state in which he would find James. He pushed forward, his hands clawing at the damp walls. He ignored the wetness clinging to his hands and thanked his luck that the substance wrapping itself into his fingertips was nothing more sinister. He could hear Andy swallowing shudders and he felt a smirk claw at his mouth. Why was he smirking? What was wrong with him?

“You’re scared, Reggie. You and Sirius always did laugh when you were scared.” Andromeda reassured him, “We’re so close. Keep it together.”

She kept a steady stream of encouragement in his ear as they descended. Nearly there. We’ll find him. A few more stairs. Without her whispered reassurances, Regulus felt sure that he would have collapsed into madness. There was something about this place that felt instinctively wrong and unsafe. He could feel goosebumps forming on his arms, feel his ears straining for every small noise. He felt hyperalert as though he was being hunted. He supposed it was only a matter of time before he was hunted for this but he could not bring himself to much care.

“Here.” He stopped suddenly, sending Andromeda careering into his back. He had stopped at a seemingly non-descript stretch of wall, where the staircase had levelled out, and he knew that if he took a step forward, his ankles would be cloaked in water. He knew without the need to check that they had reached the basement. The smell was disgusting – damp and dank, the stink of mould seemingly steaming from the water pooling in the base of the tower – and he shuddered before he pressed his hand against the wall. He prayed that Orion had not removed his touch from the castle’s protection system. He tried and failed to prevent his mind from hurtling into the ceremony.

“Come, Regulus.” Orion teased, his voice light but undercut by threat, and his large hand, warm at the base of his back, pushed Regulus forward to the smoking embers. Regulus raised a shaking hand and Orion seized his wrist before plunging it into the embers.

He doesn’t remember the pain. He remembers screaming and the sizzling noise as the heat peeled skin relentlessly from his palm. He remembers folds of skin flaking from his palm and remembers the raw flesh, oddly pink and smooth but stinging excruciatingly in the open air, exposed. He remembers Orion laughing with his mother ‘He’s weak, Walburga. How did you birth a weakling?’ and the warm embrace of his brother, who swept his legs into his arms and carried him gently to his room before disappearing into the archway with tears streaked down his face. His hand had healed eventually, of course it had because the embers were magical, but he remembers that night as if it were yesterday.

He was six.

He was six, but he thanked himself for withstanding it as his palm began to sweat. He pushed his hand harder against the wall and waited for the heat to subside. It goes hot before it goes cold. His mouth curls into a reactive smile as the air around his fingers whistled and bit at his hand, cold and brutal. He took a step back. A door was forming. It was enormous, perhaps seven or eight feet, and it was a traditional wooden cell door, a large doorknob situated at its centre. Andy took a step forward and touched the doorknob before Regulus could pull her back and he heard the sizzle of skin before he heard her screams. He reached for her hand instantly, casting an efficient healing charm before the folds of her skin began to unravel, and she sighed gratefully before resting her head on his shoulder.

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“He doesn’t trust anyone.” Regulus hissed grimly, before he directed a disabling charm, tailormade to his own signature, at the doorknob’s curse. The metal bubbled before it turned a glinting silver, barely visible in the darkness, and a metallic snake began to form at its centre. Its coils formed first before the head erupted, slight and oddly gorgeous, and the tail flicked menacingly from its end. The snake’s tongue was a deep black. Regulus breathed heavily before he looked at the snake.

“I am his.” He murmured to the snake, whose head rose inquisitively and cocked slightly at his words.

“You are not his in your heart.” Its tail lashed at Regulus’ chest, leaving a shallow cut from which blood began to bead immediately, and it hissed gently at him. Regulus’ heart was hammering.

“I am his in blood. Does that count for nothing?” Regulus said honestly. The snake seemed to smirk – could snakes smirk? – and it moved forward from the doorknob. It pushed aside the shirt he wore and flicked its tongue on the cut. The blood stained its black tongue, the crimson red vivid in colour, and the snake retracted its tongue into its mouth before it nodded, the smirk replaced by a wide smile, its fangs dripping in Regulus’ blood.

“I will move aside.” The snake murmured, “But she stays.”

Regulus had forgotten Andy for a moment. He looked backwards at Andy, who was pressed against the staircase railing a few feet away from him, and she nodded, her eyes terrified, before she broke her gaze almost instantly to watch the snake, which was coiling itself around Regulus’ wrist, its head pointing from his index finger like a gun.

“She stays.” Regulus said in response, “Let us in.”

The snake’s body vibrated as it inserted itself, gradually uncoiling from Regulus’ hand, into the keyhole. Its size rapidly diminished into the width of a key and its body squeezed, seemingly impossibly, into the keyhole before its tail was the sole remainder of the snake. It flicked right before a handle emerged, glistening and the same silver as the snake – oddly blinding – and tauntingly glinting in the moonlight. Regulus started as he noticed the pools of moonlight radiating from the windows. They’d been here for hours. He could only hope that Dora and Marlene were managing. He breathed slowly, in, out, in, out, before he placed a hand on the handle and turned it.

---

James

“James?”

James turned away from the voice. He was sure that he was hallucinating. He’d lost counts of the hours and the days long ago. Perhaps he was dead and the voice was welcoming him to some higher place where his fingers would work, where his groin wasn’t dripping with infection, where his hair was longer than stubble. He attempted to flex his hands and screamed. His fingers still didn’t work.

“James.” The voice was desperate, heaving with sobs, “James. Fuck. James, look at me. Please.”

James couldn’t feel his eyelids anymore. It was so dark in this place that he’d stopped attempting to open his eyes because he saw shadows that haunted him in his fitful sleep. He tried to remember how to open his eyes and wrenched them open with an effort that took his breath from his sunken chest.

There was a moment where he was sure he was dead.

There was a moment where his nostrils twitched and he inhaled the scent of cedarwood.

There was a moment where he knew that it was Regulus, even if he didn’t look like Regulus.

“Reggie?” James croaked.

There was a beat of silence.

“Reggie, is that you?”

There was no answer but he could hear Regulus sobbing, hear him doubled over next to James, his chest heaving, before he called to his cousin and choked I’ve found him, I’ve found him. James felt his shoulders drop with relief and he crawled, knees screaming, towards the source of the cedarwood smell. Regulus’ arms opened and he clung to James as though he was the last thing he would ever feel. He was sobbing, James was sobbing, their chests heaving and soaked with sweat as they pressed against each other, legs wrapped around one another as Regulus enveloped James in his slight frame. James was all limbs, collapsing into Regulus like a useless ragdoll, and Regulus was whispering I love you, I love you, I love you into his hair between kisses to his forehead and his cracked lips. He was cradling his broken hands, kissing each fingertip, and he was promising that he’d heal the fingers the instant they were out of this cell, because it suppressed his magic, but he was here. He was here. He was here and he was real and he smelt of cedarwood.

James had dreamed of cedarwood for nights.

“We need to move, my love. I’m so sorry. I know you’re so hurt and I’ll…” Regulus’ voice broke as he murmured into James’ shoulder, “We need to move. We can make everything better.” He was careful as he swept James’ ragged, emaciated frame into his arms, “I’m so sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m hurting you. We’ll make it better, James, I promise.”

“I know.” James said, dazed, “You always make everything better.” Regulus’ chest was heaving against James’ side as he contained his sobbing, tried to steady himself, before one arm reached out, trembling with the effort, to pull open the cell door. James felt the instant change in air as he passed through the door in Regulus’ arms and took a lungful of cold air before he coughed and choked slightly. Regulus was beginning to morph back into himself, the odd appearance melting from his beautiful face, and he could see the strain etched across it.

“We need to move, Regulus. As soon as we can. We cannot stay here long, you hear me? We need to get him out.” Andromeda – James thought it was Andromeda, although he remembered little of those faces he’d met before his imprisonment, bar Regulus’, which had haunted his dreams – said urgently, pressing one hand against James’ forehead before she swore, “Fuck, Regulus, he’s not well.”

“He’ll make it.” Regulus said. He said it like a prayer.

“You’d better fucking hope so or we’re going to be exiled for a funeral case.” Andromeda said, her voice dripping in sarcasm, “Let’s fucking go, Reggie. We need to get out here.”

“Regulus?” James interrupted, the word a huge effort for his exhausted mind. He heard Regulus’ heart hammer slightly faster.

“James.” Regulus’ voice was impossibly soft, betraying no hint of exhaustion as he climbed the staircases that James vaguely remembered Orion had dragged him down all those nights ago.

“I…” James heaved a breath.

“James, please don’t talk.” Regulus reassured him between huffs of breath, his tears falling onto James’ bare, scarred chest, “Rest. You’ll be safe soon. It can wait, can’t it?”

James shook his head, the greasy strands of his hair falling into his blurred eyes. Orion had smashed his glasses immediately against the wall outside Regulus’ room.

“Go on.” Regulus encouraged, “I’m here.”

James focused on Regulus’ mouth as it formed those words. Words he’d longed to hear.

“I’m here always.” Regulus vowed.

James took a few breaths before his face broke into a gentle smile.

“I love you.”

Regulus’ shoulders relaxed and he could hear the small chuckle in his throat.

“I love you, James.”

Chapter Text

Regulus

When, suns later, he remembered ascending the staircase of the turret with James in his arms, he would only remember the warmth of James against him, the swelling relief in his stomach, Andromeda tugging his hand insistently and insisting we need to fucking go now, Reggie.

The truth was that he was scared. He was holding James and he knew he was there, that James was real, and he was alive, fuck, he was alive, and he was holding him in his arms, but he knew more than anything that he was terrified, that his legs were numb and jellylike from fear, that goosebumps were hard against his arms, that his father would somehow know that he was here. The glamours had melted seamlessly from his face and he looked like him again, although the turret’s dank air and his tears had left soot-like stains on his cheeks, he knew that he would emerge from this tower as a Prince with a servant in his arms. He was not alone but he would face his father, if he found them, as his son. He would be tortured and killed as the Prince and he knew his father would make him watch James die first.

“Reggie?” Andromeda’s soft voice was frantic, tinged with fear, her words like gasps.

“Andy?”

“Get up the stairs before you start fantasising about your death, won’t you?” Regulus knew without looking at her that Andromeda was smiling. He felt a swell of affection for her in his chest and he chuckled, a low, panicked chuckle that betrayed the icy fear in his lungs, but he climbed the stairs behind her with renewed strength, ignoring the fiery ache in his arms where James was limp, asleep. He winced as he stole a glance at James, shivered at the hair shorn close to his scalp littered with scabs from flies eating at his roots. He traced James’ hollow face with his eyes, the cheekbones so sharp he was certain he would cut his finger if he touched them, the eyes so sunken into their sockets they looked as if they’d been forcibly pushed. He knew James was alive from the erratic rise and fall of his chest, but everything about the skeletal form in his arms told him the opposite. He could smell the stench of infection and he could see the pus weeping from James’ groin in the dark, its rancid scent like a rotting corpse. He knew without light that his father had branded him and he felt his chest grow heavy with grief, grief for the boy James was before he met him and before his father had ruined the most beautiful man, the sunshine, the fucking love of his life, like he poisoned everything he touched. 

‘Cast a healing charm.”

“What?”

“If you can, cast a healing charm. He’s in your arms. If it’s strong enough, it might do something whilst we’re moving him.” Andromeda suggested. He nodded and summoned the insistent anger in his stomach, the hatred for his father that had been buried deep in his mind for suns and had moved since James was taken into the forefront of his mind, brought his memories of James in his arms, inside him, against his mouth, into his mind before he felt a warm glow in his hands and saw the blood red tinge of healing magic swell from his hands into James’ head and the base of his back where Regulus held him. James started, his eyes fluttering open, before his mouth stretched with effort into a dull smile and mouthed thank you before he grimaced from the strain and closed his eyes, deadening like waterlogged clothes back against him as the healing charm spiralled veinlike across James’ emaciated body.

Andromeda halted suddenly and Regulus prevented himself from careering into her before he raised his head from assessing James to the sight in front of them. They had reached the top of the stairs. Andromeda turned, meeting his eyes, before she placed one hand on his shoulder. He nodded, hoping his love and gratitude for her was shining through his eyes, knowing he could never thank her for what she had done. He watched her kneel, saintlike, to the ground, her shoulders rounded and her knees brought to her stomach, before her hands glowed a vicious purple and the air around her shimmered with lilac sparks. The pigment in her skin and clothes gradually faded until she was almost invisible, the outlines of the charm edging her body barely perceptible in the moonlit archway, and she whispered good luck, but he knew she meant I love you and that she was saying goodbye, to Regulus before she vanished down the corridor.

It’s me and you now, James. Regulus felt his stomach churn, nausea clawing at his sides , before he felt a weak hand shake as it raised to stroke his cheek. James’ fingers were broken and he winced sharply, his mouth hissing, at the pain, but he dragged his hand down Regulus’ face, before he grunted and his hand fell against his chest. Regulus felt his eyes swell with hot tears and he blinked them away, a lump in his throat forming at the sheer effort of James touching him, broken as he was, before the real escape began. Touching him to reassure him that he was here, that he was alive, that he loved him. Regulus nodded, forcing out powerful exhales, before he squared his shoulders and sprinted, his feet slamming into the immovable stone floor, down the corridor where Andromeda had run. The lanterns on the walls flickered, he saw shadows everywhere, but he had never felt stronger, he could feel James shuffling against his chest and the warmth, the life, in the man he loved spurred him to run faster. His lungs burned but he felt no pain, his breath was short and he was gasping for air but he was running for himself, for James, and he knew that he was navigating the turns and doorways seamlessly, pushing through doors with his shoulder, careful to deflect any force away from James’ broken form, without thinking. He could think only of saving James, of taking James as far from this place as his feet would run before he too was a broken man, but he would run until he could not run anymore and no one could find them.

He was outside in an alleyway disguised under the castle’s high walls before he could gather his thoughts and he paused for a moment, a split second, gasping for the cool air, and he was running again, knowing that castle guards, officials, ambassadors, high powered citizens and aristocrats who lived on these streets, could see him, that his father undoubtedly knew where he was or at least what he was doing, but he was burning with a shield charm that he had not knowingly conjured and the healing charm still burned crimson in his hands, lit James like a beacon of flames, and he knew power like he had never known because he had saved James and James was alive. He was sprinting down the streets he had played in as a child and the streets he had been paraded down as a prince and he found the alcove by memory, his shoulders heaving, before he collapsed against a wall like a drunkard, James still secure in his arms. Marlene grabbed him at the throat before she tugged him backwards into a disguised room under an archway, the doorway melting seamlessly into brickwork as she slammed the door.

“It’s ready.” She met his eyes and he felt the burning anticipation in her chest because he felt the same. He nodded, unable to speak, his chest heaving and his throat clasped tight from cold and exertion and exhaustion. He followed her doggedly as she pushed him unceremoniously into a small cart in the next room, he fell against apples and oranges and stinking cheese and meat he was sure was rotten, and he sheltered James with his body as Marlene threw a scratched, coarse blanket over them both before securing chains across the cart. There was blackness and there was an odd comfort to the weight of the metal. He felt suffocated but James was curled in the alcove of his body and he was breathing.

The cart jolted and Regulus heard the rhythmic music of a horse’s hooves on cobblestones. He breathed forcefully through his nose and brought his mouth close to James’ ear.

“James, we’re leaving. We’ll be safe. You’re safe, I’m here, I love you.” He whispered these quiet affirmations into James’ ears, although he could not hear him, he was unconscious, but his chest was moving steadily with his breath and his eyes flitted with Regulus’ words. Their bodies lulled with the cart’s movements, jolting as the wheels under them rolled over cobbles, and the air was punctuated by the metallic ring of horseshoes on cobbles and Marlene’s sailor’s whistling. Andromeda would know he was safe if she leaned from her window and heard that whistle. She was under strict instructions to make sure Dora was in her cell and unharmed.

Even now, Regulus knew he would never be able to forgive himself for endangering Marlene and Dora like he had. Marlene caused a mutiny in the kitchen after she engaged with another servant that she had hated for suns and had stood, watchful, as the other servants, lit by suns of neglect and fear and quiet resentment, began to fight and scream and set fire to the kitchen, the magical few among the servants lighting flames using cooking oil. She had waited until the fire was roaring so insistently that her cheeks burned, her lungs were tight, and smoke singed her hair. She waited for Orion to slit the throat of her enemy in front of her eyes after she and the other servants had collated their stories to lie about the blame and she had begged to wash the soot from her skin before she ran to the alcove where she met Regulus. Marlene had been right.

Kings always underestimate their staff.

Dora’s role was a little more complicated. Regulus had known for years that she could turn at will into a butterfly and resisted from lingering too long on those memories in his mind so his parents would never find out. Dora had survived her imprisonment using her morphing skill, leaving whenever she pleased and surveying the castle. She knew so much because no one noticed a beautiful insect on their windowsill. She was weak from suns of malnutrition and she had been able to turn less in recent suns, but she used the last reserves of power she had to flit to Walburga’s quarters and dispel her quiet Seer charms to restrain Walburga in a dreamless sleep. Regulus had wanted to give her nightmares but Dora insisted that nightmares would make the possibility of Walburga waking up too strong and she had no strength to force her back to sleep if she did wake. Regulus allowed himself a little smile imagining Orion caught in flames whilst his wife slept.

He held James tighter, clutching him to his chest, and whispered to him like it was a prayer. If his intelligence was right - and he was certain it was - he would find Sirius soon.

Chapter Text

Regulus

It felt like suns until Marlene tugged the cover forcefully back from over him. Regulus was uncertain whether he'd fallen asleep before he felt his stomach slick with sweat from sheltering James' feverish form. He blinked rapidly before he realised that it was nightfall and the skies above them were an inky black, stained with depressive curls of grey clouds.

"We're here." Marlene said sharply. She was surveying their environment, her shoulders square and the muscles in her jaw taut, alert for any sign of danger or that they were being watched. She gestured hurriedly to Regulus to emerge from the cart and he forced his aching muscles to move. He carefully shifted around James, who was still asleep - or unconscious, Regulus couldn't be sure - before he was sat up on the stinking food items and he clasped Marlene's hand as she pulled him out of the cart. He smiled gratefully at her, the expression on his face more confident than he truly felt, before he turned to face James. He felt a vice tighten around his heart as he looked down at James' fragile form, his limbs spidery, the dried blood on his head more obvious in the moonlight, and he sighed, his breath shuddering, before he reached to clasp an arm around James' shoulders and another under his knees. He lifted him carefully, swallowing tears as he felt how light James was now after his imprisonment. It was like carrying a child. With James now sunken in his arms, his chest rising and falling steadily, he faced Marlene and tried to speak.

"Don't." Marlene said simply, "Thank me, I mean. We'll meet again soon. I know it. You can thank me all you want once your father's head is on a spike."

"I can never thank you for this." He heard himself say, his voice tremoring, "Never. You've - I can't tell you."

"I know." Marlene smiled, "Make it worth it."

"I will." He vowed.

"I know you will." Marlene moved to stroke the horse pulling the cart, a sorry creature with a matted mane and tail and curls in its coat, "We need to head back. I can't be missed for too much longer."

"Safe journey." Regulus said and he meant it so deeply that he felt his chest pull as Marlene mounted the horse, giving it a reassuring pat as it heaved at even her slight weight, and she turned the horse slowly before raising a hand in farewell as she headed away. His chest heaved as he exhaled slowly, blinking the tears from his eyes, and he forced himself to raise his head from James to look around him.

He was surrounded by snow. It seemed to pulse in the moonlight, the slight glimmer dancing on the compacted surface. It would be beautiful if Regulus didn't feel so exposed. He knew that he was dangerously visible against its paleness, even in this darkness, and he began to move, slowly at first as he stumbled in the snow to his ankles, but soon he was racing, the cold soaking through his shoes, his footsteps leaving visible tracks behind him. He had no time to cast melting charms to disguise his movements. He was heading toward the forest, a deep canopy of wood that would shelter his location from trackers - at least for the moment. The icy wind was stinging his exposed cheeks and snow had begun to steadily fall again, and all Regulus could think was that he was fucking freezing and James had somehow begun to feel heavy and his father was most likely rampaging through the castle trying to find him if he hadn't sent a group after him already.

He was running for hours, or at least that's what the burn in his legs told him. He broke into the woods like a bewildered animal that has escaped after a hunter's chase, his chest heaving, his cheeks flaming, sweat falling incessantly down his face, before he laid James gently on the floor against the roots of the ancient trees around them. He began muttering charms, a kaleidoscope of colour shooting angrily from his fingers as he paced around James. He nodded, satisfied, when his charms began to meet and form a pulsing dome clear in colour around them. He knew it would not prevent Orion, that Orion could crack his crude protection charms like a wishing bone, but he hoped it would resist anyone instructed to find them for enough time before he found Sirius.

---

Remus

"He's here." Sirius murmured to Remus. The two boys were laid on their side, close enough that Remus could reach out and brush Sirius' face with his fingertips, but Remus respected the distance between them. He knew Sirius was fragile enough without breaching it. Remus paused in his thoughts before his brow furrowed questioningly. Sirius met his eyes, his own burning intensely before he closed them and clenched them tight, seemingly focusing on thoughts Remus could not hear. There was a moment's pause, pregnant with suspense, before Sirius opened them and smiled widely.

"My little brother's here." 

Remus felt his own mouth break into a tentative smile, before he sat up carefully, ignoring the painful ache in his back, and reached to touch Dorcas gently on her shoulder. She had been asleep for a little while, exhausted from the journey from Bellatrix's grave to the forest outside Palis, but she woke abruptly, starting at Remus' touch, and sat instantly, betraying none of the fatigue from exercising her faerie powers so often in such a short space of time that Remus knew she felt.

"Sirius thinks Regulus is close." Remus murmured, conscious of Narcissa's still form. There was something almost statue-like about Narcissa whilst she slept - her porcelain face, sharp with defined features, was immovable, although her eyelashes flickered as if she was watching lights flash in front of her.

"What?" Dorcas snapped, "How?"

"Call it family instinct." Sirius smirked, "I can hear his thoughts."

"You can what?" Dorcas almost snarled. Remus felt a prickle of amusement at how grouchy Dorcas was when she was woken up, although he knew the situation itself was gravely serious.

"Come on, you've heard the rumours." Sirius tapped his head, "We can all hear each other's thoughts, if we choose to listen. It's somewhat limited when the distance becomes too far - I haven't heard Regulus' thoughts properly in a while - but he's here."

"I've heard the rumours." Remus responded, careful not to indicate that he could hear Sirius' tongues, "Do you know where he is?"

"Nothing specific." Sirius frowned, his arrogant face disrupted for a moment, "I can see flashes of the same forest. I think he's alone."

"No rescue for James then." Dorcas whispered, "Do you think he's run?"

"He must have." Sirius answered cautiously, "It's rare that Regulus' thoughts are so clear to me if he's with the family. He's become more talented at hiding his thoughts around them than even me."

"Forgive me if I'm not impressed." Dorcas said, but Remus saw the trace of a smile on her face, "Shall we wait until the morning?" Dorcas raised her head, gesturing at the dark, "We can expect your father's troops to be searching for Bellatrix and we're more vulnerable at night."

"No." Sirius answered simply.

Dorcas began to speak, stuttering, but Sirius raised a hand.

"He might move on." Sirius explained, "Regulus won't stay in one place for long. He's most likely resting for a short time, particularly if the escape was traumatic, but he'll move at dawn if he learned anything from me."

"Sirius, I don't know..." Remus said hesitantly. Sirius' eyes met his and he felt his stomach plunge, the swoop now familiar to him, but he continued, "Dorcas is right. We're vulnerable."

"No, you aren't." Narcissa said sharply, "You have us."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Remus said, hearing sarcasm creep into his voice, "I'm still struggling to believe that you aren't as psychotic as your sister, and Sirius is in no fit state-"

"Remus, I'm fine." Sirius said, his words spiky, "Narcissa will keep us safe." He paused, "And so will I."

"Fine." Dorcas sighed, "I can see I'm not going to win this one."

"No, you aren't." Sirius said happily, his face relaxing into a tentative smile, "Let's go find little Reggie, shall we?"

---

Regulus

He had hastily constructed a tent with a strong illusion charm, and although its solidity was a little tenuous, he and James were sheltered from the worst of the weather. It was in the light of a charmed fire that Regulus could now see the extent of James' injuries and he was restraining himself from being sick.

James' broken fingers were severely bruised, blossoming with purple and black blotches around the knuckles, the tips of his slight fingertips blushing into a stark white. There were sharp cuts across his hips, his collarbones, his toes, all the places that Regulus had sucked and worshipped and left marks of ownership that had long faded and been replaced by partially healed and weeping open wounds. None had cut into flesh - these were skin surface cuts, designed to sting and stay open in the biting cold of the tower. His hair was shorn close to his scalp, but carelessly - tufts of wiry hair, their softness lost from dirt, stuck haphazardly out across his head - and there were soft, damp patches of scalp where flakes fell uselessly into the traces of hair still left and scabs raw from the attack of insects, weeping clear liquid. 

It was the branding against James' groin, above where Regulus had ducked his head so many times, that made Regulus shake with anger. Burned vengefully with cursed magic so it would never heal, James' beautiful skin was warped and pulsing with pus, its stench rotten, making Regulus' head spin. He tried so many times to detach the letters from their meaning, to treat it as another wound, to stop himself from screaming his throat raw, but it stood so proudly against James' skin that he could not ignore it.

Whore.

It was such a gross miscalculation, a contemptuous word, reducing James to nothing more than someone Regulus buried himself deep into without attachment, an attempt from his father to pretend James meant nothing to his royal son. Regulus' stomach pulsed with fury, his cheeks burning, but he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, and he got to work.

Healing charms were throbbing from his fingers without thought, his head spinning, and he knew he had never wielded magic so easily than he did now. All of his father's threats, his mother's words, even watching his father torture Sirius and others, had never inspired such skill in him and he would have been grateful if the circumstances weren't so awful. He was still somewhat grateful that he was conjuring charms he had only dreamed of suns ago with ease, his fingers twitching with the heat of the magic, his chest slick with sweat, but he felt no pain, his heart thrumming so hard in his ribcage that he could hear it roaring in his ears.

He knew he was making progress when some colour came to James' cheeks and his fingers began to flex, the bruises gradually reducing to slightly red blotches, the broken knuckles fusing seamlessly together, and the scabs on his head were erased almost instantly. He felt a bitter taste in his mouth as the pus from the brand disappeared, the infected, raw skin around the word fusing together and leaving silver marks, but the word would never disappear, it would always be there, and he knew no matter how much magic he poured from his body that James would wear his father's scar for the rest of his life.

A sharp crack made him start. He felt more than made his shoulders square, the healing charms on his fingers dissipate and begin to burn a stark purple. He swallowed, wishing he'd had more time before his father found him.

He supposed this was the beginning of the end.

He crouched close to James, leaving a kiss lingering on his warm cheeks, before he forced himself to stalk out of the tent door, out of the dome, the silence of his protected space replaced in favour of the threatening silence of the forest.

He felt, rather than saw, his brother.

Remus

He thought Sirius had moved intangibly fast before he looked closer and saw that Regulus had emerged like a ghost from nowhere. He wore a dark cloak to his ankles, pulled tight across his chest, and he was standing, purple defence charms revolving threateningly around his hands, staring at Sirius like he had never seen him before.

"Brother." Sirius stepped forward. Regulus flinched and moved backward against an invisible barrier. Ah. He's constructed a dome like Dorcas does.

"Sirius." Regulus nodded formally. His sharp eyes surveyed the group, casting a careful assessment of Dorcas, of Remus, and narrowed when he saw Narcissa. Remus saw Regulus swallow, before his head moved sharply to face Sirius once more.

"Dispel the charms, Reggie." Sirius said in a low voice, reassuring like he was encouraging a child to climb down a tree, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Father taught us not to trust anyone." Regulus snapped, "Even each other." Remus felt Sirius tense alongside him and he prayed that this was not going to turn into a fight.

"Father also taught us that we must never neglect the House." Sirius laughed, the tension dissipating from his shoulders as if he had forced it, "Look at us now."

"Who says I've abandoned the House?" Regulus parred.

"Call it instinct." Sirius answered.

"I'd call it rumours." Regulus taunted, "Narcissa's here. Starting a collection of least favourite children, are we?" Narcissa merely smirked at his words, rolling her eyes, but Remus saw the flicker of annoyance across her eyes.

"Family reunion." Sirius drawled, "Like old times. Remember those?"

"I remember that you betrayed me." Regulus spat. Remus knew he had been aching to say those words, to see the light momentarily die from Sirius' eyes and his jaw slacken briefly before its muscles began to twitch.

"We both know that isn't true."

"Do we?" Regulus cocked his head, "Peter certainly seemed to have a change of heart when he tried to put a knife in my chest. He'd been so docile before, you see."

"He was resistance, Reggie." Sirius answered, a slight tremor in his voice betraying the confidence with which he said it, "He was there to kill you from the start."

"I don't think so." Regulus paused momentarily, "I think you sent him with that knife in his hand."

"I did not." Sirius hissed, "I broke the charm you placed on him. He was never docile by choice."

"Sometimes the best servants are those under charms." Regulus said, but there was a waver in his certainty.

"Is that what you told James?"

"Do not say his name." There was a snakelike hiss in Regulus' voice and Remus felt the reverberating power echo in his body, but Sirius remained entirely unaffected and Remus saw the slight shock in Regulus' face before he spoke again, "James is nothing like Peter."

"Where is he, Regulus?" Remus spoke before he even knew his mouth was open.

"As if I would tell the likes of you." Regulus became haughty, looking for a moment every inch the Prince he was, and he looked at Sirius, "Tell me you didn't force Peter to kill me."

There was a long silence. Sirius met Regulus' eyes and there was a tension so palpable that Remus' arms pricked with goosebumps. Regulus' jaw stayed defiant, his head tilted slightly as if he was on parade, and Sirius stared at Regulus for seconds, minutes, Remus was so sure it was going to turn into hours, before -

"You know I didn't."

Regulus took a step forwards and before Remus could take a step aside, the younger Prince flew into Sirius' arms, his hand in his brother's tangled hair, his hands clutching desperately at his shoulders, and Remus saw rather than heard the sobs wracking Regulus' body as Sirius enveloped him in his arms and murmured hush, hush, I'm here now, into his brother's hair. Remus took a desperate look at Narcissa, who shrugged in a non-committal, unaffected manner, but her eyes were swollen with tears and even Dorcas looked pained. There was something deeply intimate about the insistence with which the brothers were holding onto each other, something unspoken that made Remus feel he was intruding on a sincerely private moment, and he took a step away from them, moving closer to Dorcas and Narcissa whilst Sirius whispered reassurances to Regulus, who was shaking. 

When they broke apart, Sirius placed his hands on Regulus' shoulders and murmured.

"Where's James, Regulus? Is he in the castle? We can help. We're here to get him out." He gestured to Remus, "This is Remus, James' best friend. I don't know - he might have mentioned him?"

Regulus' eyes flew to Remus' face, his gaze drinking in every detail, and he saw a small smile emerge on Regulus' lips. The Prince nodded in a deferential way to indicate his apologies for his earlier rudeness and there was a little light in Regulus' eyes that made Remus' stomach leap with hope. He knows where he is, Remus thought, he must do.

"He's here." Regulus smiled, "Follow me."

Chapter Text

Remus

Remus’ arms were freckled with goosebumps and slightly damp from breaking through Regulus’ dome. Sirius had stepped aside, allowing him to follow Regulus to James, a wink lighting his face as he swept his arm outward to gesture Remus past. Remus could feel his warmth behind him as he followed Regulus’ deliberate steps toward a crudely constructed tent. There was a slight shimmer around the tent’s outline and Remus knew it was an illusion charm. He felt his face twitch into a disgruntled smile - there were many things he was unsure of when it came to Regulus, but he could not deny that the Prince’s power was immense. Regulus swept the tent’s entrance open with a mere flick of his wrist and he moved to let Remus run to James. His heart was hammering and he felt his stomach drop as he fell to his knees at James’ motionless side.

“Fuck.”

“I’m sorry.” Regulus murmured sincerely. He was crouched at Remus’ side and he met his eyes. There was a tortured strain in his stare that Remus was sure he could not fake.

“Orion’s handiwork?” Sirius said scathingly. He looked as if he were restraining himself from being sick. His eyes were fixed on the puckered silver marks at James’ groin.

“Yes.” Regulus whispered. There was a stray tear slipping down his ashen cheeks, “I conjured healing charms before you found me. I think he’s better, but-“

“You can’t get the mark off.” Sirius finished his sentence, scowling, “I don’t think it will ever come off, Reggie. Je désolé.”

“I know.” Regulus’ voice was shaking and wet with tears, “I thought maybe if I tried hard enough, I could-“

“Stop it.” Sirius said sharply, “Even Orion couldn’t remove these marks, frère. How bad was he when you found him?”

“Barely alive.” Regulus shifted to look at Sirius, who was standing with his arms folded, “We found him in the south tower.”

“We?” Sirius queried.

“Me and Andromeda.” Regulus stole a glance at Narcissa.

“You endangered my sister?” Narcissa hissed, “Is she alive?”

There was a silence so laden with tension that Remus could feel Regulus breathing next to him.

“I don’t know.” Regulus admitted, and as Narcissa’s hands began to glow with deep emerald tendrils, “She was disguised - we both were - she ran - she can turn invisible?” He paused, smirking slightly at Narcissa’s surprised expression which she was fighting hard to fight, “I think she’s safe. I would know if she wasn’t.”

“How?” Narcissa snapped.

“I would feel it.” Regulus met her eyes defiantly, “She’s alive, Narcissa.”

There was a brief silence. Narcissa nodded, her arms folded tightly, before Sirius bent to James’ side. There was a warmth in his eyes as he smiled at Regulus and his hands began to shake as he conjured healing charms so strong, such a deep crimson, that Remus could not stop himself from thinking of blood. After all he had seen, he supposed blood was never far from his mind. Sirius swept his hands over James, his brow furrowing in concentration, sharp breathes huffing from his mouth, a pearl of sweat beading on his lip which his tongue swept away. Remus felt a heat in his stomach build as Sirius breathed fast, the air whistling between his lips, and he ducked his head to halt his thoughts.

Dirty boy.

Remus started at the smirking groan in his head and he glanced at Sirius, whose mouth was curled in amusement. He felt his cheeks flush red but he could see Sirius’ eyes darken briefly as he fed from Remus’ fantasies before he focused his attention completely on James. He paused and faced Regulus.

“You’ve done everything we can for the moment.”

Regulus nodded.

“It’s a waiting game now, frère.” Sirius paused, “Nothing more we can do.”

“I thought as much.” Regulus ducked his head, “But his vitals are good and at least his fingers aren’t broken anymore.”

Remus felt a surge of nausea in his stomach and he sprinted out of the tent before he vomited violently into the snow. He knew he had consciously avoided looking at James, that he had focused on Regulus, Sirius, Narcissa, Christ, anyone, rather than focus on James’ broken body and blame himself for not being there, for not fighting Orion when he took James all that time ago. He heard the snow crackle behind him and he whirled around, still tense from the fight.

“Don’t do that.” Sirius’ low voice murmured.

“Do what?” He choked.

“Blame yourself.” Sirius said gently, moving to place a hand on Remus’ shoulder. He flinched but Sirius maintained the pressure, the warmth of his hand steadying his hammering heart.

“I wasn’t there, Sirius.” He spat, “My best friend - my only friend - and he was tortured like that, and I wasn’t fucking there.”

“Remus, this is a hard lesson to learn, alright?” Sirius said steadily, “People shouldn’t be tortured. People shouldn’t be murdered. No one should be treated how James was treated, how Narcissa was treated, how Reggie was treated-“ He paused, his voice wobbling, “How I was treated.” Remus leant into him, felt Sirius heave out a shaky breath, “The issue is not that you weren’t there, Remus. The issue is that my father is insane, cruel, psychotic, evil - and I really believe he is evil - and that he treats everyone, even his own sons, like animals for slaughter.”

“I should still have been there.” Remus murmured.

“You’re here now.” Sirius said gently, before he brought his hand to hold Remus’ face, his thumb placing a slight pressure on his jaw, and then he was kissing him. Remus felt warmth bloom in his chest, his heart thudding, and the kiss was gentle, careful, tentative. They broke away, both smiling, and Remus leaned his forehead against Sirius’.

“Thank you.”

“We’ll be okay, Remus.” Sirius said, “I’ve got you.”

Lily

Lily had forgotten how many days it had been since Evan died. They had blurred together in an odd slur of hours and minutes and cold fingers and heaving sobs. Her life somehow felt like it had been split into two sections - before Evan died and after Evan died. She couldn’t quite understand a world without Evan in it, or - more importantly - Barty without Evan. She knew that Barty would never be the same again. He had lost someone before, but this time he had lost part of himself and it was obvious every time she looked at him. There was a manic tinge to his eyes now, a flare behind his gaze as if he would set the world on fire and watch it burn with a smile on his face. She knew he was dangerous, that he had always been dangerous, unbalanced, but without Evan to temper him, he was like a wild animal. She had watched him, night after night, when he thought she was asleep, cast fire charms so strong that the snow evaporated around him into steam instantly, trees catching alight from a mere twitch of his index finger, his face ablaze with orange and scarlet and crimson and a rich amber. Lily wasn’t sure sometimes whether it was the world around him that was on fire, or whether it was Barty.

Even so, he trudged determinedly alongside Rory and her, muttering indecipherably to himself, his eyes flitting across the landscape like he was searching for Evan in the blanket of snow. Her own eyes were sore from constantly staring at white and she saw shadows everywhere. After the Lestrange attack, Lily saw shadows in the snow, in herself, in Rory, in Barty’s eyes. She somehow knew that none of them would sleep for a full night ever again.

“Lily?” Rory murmured. He spoke quietly around Barty, his normal confident tone toned down as if he were speaking in the presence of a sleeping toddler.

“Go on.” Lily said tiredly, but she smiled unconvincingly at Rory, feeling tears brim her eyes. Not again. She sniffed and brought her hands to her eyes, sweeping the wetness from her eyelids.

“I think we should head to Palis.” 

Lily halted in the snow.

“Are you insane?” She spat, “We’ll be killed.”

“Why?” He folded his arms.

She spluttered and found she didn’t have an answer.

“Orion doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know you - or at least he hasn’t for years - and he thinks Barty is dead.”

“I wish I was.” Barty said darkly.

“Don’t say that.” She felt, rather than heard, her voice rise, “I can’t lose you too, Barty.”

“Lily, I…” Barty looked, for a moment, like a child, before his voice shrank to a whisper, “I don’t have anything to live for.”

Rory moved before she did and he grabbed Barty’s shoulders so tightly with his fingers that his knuckles turned white.

“You stay alive for me, Barty. For Lily, for Remus, for…” Rory swallowed, “For Evan.”

Barty’s eyes darkened and green charms swelled at his fingers.

“Don’t…” Barty’s eyes blurred with tears, “I can’t-“

“He wanted this war won, Barty.” Rory insisted, pushing him slightly, “He wanted to kill Orion, he wanted to rescue Remus and James, and fuck, he would have saved Regulus too if it meant the war was won.” He paused, “He died for this war, Barty. We need to finish it for him.”

Barty struggled against Rory’s grip but it was half-hearted and the charms hissed before disappearing from his hands. There was a long silence and Barty was kicking against Rory’s shins before he went motionless and fell into Rory’s arms, his shoulders heaving with sobs.

“Win the war for Evan, Barty.” Rory murmured into his hair, stroking it gently with one hand, and he looked over his shoulder to Lily, “We’re going to die if we walk further into the mountains, Lily. The fight isn’t here. The fight is in Palis and my brother is there. We need to change plans.”

She sighed. She knew he was right.

“Fine.” She paused as Barty emerged from Rory’s arms.

“Please, Lily.” Barty whispered and as she nodded, his face broke into a demented grin, making Lily’s heart constrict, “I’m going to kill anyone I see who isn’t a friend of ours.”