Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Regulus Black comes to in a dark, dusty closet. 

When he walks out, he learns that Voldemort is dead. And apparently, so is he. 

Word on the street is that he had died twice as a twice-traitor- betrayer of both sides, in the same breath. 

When he apparates to Godric’s Hollow, an empty flask of Polyjuice potion clutched in a deathgrip in his left hand and his wand white-knuckled in his right, he learns that Lily Potter and James Potter have left their old home. 

Their son, Harry Potter, had saved the wizarding world not once, but twice. 

Their son, Harry James Potter, who was now nineteen years old and the golden boy of the Wizarding World. 

Her son and- 

And James’ son. 

James Potter, who is still alive.

James Potter, who, since the death of some of his closest friends and the almost-death of his son, has become so reclusive that some people even doubt that he’s still alive. 

James Potter, who was, at one point, Regulus’ entire world. 

James Potter, who had chosen Lily over him. 

Lily Potter, who he had once loved like she was his own sister. Beautiful, smart, kind Lily. 

And Regulus, who always knew that that was what it would come down to. Him or Lily. And he always knew that he would lose, and he never let himself feel resentment for it. Because Lily was like love and life all wrapped up into a person. He never even stood a chance next to her. And he never wanted to- because Lily was the one who deserved James, and James deserved her right back. 

They both were like binary stars, before. Orbiting around each other in a great cosmic dance, inevitably pulling Regulus right into the center of their gravity. 

When James chose Lily, he didn’t even know what he set into motion. He didn’t know about the way Regulus crumbled, the way he had spent weeks in bed- tossing and turning and driving himself deeper and deeper into the well of bitter well of self-hatred he had dug. He didn’t know about the reckless way he had thrown himself into his work, the way he had destroyed himself over and over again just to forget the ache deep in his ribs. 

James, who doesn’t even know how much Regulus cares for him. 

The cold winter wind jolts him back to his senses. 

Regulus blinks his tears back. The sun paints the cracked gravestone in front of him with a crescent of gold. The scent of rotting flowers wafts up from the scattered bouquets left at the foot of the headstone. A bird chirps from somewhere. 

Blue shadows of trees slide quietly over him, and for a moment, it’s just him and his best friend’s grave in the world. The only two things that seem to matter.

“Bartemius Crouch Jr.” the inscription reads, “ Loving son, and friend.” 

Something sharp claws urgently in his hollow, cavernous chest- quiet as the death that took Barty from him. Tears stream down his face- as silent as the way Barty stood in front of him, gave him everything.

Barty, who let his chest be cut open and fed on by a snake eyed monster. 

Just to give Regulus another chance to live.

Barty, who had loved him, and who Regulus could never love back. Not in the way he needed, at the very least.

The dawn breaks, golden against the endless blue sky. 

He catches his breath. 

It’s dazzling . 

To see the sun after so long- it feels like something right out of a fever dream.

 The cool morning air sinks its gentle fingers into his shuddering body- and he gives himself to the embrace of the winter dawn. 

The birds are louder now, their humming song stark against the silence around him. 

“Thank you for everything, love.” he whispers softly to the impassive stone wall in front of him, “I’ll do good for you, I swear on my life. Barty- I’ll do good and I’ll meet you on the other side one day, yeah?”

He falls asleep with the rough texture of mossy stone and icy dirt digging into every part of his shuddering form- as if the earth was attempting to push the shattered pieces in his chest back together again. To form something close to a human. 

Chapter Text

He sees James Potter for the first time in twenty years while under Ministry custody. 

He’s being led- chained up like a damn dog - by some blonde haired asshole of an Auror to the interrogation room. 

The Ministry had ostensibly detected an “explosion of Dark Magic” from an obscure area in Muggle London. The Auror, whose name Regulus didn’t bother learning, explains that they had tracked it down and it had led to him . Regulus Arcturus Black- former Order of Phoenix spy, sent on a suicide mission to infiltrate the ranks of the Death Eater. Presumed dead for almost two decades. 

“Its not that we don’t believe you, Mr. Black. But we have to be careful- you never know these days, who’s telling the truth and who’s just lying to get famous. A lot of people are chasing post-war glory.” 

That’s what the Auror tells him after he explains his little rebirth issue. Regulus, seeing that going against the Ministry will have more negative effects than positive ones, begrudgingly agrees to be questioned under Veritaserum, just to get the Ministry dogs off of his ass.  

When they finally, albeit unceremoniously, deposit him into the interrogation room, the Auror turns to him with a severe look in his gun-metal grey eyes. Regulus still hasn’t caught his name, but he looks to be a pureblood- with the delicate sloping cheekbones characteristic of the Black family, along with the shock of white blonde hair that reminds him ever so of the Malfoy line. 

Going by Regulus’ luck, it’s probably his sodding nephew or something. 

“You are, under no circumstances, to engage in any form of physical altercation with your interrogator. You are under no circumstances to brandish your wand. If you are an Animagus, you may not transform-” 

And oh Merlin he’s just going to keep going, isn't he? It takes every bit of self control Regulus has to not whip out his wand and slap this upstart, probably-relative of his with a nice little mouth-locking charm.

He says as much, and the affronted look that the boy gives him is enough to draw a smirk from deep inside Regulus’ cold, black, and recently dead heart. 

The Auror, in lieu of response, merely shakes his head, drags him forwards by the chains, and dumps him into the chair with a slew of muttered curses. 

He counts that as a win. 

It’s another long wait before the interrogator actually arrives, which Regulus thinks is- quite frankly- very rude. If he wanted to waste time when he turned himself over to the Ministry, he would have gone somewhere else. Preferably somewhere with a lot less paperwork and a lot more firewhisky. 

Suddenly, the door clicks open, snapping Regulus out of his alcohol daydreams. He shuffles in his chair, doing his best to gather some semblance of his Black dignity, even with his hands chained like a goddamn criminal’s. He quickly crosses one leg over the other, hoping it’s enough to hide the bound state of his hands. Though, it’s a rather futile effort, seeing he holds no power in this sorry state. 

The sharp click of boots on white tile alerts Regulus to another’s presence. With all the showmanship of a former Pureblood heir and Order of Phoenix spy, he tosses his head up, fully intending to either charm or scare the everloving shit out of the interrogator. Preferably the latter, if he is honest. 

And then, his jaw promptly drops. 

Because James bloody Potter is standing there. James Potter who hadn’t seen in over a decade, James Potter who probably thinks he’s dead . 

James Potter, who, at the present moment, looks like he’s about to pass out or hex Regulus. 

They stare each other down for a minute. Then another. And then- James turns around and promptly collapses into his chair, burying his head in his hands. 

For his part, he gazes at James’ hunched form helplessly. 

What the hell is he supposed to do with this mess, now? 

Two minutes pass. Then another five. 

It’s been close to ten minutes since he’s initially entered by the time James actually manages to drag his head out of his palms to gape at him. 

Regulus immediately looks away. No way he can look into those liquid black eyes and come out of the other side still intact. Not when it’s been so many years, and so many heartbreaks later. 

He doesn’t turn his head, even when James coughs, sliding the Veritaserum towards him. 

“I’m going to need you to take the Veritaserum, Mr…” James trails off right before he says it. Right before he says his name. 

Regulus swallows, and quietly suppresses the urge to hurl. Or hex something. Shit . Regulus isn’t going to come out of this interrogation alive. Not when- not when James’ voice is still lovely and honey-rich, and especially not when it slides slow and heavy, like molasses, over his skin- seeping into every pore of his body and making him go rigid like a damn livewire. 

Not when it reminds Regulus of brown skin suffused with the afternoon light, glowing bright and golden and like the sun. 

He doesn’t reply. 

“Mr-” James starts again, his voice sounding strained, like it’s taking him some Herculean effort to remain professional. “Mr. Black. You have consented to taking the Veritaserum and going through this interrogation. This is the final step to clearing that you are, in fact, Regulus Black, and not an imposter. I advise you to-” he clamps his jaws shut with an audible click , exhaling sharply through his nose. 

A beat passes.

With no small effort, he turns his head back, and- 

Catches his breath. 

A punched out exhale leaves him. James is still beautiful . Even under the pallid lights of the interrogation room, his chocolate brown skin damn near glows .  Like he’s emitting sunlight just by standing there. 

Regulus’ heart beats double time. 

Slowly, he trails his gaze up the quivering line that is James’ body. The years have been kind to him. He’s properly grown into his previously lanky physique, and he seems to hold himself with an air of steadiness that wasn’t present before, during the first war

When Regulus’ eyes reach his face, their gazes meet. They stare- one- two- shit . 

All the fight drains out of him, and he knows that James has just won this silent battle. 

Just like he’s won all the ones in the past, and just like he would win the ones in the future. 

Just because Regulus Black is a weak man with a bleeding heart. 

Regulus holds his liquid-black gaze for a moment longer, before sighing and snatching the Veritaserum up from the wooden table in front of them- the one that separates them as surely as the oceans isolate two continents. 

Without breaking eye contact, he drinks the entire bottle in one, dramatic gulp . 

James practically chokes, “What the hell- Reg- shit- Black. You’re not supposed to drink that much! It's dangerous-” 

Regulus sets the bottle down with an audible clink that rings out against the stark white room. The light buzz overhead, flickering off and on irregularly. 

He leans forwards. Perhaps he’s trying to drown himself in James’ eyes . Though, it doubles as a nifty interrogation tactic.

“I just wanted you to be sure, Potter. That I’m not lying. The dose of Veritaserum that I just drank- not even Occlumency can overcome it. You know that as well as I do." His voice sounds so cold and he hates it. It takes every fiber of his self control to not leap across the table and press himself against James, whispering apologies for leaving him behind and for not- 

He forcefully derails that train of thought before he can spiral further. 

He doesn’t have time for this. Right now, James isn’t his old friend. He isn’t the man Regulus has been in love with for years. He’s just James Potter, Ministry interrogator. 

James' face tightens at his tone and Merlin , he looks so much older, with worn eyes and a healthy tan snaking up the long line of his neck. Smile lines have worn his face down with deep caverns. 

Quietly, Regulus’ heart aches, knowing that it was not him who had stood by James all these years, and knowing that it will never be him who would stand with him. 

Regulus gives him a thin smile, “So, interrogator? What questions do you have for me?” 

James gazes at him, almost helplessly, before shaking himself out of whatever funk he’s landed in. The look on his face settles, cold and distant, and he just knows that this isn’t his James Potter anymore. It’s interrogator James- Ministry worker and the man who will decide his fate. 

“Well, Mr. Black. My report states, according to the medical checkups performed, you were put under a stasis spell before your heart gave out. Its conditions were, as determined by our curse-breakers, that first, the war would end, and second, you would not be in any immediate danger when the spell would expire. What do you make of this?” His voice is professional, but not harsh. 

This is not James Potter , he reminds himself resolutely, this is a Ministry Worker . He can’t give in to the tide of emotions deluging him. 

 It, of course, does no good. He has always been helpless against James, no matter what circumstances it was under. 

Regulus leans forwards ever so slightly, giving James a well practiced, calculating look, “Well. That would sound about right, Mr. Potter. I was put under the stasis spell during the first uprising of Voldemort, and only woke up when the second one ended. So I daresay those conditions are correct.” 

James' back goes rigid, and he stares at Regulus with an unreadable look in his eyes. 

Already, his mask was slipping, Regulus notes with a healthy amount of satisfaction. Looks like he still has an effect on James, no matter how many years later it has been. 

“Right, er-” James clears his throat, furrowing his brows intently, though his posture still mirrors his distrust of Regulus, “Do you know who did it then, Mr. Black? Who put the spell on you.” 

And there it is. The crux of the whole issue. 

At this, he feels himself slump forwards, every ounce of Slytherin cunning that he had mustered up draining out of him in one fell swoop. He feels his forehead hit the table with a dull thunk .

Merlin , he’s so pathetic. 

“Reg- Mr. Black?” James sounds alarmed and oh Salazar - he’s concerned. James Potter is actually concerned about Regulus Black. 

His heart beats faster, if that’s even possible. Honestly, it’s a miracle that he hasn’t collapsed from heart palpitations yet.   

“Give me a minute, Potter. Let me bloody sort myself out,” he mutters quietly, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. 

When he finally looks up, he sees that all of the distrust that the other man had held previously has fallen away, only to be replaced with worry. 

Regulus steadies himself again- the best he can with his hands bound- and looks up, meeting James’ helpless gaze head on. 

“It was Barty Crouch Jr,” he says with absolute certainty, “He put the spell on me.”

James looks taken aback momentarily by the resolve in his voice, only to school his expression back into something more professional. “Right. Well, can I ask how you came to that conclusion?” 

Well, if that wasn’t the million fucking dollar question. 

Something caves in Regulus’ chest, and he releases a deep, shuddering breath, slumping forwards again. 

“Mr Black?” bloody hell did James always have to sound so damn earnest- 

His ribs are breaking open, Merlin- he can’t do this. He can’t think about it. He can’t he can’t-

The Verateserium kicks in, and he’s already opening his mouth. 

“I watched him. I watched- he- Barty he-” His breaths are panicked, and his hands tremble where they’re resting in his lap. 

Regulus whips his head up, his maniac stare boring into James’ own troubled gaze as he shudders again and Salazar, was he so lightheaded before-

He can’t stop. The Veratiserium is wrenching the truth from his chest, from his stomach. It’s ripping him open. 

“He ate his heart,” Regulus whispers, and something like horror dawns on James’ face, “Voldemort. He ate Barty’s heart. Said it- it was for- a blood ritual. He was planning to use mine but- shit -” He keens forwards again, a low whine escaping him as the memories of that night rush unfettered through him like an undammed river. 

A dry sob escapes him. He can’t breathe . He can’t breathe. He’s shaking and he his fingers are tremble and fisting the fabric of his robes and he can’t breathe-

Suddenly, there are hands on his back. Warm, calloused hands that he knows so well and loves so dearly with every breath he has taken since he was sixteen. 

James was right here, kneeling next to him, his brows furrowed in concern, his eyes wide with panic and concerns 

Oh gods above, he’s so, so beautiful. And he’s right there.

Quietly, Regulus slumps against him, resting his throbbing head in the crook of his neck. It’s humiliating. It’s pathetic, and it’s mortifying but he can’t bring himself to let go. 

James still smells like day old cologne and flowery detergent. He loves it. He’ll love anything as long as it’s James’.

Moments slip by like water along a mountain stream, but James doesn’t let go of him. 

Regulus takes a deep breath in. His hands have stopped shaking, he distantly notes. 

“Fine. I’m fine. We can continue,” he rasps out into James’ shoulder, his breath ghosting across the expanse of his brown skin. He doesn’t even pretend that he means it. Doesn’t try to push James away. 

They’ve forgotten all semblance of professionalism. He’s still clutching at James’ shirt, and Regulus feels him pull him even closer. It’s almost like he’s trying to transfuse some of his own happiness into Regulus- just by touching him. 

The thought makes Regulus curl into him further.  

James sighs against his temple, his fingers fisting in the back or Regulus’ shirt. “It's okay. It's alright. I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is soft, dripping with compassion. 

Regulus’ eyes flutter shut, and he presses even further into James. He’s so tired. Salazar, he’s so tired. It’s been entirely too much time since anyone has held him like this. Since anyone has touched him like he matters. He’s so tired . 

“I’m so tired, James,” he whispered, “I’m so, so tired. It's been so long.” 

James lets out a wounded noise, and grazes the back of Regulus’ neck with the warm pads of his fingers. Regulus can’t help but lean into the touch, shivering helplessly. 

He’s so pathetic. Former spy, reduced to tears at the mention of his dead best friend and an embrace from the man he’s in love with. Absolutely pathetic. 

“I’m here, Regulus. You don’t have to be alone anymore. Never again, never again,” James’ voice is quivering with conviction and something deeper that Regulus doesn’t bother unraveling. 

For a moment, he almost believes James. 

Because how can he not , when it’s James Potter and he’s holding Regulus like he’s something special, something worth loving and worth holding on to. How can he not trust him fully and irrevocably when he’s speaking to him with his liquid-sweet voice and pressing him into his chest like that . 

Regulus feels like he can reach out in front of him- tear through James’ chest like Voldemort did with Barty, and rip his heart out. And by the way James is embracing him, he almost feels like he would let him. Like he would willingly let Regulus tear his lifeline out of him and feast on it, just to prove that he is loved and trusted by at least one person. 

Because it’s kind, beautiful James. James, who was his first and only love. James, the only one who had never doubted Regulus. Not even once. Not when he became a spy, and not before. 

Cocooned in James’ arms, he lets himself cry for the first time in years. He lets himself cry for the first time since he was sixteen, and a prospective Death Eater. Since he was sixteen and the only things that mattered were Barty, Evan and his love for James. 

James just clutches him tighter and whispers soft words that he can barely understand or hear into his ringing ears. 

The interrogation ends a long, painful four hours later. 

He finds that he’s been acquitted three days after that, when an owl drops by his rented flat in Muggle London. The letter has the stamp of “ Interrogator James Potter” branded on it with bloodred ink. Inside, he finds a handful of newly issued identity documents- along with a small, gun-metal coloured key to his Gringotts vault. 

In his haste to make immediate use of his rediscovered wealth, he almost doesn’t notice the little note stuffed into the bottom of the weighty envelope. 

“ XXX-1349-  my Floo number. Don’t be a stranger, Reg. Drop in any time. We need to talk.

And before you ask, no, I haven’t told Padfoot yet. I think it's best if he hears it from you.

- J.P” 

It’s been almost a week since what he has dubbed the “James Potter Debacle” at the Ministry. He has finally worked up the courage to meet up with James, and Merlin, despite his long term infatuation for the man, does he regret it. 

The idiot is just so damn dull at times. 

Which leads him to the present moment- hurrying along Muggle London while James Potter works himself into a fit behind him, all while Regulus desperately dodges people as well as James’ questions regarding his two decade long absence.

He’s just trying to get to his flat , damn it all. Why can’t the idiot Gryffindor wait till they’re somewhere less public and until they both have respectable amounts of tea in front of them to interrogate him for the second time.

“So wait you’re saying-” James is already out of breath, huffing and puffing. He sounds rather like the wolf in that one Muggle story about the pigs and their sad housing conditions. 

“Yes, James. I was a spy. For the Order of the Phoenix. Under Dumbledore’s orders,” Regulus deadpans, walking ahead of him, “Do keep up, Potter. It's really not that hard.” 

James practically gallops to catch up with him, only to open his mouth and start babbling again. “Wait- if you were a spy , then why didn’t Dumbledore tell us that when we thought you bloody died -” he sounds affronted, as if he couldn’t believe that Saint Dumbeldore could ever do something wrong in his godforsaken life. 

Regulus snorts a little bit, before turning to face him. 

“I don’t know Potter. I really don’t. Maybe he wanted you all to think I died a traitor,” he drawls, his tone tinged with dry sarcasm. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees James scowl thunderously, his dark eyes glimmering golden with the streetlights around them. It’s rather attractive, if Regulus thinks about it.  “Don’t even joke about that Reg. You’re not a bloody traitor and I always knew it. We all did.” 

“Did you really?” his own voice was taut with indifference. As if he didn’t care- as if this wasn’t the most important thing to him, the only thing that kept him sane while under Dark Lord. 

“We did.” James affirms resolutely. 

“Alright.” 

A car blares past them, painting a streak of red against the starless London sky. They’ve stopped at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting out the signal. 

James hasn’t looked away from him, still. His eyes trail over Regulus’ suspended form, flickering from his gloved hands, to his unbuttoned coat to his dark, wind-mussed hair. He’s studying his pale face, the sharp and jagged points of his arms, the smoothened curves of his hips. 

Regulus freezes under the scrutiny, unable to look away from him. Unable to move a single limb out of place, even as the signal flashes green. Even as the street empties of cars. 

Their gazes meet, and his breath hitches in his chest. 

James’ eyes are blown wide open, with an unreadable emotion lurking beneath their black depths. 

Regulus can’t look away. 

And then, with all the layers of bullshit pulled away- with Regulus soft and frayed in his flat. With James in the kitchen, stirring the pot with his sleeves pulled up to his forearms and a worried frown twisting his lips- conversations spill out between them, something like- 

“Barty put you under the stasis spell? Because Voldemort was about to eat your heart out? ” a soft thud echoes as James rests the ladle on the counter. His face is all twisted and bleeding worry. 

“Yes.” Regulus leans against the door, watching him. The pads of his fingers prickle where he digs them into his scratchy sweater. The air is thick with the scent of domesticity. 

“Why-” 

“I don’t know, James.” He closes his eyes, turns away. The dark presses into him. 

A soft sigh from somewhere a little further to him. He hears footsteps. 

“I’m sorry,” James whispers, closer now. 

Regulus doesn't dare look at him, he can’t bring himself to. 

“It's ok. I’m ok.” He presses his forehead a little further into the hardwood door frame. A dull ache suffuses through his skin. 

“Ok.” He goes back to stirring the curry. 

Words had never seemed more scare than at that moment. 

And then, sometimes, he makes a decision. Sometimes, he peels back the crinkled wrapping over his chest, just a little bit, and then they talk like- 

“You’re wondering, aren’t you?” he says, quietly. 

The fire in the hearth crackles, flickering brighter for a second, dousing them in its orange light. It throws the sharp points of the kitchen into golden relief. 

James’ eyes seek Regulus’ own, across the table. His tan fingers white knuckle the edges of the plastic table in front of them. He seems sad, but also content. More settled than he did at the ministry. Regulus wonders if any of those had to do with him. 

“You don’t have to tell me.” His voice is soft and honeyed as ever. Regulus wants to drink it, sometimes. Press his mouth to his own and drink the prayers straight from his throat. 

“I know. I want to tell you.” Regulus closes his eyes. Drops his head onto his palms, just to block James from his sight. Just so he doesn’t have to superimpose the image of a violet, torn open Barty over the soft visage of the man he loves.

“Ok.” James whispers, “Anything, anything you want to tell me. I’m here. I’ll listen.”

Regulus wants to believe him, he wants to believe him so much that the pain is almost physical. 

He wonders if this was how Barty felt everytime he looked at Regulus. He wonders if this was how his chest ached, when he felt Voldemort plunging his hand into his ribs to snap his heart out. He wonders if this was the burden of love.  

“Barty saved me by offering himself in my place. Because-” He trails off. The spoon clatters out of his hand.

James looks pained again. So empathetic , that bastard. He looks like he’s about to come rushing to Regulus’ side again, he looks like he’s about to hold him again. 

He wants to be selfish, he wants to feel those arms around him again- 

But his mouth’s moving on its own. 

“Because he loved me, James.” 

James’ expression shatters, and wordlessly, he rushes over again. Regulus stops him with a desperate shake of his head. 

“Let me- just- let me-” he curls further into himself, digging his hands over his heart, clawing at his chest. His breaths multiply. 

Suddenly, there are warm hands on his. A bespectacled pair of soft brown eyes move into his line of sight. 

“Hey- hey Reg- I’m here. Please. I’m here.” 

Regulus looks at him- stilling for a moment, before gently extricating himself from James’ embrace. He hopes he imagines the way his face falls, just a little bit, before James purses his lips and walks back to his chair with a couple of dull footfalls. 

He hopes with everything he has that he imagines the disappointment flashing through his eyes when Regulus pushed him away. 

“Barty was my best friend, as you know.” He sees James nod once, tensely, “But he also- he was in love with me. I couldn’t reciprocate but- Merlin - I felt so bad about it. He was my best friend and my soulmate and I just couldn’t love him, not the way he needed me to.” He digs the heels of his palm into his pricking eyes. He hears James take a shaky breath. 

What he doesn’t say is that sometimes he feels like he was the monster that Barty was running from. Sometimes Regulus thought that maybe he himself was the one that doomed Barty, just by letting him fall in love with him. 

James doesn’t seem to agree. 

“That’s not your fault, you know, Regulus? Sometimes- sometimes we’re just in love, and other people, well, they aren’t. It's not your fault that you couldn’t love him. And he- he loved you. Sometimes, we do bad things for people we love.” He sounds pained, so wounded , and Regulus feels his heart shrivel with hatred for whoever hurt him. 

Regulus looks up again, meeting James’ liquid-black eyes, “I know,” he whispers into the space between them. “I know James. Doesn’t make it easier though.”

James closes his eyes, his soft lips parting with a whispered sigh. A dull thud sounds as he leans his head onto the back of his chair. A breath- then two. His eyes open, just a crack, and he stares at Regulus from under his eyelashes. A weak half-smile graces his soft features, “I know, Reg. I know.”

Regulus knows too. 

They bask in their shared heartache quietly together- bowed towards each other. Like eagles poised for a flight and for the subsequent collision.

Regulus just hopes he’s ready for the inevitable fall. 

James keeps coming. Day after day, he crashes into his flat like a sentient windstorm and sweeps him up into his orbit. He cooks for him, drags him out of bed like a fussy mother hen, and practically threatens him into showering when he sees one too many grease stains on his crusty, week-old jumpers. 

Regulus hates it. Regulus pretends to hate it. James, of course, sees right through his bullshit, and bears his complaining with a raised eyebrow and a blinding smile when Regulus finally gives in to his nagging. It's an odd routine, but a welcome distraction from his usual self destructive tendencies. 

But, of course, just because he lets James in on his good days, it's suddenly expected that he also deals with him on his bad ones. 

Which leads to conversations like- 

“Reg you gotta-” 

“No.” 

“Reg. Please . You’ve been in there all day, at least come out to eat.” 

Silence. 

A soft sigh. “Please. I made tea. You don’t even have to eat anything just- come out. Please.” 

Silence. And then, a rattling sob. 

“I can’t move, James” a hitch in his breath, “I have- the glass shards they’re- I’m bleeding.” 

Silence. 

“I’m coming in, Reg. Just- stay there. Don’t- please , god I can’t lose you again-” 

That’s the only time he hurts himself. The shattered look on James’ face when he sees his wrists bleeding in rivulets is enough for his chest to collapse in on itself. 

James cries that day. Regulus can’t do anything but watch helplessly. 

It doesn’t end there. The bad days keep getting worse, and worse, and then somehow even worse until Regulus can’t even fathom why he’s alive anymore. He doesn’t sleep, he barely eats, except when James practically spoon feeds him, and some days he doesn’t even remember if he wakes up. The silence smothers him, presses on him until it’s thick enough to choke on. 

And choke Regulus does. 

It's autumn when James finds him on the floor. 

He has just unlocked the door with the extra key that Regulus made just for him, and is striding into the room with an excited glint in his black-brown eyes and a soft smile on his worn face. His hands are overflowing with boxes. The sunlight tears through a nearby window in thick bars and flows over his skin like molasses, turning his form honey gold.

He’s the sun , Regulus thinks, for one delirious moment. He’s the goddamn sun.  

And then James sees him- curled up pathetically on the floor with matted hair and bloodshot eyes. Like some shot dog lying on the highway, waiting to be put out of its misery. All the elation drains from his face, and the boxes cascade onto the floor as he rushes towards him.

“What the hell happened to you-” James sweeps his panicked gaze over Regulus’ trembling frame. “What the hell, Reg- are you ok? What happened?” 

Regulus just groans wordlessly. 

“ Fuck - Fuck-” James hoists him up, his calloused hands clutching onto Regulus’ bony arms as he lifts him. The warmth seems to bleed from James’ fingers and directly into Regulus’ bloodstream, and he feels stronger already. 

Soon, he’s settled on the chair and there’s a pot of tea boiling in the kitchen. 

“Reg, mate-” James begins, his eyes wide and panicked as he studies Regulus’ worn eyes and pallid complexion. 

“I forgot to eat,” Regulus says tonelessly, dropping his eyes down to study James’ jumper. Anything to make sure he doesn’t have to see the concern in his eyes- the concern which cuts deep and sends a stab of something like pain curling through his own stomach. 

He hears him let out a punched-out exhale. “ Fuck. Fucking hell Reg- you can’t keep living like this! It's not healthy!”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say James.” His voice sounded unconvincing even to himself. 

“Yeah you do, you asshole. You know exactly what’s happening,” James’ eyes are a little wild he leans forward, fixing Regulus with an unimpressed look. 

“Care to enlighten me, then?” He raises an eyebrow. He gets a flat stare in return. 

“You- you’re avoiding going outside! You’re avoiding seeing your family! You can’t cope with the fact that you’ve been asleep for two fucking decades, so you’re sitting here and rotting away!” and oh, James is positively blazing with worry-turned-rage now, and its more attractive than Regulus would like to admit.

“No I’m not.” 

“Yes you bloody well are! Did you know that at your request, I’ve had to conceal from your goddamn brother, and my son that you’re alive!” James’ voice is bitingly harsh now, and Regulus almost recoils from the force of his words. 

James is practically panting, letting out sharp breaths that seem to assault the air around them with violent sound.

Regulus is left winded, as if James has reached and plucked all the breath from his chest and drawn it into himself. 

The teapot lets out a shrill sound in the kitchen, and James collapses back into his chair. There’s a beat of silence. 

“I-” Regulus begins, and promptly lets go of all of his defenses. He knows James is right, and if not for himself, then at least James deserves better than having to nurse a practically middle aged man back from death every week.

He takes a deep, rattling breath. “How do I even start , James? How the hell do I even start living after being dead for twenty years?” He punctuates the last statement with a helpless look at him.

At this, James visibly softens. He reaches his hand across the table, and interlaces his brown fingers with his own pale ones. Their warmth bleeds together and pools into something resembling intimacy. 

Regulus thinks that he’s fallen a little bit further in love. He didn’t know that was possible. 

His liquid-black eyes shine golden in the sun with assurance as he leans forwards and towards Regulus. 

“Come with me Reg. Let me help you.” James’ voice is soft and lilting and oh, he’s lovely, isn’t he? 

The thick sunlight bathes the air around them with warm, heated promise. Something in his chest settles, just a little bit. He can breathe easier, again. 

A quiet realization strikes him. James is the sun- everyone knows that. But, sometimes, Regulus feels like Mercury- constantly facing him, orbiting him. Drawing infinitesimally closer with every moment. 

“Ok,” he whispers. 

James asks Regulus to move into his house, ostensibly ‘ just until you’ve settled into this decade better.’

Regulus staunchly says no, because who is he to impose on someone else’s life, someone else’s family? 

James, the stubborn bastard, comes up with a list of reasons why he should come to live with him, in retaliation. He even has the balls to mail it to him by owl. Regulus does not find it funny at all, but James almost pisses himself laughing when he finds a furious Regulus sorting through a tower of envelopes, all of them with ‘Interrogator James Potter’ stamped on it in big, blaring red ink. 

Regulus takes immense joy in burning all of them right in front of James’ eyes. 

Mailing issues aside, the list itself is quite impressive. The reasons include- 

“1) I am lonely. 

2) I could really use another roommate. 

3) I’m a divorced, almost middle aged man who’s sad a lot. 

4) I haven’t seen you in a while.

5) My kid’s an adult and I barely see him. And he’s married. 

6) Moony and Padfoot are always off by themselves. It's so boring. 

7) There’s an extra bedroom. 

8) I’ve missed you for ages.” 

It’s the last reason that really does it for him. And the third, shamefully, gives him an immeasurable amount of joy. He really shouldn’t be this happy about someone being divorced, but of course, he can’t help himself. Not when he’s been in love with the said someone for over half of his life. 

When he finally acquiesces, James gives him a ridiculously happy smile and fist pumps the air like he has a grudge against it. Regulus, like the weak, weak bastard he is, can’t help but smile back. 

He moves in the next month. It goes quite well, better than Regulus expected. But , of course, James has forgotten to mention one small detail. 

Sirius and Remus live in the same house as him. Sirius Black, his brother, his enemy, and the person who raised him- 

Sirius who doesn’t even know that he’s bloody alive . 

It comes as a shock to both of them. One minute, Regulus is puttering about in the kitchen, attempting to figure out where the hell James keeps his green tea, grumbling under his breath about stupid black eyes and pretty brown skin. In the next, there’s a bright green flash and a barked out Expelliarmus! And everything’s gone to shit. 

Regulus throws himself back against the counter, more out of reflex than in defense. Years of conditioning received under the careful tutelage of his bastard parents, indoctrination under a genocidal maniac and his den of trigger-happy madmen - all of it comes rushing back to him as he whirls towards his attacker. 

Wordlessly and wandlessly, he begins casting. For an exhilarating few moments that seems to stretch like hours, it's just him and the familiar thrumming of danger beneath his skin. He barely registers anything past the curses he shoots out, and the heady rush of adrenaline that battle has always injected straight into his bloodstream. 

Suddenly, a flash of gun-metal grey catches his eyes.

His attacker barrels into him, slamming him against the bare kitchen wall with a dull thud . He goes slack. The tip of a wand jabs into his throat, ripping a cough out of his chest. He barely feels the pain. 

“Sirius?” he rasps out.

His brother- his brother - Merlin he could cry-

Sirius’ eyes widen as stark shock fills them. 

“Regulus?” 

They stare at each other- Regulus still pinned against the wall and Sirius against him, wand shakily pointed at his throat. 

“ Sirius -” fat tears fill his eyes, and he collapses, boneless, against his brother. 

Sobs wrack his body as the familiar wet dogfur and cheap cologne smell permeates the air. He gasps up big, gulping breaths, trying to imprint the scent into his lungs. The same smell that wove through every single childhood memory- every beating from mother; every birthday spent pointing out stars and making wishes and building a future with only their tongue and their saliva and the words that tumbled off of them. Every broken bone, scraped knee. The first time Regulus liked a boy- the first time Sirius fell in love- the first time Sirius taught him what soulmate meant- it all comes crashing back, breaks his chest open and leaves him turned inside out and upside down. 

Sirius goes slack under him. For a second- Regulus is afraid. Afraid that Sirius is going to leave him again. Afraid that he’s going to hate Regulus for what he didn’t have the courage to do before. Oh Merlin, he’s so afraid.  

But then, all of a sudden, his arms tighten around Regulus’ caved in ribs, and Sirius is crying too. Burying his face into his hair, and practically howling his grief into Regulus’ head.  

Remus finds them like that, surrounded by the detritus of their battle. They’re sitting so entangled in each other, they’re practically one being. 

“Moony-” Sirius finally lifts his head from its previous resting place in Regulus’ thick hair, “Moony he’s alive - bloody hell he’s alive-” and promptly starts crying again. Regulus never stopped. 

Remus looks helplessly at the pair on the floor, and after a bit of deliberation, carefully starts maneuvering through the ruined kitchen to set down a pot of tea. 

Once the tea has been brewed, and Regulus and Sirius have managed to calm down and extricate themselves from each other- the questions start pouring in like a fucking waterfall.

His head throbs. This is why he didn’t try to reunite with his brother earlier on.  

But, he realizes that can’t find it in himself to ignore Sirius. Not after all that’s happened. Not after thinking that he was going to die and realizing that his only regret was not seeing his brother again- not explaining his spy status, not explaining what the hell was happening with him and why he couldn’t leave. 

He takes one last sip of his tea- breathing in the aroma, letting his lungs suffuse with the warmth. He looks up and meets Sirius’ gaze head-on. 

“I was a spy for the Order.” 

Sirius looks stricken, “What?” Remus, sitting next to him, has a similarly bewildered expression on his face. 

Regulus doesn’t flinch, he doesn’t drop his gaze. Grey on grey- metal on metal. That’s always what it's been like, whenever he and Sirius argued. One wrong move- one wrong look, and the entire thing caught fire. Their relationship has always been so volatile, built on so many wordless gestures and memories that, at one point, they were less blood-brothers and more corpses with exit wounds bleeding similar blood. 

“After graduating, right after the rise of the Dark Lord- Dumbledore enlisted me. Told me I was to be a spy. My job was to find the horcruxes, and destroy them.” He tells his story with a flat, toneless inflection. He does not need anyone to see his hatred of Dumbledore, especially people like Sirius, who practically worshiped him. 

Remus’ eyes widen slightly, and Sirius practically drops his mug of tea. 

“You-” Sirius begins, his eyes are a little wild, “You couldn’t- He would’ve told us-” 

“Well, he fucking didn’t. I don’t know what you’re looking for, Sirius, but you won’t find it here.” he narrows his eyes, “Dumbledore was not a good man. And I have no doubt that you know that by now.” 

Remus has resorted to rubbing soothing little circles on Sirius’ back. He’s shivering, Regulus notes with a dim sort of urgency. His tea lies forgotten in his hands. 

“You were a spy,” Remus says, his voice level, “I understand that. But it's been- what? Three years since the end of the second war? And it's been over fifteen years since the end of the first.” His voice has taken on a hint of hardness, and it thrums with an undercurrent of danger. 

If you hurt him,  you will regret it , Lupin’s swirling hazel gaze seems to claw this message directly into Regulus’ skull. Sirius shakes even more, beside him, and he looks to be about two seconds away from another breakdown. The way he clutches onto Remus speaks of a deep love between the two men. 

Regulus smiles faintly. It was good to see that his brother still had his werewolf lover beside him, even after so many years. 

“Well- I would’ve come back. But, you see, there was a slight complication,” his smile turns a little sardonic, “I died.” 

A beat. 

“That’s not bloody well possible and you know it!” Sirius shouts suddenly, leaping half out of his chair. His mug of tea clatters onto the floor with a piercing clink . Something wet makes contact with Regulus' feet: the spilled tea. “Stop bloody lying Regulus! You- fucking hell- just tell us if you were sick of us- just tell me if you hated me and needed to leave for two bloody decades and to sort your shit out. Don’t lie!” 

It’s always been like this, their arguments. Gasoline on a fire. Exploding outwards and inwards and bleeding out because of the shrapnel. 

“I’m not lying, Sirius.” Regulus’ voice is cool. In contrast, his insides feel like they’re trying to escape from his chest and choke him blue. 

“You can’t prove it, can you?” Sirius is wild, unchained like the damn dog his animagus form is. 

“Ask James.” 

“What’s James got to do with any of this?” Sirius is still shouting, grabbing onto Lupin like he’s the only thing keeping him sane right then. Spit flies out of his mouth. 

The door clicks open. Light floods the dim sitting room. Bag of groceries in hand, James Potter walks in, takes one look at the scene, and locks eyes with Regulus. 

He almost laughs at the dull panic settling into James’ wide gaze. 

Regulus takes another quiet sip of his tea, while Sirius seethes on the chair at the other side of the table. He hears James mutter a quiet ‘fucking hell’ .

“Everything. James has got everything to do with this. He can tell you that I’m not lying, for starters.”  

Chapter Text

Sirius still won’t speak with James. It’s been a whole week since the bloody argument, and every time James walks into a room, Sirius practically flies out of it. 

It would’ve been funny, if James didn’t look so miserable. That’s the least of his problems, though. 

Regulus keeps mostly to himself. He answers the probing questions Sirius asks every day, he thanks Lupin when he makes tea, and he smiles at James when he comes back home from work. Still, it doesn’t stop the worried looks.

Sirius is the worst of them. He’s constantly staring at Regulus, like he’s trying to solve a bloody maths problem. James’- well James has been dealing with him for a bit longer, so he’s used to him. That still doesn’t stop him from casting concerned glances at him every other minute, which would be annoying if it didn’t make his heart seize up like a swooning schoolgirl. Lupin thinks he’s subtle, but he really isn’t, with the atrocious amounts of tea he makes every time Regulus has a panic attack- which is every day. 

They’re all still walking eggshells around him, and Regulus really can’t bring himself to care. Ever since the argument with Sirius, which resulted in James telling both Lupin and Sirius about where exactly Regulus has been for twenty years and what happened to him, the whole lot of them seem to think he’s just going to up and collapse one day and never wake up again. 

Though, at times, that at least seems preferable to the living hell he goes through on a daily basis. 

He can still barely wake up. Some days, either James or Sirius- sometimes even both- need to quite literally hoist him out of bed. Other days, he swears he doesn’t even open his eyes. 

And other days, he’s so constantly aware of everything around him. He notices that Sirius has more eyebags now than he did before he arrived. Remus looks more stressed. James- well James acts just about the same, but something deep in his chest knows that he’s causing him distress too. 

He takes a lot of walks on these days. He goes outside- Muggle London, Diagon Alley. Sometimes he apparates out to a random loch in Scotland and spends the day among the trees and the wildlife: listening to the birds caw at each other, feeling the gentle creaking of the tree branches vibrating through the forest floor. He feels the most at peace in these moments, the high summer beating its relentless sunlight into his skin, while the distant howling of wolves threads between the tree branches as their leaves rustle softly. 

It’s on these days that he remembers Barty the most, too. 

A distant memory fumbles at his ribs from inside his chest, wafting up with the scent of the wet earth beneath him. 

Barty’s shock of brown hair, suffused with the winter moonlight. The cold waves breaking at their feet. The whispering of the sea. 

 “I want to learn how to drive, one day.” 

“What?” 

“I wanna drive Reggie. You know. Cars.”

A pause.  

“Those strange muggle contraptions?” 

Barty’s eyes are glimmering like molten obsidian. The moon casts its tranquil gaze on them, lining their stretching shadows with glittering white. 

“Hell yes.”

“Why would you want to drive those? Honestly, they look like deathtraps.” 

A seagull lets out a shrill shriek from somewhere. A pout twists Barty’s mouth. Regulus smiles- just a quiet quirk of his lips.

“Alright, Barts. We’ll learn. After all of this is over.” 

A silver flash of a smile, a crinkle of his eyes. 

“Ok.”

He looks so happy. He is so happy. Merlin, they used to be so happy. 

Regulus wants to stay here- stay in this moment forever. He doesn’t want to let go of him. He can’t stop looking at him. 

“Ok.” 

Barty smiles again, and Regulus can’t help but think he looks like a god trapped on the Earth, reaching for heaven. He’s breathtaking.  

He walks into the house quietly. It's midnight, and no one should be awake, but he still doesn’t take his chances. His brother and James are both too nosy for their own good. He puts his coat away, shivering a little as the cold summer night air blows in through the windows. Bloody hell , he forgot how fucking cold English summers were. 

He’s just about to sneak off to his room, when he notices that the lights in the kitchen are still on. His feet carry him in, despite the headache that he knows he’s going to have once he finally will be able to leave. 

James, Sirius, and Lupin- they’re all sitting together at the sad, rickety little excuse for a table. James is nursing a cup of coffee, looking oddly subdued. Sirius looks like a kicked dog, his complexion pallid and a strange, haunted look in his eyes. Lupin just looks tired. 

The lights buzz above them, flickering softly every once in a while, cutting planes of darkness across their drawn faces. 

The moment he steps in, they all whip their heads up simultaneously. An expression of obvious relief breaks out across James’ face. Lupin’s eyes widen a little bit, and he slumps back into his chair. Sirius looks fucking furious . Regulus stands there impassively, waiting. 

“Where the hell were you?” Of course it's Sirius.  His voice is loud and grating, and Regulus already feels the signs of an impending headache.

He decides to keep his answers short and honest. God knows Sirius would riot otherwise, the overprotective bastard. “Scotland.” He grits his teeth. 

Sirius’ eyes blaze even more, and he opens his mouth to say something biting. He’s cut off by James. 

“Why were you in Scotland?” James asks tentatively, his expression strangely guarded. His fingers twitch nervously where they’re intertwined with the handle of the coffee cup. 

Regulus huffs. “I wasn’t running away.” 

“Like hell you weren’t, asshole.” It's Sirius again. Regulus just about manages to restrain himself from leaping across the table to strangle him. He ignores the little bit of warmth unfurling in his gut at Sirius’ concern- he was worried. His brother was actually worried about him. 

Regulus just raises an eyebrow, “I’m not a child, Sirius. I can handle myself.”

Sirius looks like he disagrees, but Remus, ever the peacemaker, cuts in. 

“We were all just- worried,” Lupin rasps, his gaze hooded, “It hasn’t been that long since you came back and- well- we all just assumed the worst.” 

James murmurs a quiet assent at this, before taking another swig of his coffee. Merlin, he looks so tired . A trickle of guilt pools in his chest. 

A quiet realization builds, and Regulus’ eyes widen. Fuck . They were all worried about him. That’s why they decided to stay up so late- to wait for him. Because that’s what you did for people you cared about- worry. 

It’s an odd feeling. No one had been concerned for him in a long time. Not even Barty used to worry about him- while among the Death Eaters, they both were always too anxious saving their own arses to think about anyone else. It was always every man for himself, in that hellhole. And, of course, he knew Regulus could take care of himself.

His idiot brother, his werewolf husband and the dense love of his own life hadn’t figured that out yet, apparently. 

Regulus chose to settle for the truth. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice was quiet, despite the silence pressing in oppressively around them, “No one’s been worried for me in a long time. I’m not- I’m not used to it. Sorry for concerning you all.” 

James and Sirius’ eyes widen in horror at this. Lupin gives him a sad look of understanding. 

“Next time, don’t wait up. I’ll be fine.” 

He slips out the kitchen door, silent as death. 

Conversations continue like this- 

“Why were you in Scotland?” Sirius asks him the next morning. 

He, Regulus, Lupin and James are all crammed into the kitchen. Lupin’s making tea. James is frying eggs, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms again- Regulus absolutely does not ogle the muscles in them, this time. 

Sirius is just there to bother Regulus. 

Regulus sighs, “I don’t see why it concerns you.” 

James stiffens and Sirius’ flinches back like a chastised puppy.  Fuck . Stupid Gryffindors and their stupid feelings. He hates them, sometimes. All the time, in fact.  

He sighs tightly, pinching the bridge of his nose- these stupid, emotional men will drive him up a wall, one day. “Barty always wanted to see Scotland.” He bites out, resigned. He doesn’t register his words until too late. 

And oh Merlin, it’s worse now. They’re all staring at him with sadness and barely disguised pity. James looks like he’s about to say something stupidly understanding that’ll probably make Regulus cry and he has to put a stop to it now . It's barely nine in the morning, for Salazar’s sake. He’s not prepared for this. 

He ducks out of the kitchen, mumbling a hasty excuse that no one hears. 

No one follows him, but he swears he can hear a sound that suspiciously sounds like a sniffle coming from Sirius’ direction. He curses out Gryffindors again. One can never curse the house of Gryffindor and its members enough times. 

It doesn’t stop with that. At every opportunity, the three of them are just- there . Whether he’s having a panic attack, or trying to fix up some tea or even trying to escape from the stifling house to get some bloody fresh air, they’re always tailing him. It's not obvious, of course, they always find a way or some excuse to remain around him- but it's definitely not subtle at all. 

He’s just about had enough of it. So, after three or so weeks under their surveillance, he slips out of the house and apparates away before anyone can grab and interrogate him. 

He ends up in the middle of a crowded muggle street. He doesn’t even think it's in England. 

It's nighttime here. The stars are barely visible against the choking smog hanging above the deep navy sky. People crowd around him- pushing, pushing . The air is thick with humidity. It condenses as it touches his pale hands. A dog howls mournfully from a shadowed alley. Another joins it, from somewhere further away. He can hear the crying of children. Someone’s yelling in a strange language he doesn’t quite recognize. Odd, fragile little honks ring out from the streets, fighting for dominance with the blaring of cars. Rickshaws.  

He isn’t in England anymore. 

A faint memory stirs at him. 

 Somewhere far. Somewhere where no one will find us.

He pushes it down as quickly as it comes. Now is not the time to lose himself in the memories. He’s got a whole town to explore, people to meet and sights to take in.  

For the first time in a long, long time, warmth fills his stomach. 

He looks up at the glimmering streetlights above him, and the faceless, blurred crowds closing in around him, and he laughs. 

It fills his chest beautifully: an expanding bubble of joy. It’s a revelation. It’s something he hasn’t felt in years. He didn’t even know his chest was capable of holding this much happiness anymore. 

He stays there for as long as reasonably possible. He slips through lanes, by-lanes, watching the yellowed streetlights glinting off of dark puddles on the worn roads. He casts a discreet translator charm on himself, hiding out in a shadowed alley, and walks out into the street, chatting amicably with locals. A wizened old woman twinkles at him, asks him how a foreign man like him ended up in a place like this. This isn’t such a nice place , she says, tourists don’t like it here . He says, I like it here, and smiles. She smiles a crinkled little smile back at him, pats him on the back, and hands him some tea. 

When he goes back to the house that night, he feels empty again. He wonders if it’s easy to hate a place, even when it holds the people you love most in it. 

James is still awake when he enters. He looks soft, lined with moonlight. Curled up on the chair, he’s flipping through a battered old book. His brows are furrowed in concentration, and his lips are chapped from where he was chewing at them.

Regulus feels a deep ache in his heart. It’s overflowing, a little bit. Mostly with want, and a little bit with love. It’s not enough to assuage the dull bleakness he feels whenever he’s inside the house, but it’s there. And it matters.

James looks up. His obsidian eyes melt a little bit. A soft smile curls at the edges of his lips. 

“Welcome back,” his voice is reverent. It sounds a little bit like prayer. 

“Hey,” Regulus lets the lovely feeling in him leak out, just slightly- a smile. 

“Where were you?” It’s not accusatory, as it might have been with Sirius. It’s just warm. 

“Not sure. India, I think.” 

A soft huff of a laugh escapes from James. “Of course,” he nods his head in faux seriousness. “Where else could you possibly be?” His eyes slit, catlike. He fingers at the pages of his book absentmindedly. 

Regulus grins. “Yeah. Where else?” 

James laughs again. 

There’s silence, for a few beats. Something stirs in his stomach, a well worn ache. 

Where would you go?

He can’t quite catch it. He doesn’t know what it means, yet. It flutters, just out of reach, like an elusive Snitch. 

“I’m going to learn to drive,” he surprises himself with the words that tumble out of his own mouth. 

James’ eyes widen. “A car?”

The Snitch hums closer. He’s about to reach it, he’s about to clasp his hands around it. He can almost feel its cool metal against the warm thrumming of his own blood.

“Yeah, a car.” His voice sounds hoarse even to his own ears. 

James looks at him, his eyes unreadable. Regulus doesn’t flinch back from the scrutiny, meeting him beat for beat, with an almost challenging push to his gaze.

Whatever he’s looking for, he seems to find. James nods once, and flashes him a soft smile, quick like a knife’s edge. “Ok. We can go and find a driving school tommorow.” 

Regulus nods once and slips out of the room before he can do something daft, like tell James he’s completely and irrevocably in love with him. Or fall into James’ arms and never let go again.

Sirius stops him just as he’s about to enter his room. 

His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he’s been crying. He can’t help the pang of worry that cracks his chest. 

“Sorry.” Sirius rasps. He doesn’t say what for. 

Regulus sighs, and nods. The apology feels flimsy, for everything that’s happened, and will happen in the future. That’s because it is. It will never be enough, no matter how many times Sirius or Regulus grovels or talks or cries or screams or throws things. 

“Ok.” He says. He doesn’t need it, they’re well past being sorry for what they did to each other. For destroying each other. “Sorry,” he echoes as well. 

Sirius looks a little startled, but dips his head in acknowledgement anyway. 

They part, and it feels final. Closure’s what most people call it, he thinks.

They’re standing in the middle of Muggle London and Regulus is trying not to have a panic attack. James is beside him, and his face looks ashen as well. 

They’re standing in the middle of Muggle London, in front of a driving school. It's called “Rosier’s Automobiles and Driving School.” 

They’re standing in the middle of Muggle London and Evan Rosier is standing in front of them. His face is deathly pale, and he looks like he’s just about to pass out. He’s gripping the door of the shop so hard that it might just break. 

Regulus’ brain feels a little bit like that too: susceptible to fragmentation at any given moment. 

Finally, Evan ( is that really Evan? ) opens his mouth. “Regulus?” It comes out as more of a wheeze rather than actually coherent speech. 

Regulus’ chest is about to collapse in on itself. He feels James’ hand shoot out to grip at his elbow. He thanks all of the gods for James Potter and his inhuman ability to remain calm even in the worst of situations. Just having James steady beside him is enough to spur him into action. He opens his mouth as well. 

“Evan.” Thank fuck he sounds more put together than Evan. Otherwise, he might have passed away from mortification. 

Evan swallows. “Regulus.” His Adam's apple bobs, and he seems to be fighting back a bout of hyperventilation. “Come-er- inside.” 

Regulus goes in. James follows behind him. 

The interior of the shop is surprisingly cozy, for an Auto repair shop, at the very least. Large, glass windows line the walls, and sunlight filters in dusty bars through them.  There are odd metal bits scattered about on large, mahogany shelves. Assorted pictures and posters of cars just about cover every one of the cream coloured walls. A table is tucked into a shadowed corner, with a couple of sofas flanking it. The dull smell of petrol permeates through the air. 

The shop looks well loved. It looks like someone’s pride and joy. It looks like home .

He stops, and turns back to look at Evan. His grey eyes are unreadable, shadowed. His jaws are gritted, just the slightest amount. It’s barely there. Regulus wouldn’t have even noticed it if they hadn’t gone through hell and back together. 

Regulus smiles, fast and silver and filled with mischief, the way Barty used to.

Evan recognizes it, if the widening of his eyes is anything to go by. 

“I’m glad you’re happy, Ev.” He says. And then he smiles some more. 

Evan parts his lips. He’s about to say something, he’s working his lips around words that he’s probably planned to say for ages- probably angry ones- and then he just- stops . 

He sees some of the sunlight leak into Evan’s eyes, reminding him of the golden North Sea during dawn. Evan smiles too, just a little bit. It's barely a stretch of his lips, but it's enough. He cocks his head a little to the side, like he used to do back in school whenever Barty said something philosophical and he had to think deeply for an answer.

“I’m glad you’re alive, Reg.” His smile widens a bit more. It’s enough. 

The sunset settles around them, and paints the floor blue with their bleeding shadows. He hears James shuffle next to him, and the moment is broken. He finds that he doesn’t mind because his chest feels lighter. Somewhere, a golden snitch gets closer. He can feel it- it's so close.  

“So, how much for driving classes?” He can’t keep the note of humor out of his voice. 

Evan grins, “I’m going to bankrupt you, Black.” 

It’s enough. 

They’re enough. 

Even with a few lessons each week, it takes him two months to learn how to drive. Evan’s a surprisingly good teacher, patient and calm with explaining everything, especially the unfamiliar Muggle bits to him. It becomes an odd sort of routine: Regulus showing up at 12 pm everyday, usually with a steaming mug of tea or some sort of pastry, sometimes with James in tow. Evan’s usually out back working on a car.

They chat before lessons, catching up. He learns that Evan has a cat and a steady slew of boyfriends moving in and out of his flat, though he claims the only thing he really loves is his bike, whom he named Melly. He learns that Evan somehow managed to survive the first war, and then stayed in hiding all throughout the second. Regulus learns that he hasn’t practiced magic in six years and isn’t planning to anytime soon. He learns and he laughs and the light and airy feeling in his chest grows. Sometimes, James is there with them, too. Sometimes, Regulus looks at James and he can’t stop staring at the way the sunlight slips over him and into him and he looks golden. Whenever his gaze snaps back, Evan gives him a sad, knowing look. Regulus purses his lips and shakes his head. 

The autumn has melted back into winter by the time he finally passes his driver’s license exams. 

When he finally breaks into the shop, his driver’s license white-knuckled in his grip, Evan just grins at him, hands him a massive mug of Darjeeling tea, and they spend the whole day inside the shop. They talk until their mouths hurt and their throats are parched and then some more.

He’s just about to leave, his chest bursting at the seams with love and laughter, when a thought strikes him. 

The night is lying still around them, and Regulus has one foot out the door. Evan is still in the shop, finishing up some last-minute cleaning up. 

Evan’s lone figure gleams silver in the fractured moonlight streaming in through the cracks in the window blinds. 

“Hey, Ev?”

“Yeah?” 

“Why’d you open a muggle car shop?” 

There’s silence, and Regulus prepares to leave. He knew this question wouldn't be welcome, even before he asked it. They had resolutely avoided talking about the war so far. What’s one last day? 

He’s surprised when he hears Evan exhale sharply behind him.

“The same reason you’re learning to drive, I suppose.” 

“And why’s that?” 

“You know just as well as I do, Reg.” 

The quiet hangs heavy and oppressive around them. Barty . His face still ghosts around the two of them. They have been cursed with the burden of remembrance They’re the only two people who can . They’re the only people who remember Barty: just Barty, loud, snarky, lovely Barty. Not the spy in the death eater ranks. Not the politician’s son. Not a dead man. 

Evan keeps talking. “It just… felt right. Just- Barty, y’know? He was always on about cars and road trips and all the bullshit. The least I could do was see his dream through.”

Something catches in his throat. His eyes burn. Just Barty . As if Barty could be just anything. He was always more than human: exploding, bursting at the seams with will and love and righteous justice. 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

When he finally leaves, he thinks he and Evan understand each other a little better. 

The owl arrives three days after he’s bought his first car. It’s a strange, temperamental little creature, rapping on the front door of James’ house rather than attempting to break down the window, like most owls tend to do. 

Sirius lets it in, and Regulus hears a loud, indignant screech, followed by a string of high pitched expletives, courtesy of his brother. He sighs. Both Remus and James are at work, and James’ son, Harry, is apparently on his honeymoon and hasn’t been back for months. So, Regulus is the only one in the house, and thus the only one capable of dealing with Sirius’ little emergencies.  

He sighs, putting down the Muggle Auto magazine he had bought from the store this morning. When he finally manages to extricate himself from the armchair and tromp downstairs, he finds Sirius in a staring match with the owl.

It's a gorgeous animal: with snowy, white feathers and an elegant, arching beak- albeit a little bit on the shorter side. It seems to be intimidating Sirius, walking forwards every few seconds and letting out a territorial little shriek everytime his brother tries to come closer. Regulus immediately recognizes it as Evan’s snowy owl, Patricia. She has a hefty package tied to her right foot. 

Trust his brother to get into a fight with an owl of all things. 

“Oh bloody hell, Sirius get back , that mail’s for me. She’s not going to give it to anyone else.” He grouses as he sweeps down the stairs and towards the owl. 

Sirius looks disgruntled, “Why the hell are you even getting mail? As far as everyone knows, you’re dead. Don’t tell me it's those bloody car parts you’re ordering again.” 

Regulus quirks an eyebrow as he unties the brown package from Patricia’s leg. She seems perfectly amicable now that it’s Regulus she’s looking at, not his bastard of a brother. “Really, Sirius. Don’t you think it’s too soon, joking about my death like that?” 

Sirius sputters, “ Shit, Reggie I’m so sorry-” He flounders for a bit, opening his mouth and snapping it shut again, rather like a grounded fish. 

It’s the funniest thing he’s seen in ages. He’s always loved harassing his brother. 

Regulus grins widely, and Merlin it’s been so long since he’s been able to freely show joy like this. “I’m just messing with you, brother dearest.” 

“Oh you little shit-” Sirius looks comically outraged, and makes a grab for him. Regulus can see the bright glimmer of amusement in his eyes, however, and it just feels so nice and normal that it knocks his breath away, for a moment. 

He loves it: being nice and normal with Sirius. 

Regulus smirks and now he’s racing up the stairs, his package secured under his elbow, and oh Merlin Sirius is chasing him and they’re fully grown men chasing each other across someone else’s house that they just happen to live in and it’s so easy to pretend they didn’t try to break each other beyond repair at every moment just a few decades and a couple of wars ago and- 

And Regulus doesn’t get around to opening the package until late at night. He’s too busy messing around with Sirius and then he’s too busy cooking with James and watching him cook and then he’s too caught up with talking about the Muggle football clubs with Remus to really care about anything other than this bubble of domesticity that he’s managed to create with them. 

He retires to his room, and some of the bleakness seeps back into him. This place- this house- it doesn’t want him here. He can’t stay here. Something’s missing. Something in his chest is bright and gaping and he doesn’t know what it is. 

The golden snitch buzzes closer and closer and he can almost catch it, if he really tries. 

He rips the package open without much ceremony. Inside, there’s a smooth blue box with an odd little engraving on it. He can’t quite grasp what it is. When he opens it, a vial falls out. He barely catches it before it smacks against the cold stone floor and shatters. 

The vial is stoppered with an red, expensive looking plastic cork. There’s a bit of parchment stuck on the outer surface. 

‘Only to be opened by R.A.B” 

R.A.B- Regulus Arcturus Black. 

Inside the vial, there’s a bit of potion. Just enough for three to four good, hearty sips. It glints silver in the lamplight. He squints at it for a minute, unsure. 

Then it all comes together- almost like catching lightning in a bottle: the red stoppered vial, the bloody snitch inscription on the box. His own signature on the parchment, a signature no one used except him and Evan and- 

Barty . 

He gingerly picks up the box again and notices the bit of crumpled parchment sitting inconspicuously inside of it. He takes it out, opens it. 

‘Barty told me to give this to you. Just in case you ever came back. 

No, I don’t know if he’s alive or dead or what. Just thought you should have it, though.

-E.R’

It’s a letter from Evan. It’s a letter from Evan telling him that Barty left him this vial and this box. It’s a letter reminding him that this vial and box is the only thing he has left of Barty. 

He doesn’t even think. He just downs the potion. Barty.  

He can still hear the snitch buzzing. It's getting closer, he thinks. A memory rises in his chest, unbidden. 

It’s one of those nights. Those nights on the run, where they would watch the stars and contemplate death and the stars and everything in between. Those nights where the three of them got to know each other more intimately than the earth knows its rivers. 

Regulus is lying on the wet earth, staring up at the stars above. He thinks Barty’s beside him, his hand brushing Regulus’. 

“Where would you go?” It’s a breath. 

A press of skin against skin. “Mmm- A forest. Not sure where. Not one we’ve been to, though. Somewhere far. Somewhere where no one will find us.” 

“And then?”

“And then- and then I would go to the sea.” 

“The North?”

“The North.” 

“And after that?” 

They’re talking in circles, they’re speaking themselves dizzy. 

“And then I would go to Clinsbury.”

“Where’s that?” 

“That’s where my Mum says our family comes from. S’a Muggle town.”

“Sounds like a rotten place.”

A laugh. “Yeah, it's an old, soggy fishing village apparently.”

A snicker. “Sounds exciting, Barts.”

“Hell yeah it is. You’ll come with me, right Reggie?”

A breath. “Always.”  

A promise. 

The memory ends. 

Bloody hell . 

It was a memory potion. 

The snitch buzzes faster, louder. It’s calling him, and he has to answer. He can’t stay here, not like this. He can’t waste away like this. Not after everything. 

The lamplight goes out, leaving the room at the mercy of the midnight shadows. Regulus can feel his breath coming in sharp bursts. It’s the only thing protecting him from the rousing quiet. It wakes like a beast, and sits beside him. It’s breathing in the rasping, heavy way it always does. The quiet is a monster. He is a monster. 

His skin crawls. He remembers. How could he have ever forgotten? 

He remembers- his expanding chest as he walked through the small Indian town, the soft smile that would curl across his face whenever he saw his face reflected back to him by a loch somewhere deep in Scotland. He remembers Barty- he remembers and it’s not enough. 

“Where would you go?” 

Something pierces his chest. Bile flows through his body, where the blood should have been. He can’t stay here, not anymore. Not until he doesn’t feel like crawling out of his own skin and flying away everytime the blue-dark closes in around him. He can’t keep choking on the London air like this every day. He can’t keep sitting beside the silence-monster and keep living like this. 

“Where would you go?” 

Barty- Barty . He’s the mastermind of his. He has to be. There’s no one else, no one determined and meddlesome enough to send Regulus on a fucking scavenger hunt , even after death.  

Barty was never particularly sentimental, never one for drawn out goodbyes. But, he was a nosy prat. A lovable, nosy, beautiful prat. Of course he would do something like this. 

“Where would you go?” 

The whisper is more urgent this time, and Regulus almost recoils at the force of it. He can’t stay here. He won’t survive like this. 

Something shifts, and the moonlight punches through the window, throwing his surroundings into sharp, knifelike relief. It’s the final straw, and between one breath and the next, he knows what he needs to do. He needs to fill that damned cavity in his chest. He needs to leave, needs to run until home is a tangible thing and no longer a concept beyond his reach. 

Chapter Text

“I’m leaving for a few months.”

James, Sirius and Lupin, with their freaky Gryffindor telepathy, all whip their heads up at the same time.  

“ What.” It’s Sirius, his voice disbelieving.

Regulus rolls his eyes. The audacity of these people, honestly. He was perfectly clear in his speech, no reason to mishear. They ought to buy working ears.

“I’m leaving. I’ll be back in a month or three.”

James blinks at him stupidly. Sirius just looks wild and Lupin looks- well Lupin looks a little confused. He can never tell with him, really. 

“Why?” James says.

“I’m looking for something.” He says. And he doesn’t elaborate. Instead, he sweeps out the living room door and picks up his car keys from where they sit on the kitchen counter. He’s almost at the door. 

He hears a thud behind him. It’s James, running after him. Regulus sighs, slowing down slightly, and gears up for an argument. 

“You can’t just leave .” 

“Yes I can, James. I’m a grown man.”

He splutters. “But why? Why would you leave?”

“I already told you, I’m looking for something.”

There’s a pause. Regulus thinks he’s won, and he’s about to push outside and leave the house for good. James’ face goes stony. It’s a strange look on his soft features, like chiseling chalk. 

“Wait here.” He just about runs back into the house.

He doesn’t know how long he waits, or why he even bothers to. He hears a couple of telltale thuds. Voices ring out from the living room, James and Sirius arguing, he thinks. Lupin says something. They both shut up, and there’s a beat of silence. Then, James emerges, armed with a duffel bag, a strange glint in his eyes and a smile that spells trouble with a big T and an even bigger U. 

“No.”

“Yes.” His grin grows wider.

Bloody hell, he hated Gryffindors . “I said no.”

James doesn’t say anything. His smile grows, just a little bit, and he shoulders past him and out the door. 

Regulus flounders. What the hell. What the hell was James Potter doing? 

He goes outside, and finds him leaning by his car. 

“I said no, James.” He massages his temple. He doesn’t have time for this. He needs to get out of here now . 

“And I didn’t ask. Now open the damn trunk so I can put my bag in.” He sounds awfully smug. His eyes are black and glinting against the liquid winter sky. 

Regulus’ chest grows, a little bit. Just a smidgen. It’s enough, though. It feels enough like the loch in Scotland and the old grandma giving him tea in that small Indian town for it to matter.

He gives in, sighs, and opens the damn boot- as instructed by James Potter. The bastard has the audacity to look pleased, like a particularly annoying cat that had just got its cream. 

The day ripens a little bit more, and it touches James’ dark skin with fingerprints sticky with honeyed sunlight. His eyes are still twinkling. It does strange things to Regulus’ heart that he refuses to think about or acknowledge. 

They get into the car. Despite the winter chill, it’s strangely hot, and James insists on leaving the windows down. 

“We won’t need the heat,” he says. So self assured, that man. 

Regulus relents with a quirked eyebrow and a ghost of a smile.

James has the audacity to look pleased at this too, like making Regulus smile is an achievement. Stupid Gryffindors. 

Regulus settles into the driver’s seat, luxuriating in the feeling of the warm pulsing of his blood in his palms against the cool steering wheel. It feels a bit like catching a Snitch, he thinks. 

He starts the car, grinning as it purrs to life under him. Merlin. He could drive forever and never get tired of it.  He sees James stiffen from his place in the passenger’s seat. 

“Sorry, haven’t ridden shotgun in a while.” He flashes a nervous smile at him through the rearview mirror.

Regulus quirks his lips, “I didn’t know that you’ve been in a car before, honestly.”

James laughs. It’s a bright and carefree sound. Regulus can’t help the helpless little grin he returns. 

When he finally starts driving, he feels his blood sing at the ease with which the car cuts through the road. Every flex of his wrists, every touch of his fingertips- it all matters. He loves the control. He loves the humming of the engine running like adrenaline through his veins.

For the first thirty or so minutes, he’s so caught up with the feeling of being on the road, he practically forgets that James is there.

“You really love driving, don’t you?” James' voice is soft. 

He startles. “What?” He says, a little stupidly.

“Driving. You really love it.” His smile is lovely, and Regulus has to look away before he loses control of his body and sends the car careening into the trees on the sides of the road. 

“Yeah. I guess I do.”

They don’t talk much for the rest of the drive. Regulus doesn’t mind. James’ presence is warm and solid beside him. They don’t need words to know that the other is there. A look is enough.

They stop at midday. James’ stomach is crowing constantly, despite his reassurances that no he’s fine, it’s fine Regulus! I’m a big  boy- I can handle a bit of hunger! Regulus just quirks an unimpressed eyebrow and pulls into the parking lot of the first bed-and-breakfast inn he sees. 

The sign in front of the establishment reads ‘Martha’s Lodge’. It’s a quaint cottage with a constant, but not overwhelming slew of customers pouring in, resting inconspicuously on the side of a road, nestled between the trees surrounding it.  

When they enter, they’re ushered to a table by an old woman, who happens to be Martha herself. She takes one look at them, and says something along the lines of ‘Oh these young ones are too skinny these days! ’ And without prompting slams down two towering piles of pancakes in front of them. 

Regulus asks for some apple juice as well. The woman gives them a brilliant smile and sweeps away, and he feels like he did something good just by ordering apple juice. 

The sunlight pours in through the window, as they eat, lighting up the entire cottage and giving it an odd dreamlike quality. Some of the sun bleeds into Regulus’ chest, and there it is again- the bubble of joy. It’s growing, pushing at his ribs.  

At first the air is filled with the clattering of forks and spoons as they dig into the pancakes. But, after satiating his hunger, James perks up again, his eyes gleaming in that strange obsidian way. 

“Do you know where we’re going?” He asked, his voice bright and genuinely curious.

He was afraid of this question.

He sighs. “No.” 

“Oh. Well- what’re you looking for?” He moves closer, looking so damn earnest that Regulus can’t find it in himself to silence him. “Maybe I can help.”

He looks away.

James shifts again. Regulus hears the rustle of cloth as he adjusts himself, his gaze expectant. He’s waiting for an answer that Regulus isn’t sure he’s ready to give. 

Regulus meets James’ eyes again. His lips are upturned softly, in the way that paper curls when burnt.

“Barty- he- left me a memory. I think he wants me to- go to a few places.” He snaps his jaw shut. 

James stiffens, and something like sadness bleeds into him. “Okay.” He whispers. 

James is the one to look away first, this time, closing his eyes. 

Regulus opens his mouth desperately. He needs to explain before- before he ruins whatever is happening here. He’s always been better at destroying things than fixing them.

“I- I know he’s probably not alive,” he starts, his voice careful and slow, “But I can’t just- he was my best friend James. I owe it to him. I know it’s delusional. I know I’ll hurt myself more with this than anything else- but- fuck - just let me have this, James. Please .” His eyes feel dangerously wet. He’s practically begging by the end. 

James softens visibly. He reaches out across the table and interlaces his fingers with Regulus’- much in the same way he did that first day, in the Ministry. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right-“ James begins, his gaze open and soft, “I just don’t want you to destroy yourself over this. Grief is hard enough without false hope.”

Regulus ducks his head, and hates James a little, for killing the little bit of hope he had left. 

“I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

They finish the rest of the meal in silence. 

Before leaving, Regulus goes up to the old woman. 

“Martha?” He says hesitantly. 

Martha turns around, her eyes bright and her wrinkled face stained with white from where she wiped her face with her flour-covered hands. 

“Yes, dear?” Her voice is kind and it reminds him a little bit of honey.  “Have you eaten well?” 

His heart pangs. He imagines this is what having a grandmother, a mother- a parent, feels like.

“Yes,” he says, “The meal was delicious.”

Her smile grows even brighter. “Good. I’m glad. You need more meat on those bones, lad!” 

He lets out a quiet chuckle, “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Martha’s eyes are sharp and knowing. It reminds him a bit of how James’ mother used to look at him. “But that’s not what you came for, is it? What do you need, lad?” She puts her hands on her hips, swiveling to face him fully.

“I was wondering if you had a map, one with the roads and everything?”

“Of course.” She beams. “I’ll just be one moment.”

She rushes into the kitchen, and after a few moments, she’s pushing a crinkled old map into his palms. Regulus accepts it with a grateful smile. 

“It used to be my husband’s. He loved driving,” she says softly, her eyes oddly misty.

His heart drops. He makes to give it back to her, sputtering apologies.

“I can’t possibly take this-” He begins, his voice desperate. “It probably means a lot to you-” 

Martha just waves him away, “Nonsense! I won’t have any use for it even if I tried. It’s better that it finds a home where someone will actually make use of it. Or else it’ll sit collecting dust, and that’s a terribly depressing thought for something so important.” Her eyes are lined with kindness.

“But-” He opens his mouth to protest.

She looks at him firmly. “Young man. You love traveling, don’t you?”

Regulus’ eyes widen, but he nods mutely.

“Then keep it. My husband loved traveling too. He would’ve wanted it passed onto someone who loves the roads like him.” Her sharp tone leaves no room for argument.

He sighs, but manages to give her a small, grateful, smile. “Thank you.” 

The old woman looks pleased, “You’re welcome, lad. Now don’t keep that poor beau of your’s waiting!” She sends a cheeky wink at James, who’s leaning by the entrance, staring at them, his mouth quirked up in amusement. 

He feels himself go warm, but he doesn’t argue with her and walks over to James.

They leave the restaurant walking shoulder to shoulder, arms pressed together. Regulus’ chest grows even warmer, and his cheeks hurt a little bit. He doesn’t think he’s smiled so many times in a long time. 

He gets in the car, and hands the map to James, who’s settled back into the passenger’s seat. 

He gives Regulus a curious look, but takes the map anyway. 

“Pick a forest.” He says, by way of explanation. 

“Any forest?” 

“Any forest. Not one we’ve been to, though. Somewhere far. Somewhere where no one will find us.”

James’ eyes are gleaming in the way damp tree bark after fresh rain does. The dying sunlight slants over him, painting him in gold. His brows furrow endearingly as he concentrates on the map.

“Here,” he says at last, pointing at a large swath of trees. It looks to be about a day’s drive out. There’s a faint smile of satisfaction unfurling across his face. 

Regulus feels the click of the seatbelt as he secures it. His hands are back on the steering wheel- it feels like greeting an old friend. 

“Alright,” he says, and flashes a smile at James. Quick , silver, and knifelike. Like the way Barty used to smile.

He thinks he imagines the slightly wide-eyed look that he gets in return. 

They drive for hours. James is beside him, gently tracing his fingers along the grooves of the old map, occasionally calling out directions to Regulus. His presence is quiet and warm, and his smiles are soft and crinkled even when they’re directed at the road or the sky. 

He’s never seen James like this, he realizes. When at Hogwarts he was always bright and bursting, practically exploding with love and mischief. Love for Lily Evans and Sirius and Remus and Peter. Mischief reserved for the Slyrherins, like Regulus himself. He’s seen James deliriously happy at his wedding to the love of his life. He’s seen James Potter at his worst, lying pallid and bleeding and torn apart during a particularly bad Death Eater-Order of Phoenix clash. 

But, somehow, none of it compares to this: James Potter, silhouetted against the brown-gold smears of trees, chewing silently on his lip as the sunlight drips molasses-slow down the planes of his face, looking soft and rumpled and home . 

He looks like home. 

Regulus’ heart lurches in his chest, and he quietly turns his attention back to the road. 

It’s almost evening now. The sun burns like a bronze plate against the hazy England sky as it sets. Bloodred clouds drift across the fiery expanse of the sky, flooding their surroundings with dizzy orange light. The forest surrounding the road has thickened in the last few hours. If he looks really closely into its depths, he can see shadows flit across the dark trunks of the looming trees. They shift, mold and change shape sometimes. There’s no birdsong, only a dead sort of breeze. 

It’s reminiscent of the way the few months he, Evan, and Barty spent on the run from the Dark Lord, aged seventeen and fresh out of Hogwarts. 

James makes a soft sound next to him and averts his eyes from the forest.  

“What's wrong?” Regulus asks. He can’t help but look at him again. 

“The forest.” James begins. “It’s a bit- creepy.” 

“Oh.” 

James throws him a curious glance. “You don’t seem fazed by it.” It's an observation, rather than a question. 

Something strange happens in Regulus’ chest when he realizes James cares enough to observe him. He staunchly ignores it, and ignores the way the emerging night bleeds purple onto James and makes him look a bit like a Greek god. 

“That’s because I’m not.” Regulus says. 

“Oh.” It’s a soft push of a breath. Barely a word. James sounds surprised, and a little awed. 

Oh . That’s what’s happening. James thinks he’s being brave- like the weird little Gryffindor he is- and he admires that. Tendrils of guilt squirm in his belly. He can’t let James go on thinking he’s brave , that’s just a bloody lie. 

“I’m not- It’s not bravery,” he says, glancing out the corner of his eyes at James, “It’s not bravery.” 

“Then what is it?” The moon’s just about visible now. James’ eyes glint silver. The light accentuates the cracks spiraling across the cloudy expanse of his glasses. 

The car engine hums as he applies the slightest bit of pressure on the breaks. “It’s not bravery.” He says, more resolute. 

There’s a beat of silence. “It’s something though, isn’t it?” James whispers. His voice is low and gravelly. And it’s kind. Regulus doesn’t know what to do with kindness. He hasn’t received enough of it to know. 

So, he just tells him the truth.

“I’m just- used to it. Forests.” He pauses, sighing, feeling his shoulders slump. “After we graduated, Evan, Barty and I ran away. We were all marked Death Eaters, so we really couldn’t join a proper side. But well-” He breaks off, takes another breath. 

He risks another glance at James. His eyes are still kind. The way he sits, the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his lips, it speaks of empathy. He still doesn’t know what it means. He doesn’t know what James is trying to achieve. 

James reaches across the space between their bodies and threads his fingers through Regulus’ free hand from where it sits idly on his thigh. His palm is a warm point of heat, pulsing with blood and life and love. 

Regulus doesn’t know , what the hell is he supposed to do with this? What does James want ? 

He just squeezes his hand back and hopes it's enough. He hopes James can feel his gratitude through his skin. 

Regulus keeps talking. “We couldn’t do anything. So we just fucked off into the Forbidden Forest and hoped for the best.” His throat feels dry. He swallows. “We stayed there, dodging both Death Eater’s and Order of Phoenix members. We stayed until Dumbledore found us.” 

James is silent for a bit. It’s long enough for Regulus to start sweating, long enough for him to regret the fact that he ever spoke. 

“That sounds an awful like bravery to me, Regulus.” His voice is kind, just like the rest of him. 

Regulus swallows again, and he feels his eyes burn. He doesn’t know what to do . 

“It wasn’t bravery, it was pure, Slytherin self preservation.” He says at last. 

James turns to face him. His eyes are unreadable and steely. “Was it self preservation when you became a spy, Regulus? When you almost died protecting the same people who scorned you? Was that self preservation?” He sounds furious, and yet kind. Still kind. Always kind. 

“That was stupidity.” Regulus says. 

He makes a sound of frustration. “ Goddamnit , Regulus. Why can’t you just- why the hell can’t you just see yourself the way I do?” 

Something bubbles up in his throat, between his ribs. It’s acidic. “And how is that, James? How do you see me?” His tone is cold. 

“Something worth loving.” James says. His eyes are glittering and swirling like obsidian. 

It’s this that does it for him. He can’t do this anymore. He can’t play these games with James that twist him into knots and leave him in pieces every time. He can’t keep giving everything to James, like he did before, and keep expecting nothing back. 

Isn’t that what he’s doing now ? A traitorous part of him whispers. Giving back? 

He ignores it. He ignores the warmth in his stomach at the implication that James loves him. 

“What are you trying to achieve James?” He’s biting down, his tone white-hot like iron. 

James blinks at him, and he looks away, sighing. 

“I’m just trying to understand you, Regulus. I’m just trying to make you understand.” 

“Understand what ?” He can’t keep the desperation out of his tone. 

“Understand that you don’t need to keep me at a distance, not in the way you do with the others.” James is kind, he’s so bloody kind and it hurts. It aches so much like a gaping wound. His voice is kind, his eyes are kind and James Potter is the kindest human being he’s ever met. 

It’s why he fell in love with him, probably. 

The car is tense and taut with silence for the next few minutes. Regulus has a death grip on the wheel. 

Something cracks in his stomach. He thinks of Barty, dead and buried. He thinks of Evan with his car shop and his ridiculously big mugs of tea and smile lines carved into his worn face. He thinks of himself, twenty years too late to save his best friend and twenty years too early to give up on himself. He thinks of the Snitch, buzzing ever closer. 

“Ok.” He says at last, “Ok. I won’t do it anymore.” 

James’ face is the picture of hope. It’s confusing to see how much this matters to him. “Really?” He says. His eyes are bright and overflowing with moonlight. 

“Yeah.” Regulus hunches in on himself. “Ok. Just don’t-” he breaks off. “Just don’t leave.” He hates how vulnerable he sounds. Hates how pathetic he feels. 

James’ interlocks his fingers even more tightly with his own and rubs Regulus’ knuckles softly with his thumb. He almost forgot that they were still holding hands. It sends a thrumming of warmth through him. 

“I won’t.” He says. “I won’t leave you, Regulus.”

Regulus chooses to believe him.

He drives late into the night, until he has no choice but to stop. James is already half asleep next to him, and he can feel himself drifting. So, with no small amount of reluctance, he makes the safe decision and pulls into the nearest hotel parking lot. 

‘24 Hours Service’ The neon sign haphazardly tacked to the old brick wall reads, ‘Sweet Dreams Inn.’  

He gently shakes James awake and they make their way inside. The interior is just as shabby as the outside, he notes. The gaudy green paint on the walls is peeling, and the potted plants dispersed along the lobby are all dead. The room itself is quite small, with only enough room for a few chairs and a single tea table with an ashtray on it. The counter sits in a shadowed back corner, where a bored looking teenage girl sits, scowling at a pile of papers. 

James walks up and clears his throat. She startles, and gives them a wide eyed look. 

They manage to book themselves a small room with two single beds. They would’ve taken two rooms, but the hotel didn’t have that many vacancies and Regulus, unfortunately, had only so much Muggle money on him. James just smiled and waved away his concern, saying something about Hogwarts and sharing a dorm with three other boys for years. 

Once in the room, they manage to shower and scavenge a bit of dinner via dubious transfiguration and some very useful cooking spells that James somehow picked up over the years. The stale sandwiches don’t taste great, nothing compared to Remus’ homemade stew and Sirius’ lovely curry, but it’s the most fulfilling meal he’s had in days. He thinks James thinks the same, judging by the lazy smile on his face as he eats. 

After dinner, Regulus mumbles a quick goodnight to James, who seems to be settling down for bed, and escapes to the adjoined balcony. 

It’s a small space. There’s barely enough room for two people to stand, much less do anything substantial like walking. The rough concrete floor chafes against the soles of his feet. He finds it oddly comforting. 

While on the run, he’s found out that the midnight is more graceful the further you get from the cities. The forest sways around them, a sea of undulating dark masses. The branches gleam silver in the watery moonlight. He can see the stars, stark against the deep navy sky-he can even name them if he looks closely. A mournful low whine sounds out from somewhere: werewolf howls. His heart aches, and he thinks of Remus and Sirius. 

He hears the sliding door scratch open. James steps out into the cold night air beside him. He hears a soft huff of breath, and then he’s suddenly pressing into Regulus’ side. He bleeds warmth. 

It’s silent, except for the quiet humming of the trees beneath them. His chest is remarkably loose. He almost feels human. 

James leans a bit more into him. He presses back, and soon they’re exchanging body heat as easily as breathing. 

“I’ve never seen you like this before.” James breathes. He sounds awed, and a little disbelieving. 

Regulus turns, and he sees James studying him. His eyes are a remarkable shade of blue-black, and it reminds Regulus a little bit of the London nights. 

“Like what?” He whispers back. The moment is taut with something incomprehensible. He doesn’t want to let go. 

“You look-” An incredulous smile flits across his soft features, “You look enamored. I’ve never seen you so focused on anything.” 

His heart drops. For a second, he thinks that James knows about him and Regulus’ all eclipsing, foolish love for him. Then, he realizes. 

His throat loosens. James is talking about the sky. He’s talking about Regulus - he doesn’t know or suspect anything yet. He relaxes, sagging further against James. 

He opens his mouth- and thinks of telling him. Things he’s never told anyone, not even Evan and Barty. Because they didn’t need to be told , they were there with him, when they were in hell, and when they were running and everything in between. It’s a different sort of weight, describing his past with words to a person who’s so distant from it. Distant from him.

He also thinks it’s mad, the way he keeps drifting closer to James and so quickly. But, as Barty would say, he’s a fool in love and he really can’t help himself. 

The werewolf howls again: a single, piercing cry. It’s still alone, and it sounds devastated because of it. 

“I first fell in love with the sky when I was eighteen years old.” Regulus says. He averts his gaze from James. He can’t look at him, not yet. Not when he’s showing him parts of himself that no one’s thought to examine too closely. Because of how shadowed they are.  

James is looking at him, but blessedly silent. He can feel the weight of his gaze on him. He’s listening. 

“I was- well I was as good as dead. We were on the run, and we ran into a couple of Death Eater patrols. Severus, that bastard, had let a Sectumsempra loose. I was stupid enough to get hit by it.” He pauses, and he can almost feel the phantom pain arcing across his chest; the blood waterfalling down and carving rivers through his skin. He’s traced their paths before, on particularly dark nights when his past had gotten the best of him. 

James reaches out, and loosely twines Regulus’ fingers with his own. He can feel the rise and fall of James’ chest as he breathes. The images- of blood, of scars against pale skin, of pain- fade, quietly. 

“You don’t have to tell me, Regulus.” James says. He’s still kind. His eyes are shining. 

“Are you willing to listen, though?” Please say yes. 

There’s no hesitation. “Yes. Always.” 

Regulus almost smiles. “Then I want to tell you.” He turns to look at him. “I’ve never told anyone else before. It’s- new. I want to know what it feels like.” 

James smiles, heartbreakingly soft. “Okay.” 

He faces the forest, and traces the stars idly with his gaze. He sees Orion, suspended among the thick blanket of the winter night. 

He begins again. 

“I was eighteen and halfway dead when I first fell in love with the sky.” He says, and there’s something loosening in his chest. “Evan, Barty and I- we got caught in a Death Eater raid. We were on the run still, back then.” 

He remembers the cold shock on their faces, the dread on Snape’s face when he realized who he just tried to kill. He remembers Lucius grinning. He remembers wanting for it to be over, craving the blackness. “I was struck down in a forest clearing. Evan and Barty went ahead and were drawing the Death Eaters away from me. Snape was the only one still there.” 

He can’t look at James. He doesn’t want to see the rejection, the pity. He squeezes his hand instead, and James squeezes back reassuringly. 

It’s enough to unclog his throat. “I was- I thought I was going to die. Snape was trying to fix me up- he was Dumbledore’s spy, he really wasn’t supposed to kill anyone- And I couldn’t see anything except for the sky and the stars.” He trails off again.

James shifts closer to him. He’s so bloody warm. 

“I could- fuck - I saw Casseoipia, and then I saw all these other stars and constellations. In London you could never see anything, it’s always smog and misery.” He clenches his jaw, takes a shuddering breath. “I was just dying and I just kept looking at the stars and I couldn’t stop.”

He finally risks a glance at James. He’s staring at Regulus, his dark gaze pinning him in place. His lips are parted softly in wonder. He’s shining in the moonlight. 

“You’re so bloody brave, Reg.” He doesn’t sound like he’s lying. “You’re so fucking brave.” And he sounds so reverent. 

Regulus looks away again. His chest pangs, and he thinks he’s breaking a little bit. “I got out alive. Snape managed to heal me decently. I could never stop looking at the stars, though, after that. Not while we were still on the run, and not while we went undercover.” He finishes quietly, and keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the midnight above them. 

James grips his hand tighter and says, “I think that the sky is a beautiful thing to fall in love with.”

“Even if it can’t love me back?” He says, a ghost of a smile breaking out across his face. He’s talking about more than the sky. 

James is grinning now too. A cutting breeze ruffles his hair, mussing it and making it even wilder than before. His eyes are bright pools of moonlight. “Well, I think the sky loves us every day. It’s always there when we wake up, isn’t it?”

He’s never looked more alive. 

Regulus lets out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah, yeah I guess you’re right. The sky does love me.” 

James’ smile grows, and he laughs. 

Regulus wants to believe James is talking about more than the sky too. He can almost feel the cool metal of the Snitch, grazing the pads of his thumb.

The stars are bright, burning points of pure light. The forest midnight wraps around them, frozen and thawing in the same beat. He’s never felt more alive. From where he stands, pressed up against James with his hand tangled into his, he can feel his answering chuckles deep in his chest. He’s still so warm, despite the winter that bites at them. They fall silent. 

James doesn’t leave, and neither does Regulus. They’re content to stay in each other’s spaces, breathing each other’s air- sharing heat and touch. 

After a while, James speaks up again. 

“Sirius wanted to come too.” He says. His tone is cautious, as if he’s waiting for Regulus to hate him for bringing it up. 

“Why didn’t you let him?” Regulus’ voice is steady, despite the panic blooming in his gut. 

“Because I know that isn’t what you would have wanted.” James sounds so sure of himself. 

“And exactly how do you know that?” His voice is harder, and all of a sudden their relaxed atmosphere falls away, like rainwater slipping down a car window. 

James fixes him with his unreadable gaze. “Because I know you, Regulus.” He says. 

It’s somehow worse than him snapping back. Because he isn’t even wrong. James does, for some strange reason, understand Regulus. Sometimes better than he does himself.

“You know James, a year of secret snogging in fifth year doesn’t lay the foundations for a particularly beautiful friendship.” 

He immediately regrets saying it. James stiffens beside him. This is the first time either of them have brought it up. He opens his mouth, to apologize, to drive the nail in even deeper- to do something , but James beats him to it. 

“I rather think it does.” He says softly. He’s still looking at Regulus, in a way that makes his stomach tie itself into knots. 

James looks like he bloody well believes it too. 

When Regulus doesn’t answer, James plows on. 

“That year- I learned about you more than anything else. Even past the snogging, we spent hours together every day. Don’t tell me- don’t tell me all of that was fake.” His voice sounds dangerously close to breaking. He’s drawing further into himself, Regulus can tell. He’s shivering. 

“I won’t leave you, Regulus.”

Regulus’ own chest shifts, and an old, deep ache spasms throughout his body. He’s hurting James. For the first time, he’s the cause of James’ pain. The thought sends a chill through him. 

Regulus maneuvers himself the best he can in the cramped space of the balcony. He’s facing James, holding both of his hands in a death grip now. 

James won’t look at him, his gaze fixed stubbornly at the horizon. His eyes are still swirling black, unreadable. 

“It wasn’t,” Regulus whispers into the space between them, “It was never- I would never do that to you James. It wasn’t fake.”

James relaxes infinitesimally. It’s enough for Regulus though, and his shoulders slump in relief. 

“I’m sorry,,” Regulus says, “I’m sorry.” 

James isn’t looking at him, but he can see the ghost of a smile flit across his face. “I know. I’m sorry too. It’s ok.” 

The night is vast and boundless around them. The night loves them, just like the sky does. And Regulus loves James.  

They go back inside after that, and watch reruns of old Muggle shows on the staticy television together, drinking the dubiously coloured tea they made from the tea bags lying about the room. Regulus keeps making fun of the characters on screen, saying things about how they wouldn’t survive the Initiation test of Death Eaters and Voldemort would Avada Kedavra him just for his hair . And James keeps laughing and choking on his tea, despite the morbid nature of the jokes. 

James falls asleep on the couch. Regulus watches him, for a moment- the rise and fall of his chest. The way his long limbs sprawl out in awkward angles, the way his mouth parts as he lets out barely audible snores. The way his eyes are squeezed shut. 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and feels the Snitch buzzing in his stomach. Forcing himself to turn away, he makes his way to his bed and tries not to think of James Potter. 

Chapter Text

They wake up sometime around midday with a very annoyed cleaning staff member brandishing a fearsome looking broom at them, knocking at their door and telling them that they needed to check out an hour ago.

None of them argue. Wizard or not, brooms are known to be powerful weapons. 

They skip breakfast entirely, a fact that James doesn’t fail to mention is extremely unhealthy and unsustainable , and Regulus has to mollify him with promises of brunch later on. He’s anxious to start driving again. With enough speed, they should be able to reach their destination by nightfall. 

The landscape gradually shifts around them as time weaves on. James still looks enraptured with the map, holding it lovingly, his eyes bright with excitement and the gathering sunlight. 

The woods get even darker, and odd, skeletal shadows of branches start to fan out across the road. Even the trees are thicker here, with broad bases and towering tops that can’t even be seen from the ground. Howls and the cries of strange animals grow in frequency. An unusual chill seeps through the car, despite the blazing sun. He sees James shift a little uncomfortably. His eyebrows furrow, and his lips twist, as if he’s deep in thought. 

Something uncomfortable twists in his gut at seeing James so worried, so he does the first thing he can think of: distract him with conversation.

“So, how are Lily and Harry?” He asks, trying to keep his voice light. 

He realizes his mistake immediately, as James quirks an eyebrow, and mortification floods him. “Oh Merlin , I forgot you’re divorced now I’m so sorry-” He flounders pathetically.

To his surprise, James just laughs, a bright and airy sound that seems to drain any lingering cold from the air around them. His eyes crinkle as he hunches over. The sunlight slopes over his form, turning his brown hair to honey-gold. 

When he looks up, his eyes are twinkling. “It’s alright Reg, really.” His smile is blinding and Regulus has to look away to preserve his dignity, lest he do something unbelievably stupid, like kiss James.  

James, unaware of his internal turmoil, plows onwards. “Lily is lovely, and Harry- well he’s still out on his honeymoon. No idea when he’s going to be back.” 

“I see,” Regulus swallows, and then falls silent very ungracefully. 

James still looks entirely too amused by the whole interaction. “You can ask, you know.”

“Ask what?” He says, and James just looks at him like he’s being purposefully obtuse, which he supposes he is . 

“About the divorce.” 

“Oh. Well. Um- tell me about the divorce?” Regulus says, and his voice goes, embarrassingly, several octaves higher at the end. 

James snorts, “You don’t sound sure.” 

Regulus just scowls, “Oh shut up you arse, I haven’t had proper social interaction in two decades, cut me some slack.” 

James’ answering grin is positively shit eating, and Regulus knows he’s being ribbed. 

Fucking ass . 

“Well, James. Tell me about the divorce then, if you’re so eager.” Regulus huffs out at last, flashing an equally annoying grin back. It comes out looking more like a spasmodic grimace.

James looks blindsided, like he didn’t expect Regulus to tease him back , but manages to recover quickly. Bloody Gryffindors and their social skills. He looks away from Regulus, and out the windshield at the road swiftly slipping below them. 

“Lily’s lesbian.” He says, his voice developing a solemn tone. “It… took her some time to figure out. And she said she couldn’t stay with me after that, couldn’t chain me to a life with a person who never would truly love me back.” He trails off. 

Regulus is silent for a moment. He- he can’t feel triumphant. Not when James is, or at least was at one point, heartbroken. The usual I’m sorry won’t suffice either, he knows. Those two words are too small to encompass something like colossal and all eclipsing like unrequited love. 

So, he stays silent. James seems to appreciate it as well, taking a deep breath, before smiling again, a little tentatively. 

“It’s been a long time since that. And- well-” He trails off, and something in him brightens. He turns his gaze on Regulus, something close to hope simmering beneath its dark depths, “Love doesn’t feel quite so daunting anymore.” He sounds almost shy. 

Something in Regulus warms too, and for the first time in a long, long, time, he dares to hope.  He turns a soft smile on James, “Maybe it isn’t.” He says, meeting James’ eyes.  The sun collects in them like hollowed pools. He’s golden and beautiful. 

The moment passes, and he has to look back at the road, but between one breath and the next, something’s changed between them. It feels monumental, like the shifting of mountains and the births of stars. 

They drive quietly for a while again, before curiosity gets the best of Regulus.

“You said Harry was on a honeymoon. Who did he marry?” He says. 

James looks surprised. “You really don’t know?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, “Obviously not, Potter, if I’m bloody asking you.” 

James startles, and lets out a surprised bark of laughter. “Oh fucking hell, you sound just like fourteen year old Reggie with that tone,” he grins at him, “You gonna try to fight five Hufflpuffs in the hall, again?” 

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Oh shut it , really, that was like- at least twenty five years ago. Give it a rest.” Despite his clipped words, his voice is teasing. 

James laughs harder, and smiles brilliantly. “I’ll keep bringing it up till we’re old and grey, Reg, I swear to you.” 

Regulus blushes at the implication of them growing old together, and swiftly changes subjects. “I asked about your son, Potter. You know it’s rude to keep people waiting when they have enquiries.” 

James raises a wry eyebrow at him. “Right. Of course. Can’t keep the enquiries waiting.” He says with faux seriousness. 

Regulus resists the urge to roll his eyes again. Trust him to fall in love with a man-child, who also apparently hasn’t opened a single dictionary in his life. 

Suddenly, James’ gaze goes soft; thinking about his son no doubt. “Well. Since you want to know so much, Harry married Draco. Draco Malfoy.”

Regulus almost swerves off of the road, because what the fuck . “ Malfoy? ” He repeats, incredulous. This is truly terrible news. “Don’t tell me Cissy stayed with that pompous freak Lucius long enough to produce heirs .” He’s aghast at this direction history has taken. Honestly, his cousin Narcissa had always been his favorite. Her only flaw was falling inexplicably in love with that bastard Malfoy heir. 

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, Draco isn’t that bad.” James waves away his concern. “Honestly, he’s such a nice boy. And he’s pathetically in love with Harry, as Harry is with him.” His tone is disgustingly fond.

Regulus swallows. “Right. Can’t say I agree with your assessment but- if Harry loves him, that’s that. Love is blind and all of that nonsense,” he smirks at James’ exasperated expression. 

Suddenly, he thinks back to that blonde haired Auror that was handling his case. The one that he thought could’ve been his nephew. And oh, for Merlin’s sake.  

“Say-” Regulus begins conversationally, “Is there any chance that this Malfoy boy is an Auror?”

“Oh! Yes!” James perks up, smiling brightly “That’s how he and Harry met, actually. They were Auror partners.” 

Oh . Well shit. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, “Well- I guess I’ve met Draco, then.”

“You have?” James sounds surprised, and it makes Regulus scowl. Honestly , he isn’t that much of a hermit. He needn’t sound so incredulous. 

“Yeah. He was handling my case when I went to the Ministry, after waking up,” He says, scrunching his nose up at the memory, “Can’t say I made a very positive impression on him. Neither did he make one on me. He was quite rude, really.” 

James laughs again. “Oh, he’s just prickly on the surface. He’s really sweet once you get to know him.” He turns his hopeful gaze on Regulus. “When they come, you’ll come to dinner with us, won’t you? To meet them?” 

It’s hard to say no to that, especially when James looks like a damn puppy dog. Really, James Potter sporting any sort of pleading expression should be quite illegal. Or perhaps it should count as coercion. It’s terribly difficult to deny him anything. 

A little deliriously, he wonders if he can take it up with the Ministry: James Potter, convicted on charges of coercion against one Regulus Black. Oh, Merlin, he's truly going crazy. James is making him crazy. The worst thing is, they probably wouldn’t even listen to him. Not if all of their employees are like that Malfoy boy: rude and pointy. 

“Well, it would be hard not to, wouldn’t it?” He says in lieu of a non-answer, “I’m living with you right now, James.” 

“ Oh ,” James perks up even more, like that’s just occurred to him. Regulus has to avert his eyes or else he could risk blindness by exposure to Too Much James Potter. “Right! That’s brilliant then!” He grins at him. 

Regulus swallows, smiles back weakly, and turns his gaze resolutely back to the road. His heart is beating double time in his chest. He ignores it staunchly, and tries to figure out what to say, with his tongue dry and his stomach repulsively goopy with stupid feelings and emotions . 

Luckily, he’s saved from any more potentially harmful James Potter Expressions when James manages to fix up the radio that’s been belching static for the whole journey so far. He turns it on to the Oldies station, and the Beatles start playing, albeit very scratchy and groany. It seems to be enough to satisfy James, though, who starts singing along quietly. 

His voice is rough and squeaky, and flat in all of the wrong places but Regulus, of course, is a weak, weak man, and he finds himself smiling so widely his cheeks hurt. An old feeling stirs, a memory of a day not dissimilar to this one. 

“Turn up the bloody radio, Regulus! I’m trying to listen to this lovely muggle music.” 

He laughs softly at it, before he can catch himself. He can picture Evan and Barty, perched together on the rickety bed, fiddling about with the dials of the radio, trying to find a signal in the middle of the fucking Forbidden forest. It should be heartbreaking to think about, but, inexplicably, it only serves to fill Regulus’ chest with warmth.

Abruptly, he notices James has stopped singing. He risks a look at him, from the corner of his eyes and- 

Oh hell , he’s looking at Regulus. He’s slack jawed, and his eyes are wide with something unreadable. The sunlight fans across his skin, bathing him in light. 

“What?” Regulus asks in an affronted tone, desperate to hide how nervous James makes him. 

James just shakes his head in disbelief, laughing a little as he does. “You were singing.” 

His face warms. Oh, of course. Stupid memory Evan and stupid memory Barty, embarrassing him in front of his crush. His singing has always been terrible.

“Oh,” Regulus all but squeaks. “Um- sorry?” It comes out as a question.

James shakes his head again, more vigorously this time. “No! No really, you were lovely. It was-” he breathes out, his lips curving into a crescent-moon smile, “It was lovely.”

Regulus, if possible, goes even more red. “Oh.” 

“I was just surprised, I guess,” James flounders to explain, mistaking Regulus’ utter mortification for annoyance, “I didn’t know you even like muggle music, that’s all.” He snaps his jaws shut, and looks away. It’s an oddly bashful gesture for him.

Regulus looks away too, his face warming even more and oh Merlin,  he’s probably tomato red right now. He’s hoping James doesn’t notice. “Evan and Barty used to listen to it, back when we were in Hogwarts. It’s hard not to pick up on songs, especially when your dormmates are constantly playing it.” 

James nods jerkily, “Right- yeah Sirius and Remus are like in love with Muggle music. That’s where I picked up on it too.” 

Neither of them can quite look at each other, and it takes a while before James is comfortable enough to start singing again. Tentatively, Regulus starts singing too, and the smile James sends his way is enough to practically send him into cardiac arrest. 

Time passes this way, and before long, it’s midday. James’ stomach is protesting again, a fact which Regulus can’t help but tease him for. James spouts some bullshit about aging bones and being an old man , which Regulus laughs even harder at, because ‘ the average wizard lifespan is about three hundred years, James you dolt.’ But, he eventually acquiesces, and soon they’ve located a promising looking gas station on the map, directly on the way to their destination.  

Regulus notes that the forest James chose isn’t far. It’s actually only about a half an hour’s drive from the gas station. He just hopes there’s a lodge or a hotel, or else they’re going to have to sleep in the car, which he’s not anxious to do. 

Suddenly, the car makes an odd noise, pulling him out of his musings. The usually smooth hum of the engine beneath him seems to convulse. He frowns worriedly, before slowing down slightly. James makes a concerned sound beside him, but doesn’t comment. 

The forest is closing in even deeper around them, now, and he idly wonders how there could even be a gas station in service all the way out here. He didn’t think there were woods this thick left in Britain anymore. He gazes out at the trees, noting how the fog seems to have gotten even more suffocating amongst the trees. It reminds him of the forbidden forest again, and sharp nostalgia pierces his chest.

James starts suddenly, “Here! It’s here,” he says, gently tracing their path along the map with his finger. It takes a bit of confused blinking for Regulus to understand that he means the exit to get to the gas station. He pulls in at the last second, and a wave of cold passes through them, making both of them shiver slightly. 

He frowns, but continues forward. Something is humming in the air, alarmingly similar to magic.

The road itself is quite unremarkable, gentle and sloping upwards to the right, but an uneasy feeling stirs at the base of his spine. He feels James shudder. 

They hear the gas station before they see it. A strange buzzing emits from the entire area, making Regulus grip his wheel tighter in a sort of muted fear. When they finally come into full view of it, James goes ramrod straight beside him. 

The gas station is less station and more of a husk. The yellow parking spaces are old and fading. The asphalt is cracked, and seems to be bleeding moss and other assorted vegetation profusely. A row of fuel dispensers stand in a solemn line across the pavement. Behind them, there’s a massive white shell of a building. It’s more debris than actual structure, and even more green foliage spills from its ruined foundations. It seems to be an abandoned convenience store of some sort. The forest stands impassively around the whole lot, guarding it. 

He hears James let out a soft sound of awe. 

Warily, Regulus drives in through the entrance, and parks in one of the spots with the least amount of moss and undergrowth scattered about it.

He stops the car- and for a second- they both sit there, taking in their surroundings 

“Well then,” Regulus exhales at last. “This is certainly… something.” 

James nods distractedly, hungrily taking in the scenery around them. He looks half ready to leap out of his seat.

Stifling a snort of amusement at James’ excitement, Regulus unlocks the car, and steps out, hearing James do the same next to him; albeit with a bit more stumbling and cursing involved.

When he emerges from the car, the forest chill immediately swamps him. He shivers involuntarily, but smiles widely at the crisp air. Merlin, it’s been so long since he’s been somewhere that isn’t choked with smoke or people. 

The breeze is bitingly cold, and the entirety of the forest hums around him- resembling a sentient being more than a forest . There’s a trace of hostility palpable in the air, as if the looming, black trees and rustling undergrowth would rather he be anywhere else than here. As if it’s trying to keep him out. It’s something just like the Forbidden Forest, but off kilter at the same time; the magic seems similar at first feel, but just shies away from being exactly the same. 

He walks forward wonderingly, listening to the forest breathe around him. It exhales like a dying beast, spewing out howls of uncanny, and likely magical, creatures and the singing of birds in the same breath. 

James laughs somewhere in the vicinity of him, and he’s suddenly accosted by a set of long arms, circling him and pulling him back into a solid chest. 

Regulus sputters as warmth bleeds between their connected bodies. James’ arms tighten around him. 

“Old magic,” James whispers, “There’s so much old magic here.” He sounds awestruck; breathless. 

Regulus feels breathless as well, but not for the same reasons. His traitorous heart picks up speed, and he stiffens for a moment. James chuckles lowly, seemingly too distracted by the sights around them to pay much attention to Regulus’ discomfort. He’s so warm , fucking hell. 

“This is amazing,” James murmurs again. “Holy shit Reg, this is amazing .” 

He sounds so at ease, standing there, holding Regulus against him in the middle of an abandoned gas station and talking about magic forests. Regulus has almost no choice but to relax against him with a soft sigh, or else he would feel like the ridiculous one. 

James eventually does let go, with only a bashful smile as an indication that he was aware of the odd hug, and starts speeding ahead. He’s talking a mile a minute about Scottish woods and old magic, and all other sorts of woodland magic lore that Regulus’ doesn’t quite understand. But, he follows James anyway, even if it’s just to see the lovely spark in his eyes as he talks and gestures grandly and the trees and the foliage. 

He’s so caught up in it all that he doesn’t notice where exactly he’s led them- the ruined building. 

Regulus knows exactly what James is about to suggest, even before he says it. 

“No.” He preemptively says. 

James looks endearingly outraged, “You don’t even know what I was going to say!” He throws his hands up.

Regulus rolls his eyes, and quickly flicks James between the eyebrows. “I know you, you idiot. And I know your exceedingly stupid ideas.” 

James’ eyes go cross eyed trying to follow Regulus’ finger, which is still poking at the furrow in his brows, “C’mon,” he says petulantly, “The idea isn’t even that shit.” 

Regulus just glares back, “I am not eating sawdust and debris transfigured into food, James. No matter how good you are at cooking spells, I refuse to touch that.” 

James is pouting now, Merlin , this is almost worse than the puppy dog eyes, “What do you suggest then?” He says sulkily.

Regulus drops his face into his palms and lets out a wordless, albeit quite impressive, groan. Salazar save him, he’s dealing with a five year old child possessing a grown man’s body. 

Kneading his temples, Regulus looks tiredly up at James. “We are literally surrounded by greenery. We can transfigure the weeds for Merlin’s sake, and it’ll taste better than the sawdust.” 

James blinks owlishly at him for a minute, before ducking his self consciously and rubbing at his neck. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” He mutters sheepishly. 

Regulus, despite his exasperation, can’t help the fond chuckle he lets out. James grins back, still looking a bit flushed from mortification. 

He starts walking away from the ruined building before James starts getting any other idiotic ideas. “We can’t all have great ideas, Potter.” He calls out teasingly behind him.

For a second, something unreadable, something that looks dangerously close to longing flits across James’ face. Abruptly, he shakes his head, and follows after Regulus, laughing. 

“Of course, Reg. Of course.” 

After a lovely lunch of transfigured salad, they’re just about ready to be off again. Regulus is in the driver’s seat, doing the final check-ins before leaving. James is staring at the map again, his left hand rubbing gently over a corner of it. He makes a sweet picture: his disheveled hair falling in an inky mass over his forehead. His bottom lip is pulled between his teeth as he chews on it quietly, his brows furrowed. The watery sunlight shines through the forest canopy around them, flecking his brown skin with shards of pale yellow. 

It makes Regulus’ heart ache, how lovely he is. He manages to shoot a soft, yet discreet smile at James before looking away and turning the key to start the car. 

Nothing happens. 

He tries again. 

For a second, the car gives a mighty huff and then- 

And then it sputters out. 

Five- six- Merlin - seven times. He keeps trying, and the bloody car won’t start. 

Regulus groans wordlessly, and collapses forwards,  the steering wheel hitting his head with a dull thunk . Of course the car stops working now, right in the middle of the isolated gas station in a sentient forest. 

“It’s the magic.” James says from next to him, his tone uncharacteristically solemn. 

“What?” Salazar, he’s so tired. If the car breaks down here, they’re going to have to apparate away and probably bring Evan in to repair it and that’s going to be a whole ordeal, and maybe then James will change his mind about going with Regulus and he’s going to be alone again-

“There’s a lot of primal, raw magic floating around this forest.” James’ gentle voice snaps him out of his anxiety spiral.

“Oh.” He says, and swallows dryly. “What do we do, then?”

Apparate away and get help . It’s the easiest option. And the option that’s most likely to lead to an early end to this trip.

“Well, we can’t apparate.” James muses,  his eyebrows scrunching even further as he delves into thought, “The magic here is too strong. It would be unstable, and we would risk splinching ourselves.” 

Regulus feels dizzy. “We can’t- We can’t apparate? ” He sounds incredulous, and slightly panicked. As much as he hates the option, it’s the only thing that they have . If they can’t apparate, they’re all but stranded here. 

James just looks up, and smiles reassuringly, “Not to worry, though. There’s help around here.” 

“How do you know that?” Regulus asks, his voice sounding unusually weak, even to himself. Dimly, he wonders when he lost his fighting spirit: whether it was when he died or when he got used to not fearing for his life every second of the day. 

James’ eyes light up again, and Regulus knows he’s about to go off on another tirade about forest magic and whatnot. Regulus doesn’t mind, he finds. It’ll help distract him from his increasingly morbid thoughts, at the very least. And James is quite adorable when he’s interested in something.  

“Well,” James starts, leaning towards Regulus in his excitement, “Centers of old magic like this- you have to understand- they’re really unstable. They’re like minefields. If anyone steps wonky, the whole area is susceptible to a magical explosion of disconcerting proportions.”

Wrong. Regulus was wrong . This is only making him more anxious. “How- how exactly here, then? Shouldn’t we have been blown sky high like, I don’t know, an hour ago?” His tone is nonchalant, but he knows James hears the undercurrent of panic woven underneath. James is terribly observant like that. 

“That’s what I’m telling you, Reg,” His smile is lovely, and it gets even lovelier when he reaches out and interlaces his hands with Regulus’ own. “There are keepers.”

“Keepers?” 

“Magical people experienced in dealing with unstable magical fields. They usually live around these areas. They keep them secure, and in return, they receive food, lodging and boatloads of money from the Ministry.” The warmth of his hand is very distracting, and Regulus has to fight to keep himself focused on his words rather than staring pathetically at their intertwined hands. 

“Oh,”  Regulus swallows again. “So- we just find these keepers? And they’ll help us out?” 

“Yeah,” James grins.

“Well, that’s deceptively easy. Are you sure it’s not a trap?” He can’t help but add. James’ smile drops quite suddenly, and a sad twist of his mouth replaces it.  

Regulus panics even more. He’s said something, messed it up again. He opens his mouth to explain, to ask him what’s wrong, to fix this-  

“You don’t have to keep fighting like you’re one step away from death, you know,” James says, concern colouring his tone. His voice is lovely and warm and kind. It’s so kind. 

Regulus’ hands tremble in James’ grip. “I’m not,” he whispers. 

James just looks at him, his dark gaze unreadable. Then he sighs and averts his gaze, fixing it on some distant point outside the window. “It’s just- I know you’re used to things being hard and difficult and a whole ordeal to get through. You don’t have to do that anymore. You’re safe.” 

Their fingers are still interlocked, and for a moment, they sway together, suspended in the moment. James’ eyes are still unreadable, and his shoulders taut. Regulus can’t help but feel like this is a test, of some sort. 

“Ok,” he says softly. “Ok, James. I believe you. I trust you.” 

James comes alive again, a brilliant smile unfurling across his face, “Brilliant,” he says, a bit breathlessly. 

Merlin , when did they get so close together? They’re breathing in each other’s scents, and if Regulus moves forwards just a bit more, he can brush James’ nose with his own. Maybe even their lips.

He pulls himself away before he can do something daft, like kiss James Potter. Disappointment flickers across James’ face, and for his own sake, he has to believe that he imagined it. 

They extricate themselves from the car after that. James walks off in a random direction, heading towards the woods in that exasperating Gryffindor way of his: without any planning or prior discussion. Regulus follows, but with a couple of choice swear words directed at the Gryffindor house, all of which James laughs raucously at. 

They’re about ten minutes into their little frolic through the forest when he sees a sign. It’s  rather old, haphazardly jammed into the ground without any regard for proper sign etiquette. There are tendrils weaving up the disintegrating wood pole holding it up, and the signboard itself is rotting. There’s text carved on it, barely legible. Still, a little jolt of excitement goes through him when he realizes exactly what it is. 

Wizarding Runes. Wizarding Runes that, very specifically, read “ Chowdhury-Kapoor’s Bed and and Breakfast for the Lost.”

“James!” He laughs, a giddy feeling spreading through his chest, “James, haul your ass over here!” 

James looks amused at his choice of words, and takes his sweet time striding through the bushy undergrowth. “What is it?” 

Regulus grins at him, “Look.” He waves at the sign. 

James shuffles over, and has to lean down comically low to read the faded writing on it. Tall bastard. 

“Oh!” His face lights up, and he directs a blinding smile at Regulus. “That’s brilliant. You’re brilliant, Regulus!” He promptly sweeps him up in a tight hug. 

Regulus squeezes him back and laughs into James’ collarbone, already getting used to how touchy James is. Even though his heart starts beating twice as fast, and he starts feeling the slightest bit dizzy as the warmth from James’ body bleeds into his own. 

When they pull back, James is still beaming. “I meant it, you know. You’re really, really brilliant.”

Regulus huffs, pushing James back with a firm hand on his chest. “I just found a sign, James. It’s a bloody sign, not a world record.”

“I know,” James’ smile goes heartbreakingly soft. “You’re still brilliant regardless.” 

Regulus’ face heats, and he turns away. “Right,” he says faintly. Really, who gave stupid Potter the right to be so nice and genuine. And to compliment Regulus. James complimenting Regulus is bad for his health, he’s rapidly discovering. 

They start down the beaten down path the sign seems to be pointing too. James also says  something about sensing a magical signature along the path, which seems to be a good sign, except for the dubious look on his face when he says it. 

They’ve been walking a few minutes when the forest goes disturbingly quiet. 

Regulus looks over and finds James looking oddly solemn. He’s looking down at the ground, and he’s chewing his lips again. 

“James?” He prompts gently.

His head snaps up. “Sorry,” he flushes, “Just- this magic signature’s really weird. There might…” he trails off, shakes his head, and looks up determinedly again. “It’s fine, though, I’m sure.” He says with false cheer. 

Regulus raises an eyebrow, “Right,” he murmurs, but doesn’t comment anymore on the subject. “Chowdhury-Kapoor's Bed and Breakfast for the Lost,” he recites the writing on the sign, stifling a smile all the while. “You think we’re ‘the Lost’?” He sends a wry grin at James.

James smirks, “I mean, I don’t know about ‘ the Lost,’ but we are pretty lost,” he snorts drily. 

Regulus laughs, and soon, they’re trading barbs and jabs back and forth. The dying sunlight shines in through the canopy overhead, and dusty bars of gold filter in and dapple the forest floor around them. James is laughing, and he’s brilliant and shining, and the sunlight is turning his dark eyes golden and lovely and Regulus is so dizzy on the heady feeling that his laughter brings that he can’t help but forget that they’re in one of the most dangerous locations in Britain without any protection except their own wands. 

He pays for it almost immediately. 

Branches snap. The temperature drops abruptly and that’s all the warning he gets.

All of a sudden, a swarm of chattering creatures stream in through the trees surrounding them. James stiffens immediately, and draws his wand in a flash of red light. Regulus  isn’t so lucky. 

He gets hit almost instantly, bowling over as knife-like pain jolts throughout his body. 

They’re attacking, shit.  

He grits his teeth in pain, tasting blood as he practically bites through his tongue to keep the agony at bay. 

“Fuck!” He hears James scream, and his head is swimming. The creatures are thronging around them, chattering like mad. Despite his dizziness, he shoves his hand in his pocket to bring out his wand, only to find that he’s left it in the car. 

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid- More slicing pain lances up his body, his back, and he thinks he screams. 

“Regulus- shit- You’re okay- You’re going to be okay-” He dimly registers James saying, “Shit- shit- c’mon hold on to me. We’re gonna get you to safety. Stay awake and hold on to me. Fuck- please , Reg.”

Somehow, Regulus manages to latch his arm around James securely enough for them to half run, half stumble through the woods. James is still firing out an array of curses, mostly Protegos and Stupefy s, while he deliriously hangs onto him, focusing on pushing his body forwards and away from whatever unknown danger’s seething behind them.

The creatures are coming in even faster now, and they're so goddamned loud , and it takes all of Regulus’ self preservation to keep moving forwards, even when he feels the darkness lap at him. 

James can’t keep up anymore, and now they’re both stumbling. There’s more burning pain, up torso, his neck. James is getting cut now too, he can tell, by the soft wheezes that keep escaping him as they propel themselves even faster and even further. 

They’re not going to make it much further. Shit.

Just when it’s starting to get unbearable, just when Regulus feels his limbs weaken and his resolve falter- a cottage rises up in front of them, seemingly out of nowhere. 

He barks out a hysterical sounding cackle when he sees it, “James!” 

He senses the exact moment when James sees it too, because he can feel him wheeze out a laugh, deep in his chest, and he can feel the way he pushes himself to run even faster. 

Regulus’ lungs are screaming in protest, and his legs burn. The cuts sting like hell and he thinks he’s about to pass out, but he keeps going and going, even if it’s just for James’ sake and soon they’re so close to the cottage. The chattering creatures are getting closer too, and he can feel them almost nipping at the heels of their feet. They’re going to make it. They have to. 

Suddenly, A mighty gust of wind blows through and the door to the cottage slams open. James is almost a deadweight by now, and Regulus bodily drags him towards the now uncovered entrance. One step- two steps- a third step.

They rush through the door, and the warm air of the cottage hits them with startling comfort. James collapses bonelessly onto the wooden floor, and Regulus follows right behind him, and soon they’re tangled up in a messy pile of limbs and heaving breaths.

A beat passes. 

“My ass hurts .” Regulus grouses. “I swear those bastards were trying to rip me a new one. Who cuts someone’s ass ?” 

There’s another beat of silence, and suddenly James bursts into hysterical laughter. All at once, the ridiculousness of the whole situation hits him: him and James, fleeing evil magical creatures through magic woods only to find a magic cottage that saves them. It sounds like a bloody fairytale. Regulus can’t help but burst into helpless chuckles as well. It’s all so ridiculous . 

They can’t stop laughing. Every time one of them pauses for breath, they look at each other: the state of their clothes, the dirt on their faces, and start wheezing again. He doesn’t know how long it goes on exactly, and he and James are still practically laying on top of each other, arms and legs entangled, but it’s so comfortable that he doesn’t even care. He doesn’t think James does either. 

He looks so beautiful like this, his dark eyes bright with love and sunlight, and his brown skin flushed with laughter. He’s heaving in deep, heavy breaths and grinning like a fool. It’s so gorgeous. He’s so gorgeous. 

Someone clears their throat pointedly above them, snapping Regulus out of his James Potter-induced reverie. 

The both of them look at each other for one comical moment with widened eyes, and then immediately scramble apart.

There’s an old witch staring down at them with her hands on her hips. She has her silvery-black hair up in a braid, and the sunlight from the windows lights up her dark brown skin with blades of gold. She’s grinning wryly at them, an eyebrow arched. 

“Erm-” James says, sounding very clearly flustered, “Hello.” 

Regulus tries to stifle his laughter, and fails very badly, deigning to turn it into a cough instead. He doesn’t succeed, if the affronted look that James sends his way is anything to go by. 

“Hello,” he offers, sounding a hell of a lot more refined, ignoring James’ outrage.

“Hello to you too,” The witch grins at them, “Now, if you two would kindly get off my floor?” 

They both share another wide eyed look, and Regulus blushes crimson. James clambers off of the floor first. Regulus follows right after him, taking his offered hand to pull himself up. 

Once they’ve both sufficiently sorted themselves out, they finally face the old witch again. She looks like she’s trying to suppress her laughter, if the mirthful glint in her eyes is anything to go by. 

“Ahem- Sorry about that,” James says, still sounding embarrassed, “We were just- there were- er-” he trails off. 

Regulus resists the urge to facepalm, and cuts in smoothly, “There were these creatures attacking us. We’re terribly sorry to have barged in like this.” He offers her a polite smile as well, just to seal the deal. 

“Right.” James adds in, “We’re really sorry.” He sends a grateful look at Regulus, who responds with a shit-eating smirk. 

The old witch smiles again, and it’s more gentle this time; though she still looks like she wants to laugh at them, “It’s alright, lads. That’s why we’re, innit? To save lost wizards like you lot.” 

James brightens at this, “Right! You’re the keeper of this area, then?” 

The witch raises a surprised brow, “Oh? You know about that?” 

Nodding excitedly, James grins. “Of course. Areas of intense primal magical overflow like this all need keepers.” 

Giving him an impressed grin, the witch clasps James’ shoulder. Their height difference is almost comical, and James has to lean down to let her maintain a proper grip on him. 

“Not a lot of wizards an’ witches these days know about keepers and all that.'' Her smile grows wider. “Come in, lads. You two look dreadful. We can talk over food.” With that, she starts off determinedly towards the interior of the cottage.

After sharing a cautious look with James, who bumps his shoulder encouragingly, Regulus ventures in after her. 

He takes in the house as he goes. The whole structure is much bigger on the inside that it looked to be from the exterior, as is typical with wizarding houses. What’s not so typical is the sheer amount of windows scattered throughout the house. Every wall seems to have at least two massive windows, letting in streams of pale yellow sunlight. Vines and flowers choke the windowsills, some even growing long enough to trail across the wooden floor. Leaves and branches of trees poke in through every available hole and opening.  There are tables and armchairs scattered about, flooding with books. The sweet smell of flower incense weaves throughout the wide and sun-filled rooms. The cottage seems like a veritable garden, rather than a house. 

Not to say that it was unwelcoming. It’s actually the exact opposite, warm and lovely and filled to the brim with love.

A pang pierces his chest, and he wonders if any place will feel and look like home to him in the way this cottage seems to be to the people living in it. 

He shakes himself out of his thoughts. The old witch shouts at them to find a seat and bustles off to the kitchen. He politely sits down at the cluttered oak dining table, next to James.

There’s barely any space between them because of the way the chairs are shoved against each other. They’re jammed in so close together: shoulder to leg. James is a warm line of pulsing heat and blood against Regulus. 

Regulus knows that, realistically, he should feel uncomfortable. James and him have never been this close, not since Hogwarts and not since the war- but it doesn’t feel wrong. In fact, it feels so right that he finds himself pressing harder against him, almost as if he’s trying to eat up his warmth and love just by proximity. In response, James just flashes a silver smile at him, and snags his hand under the table, interlacing it with his own. 

It feels so right, more right than anything has felt since he woke up; since the war. The Snitch is buzzing again, so much louder, so much more distracting than it was before. He can reach it, he can reach it so easily. It wouldn’t even take him a single breath. 

The tension between them breaks all of a sudden when the old keeper strides into the dining room, her hand piled high with trays of food. Another witch trails after her, a soft smile on her face. 

They both deposit the food on the table with a combination of pure muscle power and wandless magic that leaves both James and Regulus gaping in incomprehension. 

“Right!” The first witch says brightly, and she smiles at them, the corners of her wrinkled eyes twinkling, “Before we start eating, my name is Durga Chowdhury.” The other old witch steps up beside her, resting her hand on Durga’s shoulder softly. She has pale brown skin, and similarly black, short, wispy hair, which is all pulled up into a small bun at the back of her head. 

“I’m Diya Singh,” she says softly, “I’m the other keeper of this cottage.” Her voice is musical and warm, and Regulus can’t help but feel cowed by the pure amount of power she emits, despite her age and her small stature. 

“Nice to meet you Ms. Chowdhury, Ms. Singh,” James grins at them, “I’m James, and this is Regulus,” he raises their interlaced fingers from underneath the table. Regulus gives two witches a soft smile in response, trying not to blush at the implications of their joined hands. 

“Oh please, call me Durga,” the first witch says, “I won’t be bothering with all that formality nonsense. We’re all adults here.” 

James grins in response, and soon the air is filled with warmth and food and laughter. They talk about everything from their jobs to their houses to children, and the atmosphere is filled with love. Regulus learns that Durga and Diya have been together for over forty years, and that they have three children and a dog who passed away last year. They have been the keepers of the forest since their retirement from the Ministry fifteen years ago. James and Diya go off on a side tangent about interrogation tactics, and when Regulus stares a little too longingly at James’ wide gestures and the passion in his eyes, he sees Durga give him a knowing look. Regulus just dismisses with a huff and a pointed eyebrow raise. 

Once they’re all sufficiently filled up with bread and delicious soup, Durga leans back in her chair, leveling a scrutinizing look at them both. “So, lads, what exactly are you lot doing all the way out here?” There’s a wry twist to her lips as she talks. “Not that we mind the company of course- goodness knows how long it’s been since we’ve had proper guests. But, no one ends up in this cottage of ours without a reason.” 

Regulus and James start, and then look at each other with twin guilty expressions. 

Diya clucks her tongue, shaking her head, “Don’t feel bad, dears. We quite enjoy it when people stop by.” She gives them a kind smile, which Durga mirrors. 

Something stirs in his chest at this. Who knew human kindness was this boundless? He wonders if he would’ve made the same choices in his past if he had people like Diya and Durga looking out for him in the past, or if he lived in a home filled with love, like their cottage. It’s a fruitless endeavor, but he can’t help the pang that pierces his heart at the thought. 

Regulus relaxes,  smiling back hesitantly. James does the same beside him. They’re still holding hands, and he feels James squeeze it softly. 

“We were passing through the forest.” Regulus explains, leaning forwards the best he can, while still maintaining his grip on James’ fingers.  “Our car broke down and we couldn’t get it working again.”

James nods, “I assumed it was because of the old magic in the woods, so we decided to look for the keeper of these grounds, to ask for help.”

Diya and Durga’s expressions clear in understanding, and Durga snorts in amusement. “Right. Then let me guess, you lot were attacked by the pixies?” 

James blanches, “They were pixies?” He sounds horrified. “Pixies are so peaceful, though!”

Diya smiles softly, “Not these ones. They’re actually really territorial.” 

Nodding, Durga smirks at them, the expression oddly fitting on her wrinkled face, “Yeah, vicious, the whole lot of them. You lads must be some damn fine wizards to get them stirred up like that, though. They only attack people they deem dangerous.” Her lips twist in contemplation.

Suddenly, an odd thought strikes Regulus. “We’re not injured.” He says.

“What?” James scrunches his brows in confusion.

“Injured. We felt those cuts, we felt the spells , but we don’t have any physical injuries.”  

His face clears, “Oh, oh! You’re right.” James smiles blindingly at him, and gives his hand another squeeze. “That’s bloody brilliant, I didn’t even think of that.” 

Regulus’ face warms suspiciously, and he looks away with a mumbled thanks. Across the table, Durga looks entirely too smug for her own good, and Diya is twinkling at him knowingly. He huffs, and resists the urge to bang his head on the table. Stupid feelings.

Durga clears her throat, still grinning, “Well it’s because the injuries are purely psychological.”

James and Regulus share twin looks of incomprehension. “What?” 

“The pixies here have enough power to perform offensive spells, but they can’t inflict any real physical harm. They simply don’t have the capacity for that. So, they make do with whatever psychological equivalent they have.” Diya explains smoothly. 

Oh. 

Regulus feels like an idiot. “So we… weren’t in any real danger?” He asks tentatively.

Durga sends him a stern look, “Of course you all were. Psychological injuries can be just as detrimental to your health as physical injuries.” 

“Right.” James says, sounding a little dumbfounded. 

Suddenly, Diya claps her hands together, the soft noise ringing out against the warm late-afternoon air. “We can help you fix the car,” she brightly says, “But, I’m afraid we need the pixies’ help to do it. Unfortunately, it’s a little too late for them to be out and about right now.” She gestures towards one of the windows. 

Through it, Regulus can see the dying sunlight. 

“Oh.” Regulus swallows. 

Shit . What the hell were they supposed to do? It’s not like the sentient magic forest had any motels. 

Sleep in the car . The last, and least wanted option. Sharing a glance with James, he sees that he’s come to the same conclusion, albeit with a little less distaste involved. 

Well, Regulus can make do, he supposes. It’s only one night, and it’s hardly the least comfortable place he’s ever slept.

Abruptly, he stands up, pulling James up alongside him with their joined hands. “Thank you for your hospitality today, Diya and Durga,” He says, bowing slightly, “The meal was lovely.”

James makes an enthusiastic sound of agreement beside him. “It really was, you all are such great cooks.”

Durga just squints at them, looking flabbergasted. Diya appears similarly astonished. 

“Where do you lads think you’re going?” Durga asks, her voice raised slightly.

James and Regulus share a nervous look. “Er- We were going to leave. Come back tommorow.” James says a  little awkwardly.

Diya’s eyes widen in horror, and Durga looks almost furious. “And what , sleep in the car?” She says.

“Yes?” Regulus nervously says. 

“Oh no you won’t! Honestly, people these days don’t know what wizarding hospitality means,” Durga huffs, standing up abruptly and stalking away. 

Regulus is bewildered at what just transpired. James is sputtering in confusion beside him. 

Diya smiles up at them, kind to a fault, “She’s getting a room ready for you, lads. You’re staying here tonight. We wouldn’t think of sending you out to sleep in a car, not when there’s a perfectly good spare bedroom available here.”  

“But, we couldn’t possibly intrude-“ James begins, but any protest of his is swallowed up when Durga storms in determinedly, and practically drags them into the guest bedroom. 

The door slams shut behind them as Durga leaves, though not without offering various colorful threats that she will no doubt carry out if they dare to leave the house.

James hisses as he rubs his arm, where Durga had him in a death grip a few moments ago, “ Merlin , she’s strong.”

Regulus turns towards James, a half smile ghosting across his face. “There’s a reason they’re the keepers, you know.”

He just laughs. “I know.” 

They spent the rest of the evening in a sort of dreamy haze. They take a shower first, of course, because they’re grown men who haven’t properly bathed in ages. Then, Regulus and James venture back into the living room of the cottage. Diya starts teaching Regulus about old magic, while Durga and James bond over their shared Indian heritage. 

When they eventually retire to the bedroom, there’s no question of who’s going to sleep where, despite there only being one bed. 

James finishes his washing up first, and afterwards he relinquishes the bathroom to Regulus with a soft smile that makes his heart beat at least three times as fast as before. He returns the smile though, and is rewarded with a beaming James.

When he slides into bed, James wordlessly grabs his arm, and intertwines their fingers together again. 

“Is this okay?” His voice is quiet and silvery against the pulsing night around them. 

Regulus can hear the crickets outside. Their song is sweet, weaving with the soft rustling of the leaves and the deep cooing of the owls in a strange sort of symphony. 

At night, it’s not so hard to believe the forest is old magic. There’s something primal about the way the woods call with the voice of the creatures within it.  

“Yeah,” Regulus whispers. “Yeah, it’s ok.”

For the first time, he wonders if his love for James isn’t as hopeless as he thought it was. 

Chapter Text

Regulus can’t sleep. His skin itches and the midnight chill slides and sluices over him and he can’t stop trembling, despite the warming charms set up. He tosses and turns and grumbles, he just can’t fall asleep. His mind cycles like clockwork- the same thoughts of inadequacy and the more pleasant musings of the way James is pressed up against him circling through his head. Even James’ warmth against his side isn’t enough for him to relax, however. 

So, he carefully untangles himself from James, whose back is pushed flush against Regulus’ chest, and heaves himself off of the bed with a concerning amount of effort. Merlin , he’s really getting old. 

He slips into the kitchen, padding softly across the cold wood floor. He’s surprised to notice two mugs of tea set on one of the counters, with a torn bit of parchment resting beside them. Once he gets closer, he’s able to discern the messy scrawl on it.

‘Just in case you lads needed a midnight snack.’ It reads. 

His heart stutters in his chest, and he finds himself rapidly blinking away a wave of tears. Salazar , he’s never had someone take care of him the way these two wonderful witches were. In the ‘noble’ home of the Blacks, extending this much love and kindness to your own kin used to be unthinkable, much less to strangers.

Gingerly, he picks up the smaller cup, blows on it, and steps out to the living room. 

The cottage looks ethereal at night- something right out of those Muggle fairytales that Andromeda used to send him. The moon filters through the large bay window, lining the edges of everything and anything in sharp, knifelike silver. The blues blur into the black of the midnight and the trees outside coalesce into streams of hazy white and green.

He can hear the crickets, still.

Regulus leans forwards against the windowsill, watching the moonlight sift through the canopy of the forest, sipping his tea quietly. 

An indeterminate amount of time later, he hears footsteps approaching him. He knows it’s James, even without looking. 

James steps up next to him, pressing their shoulders together. It reminds Regulus of the first night, with the balcony and the hotel. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” James murmurs, his voice sticky with drowsiness. 

Regulus hums noncommittally. “Something like that.” 

James huffs out a soft laugh, and soon they lapse into silence. It isn’t uncomfortable, and he doesn’t try to make Regulus talk. 

It’s lovely, sharing the quiet with James. 

Some time passes. He doesn’t really know how long. Time seems to become meaningless when you’re mixing warmth and breath with your first and only love. 

“What are you doing up?” Regulus finally says. He can’t help the curiosity that bubbles up, even though James seems content just standing there with him, breathing and occasionally sipping tea.

James turns his gaze on Regulus, and smiles, soft and dripping like sweet honey. Against his will, Regulus’ chest tightens and soon it's very hard to breathe.

He thinks he could get drunk off of James looking at him like this. 

“I noticed you were gone,” he says, “so I came to check up on you.” 

Regulus searches him for any sign of mockery or deception. His hair is mussed with sleep, and his eyes are dark and swirling and crinkled at the corners with smile lines. He’s bleeding silver where the moonlight touches him.  

He’s heartbreakingly genuine, as always. He could never not be. He’s James Potter.

Regulus’ chest tightens even more, and he has to hide a small, giddy smile in the rim of his cup. James is really here for him. For no other reason. 

James squints suspiciously, “And what are you smiling about?” Suddenly, he reaches up towards his hair. He looks horrified. “It’s my hair, isn’t it? Oh Merlin , Sirius always says it looks like a rat’s nest after bed.“ He starts desperately raking his hands through it, which only serves to make it more messy.

Regulus can’t help it. He huffs out a chuckle, and all of a sudden he can’t stop. He doubles over, shaking with laughter. Salazar , it’s been so long since he laughed like this. 

When he finally manages to resurface, if only for air, James’ eyes are wide with awe and something else, lurking underneath. It’s the same way he looked at Regulus while he was talking about the stars. As if he can’t believe that he’s real. 

“What?” Regulus asks, scowling self consciously. 

James shakes his head, his eyes wide and reverent. “Nothing.” He sounds breathless. “I’ve just- never seen you laugh like that.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Is that good… or?” 

“Good, very good.” James nods frantically. “You sound- brilliant.”

“Oh.” Regulus’ cheeks warm. There’s that word again. “Honestly, James. If you keep saying things like that, I might get the wrong idea.” He jokes rather desperately.

Something akin to mortification flashes through James’ features, before he schools his face back. “Maybe the idea isn’t so wrong, after all.” His tone is almost challenging. 

Regulus’ eyes widen, and his heart soars at the implications. Still, something dark shifts in his chest. He thinks of Barty, who Regulus so thoroughly ruined, just by letting him love him. 

Regulus doesn’t say anything, and James doesn’t either, for a long time. 

When he finally speaks up, James’ voice is quiet. Quieter than he’s ever been. He sounds oddly subdued. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“What?” Regulus startles, and looks back at James. A deer-in-headlights look, Sirius would’ve called it. 

“You looked-“ James backtracks, all of a sudden, “You were doing that thing where you- fiddle with your fingers. When you’re worried about something. So I figured you were thinking or something.”

Regulus’ face warms as he realizes that James has been watching him. Very closely, in fact. Close enough to know his mannerisms.

That feeling springs up again- where he so badly wants to believe that James wants him back and that he won’t mess everything up- 

And he can’t let himself think like that. That’s how he ruined Barty. That’s how he ruined Barty and Sirius and Evan and so many other people. So many other people who had loved him. 

“I was thinking about Barty.” He whispers, quiet and painfully honest. 

James makes a wounded sound beside him. “Anything in particular?” He asks gently.

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut against the barrage of memories. “I-“ He trails off.. 

How can he explain this ugly thing in his chest? How can he say anything when James might leave and break Regulus open with the weight of his own failures? How can he explain that every depiction, every description of Regulus’ life is incomplete without Barty, without Evan- without his all encompassing love for James?

He flounders, for a long moment, opening and closing his mouth. And then he throws all caution to the wind. If James is still here, after spending months breaking into Regulus’ apartment to cook him food and sleeping on the same bed with him and promising him that he won’t leave, then maybe he won’t leave, after all. 

“He’s just-“ Regulus’ voice breaks, and he feels James press closer against him. A soft, jumper-clad arm winds around his shoulders and steadies him. “He just loved me so much.”

“I’m sorry,” James whispers, and he sounds genuinely apologetic, even though it has nothing to do with him and it was all his own fault anyway. 

Regulus pushes onward, because Merlin knows if he doesn’t get it out now, he will never do it again. “He loved me and I couldn’t love him back.”

“That’s not your fault, Regulus.” James is so kind sometimes that it hurts. 

Regulus swallows. “I can’t help but think sometimes- if he didn’t love me- then he would’ve still been alive .”

And there it is. The crux of the problem. Everything ugly in him, summed up in one breath. 

Beside him, James inhales sharply. “Regulus- fucking hell. Regulus you have to understand. You didn’t ruin him. You didn’t doom him.”

He wants to punch James Potter. And hug him and possibly hold him forever. Because here’s him telling Regulus the things he’s wanted to hear forever, with his unfailingly kind demeanor and soft eyes. 

He knows anyone would tell him the same things: Sirius, Remus, probably even Draco bloody Malfoy. But, when it’s James Potter saying these things to him, James- who is the warmest and loveliest person he knows- he can almost feel something close to clean again. Even for a second, he can feel pure again. 

He hasn’t felt clean since he was sixteen. 

He still can’t bring himself to believe it, though. 

“I did though,” Regulus says miserably. The tea has gotten cold, lying forgotten in the cup nestled between his palms. “I ruined him just like I ruined Sirius and Evan.”

A myriad of emotions flit across James’ face, but he settles on the final one: deep, palpable pain. 

“Regulus you didn’t ruin any of them. You’re not some- weapon of mass fucking destruction.” James sounds so earnest, his voice lined with empathy. Regulus wants to believe him, he really does. He wants to believe him so badly that the ache is almost physical.  

James steps closer to him, and softly, carefully, drops his head against Regulus’. They breathe together, for a second, swaying lightly with the midnight breeze. 

Merlin, James is so warm. 

Regulus curls his hand up, and rests it against James’ chest. 

Through the pads of his fingers, he can feel his heart pulsing, under all those layers of flesh and bone and humanity. It’s steady. Steadier than Regulus feels right now. 

James draws his hand up, and presses his palm against the back of Regulus’ hand, pushing it even deeper into his chest. 

It’s like that first time in the Ministry, all over again. Like James wants Regulus to reach in, tear his heart out, just to prove something. He almost seems to encourage him.

Regulus’ breath hitches, and he looks up into James’ eyes. They’re warm and black-blue in the moonlight and lovely. He’s so lovely. 

“You’re just a person, Reg.” James’ voice is low and thick with something dangerously close to love. “You’re a person who’s been used as a weapon for far too long.”

Regulus can’t help the soft sob that forces its way out of his throat. James just clutches him tighter. Presses their bodies further together; like they’re melding into one single being.

“You’re a person, Regulus. You’re not a weapon. You don’t ruin people. You can rest, now. The war is over. You’re safe.”

Regulus can’t help the tears, either. He’s crying softly, and there are salty tears streaming in rivulets down his cheekbones. James reaches towards him, cupping his jaw. Their foreheads are still flush against each other’s.

Regulus just cries harder. He used to be so good at holding back his sadness, and now he just can’t stop. 

They stay like that for Merlin knows how long. Like before, it’s hard to care about time when James Potter is holding you.

When he finally does stop crying, he feels like he’s been ripped apart and put back together. His chest gapes- an open, pulsing wound. He takes a shuddering breath in, and exhales, pressing himself closer against James. 

Minutes and seconds and perhaps even hours pass like flowing water. James still hasn’t pulled away, and Regulus won’t either. 

“Tell me something about yourself,” Regulus whispers, twisting his fingers where they rest over James’ heart. His jumper is scratchy, but Regulus doesn’t mind one bit. He rubs the pads of his fingers over the itchy wool, absently tracing patterns into it. 

“What?” James’ answer is a gentle puff of heat fanning across Regulus’ face. 

“Something about yourself. We’ve talked about me entirely too many times on this trip.” He pauses, inhales sharply. “I want to learn more about you, James.” He doesn’t remember when he became so bold. 

The Snitch in his chest is back, humming with glee. There’s no doubt he could catch it now, but something stops him. He’s not ready. Not yet. 

James' eyes are wide with wonder. He seems to look at Regulus like that a lot: amazed and awestruck. 

“Well,” James whispers, and it’s more an exhalation of breath than speech. “There was this time, after the war.”

Regulus doesn’t answer, but he squeezes James’ jumper softly, if only to remind him that he’s listening. 

“The war had just ended, and- Lily had just told me she was lesbian.” He swallows dryly. “I was- upset. I thought-“ he trails off.

Regulus starts tracing quiet patterns over his heart again. His white jumper almost glows like liquid moonlight in the silvery glow bleeding through the window.  

Regulus’ fingers, pushing against his chest, apparently gives James the strength to continue. 

“I thought it would all come together after the war. I thought- I thought me and Lily would raise Harry together and we would be those doting parents you see in those Muggle movies.” James huffs out a wry chuckle. “After Lily left, I thought nothing was going to be the same again. I was bloody well falling apart.”

“And then?” Regulus asks, because he knows entirely too well that there’s always something after falling apart. The world doesn’t wait on the whims of any one human. 

James smiles, quick and silver. Just like Barty used to. “And then I got over it.”

“And then you got over it.” Regulus repeats, a little disbelievingly. 

James’ eyes are alright with amusement. Their foreheads are still pushed together, and their noses are brushing against each other’s. 

They’re sharing breaths. 

It’s all so intimate, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels more right than anything Regulus has ever known. 

James is still talking, his voice low and heated. “I had to act like I had pulled myself together to parent Harry. And somewhere along the way, I actually managed to achieve it.”

“Just like that?” Regulus is breathless and dizzy with James’ warmth. 

“Just like that,” James says softly. “It took some time, but I also figured out a few more things about myself along the way.”

“Like what?” He can’t help but ask. He knows it’s nosy and impolite, but all etiquette goes out the metaphorical window when James is concerned. 

Suddenly, James’ gaze sharpens. His state bores into Regulus’ own. “Like the fact that it never would’ve worked out like that with Lily. Even if she could love me. I loved her, but nothing like-“ he cuts himself off with a clench of his jaws.

Regulus’ own breath hitches, but he doesn’t push it. 

They stand there, entangled and swaying in the moonlight for entirely too long. When they finally manage to extricate themselves and go back to bed, James slips in beside Regulus and wraps his arms around him wordlessly.

Regulus just smiles softly, ignoring the deep ache in his chest, and drifts quietly to sleep. 

James is so warm. 

Just before Regulus drops off to sleep, he hears James whisper “You’re brilliant, Regulus. You’re so, so brilliant.” 

He thinks he imagines it. 

The next morning, waking up next to James isn’t awkward at all. 

Regulus wakes up to find him already awake, still plastered against him. After a bit of coaxing on Regulus’ part, James finally drags himself out of bed, albeit with a lot of groaning and complaining, and they get ready for the day ahead of them. 

He feels a bit cheated, honestly. The way Evan and Barty used to describe waking up cuddling someone, especially if the person is someone you’ve been in love with for half your life, seemed like an especially mortifying experience. He finds none of that with James, and he can’t tell if he feels worried or absolutely elated that they fit together so nicely. 

After showering and a lovely breakfast of tea and toast, Durga and Diya drag them both outside to meet the pixies. James seems delighted, but Regulus is less than thrilled. His skin still prickles with phantom pain.

Durga waves away his concern with a hearty laugh, “Don’t worry, lad. You two just startled ‘em. That’s all. They don’t have anything against wizards.” 

“Alright.” Regulus says, still feeling a bit constipated. 

James snorts at the look on his face. “Chin up, Reg.” He grins blindingly, and throws an arm around his shoulders. Merlin , has he gotten even more touchy since last night? “I’ll protect you.” He winks, his smile turning a bit devious.

Regulus rolls his eyes, “Keep telling yourself that, Potter. I could dust you in a real duel.” 

“Well. That’s probably right,” He concedes, his grin still wide. “But only because you would use loads of illegal dark magic, probably.” 

“I don’t even know that many dark spells.” Regulus groans.

James turns on him with wide eyes, his gaze incredulous. “Regulus. Do you not remember last week?” 

Oh, he remembers last week very well. 

“What about last week?” Regulus asks innocently. 

“Wh-” James sputters indignantly, “Sirius insulted your shirt so you cursed his tongue off with an incantation that sounded like you were summoning a demon!”

When Regulus starts to protest, he adds, “ And the week before that, you terrified Mr. Bernard enough that he’s stopped coming by to complain about the weeds in the garden.”

“I didn’t use dark magic for that,” Regulus mutters a little petulantly. 

James’ single raised eyebrow shows just how much he believes that. 

“Ok, fine. Maybe a little.” Regulus concedes. 

James grins brilliantly at his admission, and he tightens his arm where it’s still resting on Regulus’ shoulders, “See, that wasn’t so hard was it? Admitting that I was right?” 

Regulus rolls his eyes, because honestly. The audacity of this man-child. And people think he’s dramatic. 

“Don’t expect it to keep happening, Potter.” He warns. 

“I live to prove you wrong, darling.” James laughs. 

The pet name has Regulus inhaling air up the wrong pipe, and soon he’s busy coughing his lung out. James looks on worriedly, and if Regulus tries to look a bit more pathetic than usual, just to watch James fuss over him and check over him like a concerned mother hen, then that’s between him and absolutely no one else. 

When he starts walking again, he sees Durga and Diya give him twin looks of amusement. 

“Alright, Regulus?” Diya asks kindly. He can tell she’s hiding a smirk behind her angelic smile. Merlin , those two knew entirely too much for their own good. 

He just sighs and nods. “Keep walking. I’m fine.” 

It’s another fifteen or so minutes of travel before they end up in a clearing. 

The whole area absolutely bleeds with magic. So much so that he can practically smell it in the air. The trees that surround them seem especially intimidating: looming and dark against the winter dawn. 

James gasps softly beside him. When Regulus follows his gaze, he catches his breath. 

The entire glade is bursting with flowers. Reds, yellows, oranges spill over the green grass, swaying softly in the chilly breeze. The sun is breaking out from behind a swath of clouds, and soon the sunlight is slipping over the clearing like spilling molasses. 

The whole area is golden with burning colours and the rustling of leaves. 

It’s unbelievably beautiful. 

Distantly, he realizes he can hear what sounds like birdsong. 

“What’s-” James begins, and then shakes his head incredulously, “How- this is beautiful .”

Durga smiles at their enraptured expressions. “It’s welcoming you.” She says. 

“What?” Regulus asks, still blinking dumbly at the sight before them.

“This is the heart of the forest,” Diya says, her musical voice carrying through the whole clearing, despite her soft inflection. The forest loves her, he can tell. The flowers at her feet are curling and swaying towards her, almost as if they’re trying to convince her to take root- become one with the earth. “The forest senses that you do not have ill intentions. It’s welcoming you.” 

The winter chill seems so far away, all of a sudden. The sunlight is warm as it gently caresses him with its honey-tipped fingers, and he finds himself hungrily drinking in the scenery around them. The flowers seem to be blooming even wider, almost as if they’re pleading with him- look at me , I am beautiful - trying to capture his attention and keep it there. 

There’s a curious feeling in his chest, similar to what he feels when he looks at the stars and the sky. He wonders if he’s falling in love with the forest too. 

He reaches down, gently running his fingers over the tips of the flowers, laughing as they nip at him almost playfully. The grasses around his feet tickle his ankles softly, and he can’t help the small huffing chuckles that keep escaping him. The wind picks up, tossing his unruly black hair over to one side, which he doesn’t even bother taming. 

He catches Durga’s eye, who’s watching him with a soft expression, and gives her a brilliant smile. Diya grins at him too. 

His chest is expanding, making more room within itself to feel more and more love. Like the first day where he truly let go, and apparated to that small Indian town. 

He wonders if this is what Barty had in mind when he said he wanted to learn to drive.  

Then, he turns around and is greeted with the sight of James Potter.

James Potter, whose hair is mussed with the wind and whose glasses are askew on his face, despite having done nothing particularly strenuous all day. 

James Potter, who seems to glow even more with the sunlight. It sluices in a golden flood across his brown skin. The sunlight pours itself into the depths of his eyes with the utmost reverence and turns his black irises into pools of glistening yellow. The flowers pull and tug at his feet, demanding his attention. But, he isn’t looking their way at all. 

James Potter, who seems just as enamored with Regulus as he is with him. His lips are parted softly, and his eyes are wide with something close to reverence. 

“Brilliant.” James whispers. “Brilliant, Reg.” The corners of his lips curl up like burnt parchment. 

Regulus’ heart starts beating double time, they start moving closer and closer towards each other. But, before he can do something stupid like kiss him, a familiar chattering rings through the air.  

They both whip their heads around, James’ hand on his wand and Regulus in a defensive stance.

“Relax,” Durga laughs, her eyes twinkling mirthfully at them, “They’re just the pixies.”

“They won’t hurt you, this time. You have our word.” Diya adds gently, sensing their alarm. 

Regulus nods mutely, and then straightens himself out again, trying not to blush all the while. Merlin , he’s mortified. He almost forgot that him and James weren’t the only ones in the field. 

Beside him, he can see that James is similarly sorting himself out. He tries not to read too much into the embarrassment on his face. He’s positive James wouldn’t have kissed him. 

The pixies approach slowly, flying leisurely loops around the clearing in their swarms, before finally descending towards the flowers. 

The first thing Regulus notices is their wings. They’re brightly coloured: reds, oranges and yellows, the exact same shade as the flowers in the clearing, he notes. They’re barely the size of his forearm. As he tries to get a closer look at them, he notices that they seem to be blurring in and out of sight before can fully make out their features. 

He turns to Diya with a question in his eyes. She smiles at him, and explains, “They do not reveal their true nature to humans. It is a very intimate act, even among fellow pixie-kind.” 

James looks fascinated by them, and he keeps trying to move closer to the pixies, only for them to skirt back with odd, bird-like chirps. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Regulus sees Durga kneel down. She whispers something to one of the pixies, who’s perched on her arm. It responds with a quiet, melodious, trill. James looks delighted when he sees her talking to it. 

“What did it say?” He says, his eyes wide with childlike glee. “Was it talking to you?”

Durga grins at his enthusiasm. “Yes, I’ve just informed him of your predicament.” 

“And?” James practically lunges towards her in his excitement. “What did he say?” 

She just winks, and turns away. “Patience, lad. You’ll see soon.” 

All of a sudden, the clearing stills. The flowers stop moving andthe grass stops swaying with the breeze. Even the pixies seem to momentarily freeze. 

He furrows his brows in confusion. He turns to look at James in bewilderment, only to see him staring out at the glade with wonder stamped across his face. 

When he turns back, he sees it.

The pixies have lit up their wings. The entire clearing is awash with brilliant shades of red, yellow, orange and every colour imaginable in between. The forest seems to be holding it’s breath, waiting for something. 

And then, he hears the singing. 

It’s faint at first, then it crescendos and crescendos, until the singing of the pixies is the only sound thrumming in his ears, pulsing through his blood. 

He realizes that he’s crying when James grabs his hand and offers Regulus a watery smile. He tries to smile back, but just ends up crying harder instead.

The song is- indescribable. It’s like the clearest, sweetest birdsong, but so much more, at the same time. It’s every moment he spent with Evan and Barty, laughing and talking and fighting side by side with them. It’s the way Barty used to look at him and Evan before every mission. It’s the way Evan would crawl into his bed and cry whenever he and Barty had a particularly bad fight. It’s the way Sirius would sing Muggle songs in the shower to piss off their parents when he was fourteen. It’s the sky in the Forbidden Forest, so ever bright despite the death surrounding them. It’s the way Pandora would sometimes drag him into corners and tell him about something that Xenophilius did. It reminds him of the way James used to kiss him in the Gryffindor dorms and behind alcoves, even though it never meant anything more. It’s all the years, all the ways Regulus spent loving James quietly and tenderly, all the years he lived with heartbreak. It’s in how he loves James now, fully and wholly and how he sometimes wonders if James loves him back. 

He looks at James, and wonders if he feels the same things, sees the same things. 

James looks back, and he’s crying too. Laughing, but crying as well. They grip each other’s hands a little tighter. 

When the pixies finally stop singing, even Diya and Durga look slightly teary eyed.

“Goodness, that gets me everytime,” Diya says, wiping at her eyes elegantly. Durga smiles, and tenderly wipes some of her own tears off with her shawl. 

Regulus can’t speak for some time. He feels like he’s been gutted open and left to bleed on the floor for too long. 

In the silent aftermath of their song, the pixies suddenly burst into motion again, and flutter away without hesitation. Their exit is much quieter than their entrance. Or maybe Regulus’ ears are ringing too much to hear anything. 

“ Merlin , what was that?” James breathes, breaking the spell of quiet among them.

Durga grins at them knowingly, her hands gently cradling Diya’s, who still looks a little wrecked from the song. “ That was the welcome of the forest. Pixiesong.” 

“Pixiesong,” James breathes out, his eyes widening with awe, “ Pixiesong -the music of the pixies, known to cure broken hearts and instill love in even the most desolate people-” He cuts himself off breathlessly. “Isn’t that a legend?” He says, turning to look incredulously up at the two women.

“Nothing is a legend if you look hard enough, my boy.” Diya says softly. 

“That should do it,” Durga says brightly, looking up at their car, a satisfied gleam in her eyes.

They’re back in the abandoned gas station: Him, James and Durga and Diya.

Durga took one look at the car, murmured a wandless spell under her breath, and told them it was as good as new. 

Regulus raises an eyebrow, “Just like that?” He’s found that very few things are that easy. 

She nods. “Just like that. The forest was just being difficult with you lads. It thought that you two were intruders.” She gives them a small smile. “Anyone who hears the pixiesong is a friend of the forest.”

“Oh.” He says, dumbly. 

James looks smug and entirely too pleased with himself. 

“Told you things would be easy, didn’t I?” He grins cheekily.

Regulus just rolls his eyes, “Right. Yes. Point taken, Potter. You live to prove me wrong.” 

James laughs brightly, and the snitch flutters by in Regulus’ stomach again. 

Determinedly, he wrenches his eyes away from him before he can stare too long. He can ogle James all he wants later. Now, he has to say goodbye. 

Durga takes one look at his face, and starts clicking her tongue. “No, that won’t do.” She reaches out, loosely intertwining her fingers with Regulus’. “This isn’t goodbye, lads. We’ll see you again. I don’t doubt it.”

Regulus smiles weakly, his chest squeezing something fierce. Merlin , he’s going to miss them. These two witches have shown him more love and kindness in a day than his parents did in sixteen years. 

He loves them, a little bit, he realizes. It’s a rather brilliant feeling. 

“Alright. Of course we’ll visit,” Regulus says, his voice oddly choked, and draws her into a warm embrace. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see James doing the same with Diya, looking about one word away from bursting into tears. 

When he draws back, Durga gives him a brilliant grin, which he returns. James swoops in and wraps her up into a suffocating hug, which she sputters and knocks him across the head for, laughing all the while. Regulus embraces Diya more gently, and she smiles up at him appreciatively. 

“Don’t let him slip away, dear.” She says softly, her dark eyes twinkling with warmth. 

Merlin , she’s brilliant. She exudes power and warmth and love all at the same time, and Regulus can only hope to age as gracefully as her. 

“It’s not-” He sighs. “It’s not like that.”

Diya gives him a solemn look of understanding. “Alright. But, if you don’t take the chance, it never will be.” She whispers. 

Regulus nods, unable to say anything with the ever rising lump in his throat. 

When they finally manage to finish their goodbyes and slip into the car, James is crying, and Regulus isn’t far off. He pulls out of the parking lot with a lot of reluctance. 

As he sees Durga and Diya waving at them from the rear window, he realizes he sort of wants to stay here forever. No place has felt home like the forest did. 

He almost swerves back into the lot, almost decides to give everything up and build himself a cottage and live in these lovely woods with the two brilliant witches and the beautiful pixies. 

Then, he remembers Barty. Barty, with his silver smile and sparkling eyes. Barty who could never stay still, never grow roots as easily as Regulus did. 

“Where would you go?” 

“Mmm- A forest. Not sure where. Not one we’ve been to, though. Somewhere far. Somewhere where no one will find us.” 

“And then? 

“And then- and then I would go to the sea.”

“The North?”

“The North.” 

Regulus grips the driving wheel tighter, and he drives on. 

“Do you actually know where we’re going, this time?” James is clutching the map again, tracing his fingers over the route they’re traveling. 

He seems to love the map, gazing reverently at it with every chance he gets. Regulus hopes that this is what Martha wanted when she told him to take it and give it a good home. 

“Yes, actually.” He says with a ghost of a smile flitting across his face.

James looks surprised. “Oh. Well. I didn’t expect that.” 

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’m not a complete mess, James. Sometimes, I figure things out by myself.” 

Hilariously, James falls for it, floundering adorably. Er- That’s not-” He opens his mouth open and shut and then open again and Regulus can’t help the huff of laughter he lets out. 

James is affronted. “You’re so bloody annoying, Black.” He grouses. “Honestly, sometimes I think you enjoy my suffering.” 

“Sometimes?” Regulus fixes him with a practiced- and very unsettling smile- that has James looking at him with widened eyes, something close to fear lurking in them. “James, you have to understand, I enjoy your suffering all the time.”

James tries to remain stoic for a moment and fails miserably. “Piece of shit.” His expression wavers, and he breaks out into reluctant laughter. 

Regulus just grins in response, turning his eyes back to the road. 

“Where are we going, then?” James asks conversationally.

“The North Sea.” 

“The North Sea?”

“The North Sea.” 

James doesn’t question it, which Regulus appreciates. He just smiles- a crescent-moon quirk of his mouth- and goes back to watching the road out of the windshield.

It’s easy to love James when he’s like this: lovely and kind and warm. 

It’s always easy to love James. 

Regulus turns the radio up to drown his rapidly crescendoing thoughts. James hums sweetly beside him. The sunlight is a warm blade of amber on his fingers as he grips the wheel tighter, trying and failing to tame the wild beating of his heart. 

They’ve stopped in a field, because apparently it's terribly annoying to find rest stops, and because Regulus is tired. And maybe because James wanted to see the “lovely flowers” blooming in the field. 

James practically jumps out of the car the second Regulus manages to park. He vibrates out of his seat and throws the door open, letting out a childlike laugh of pure glee as he traipses out into the wild grass. Regulus can’t help the lovesick smile on his face as he watches James frolic about, cooing at the butterflies and the birds and generally making a right nuisance of himself, in the name of getting “fresh air.” 

The winter breeze is honey-sweet, despite the chill in the air. Sunlight pours over their surroundings, drowning them in a deluge of amber-gold and warmth. The sky is flushed with a thick blue, and the pearl clouds spill across its wide expanse. 

James looks like something right out of a painting, framed with sunlight and standing stark against the mid-afternoon heat. The car radio is still playing the Beatles- the sound tinny and staticy- and he sways to it in tandem with the flowers caught in the rushing breeze. His smile gleams like a bullet of silver. 

Regulus used to read Muggle poetry whenever Andromeda would take pity on him and send him a collection or two for his birthday. That’s how he learned of the word muse. The concept of a muse always enraptured him- someone significant enough to influence every work, every creation of an artist. He never used to understand it, how can someone be so great as to sway uncaring beasts such as art and poetry? 

But, now, sitting here in this field and listening to the Beatles on the radio and watching James hum and smile and laugh, it all starts falling into place.

Regulus isn’t a poet, but James is still his muse. Because nothing else explains this urge to immortalize him, hold him and press him into his own skin to imprint him there. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts when James sticks his head back into the car. Regulus gives an aborted yelp, which he just laughs at, the bastard. 

“Do you want to dance with me?” James says, grinning brilliantly.

“What?” Regulus isn’t sure he’s hearing this correctly. 

James frowns a little bit, and that furrow in his brows appears again, the one only visible when he’s thinking too hard about something. “Dance? Like- in the field.” 

At Regulus’ look of incomprehension, he suddenly backtracks. “I didn’t mean- sorry- we don’t have to.” He frowns again.

Regulus’ cheeks warm. Fucking hell . He feels like a teenager again. He’s spent half of his life in love with James Potter, has shared a bed with him and exchanged breaths with him, but he’s still blushing like a schoolgirl when he asks to dance . 

“No- yes-” Regulus begins. “I mean- yeah. I want to dance with you. In the field.” He gives him a smile that hopefully looks stronger than his legs feel at the moment. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to- I don’t want to force you or anything-” James says, sounding oddly flustered.

Regulus stifles the urge to give up and groan. James bloody Potter has just asked him to dance and he’s mucking this up so badly. 

“ Yes , James. I want to dance with you. When have you ever forced me into doing anything I don’t want to?” Regulus says sharply, giving him a pointed look.

James just grins widely. “Ok. Yeah.”

When Regulus clambers out of the car, James is still smiling like mad. He isn’t really sure why, but it makes his heart squeeze regardless. 

“We’re dancing to the Beatles?” Is the first thing Regulus asks, stepping through the tallgrass gingerly, doing his best not to trample on the lovely flowers. 

Poor James looks worried again. “Do you not want to? I’ve always loved the Beatles.” 

Regulus smiles softly. “I don’t mind. The Beatles are brilliant.” He isn't lying. They really are brilliant. Barty made sure both he and Evan knew that.

Their hands and hips come together. Regulus isn’t really sure who’s leading who and who’s doing what but it doesn’t really matter. Not when James is smiling at him like he’s the loveliest thing to exist on this Earth, and not when the sun is slipping over him like honey-wine and lighting him in beautiful shades of rich brown and orange and warmth. 

“When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me.”

Somewhere along the way, the song switched to “ Let it Be. ” Somewhere along the way, their hands ended up tangled together and their foreheads ended up flushed against each other’s. Somewhere along the way, James stopped looking at Regulus and started looking into him, his gaze molten. He isn’t really sure when or how any of this happened, and he doesn’t want to find out. 

“Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.”

At first they’re spinning and twirling in a waltz like the way they were taught by Professor McGonagall, laughing all the while. They’re both tripping over each other’s feet, and Regulus feels a little drunk on giddiness. Then, all of a sudden, they’re slow dancing. He isn’t really sure who started it but they’re doing it and he doesn’t ever want to stop. And then they’re barely even dancing anymore, just swaying quietly together, pressing into each other. 

“And when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me.”

Their heartbeats pulse against each other, and Regulus swears that they’re trying to beat in tandem. He can barely breathe . 

“There will be an answer, let it be.”

James is warm and soft and lovely against his own sharp curves and cold skin. He’s breathing in and out and Regulus is following him, and their heads are bowed together. 

They’re sharing breath again, just like they did the night before, at the cottage. It’s pure heat. James smells like flowers he’s been dancing in. 

Somewhere along the way, they stopped moving completely. They’re both just standing there, holding each other. Regulus can’t let go of him. 

“And let it be.” 

His heart is beating and breaking, all in the same breath.

“I can’t lose you, James.” He whispers hoarsely. 

James’ eyes are clear and brown and swirling with unnamed feelings. “You won’t.” He sounds so sure .

“Promise me. Just like you promised me that you wouldn’t leave me.” He murmurs, his lips tracing the edges of James’ jaw, his ears. 

Regulus feels James shudder. “I promise. I promise a thousand times over. I could never leave you Regulus, not even if I tried.” James’ voice is pained and scratchy, like this is something that he’s done before, like he’s tried to forget Regulus before and failed utterly miserably. 

He isn’t sure what to make of it, other than feeling elated at the fact that James has thought about him enough to want to stop.

He could get drunk on this feeling. He thinks he already is, a little bit. 

Regulus’ chest squeezes painfully. James is so lovely and warm and so, so kind. He’s the exact opposite to everything Regulus is, and everything he represents. 

“You’ve tried before? To forget me?” Regulus asks, his voice breathy with the implications. 

James shuts his eyes, as if the memory pains him. “When you- when I thought you- you died .” 

He’s crying. Fucking hell . James Potter is crying and Regulus feels like a monster for ever hurting him enough to make him cry .

Immediately, he brings up his hands and cups James’ jaws softly with his fingers. Their foreheads are still pressed warmly together.

The wind stirs around them, tracing the edges of their intertwined silhouettes with pure afternoon heat. They’re swaying in tandem with the wildflowers. 

“What’s wrong, James? What- what did I do?” Regulus’ voice breaks. “What do you need? I’ll give you anything.” He’s half on the verge of tears himself. “Please James. Tell me. Anything.”

James makes a wounded sound, tears still tracing streams and tributaries down his cheekbones. He shakes his head, which jostles them both. Regulus grips his face harder, pushes his forehead against his own even more firmly. 

They’re trying to meld into one again. 

“I don’t-” James’ voice is choked and thick. “I don’t need anything, Reg. Just promise me-”

“Anything. Anything.” Regulus whispers desperately. “I’ll promise you everything.” 

“Promise me you won’t leave either.” He’s so quiet. 

Merlin . Did he do this? Did Regulus leaving and him dying do this to him? He’ll never be able to forgive himself, even though he knows it’s not his fault.

“ Fuck . I won’t.” Regulus swears, his tone and distressed. “I’ll never leave you again, James. Please. Don’t cry.” He needs James to understand this. He needs him to understand that he’ll never do anything to hurt him like this ever again. Not while he’s breathing and certainly not while he’s standing. 

He’ll even let James carve his heart out and devour it, if that’s what he needs. The same way James has offered him his own, so many times. Ever since their reunion at the Ministry.

He’s still crying. So, Regulus just presses himself further against him and promises him. Over and over again. He promises James everything. 

“You’re lovely, James.” He whispers. “You’re lovely and brilliant and kind. You’re so, so brilliant.” He needs James to understand, in the same way he needs to breathe. 

The way James smiles at him, shaky but still warm, he thinks James gets it, just a little bit. Maybe not all the way, maybe he would never understand all the ways Regulus loves him. But, it’s a start.

“You won’t leave?”

“Never.” 

Chapter Text

That night, he finds out that the memory has changed. 

Regulus was just puttering about in the hotel room they had rented for the night, going through the meager belongings he had packed before leaving. James was sitting in his bed, attempting to puzzle out how to transfigure a potted plant into a jumper, which wasn’t working very well at all. 

All of a sudden, the box with the potion drops out of the bag and onto the floor with an audible thump . Cursing lightly, Regulus bends down to pick it up, groaning when he feels his back let out a very loud crack . James snickers at him, which he silences with a glare. 

Merlin save him, he’s already getting old. 

Once the box is safely back in his hands, he gingerly opens it, on a whim- and promptly almost drops it again. 

Because the colour of the potion has changed. 

He lets out an aborted noise of alarm. 

James looks up, concerned. The potted plant has now become something resembling a sad pile of rather tangled woolen threads. “You alright, Reg?” 

“The memory’s changed.” Regulus breathes. 

Eyes widening, James drops his heap of wool. He’s managed to make the threads pink, somehow. “The potion? The one that Barty gave you?” 

Regulus had told him the whole story, sitting in the car, after the afternoon they spent in the field. 

James had spent entirely too long tailing after him and unquestionably going along with his every whim for him to not deserve an explanation for whatever they’re doing.

“Yeah.” Dimly, Regulus notes that his hands are shaking. 

“How- how do you know?” James scrambles off the bed, and strides over to Regulus, examining the unassuming vial nestled inside the box along with him. 

Despite the dire circumstances, he finds that he can’t stop the flood of knowledge that threatens to pour out of him. Merlin , it’s been so long since he’s been able to ‘be a prat’ about potions- as Evan used to call it. It’s a habit deeply ingrained in him, ever since their Hogwarts days. 

Regulus clears his throat, and tries to steady his voice. “This is the Reminiscor potion. Only brewable under extremely delicate conditions. It usually only contains a single memory. You can tell by the colour of the potion.” He traces the vial lightly with his finger. The glass surface is cold under his touch. “The colour’s changed. Just slightly.” The potion glints peculiarly under the buzzing lights of the room with an odd violet sheen- one that definitely wasn’t there before. 

“Usually?” James asks, his voice low. 

Regulus takes a deep breath. Salazar, Barty keeps blindsiding him, even in death. 

“Usually. There are- exceptions. But only in very rare circumstances. And it includes extremely complex charm work.”

James blinks, and his eyebrows furrow again. He’s thinking. “So- you think Barty was-” He cuts himself off, a strange mask of pity shadowing his features.

Regulus shakes his head. “You can talk about it, James. I know he’s dead.” When James opens his mouth to protest, he cuts him off. “I know. You were just trying to be kind.”

James doesn’t say anything, but he frowns softly. His eyes hold sadness better than most people’s chests do. 

Looking away, Regulus clears his throat again, trying to stifle the quiver in his voice. “And yes. I believe Barty was a skilled enough wizard for this. He could be a right prat when he got an idea in his head.” He can’t help the melancholic tremor out of his words. 

“Alright.” James says, quietly, stepping closer to him. “So you think- he did this on purpose? And what exactly triggered the change?” 

Regulus smiles, just slightly, up at James. “Yeah. He never did things halfway, so I have to believe this was on purpose.” He looks down, furrowing his brows. “As for what triggered the change-” He breaks off, shaking his head. 

There’s a beat of silence, only broken by the rhythmic humming of the window heater in the corner of the room.  

“Where did he want to go?” James asks, all of a sudden. His eyebrows are scrunched up again and he’s chewing his lips contemplatively. 

It sends a current of warmth through Regulus, seeing James express so much concern over something so important to him. 

“What do you mean?”

“Like- in the memory before it changed.” He’s looking down at Regulus intently, eyes clear. “You said he mentioned places where he wanted to go, and you’re just tracing his route.” 

Without warning, the heater stutters to a halt. The entire room is plunged into urgent silence. The cold seeps in, collecting at the corners of the walls. 

Regulus’ breath hitches. 

They’re close, he can tell. They’re close to breaking through. 

The moonlight spills through the clouded windows, tracing silver patterns onto the wooden floor, onto their bare feet.

Catching on, Regulus nods hesitantly. “He wanted to go to a forest, and then the sea. And then he wanted to go to-” 

“That’s it.” James’ eyes are wide with revelation. 

“What?”

“The forest. We went to the forest. Maybe that’s why it changed.” He grabs onto Regulus excitedly. “Think about it. You said he wanted to send you on a ‘ post-mortem scavenger hunt ,’ didn’t he? Maybe this is his way of-”

It dawns on him with all the certainty of a prophecy. “Giving me more- glimpses. Glimpses of him. Glimpses of what he wanted for us.” Regulus is shaking now. “ Fuck . Fuck.” He’s shaking and he doesn’t think he can hold himself up for much longer. He looks desperately up at James. “He- he always knew me better than I knew myself.” His breath is leaving him, seeping out of his cracked chest. 

He’s collapsing. He’s collapsing and someone’s bearing his weight. There are hands on his chest, on his neck. Warmth bleeds from James’ body into his own. He can’t stop shivering, can’t stop shaking. 

Everything is light and darkness and heat. He can’t stop shaking. 

“You’ve got to breathe Regulus. You have to breathe.” James is leading him to the bed, sitting him down. He’s holding him, holding him up. He’s cradling his trembling fingers, his shuddering form. He’s light and darkness and heat. 

Regulus turns to look up at him, his eyes wide with desperation. “ Merlin - he knew-” James is pulling him close, hugging him or holding his hands. He doesn’t really know. “He knew I would blame myself for his death and would torture myself to the end of the world and-” His voice breaks. There are tears burning in his eyes. He can’t let them spill. He can’t himself crack any further.

James pulls him closer, and Regulus smothers a dry sob into his neck. 

“Maybe, this is his way of looking out for you.” James is holding him, he’s caressing his sharpest parts. He’s burning his hands in Regulus’ fire. He’s pulling his own heart out for Regulus. “Maybe he wanted to let you know he didn’t blame you.”

“But then why would he do all this ?” Regulus is half sobbing, half screaming. 

James, in that eternally kind way of his, takes it with grace. He pulls away, clutching Regulus’ shoulders, and looks him steadily in the eyes. He’s the foundations, and Regulus is the breaking tower. “You said Barty knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t you?” 

Regulus chokes, nodding miserably. 

“Then he knew you were going to waste away, without something to do.” James is rubbing soothing circles into his back now. He’s spilling his own warmth into Regulus’ shriveling veins. 

“So, he sends you an owl. To stop you from destroying yourself, from wasting your second chance at life. Something for you to focus on.” James' eyes and hands are kind. He’s always kind. 

He shudders, and falls apart again. He’s unraveling himself and stitching himself back into one, while James holds him through it all.  

Because what James said makes a disturbing lot of sense. 

Of course Barty would do something like that. He’s always been a selfless bastard. 

James holds him through it all, as he wrenches apart and collapses back into himself.  Regulus doesn’t know how long he sits there, clutching onto him. 

At some point, the heater starts up again, and warmth bleeds back into the room. He decides it's been too long. 

Gingerly, Regulus extricates himself from James, his eyes burning and his throat acidic with bile. 

“Are you all right?” James asks, his eyes wide with concern, still cradling his face between his calloused palms. 

Regulus takes a deep breath, lets it fill his chest- lets his ribs expand, lets the Snitch stir again. 

He had grieved for Barty, and would probably mourn him for the rest of his life. But, he  knew Barty wouldn’t have wanted this. Wouldn’t have wanted Regulus to destroy himself over his death. Wouldn’t have wanted him to become a living ghost. Because he was always an asshole like that, always on about living and loving and not letting the past control him.  

“He would do that, wouldn’t he?” Regulus whispers, smiling ruefully. He ignores the way his voice quivers and breaks. “He would save me, die, and then come back from the grave just to save me again.” He scowls, wipes his tears away. “Asshole.” He ignores the tears that keep on tracing the planes of his face. 

James laughs quietly. “I think it just means he loved you a lot. And that he was a brilliant person.” He sounds genuine. He’s always genuine. He’s always warm and kind and genuine. 

Regulus turns away. He can’t look at James. Not right now. “He was brilliant. And he was lovely.”

There’s a beat of silence

“You weren’t his downfall, Reg.”

“I know.” He reaches over, interlocking his fingers with James. They’re still trembling. 

He gets a gentle squeeze in return. 

“I can’t help but feel like it, though.” Regulus whispers. 

“Why the North Sea?”

“Because I don’t like the ocean.” 

“There are other seas though.” 

“I don’t know. North has always been so symbolic, you know?” 

“I have no idea what you’re trying to say, Barts.” 

“You know- compasses always point North and all the bullshit.”

“You want to be like a compass?” 

“I mean- already am one.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Because I’m always pulled towards you, babe.” 

“Crouch, you’re terrible at flirting. Stop trying.” 

“You wound me, Rosier. That was extremely charming, I’ll have you know. Don’t you agree, Reg?” 

… 

“Maybe, I just want to have a direction to follow. A home to come back to.”

…

“You are home, Barty. You’re always home with us- fuck that’s so sappy. I hate that.”

“I think it’s lovely, Reg. And you’re right. I am always home with you two.” 

“Stupid bastard.”

“Love you too, Evan.” 

…

“I can hear you two fighting. Knock it out before I hex both of your balls off.” 

“I would welcome it, Regulus.” 

“Merlin, Crouch, don’t you ever shut up?” 

“You’re one to talk, Rosier.” 

“Shut up, both of you. I’m trying to sleep. We have to move tomorrow. These woods aren’t safe anymore.” 

…

“Night, Regulus. Crouch.”

“I don’t say goodnight to prats, Rosier. And night, Reg.”

“Goodnight.” 

…

He surfaces from the memory with wet cheeks and a hoarse throat.

When Regulus climbs into James’ bed instead of his own, he doesn’t ask any questions. He just holds him close, and tangles their legs together.

Regulus, somehow, falls in love with him just a little more. 

It’s easy, falling in love with James Potter.

It’s early in the morning, and the sunlight is already sinking its honey-tipped fingers into James. He looks as ethereal as ever, in the sun. He’s all gold and brown skin and soft curves in the hazy winter glow. Despite the chill in the air, the windows are rolled down. James had insisted on it, because “I need the air to soothe my aching, old-man bones, Regulus!” It’s utter bullshit, but Regulus is a weak man, so he lets it pass with only an eye roll. 

The radio’s playing again, and it’s not the Beatles this time. It’s David Bowie. 

Regulus smiles faintly when he hears the familiar opening chords. 

“Is there life on Mars?” The Bowie in the crackling radio belts out. His smile grows wider. 

James looks delighted. “I didn’t know you liked Bowie.” His grin is bright. 

Regulus shrugs. “Evan loved him. We always thought he was going to marry a statue of him one day. Or maybe just a poster with his face on it.” Despite his careless tone, he’s still smiling like mad. “It’s hard not to like songs when you’ve been forced to listen to it over and over again by prats.”

“Wouldn’t it be the opposite?” There’s an odd, wide eyed look on James’ face, as he watches Regulus smile. Regulus would call it reverent, if he didn’t know better. 

“What?” He loosens his grip on the steering wheel. They won’t have to change lanes for a while, so he can afford to relax just the slightest amount. 

“Wouldn’t you hate a song more if you were forced to listen to it over and over again?” James still looks slightly flustered. He frowns and wonders if it’s because of the cold breeze. 

Regulus laughs as blurry memories of Barty and Evan dancing to Life on Mars ridiculously in their tent in the Forbidden Forest resurface. 

“No.” He shakes his head fondly. “It was never about the song, really.”

“Then?” James sounds earnest in his innocent curiosity. Regulus’ heart fills with love, not just for James, but for the years he was fortunate enough to share with Evan and Barty.

“It was about-” He breaks off, and smiles softly again, remembering Evan’s disgusted groan as Barty tried to lick him in the middle of their odd waltz. “Evan and Barty used to dance to it, a lot. Back when things weren’t so messed up.” His tone goes a little wistful. 

James smiles back at him, and warmly rests his hand on Regulus’ thigh, just for a second. The action isn’t particularly long, but it’s enough to send Regulus’ heart into overdrive. The Snitch is buzzing again, like a very insistent and irritating bee. 

They lapse into silence again, but the quiet tastes sweet. He doesn’t mind sharing the silence with James. 

Regulus is the one that starts singing, this time. Bowie’s still playing, and he doesn’t remember the song name but remembers snatches of a melody. He starts humming softly, and James joins him, grinning all the while. 

Regulus finds that he doesn’t mind sharing this with him, either. 

It’s mid afternoon by the time they manage to find a spot to stop at. At first, Regulus almost drives by it. But, James notices something odd with one of the unassuming cottages on the roadside, and tells him to pull over. 

When he brakes the car, the air suddenly shimmers and changes around them. 

James smiles triumphantly, and even Regulus can’t help the soft sound of wonder that he lets out. 

It’s a wizarding village, unfurling in front of their very eyes. Likely protected by glamor.

The village itself is small, but it almost seems to burst with life. The streets are cobbled, but there are dirt paths weaving between the grassy hills and the trees alike. Little cottages and townhouses line the sides of the small streets. After parking the car, they slowly walk through the entrance, and suddenly, they’re thrown into an open air market. 

Everywhere Regulus looks, he sees people. People walking, people laughing. A dark haired man seems to be arguing with his lover. An old witch sweeps by him, her hands overflowing with bread and flowers. Two women sit on the curb of one of the cobble sidewalks, deep in conversation. He sees one of them lean over to kiss the other. 

That feeling returns: the Snitch, coming closer. The same odd molasses slow drip-dripping of heat in his chest, the one that he felt in that little Indian village, and the same one he felt in the forest. 

James presses up against him, all of a sudden. Regulus startles, but James just grins cheekily and intertwines their fingers, dragging him forwards- right into the surging crowd of the marketplace.  

Regulus is too bewildered to talk, but James isn’t looking for conversation. They’re half sprinting, half stumbling through the flood of humans. Regulus keeps mumbling apologies to the poor wizards and witches they keep bumping into, but James doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps weaving through the masses of people, laughing like a maniac and throwing the occasional wild grin over his shoulder. 

Pushing past a final wave of wizards, they break out from the crowded market, and James is actually running now, his feet slapping over the cold stone streets. He’s making turns at random, he’s laughing and smiling like mad and it’s all Regulus can do to keep up. 

They’re turning, spinning, and laughing and Regulus is so fucking pissed at James but he can’t help the dizzy smile that steals across his face. 

When they finally do stop, it’s because they’ve reached the dead end of an alley. Regulus immediately doubles over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. 

When he resurfaces, he fixes James with what’s hopefully an incredulous look. “What the fuck was that, James?” 

James is still laughing. “It worked!” He crows triumphantly, pointing at Regulus’ face.

“What?” He crosses his arms and furrows his eyebrows. “Have you finally gone off the deep end? Is your crazy Gryffindor nature finally catching up with you? What the fuck are you saying ?” Regulus grouses. 

He grins wider. “You’re smiling, you asshole.” 

Never mind. He’s even more confused now. “What?”

“You looked really weird in the market, all brooding.” James smirks. “So, I had to do something.” 

Regulus’ jaw drops. “You did- that- because I was-” Then, the full meaning of his statement sinks in. “I don’t brood you prat!” He scowls darkly.

James just laughs, shakes his head fondly, and grabs his hand again. Despite Regulus’ best attempts, the corners of his mouth twitch up in response. Because he’s a weak, weak bastard. 

“C’mon. I think I saw a coffee shop a few turns ago. We can eat there.” 

“James, it’s barely noon. How are you already hungry?” 

“I’m an aging man, Reg. Need to keep that dad bod up.”

“That makes no sense.” 

“I know.” James is still chuckling. Infuriatingly, Regulus finds that he’s laughing right alongside him. 

The coffee shop is a cozy place, run by a middle aged wizard named Andy. They’re going around each table, conversing comfortably with the customers, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with them. 

Regulus finds himself squinting at them. 

“What’s wrong?” James asks, furrowing his brows.

Shaking his head, Regulus tears his gaze away from the odd-looking wix. “Nothing. They just looked- familiar, I guess.” 

James gives him an odd look, but launches into a story about Sirius and Remus’ wedding, and Regulus soon finds himself engrossed in a debate about the virtues of vanilla cake versus chocolate cake- complete with a frankly dangerous amount of fork waving, courtesy of James. 

When Andy reaches their table, the odd niggling feeling of Deja-vu returns.

They straighten up and look at the pair of them incredulously.

“James Potter? Regulus Black?” They sound bewildered.

James and Regulus immediately stiffen, and share identical looks of panic.

“Er-” James grimaces. “Yes, that’s us.”

Regulus kicks him under the table for being a terrible liar. James kicks right back.

“Oh Merlin. ” Their brows move skyward. “You two are- really here.” 

“Yes. And we’re trying to enjoy our meal.” Regulus says in a clipped tone. Honestly, their argument was just getting interesting . 

James kicks him, this time. Probably for being rude. He kicks him hard in the shin in retaliation. 

Andy shakes their head. “That’s not- Salazar - I thought you were dead , Reggie.” 

Regulus freezes. 

They look so familiar. They are familiar. 

He would know that voice anywhere. 

“Pandora?” He asks, disbelief colouring his tone. Bloody hell. 

They shake their head, their eyebrows raised in disbelief. “It’s Andy now, actually.” 

James’ eyes go wide with understanding. “Lovegood?”

Pandora- no, Andy , nods. “Yeah. But, I’m not a girl. I’m not Pandora, anymore.” They flick a nervous glance at Regulus, as if expecting rejection. 

Regulus’ hands are trembling, and he has to put down his cup of coffee lest he drop it. 

He doesn’t care if one of his oldest friends isn’t a man or woman. They’re alive, for Merlin’s sake. They’re alive and they're a brilliant, living, breathing person. 

“You’re alive.” He breathes, his voice incredulous. “Pa-Andy. You’re alive!” He practically falls out of his seat to engulf them in a hug.

Andy laughs delightedly against his chest. They’re still shorter than him, after all these years. “Yeah.” They grin. “So are you, prat.” Their eyes are still wide and innocent, even after the war. Even after the loss of the love of their life, Xenophilius. 

Regulus is smiling like mad now, and when he pushes Andy down into a chair beside him, and talks and talks with them, he sees James smile gently at him, his eyes alight with happiness. Helplessly, he grins back. 

Andy just raises an eyebrow, as if to say ‘ still?’

Regulus just shrugs and avoids meeting their eyes for the next few minutes. 

When they finally have to leave, Regulus’ chest is burning with heat and love. 

“You better write, asshole.” Andy says, faux-scowling at him,

Regulus smirks. “If I feel like it, prat.” Salazar , he missed that scowl. 

Andy just snorts and pushes him away. “I’ll have your head if you don’t.” They warn. 

“I don’t doubt it, Andy.” Regulus sees their eyes soften when he uses their name. Their real name. 

He walks out of the shop, hand in hand with James, and he can already hear all of the different ways he’s going to get the piss taken out of him. He’s glad that some things don’t change at least, even two decades and two wars later. 

James is dragging him into a flower shop. It’s a lovely looking place, with wide bay windows and windowsills spilling flowers in every shade under the sun: from red to yellow to odd muted grey flowers that he can’t even name. The lush smell of greenery wafts from its rickety green door, propped open with a brick. 

Regulus isn’t impressed, no matter how beautiful the shop is. 

“Where are we even going to put them?” He asks, exasperated. 

James is still prowling around the interior of the store, crouching here and there and sniffing all of the flowers with an odd kind of intensity. His brows are furrowed again. “We’ll find a place.” He says, dismissively. 

Regulus sighs, and prepares himself to talk James Potter out of doing something his mind is set on. He’s pretty sure it’s a fruitless endeavor. 

“James. The flowers are going to die in less than two days.” 

James just swivels around and fixes Regulus with an unimpressed look, like he’s the unreasonable one here. “Did you forget that you’re a wizard, Reg? We can put it under a preservation charm.” 

Regulus scowls and shuts up. James, the infuriating bastard, just smirks at him and goes right back to browsing the flowers, humming the Beatles all the while. He notices it’s the same song they danced to- Let it be .

It makes something strange happen in his stomach, and he turns away, his face burning. 

“You know, you can look around too.” James looks up at him, amused. “You don’t have to stand there brooding.”

“Merlin fuck James how many times have I told you-”

“Yes, yes - Yes, darling , I know you don’t brood.” James says, turning back to examining a bouquet of strange red-purple flowers, still grinning like an idiot. 

Regulus’ face heats, his heart stuttering in his chest, and he has to steady himself against the wooden wall. What did James just call him? 

James seems to have caught on by now too. His eyes are wide, and if he was paler, Regulus knows there would be a dark blush staining his cheeks. Merlin, he looks about as mortified as Regulus feels.

Regulus is about to flee, like a fucking deer in headlights. 

It’s not the first time he’s done this. There was the slip-up at the cottage. But this seemed almost- real , which scares him in ways even he doesn’t understand. 

Reasonably, he knows that what he and James have been doing these last few days extend well past the boundary of friendship. All the moments he’s caught James looking at him, something unreadable in his eyes. The way he doesn’t hesitate to pull Regulus into his bed and fall asleep with him by his side. 

Contrary to most people’s beliefs, Regulus isn’t daft. He isn’t completely oblivious. He knows James’ gaze has something simmering underneath them whenever they lock eyes. He knows that even though James Potter is a friendly person, he would never hold just anyone the way he held Regulus that night at the cottage. He wouldn’t dance with just anyone, he wouldn’t press his forehead against and brush noses and share breaths with just anyone.

And- he’s scared. Regulus is scared of what it means. What it could mean, and what it will mean for him. He’s gotten so used to being closed off, to holding himself back. He’s accustomed to hiding these big, supernova-esque feelings detonating beneath his skin for James Potter. He’s done it for years, and he can do it for a few more, until James finds someone better. It’s what he told himself since he was sixteen and snogging James was his favorite hobby. 

It was much easier, however, when he could comfortably convince himself that James didn’t care for him back. But now, he sees the melting glances. He sees the brilliant smile, the careful and deliberate touches. The way his slender brown fingers linger on Regulus’ skin for too long to be reasonable. 

Merlin , he’s so afraid of it. Because the last time he tried to love someone, the last time someone loved him- he had ruined them. He thoroughly destroyed any chance Barty had at living, just by virtue of letting him love Regulus. 

He can’t make that mistake again. He can’t . 

So, he does the thing he’s probably the best at. He tries to run, tries to step out of the shop. Away from James, away from this strange bleeding that his heart is doing right then. He’s about to slip out through the door, and leave James with the pieces of the mess they’re making.

James catches him. It’s a soft press of the pads of his fingers against Regulus’ forearm, but it’s enough to stop him dead in his tracks. As anything with James is.

“Stay.” James whispers. His eyes are shadowed, and there’s a sad twist to his lips. As if he knows what Regulus is thinking. As if he knows Regulus won’t be able to give him what he wants.

Not yet, anyway. 

“Are you sure you want me to?” Regulus whispers. It’s a stupid question, but James answers it anyway. 

“Always.” 

Regulus doesn’t protest, but he turns away, just the slightest amount, and he knows James sees it, even if he doesn’t comment. He can tell by the slump in his shoulders. 

He hates it, hurting James Potter. But it might be the only way to save him. To keep him pure and untainted by Regulus Black. So, he turns away and hopes it hurts less tomorrow. 

It’s another ten minutes before James finishes buying the flowers. There’s a melancholic furrow to his brows, which Regulus wants to smooth away. His fingers twitch, and he almost reaches out, before he manages to wrench himself away. He sees James’ face fall as his hands retreat. He pretends he doesn’t notice. 

It’s easy to act unmoved when you’ve been doing it all of your life.

Then, his eyes travel down to the bouquet in James’ hands. It’s bursting with miniscule blue-purple flowers. They glisten with golden dew in the sunlight filtering into the shop in dusty bars. 

For a moment, he almost doesn’t recognize them. But when he does, his breath hitches. 

Forget-me-nots. 

His eyes seek James’, but for once, he’s looking away. 

Forget-me-nots. They’re bloody forget-me-nots.

James thrusts the bouquet at him, looking more uncertain than Regulus has ever seen him. He can’t look into Regulus’ eyes.

“Forget-me-nots,” Regulus says softly, trailing his fingers reverently over the blue tips of the flowers. “They mean unbroken promises and faithfulness, in flower language.” He lifts his eyebrows slightly, and lets a small smile unfurl on his lips.

It also means everlasting love- he doesn’t say.

“I-“ James locks eyes with him, for a beat. He looks so uncertain , so scared. It softens Regulus further. “I didn’t know that.”

He knows that that’s a lie. Because James found a book once in Regulus’ dorm on the language of flowers back in fifth year, back when they still used to snog for fun. He had grilled Regulus about it endlessly, and had borrowed the book and kept it until Regulus finally stole it back from him a few months later.

He thinks James knows that he’s caught on, but he can’t be sure.

Regulus smiles at James, his gaze warm. James’ eyes widen and he smiles back, after a moment of hesitation. 

For once, Regulus doesn’t question anything. For once, he takes the gift at surface value. To keep James smiling like that, he thinks he’ll do it a million more times.

“Thank you, they’re lovely.” He says softly, his voice tinged with the overflowing love filling his chest. He clutches the bouquet closer, half burying his face in them. 

The flowers smell like wet earth. He wonders if that’s the scent of love. It’s rather beautiful, he thinks. 

James smiles wider, and reaches out, intertwining Regulus’ unoccupied hand with his own. Gently, he tugs him out of the shop, and Regulus follows. He’s helpless to do anything else in front of James Potter.

Not for the first time, he wonders if James loves him back, as much as Regulus loves him. Not for the first time, he wonders if that would be so bad. 

They leave the village after that, because they still have places to be. Or at least, Regulus does. He doesn’t think James would mind it so much, staying here, if the lovestruck look in his eyes while he’s surveying the quaint cottages and streets is anything to go by. 

Just as they’re about to step out through the entrance, James tugs him back. 

“We’ll come back here, right?” He says, sounding uncharacteristically vulnerable. 

Regulus gives him a ghost of a half-smile. “Of course. Andy would kill me if we didn’t visit.” 

James nods, smiles a bit, and then squeezes his hand as he turns back to the entrance. He pauses, as if he’s steeling himself for something. Regulus gives him a moment, and then pulls lightly at their joined hands. This time it’s James following him. 

When they get in the car, Regulus somehow manages to fit the massive bouquet in the spaces between the driver’s seat and the gear stick, even if it’s just to see James grin at him brilliantly. Now, everytime his hands stray too far from the wheel, they brush across the spray of blue forget-me-nots- still slightly damp, still smelling of petrichor, and he feels his heart catch in his chest. Because James Potter gifted him these flowers.

He thinks he’ll frame them when they get back to the house. Or maybe just hold them forever and never let them go.

“Why the North Sea?” James asks. Sometime in the last two hours, his shoes have come off. His socked feet are crossed under him as he perches on the edge of his seat. His face is half turned towards Regulus. The dying sunlight cuts stark blades of amber against his brown skin. The edges of his silhouette blur into fiery orange, backlit by the rapidly yellowing sky. 

Regulus thinks about the memory, and opens his mouth, working his tongue around words too difficult to say. There’s no easy answer to this. There’s no easy answer to Barty. 

So, he decides to be truthful. “Barty- I think he wanted a home. A true one, one he could hang on to even in his darkest moments. So, like a compass, he chose the North.” He risks a glance at James, who’s looking at him with wide eyes.

James blinks rapidly, something odd shimmering in his gaze. 

Regulus blanches. “James- are you crying ?” 

“Sorry- sorry,” His voice is choked, and he’s half-hiccuping, as if he’s holding back sobs. “It’s just- he sounded like such a lovely person. And he was so young.” A few tears make their way down his face, and he hiccups again.

Once again, Regulus is blindsided by the depth of James’ empathy. Here he was, mourning for someone he never knew. 

His chest tightens, and he has to suppress tears of his own. 

“He would’ve- he would’ve liked you. He did like you.” Regulus whispers. 

“I’m glad.” James murmurs, and he’s still crying. His glasses are disks of gold in the half-light. He’s blurring into the blue shadows of the car. 

Regulus doesn’t know what to do, even after seeing him cry so many times. So, he just reaches across the space between them, still looking at the road, and catches James hand in his own. They’re both trembling, he notices.

He eventually has to let go when he has to change lanes, but it seems to be enough. James isn’t crying anymore, and he’s turned the radio on again. 

‘Here comes the sun. ’ Is playing. Regulus smiles ruefully, recognizing the song immediately. 

James looks surprised. “You like this one?” 

“Should I not?” He arches an eyebrow. 

“No! I just thought- you usually don’t like songs that are this- er-“ James trails off awkwardly, and casts a shifty glance at him.

Regulus snorts. “Positive? You can say it James.”

“Oh.” He can hear the mortification in James’ tone. “Well, yeah. That. You always like the ones on the sadder side.” 

“I do, usually.” Regulus sighs. “But-” 

“But?” 

He realizes he’s dug himself into a hole here. Really, he should’ve thought this through. Even though his foresight has always been famously bad whenever James Potter was concerned. 

“It-“ Regulus’ cheeks warm. He sort of wants the car floor to swallow him whole.  “The song used to remind me of- you.” 

James is silent for a long time, and Merlin he’s probably messed up so bad-

“Oh.” James sounds like he’s breathless. “That’s why you like it?” 

He forces himself to swallow. “Yes.” 

When he risks a look at James, he’s staring at him again. His eyes are wide with wonder. Like Regulus is something precious, something worth being looked at with awe. 

He wonders what that look on James Potter means. He wonders if it means love, or something more. 

“That’s good.” James says. He still sounds like he can’t believe it. “That’s brilliant, actually.”

“It’s brilliant?” 

“Yes. Very brilliant. The most brilliant.” He doesn’t seem like he’s going to tolerate any argument to that sentence. His smile is wide and cat-like and his fingers are pressing into the blue air around them with a sort of muted urgency, as if he can’t quite contain all of his excitement at this discovery in his body. 

The car radio is still on, and the ending bars of the song are playing. It’s still crackly- they never got around to fixing it properly. 

Regulus’ hands tighten around the steering wheel. He wants to stay in this moment forever. He wants to pluck this particular juncture in time, right out the sticky winter air. He wants to press it into his chest, crumple it up and let it take root in his heart. 

The air smells like damp flowers and James and the sea salt pervading through the half open windows. His heart aches. 

James catches his eyes, smiles, and it looks like love and life all wrapped into one. He could split Regulus’ chest open, right now, and Regulus would let him.

It takes them another half hour before they arrive at the sea. Regulus pulls over at some indistinct beach- the first empty one he sees. There’s an eroded stone barrier separating the asphalt of the parking lot from the pale sand, which eventually mixes into the roiling sea. There’s the dark silhouette of a lighthouse cutting through the orange sky to the right of them. It smudges around the edges in the winter twilight, like a stain of charcoal against stark white paper. 

The roar of the waves are guttural and resounding. The sea is turbulent at dusk.

There’s no one else on the beach but them. 

James is already walking ahead, pulling Regulus with him. Their hands are tangled together. Regulus follows because he’s helpless to do anything else. 

When they get to the stone half-wall, James steps over it gingerly, and with an audible rumple of cloth, sits himself down upon it. He turns his head up to squint at Regulus through his glasses. 

“What are you waiting for?” He asks, a silver grin flashing across his face.  

Regulus scoffs. “I’m not keen on getting sand up my pants, Potter.”

“And I’m not keen on you complaining about your bloody back pain tonight, so sit down , Reg.” He grins wider. The wind is whipping through his hair, turning it into a frothing mass of darkness around his face. 

Regulus sighs again, just for show, and sits down. Tiny grains of sand stab through the fabric on his pants, and he scowls. Merlin , he wasn’t lying. He really is going to have sand up his pants now. Fucking Potter. 

The sun is dipping low now. It sends blades of gold rippling across the seething sea. The water is dark and blurry, cutting knife-like shapes disguised as waves across the long orange line of the horizon. The sky is purpling at the edges and molten copper where it meets with the half-circle of the sun. The familiar sting of sea salt lashes across their faces mercilessly, mixing with the roaring coastal wind. 

It’s breathtaking. When Regulus turns to look at James, he sees him staring out at the rushing waves, wonder written plainly across his face. The sky casts a deep purple glow, making his glasses glint violet. The edges of his profile are gilded from the dying light.  

“I think I get it now.” He says.

Regulus startles badly. “What?” 

James turns to look at him. His eyes are slitted, content and warm. “What Barty said.”

His heart stutters.

“About the North being home?” Regulus murmurs, his mouth twisting with grief. Merlin , he wishes Barty was here to see this. It’s everything he wanted.

“Yeah.” James says softly, reaching out gently and cupping Regulus’ face.  

It feels like James is trying to soak up all of his pain through the rough pads of his fingertips. It feels like he’s trying to hold him together and pry his chest apart in the same breath. Regulus leans into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. Merlin , James is always so warm.

“I think- if this was my home, I would always yearn to return.” James says. His voice is careful and low.

“Well- it’s not is it? It’s not home.” Regulus whispers. “And we can’t return.” 

They’re talking about more than the sea. That much is obvious to both of them. 

“It could be.” James offers, tentative. Regulus doesn’t dare open his eyes. The hope he knows he’d see nestled in the depths of James’ eyes would break him. He would break and do something that would ruin the both of them, like every other time. 

“Why?” Regulus asks. He’s talking in circles, and so is James. They’re talking themselves dizzy. 

“Because home is a brilliant place to be.” He knows James is closer now. They’re drifting towards each other, and he can’t stop it. He still hasn’t opened his eyes.

“I’ve only had a home once.” Regulus whispers. “They’re all gone now.”

“You can build a new one.” Their foreheads are pressing together, their warmths bleeding together. 

Circles, circles. They’re going around and around in circles and it makes him fucking sick.

“Where?” Regulus feels it spiraling out of control. He won’t be able to hold on much longer. 

James gently pries his eyes open, until Regulus is looking straight into the depths of his gaze. 

James’ eyes are wide, clear. There’s a peaceful half-smile on his face. He’s breathtaking. 

“Right here, love. It’s right here.” James whispers.

Regulus makes a soft noise of protest, but James shakes his head, cutting him off.

“Listen to me, Regulus. You’re like- a Snitch, you know? You’re beautiful and golden and you’re a little wild, a little hard to catch.” He’s so gentle in the way he cups Regulus’ face, like he’s something to be cherished. “You’ve lost so much, love. I know. I’ve seen you grieve. I’ve seen you mourn. And I’ve seen you live.”

Regulus just keeps looking at him, wide eyed. The Snitch in his own chest is hammering at his ribs, threatening to break him open.  

James’ smile grows sadder at the edges. “I know you’re grieving. And I’m not asking you for more than you can give me, right now. But- you can’t hold yourself back forever. I’ve seen you live, Regulus, these past few days.” His gaze softens. 

Regulus can’t do this. He can’t keep looking at him because he’s going to crack in half and bleed out if he does. But, he can’t close his eyes either.

“I’m not asking for anything, Regulus. I will wait for you. As long as you need me to.” James’ voice is heartbreakingly gentle. 

Merlin , this is going to ruin Regulus, but better him than James.

“You are asking for something.” Regulus manages to force out. His throat is cracking inside and shriveling.

James shakes his head. His brown curls, lined purple with the sunset, bounce lightly with the motion. “I’m just asking for a someday.” 

Regulus screws his eyes shut. “How do you know I’ll be willing to give it?”

“I was hoping you would.” James sounds resigned. 

His heart splits in his chest. “James, I-“ He begins. He can’t find anything to finish it with.

“Tell me if you don’t want this, Regulus. Tell me if you don’t.” James’ voice is breaking now. “I can’t keep- I can’t keep up this bloody dance that we’ve been doing. Tell me you don’t love me back, and I’ll stop. I swear.” His eyes are glassy and wide and-

Love . James Potter loves him. 

The Snitch in his chest is going mad with hope. His stomach is trying to tear itself into pieces. 

“You-“ Regulus sounds like he’s begging. Maybe he is. “You can’t mean that.”

James loosens his hold on him. He looks like he’s going to fall apart. And Regulus is the one ruining him. Like always. 

“I do.” James whispers. “I do and I always have. For years now.”

That fucking shatters him. Regulus let’s out a half-strangled sob, doubling over. It would probably hurt less if James did rip his heart out of his chest.

When he looks back up, James is staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“James.” 

They’re so close together. The twilight is unmoving around them, pulsing with humidity despite the winter. A single sliver of sun gleams against the violet sky, copper light dripping from it. Regulus sees this all distantly, too busy watching the way James’ solitary figure silhouettes against the glowing purple of the evening. 

James drifts closer to him. His glasses are askew, and Regulus wants to reach out, to shift them back into uniformity. He wants to pull him close, he wants to run his hands through the scratchy surface of James’ lovely hair. He wants those eyes on him, always. He wants to drown in those pitch black depths. He wants to see them every morning against the rousing dawn, and he wants to drift into unconsciousness with the same eyes watching him. He wants to see James’ stretched out on the sofa, in his usual catlike way. He wants to see James under the high summer, stark and golden against the liquid blue sky. He wants and he wants and he can’t have. 

“James,” He says again. His voice sounds wrecked. It’s more of a sob than speech. He hates it.

James is still looking, his eyes wide and broken and pained and it’s all too much. It’s too damn much . 

“ Tell me the truth, Regulus. I deserve that, at the very least. If you don’t want me, then just tell me.” He’s fucking begging Regulus. He sounds like Regulus is tearing him open

“ I do .” Regulus all but sobs. “That’s the problem- I do, so badly. Merlin , for years it’s only been you, James.” 

The snitch’s buzzing is almost a thundering in his ears. 

“Then- what is it? What’s holding you back from letting me wait for you?” James is kind and lovely and he’s breaking apart because of Regulus. “ Please , let me fix it. Let me fix it, love.” 

He’s so earnest. He’s so goddamn earnest, and Regulus hates him a little for it. 

“You can’t fix me.” Regulus whispers. “Don’t love me. Please .”

“Is this- about Barty?” James asks, hesitantly.

Regulus screws his eyes shut. “It’s not just Barty. I’ve ruined everyone’s who’s ever loved me, James.” He ducks his head, his voice hoarse with admission. “Sirius, Evan- they’ve been better without me. You’ll be better without me too.”

When he looks up again, he sees James’ mouth twisted with something he can’t quite name. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are still liquid black. He wonders if this is what heartbreak looks like on him. 

“Why can’t you just let yourself be happy, Regulus?” James’ words are whispered, but it still seems to stab into his chest like a knife. “You don’t ruin anyone. You’ve never ruined anyone.” He sounds so defeated, like he knows Regulus won’t believe him. 

Regulus feels the gap widen. His ribs are barely holding him separate from the rest of the world. He tried so hard to hold himself in. 

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, and he thinks of Barty. Sweet, kind Barty. Barty who was ruined by his love for Regulus. He thinks of Sirius, and the way they destroyed each other. He can’t let James make the same mistake. 

James pulls away. His face is an unreadable mask. The evening light slants further over it. He’s so bright. His glasses fill with orange-purple, like disks of shining copper. 

Regulus wants to cry. Merlin , he wants to scream and tear himself apart. 

“Do you- do you want me to leave?” James says, his tone subdued. His eyes are flat and dull. 

There’s a deep wrongness filling his entire body. No , he wants to shout, I want you I want you I want you - he wants to imprint these words into James’ skin, wants to press his love into his hands and give himself over, consequences be damned. 

“Please.” Regulus whispers, instead. His throat is dry. 

Something hollow rings in his stomach. His spine might’ve been the only thing holding him together, right then. 

James gets up, nods jerkily. His hands are trembling, and despite the front he’s putting in, Regulus knows he’s probably trying not to cry.

He wants to close the space between them. He wants to tug James close and hold him and never let go again. 

“I’ll be- on the beach. Taking a walk. I’ll come back before dinner.” James sways slightly, and turns around all of a sudden. He staggers off, his feet crunching against the pale beach sand. 

The snitch feels further than ever, as he watches his silhouette blur into the purple blue. 

He’s protected him. Regulus has successfully protected James Potter from himself.

But, then, why does it feel like he’s made things so much worse? Why is there bile rising in his throat? Why does James’ shattered expression keep running through his head like clockwork. Why, why, why does he still want to hold him? Why does he want to tug him back, tell him that he didn’t mean any of it. Tell him that he loves him.

He’s crying now. Full bodied sobs rip out of his chest, and the pain in his skull makes it feel like his head is trying to tear itself open and spill itself onto the hard parking lot asphalt. His stomach roils in tandem with the sea. He’s heaving, he’s fracturing and he’s breaking. 

Dully, through a haze of pain, he realizes that James is probably doing the same as well. 

He’s crying, and his body is struggling to shred itself into pieces and he’s fracturing and he’s heaving, his throat filling with bile. 

He’s breaking open, and his most pressing concern is the fact that James Potter is probably breaking open right now too.

He wonders if this is worse, more painful than letting James love him. He wonders if this is victory, or if he’s just ruining someone who loved him again. 

The salt laden breeze stirs once again, and picks up. When Regulus looks up, all traces of the sun are gone. The wind is blowing wildly, making his hair whip around him in a mass of inky black. He spits when it gets in his mouth. The winter chill stings. The sea is louder than ever, and it seems to be mourning too. 

The night is thick and dark around him. The single muted white lamp in the parking lot flickers off, casting him in swimming blue shadows. 

Regulus Black cuts a solitary figure against the bleeding navy sky, his silhouette black and hunched over. 

He’s still breaking apart, but he’s barely a shadow. And shadows don’t tell stories. To anyone else, he would look like a lonely hitchhiker, waiting for the dawn. 

James doesn’t return by dinner. Regulus is worried, of course, but he figures he deserves space, after everything that happened.

So, he waits. He sits there, shivering against the winter sea breeze, and he waits dutifully for James.

It’s only when the sky is pinking at the edges with the first breaths of dawn does he go looking. 

He’s running down the sandy stretch of the beach, no regard for the way the sand kicks up along with the pumping of his legs. It stings. The salty air sinks into his eyes, mouth. The sea is trying to salify him. 

He can’t see James on the horizon. Not even a trace of his silhouette. He goes faster, more desperate. Maybe if he runs fast enough, he’ll lift straight off of the ground. 

“James!” He’s screaming his throat raw, “James, where the hell are you?” 

He’s running, he’s running and he’s flying and he’s drowning at the same time. The Snitch in his chest is just- gone. He can’t feel it anymore.

The gaping hole the Snitch leaves in him fills with fear. 

He runs and he runs until he’s knee deep in water. The beach has ended, the glinting sand receding into the inky water. The lighthouse looms behind, casting deep blue smears across his trembling frame.  

His breath hitches. There’s nowhere else to go.

James didn’t apparate away, did he? He wouldn’t do that. He- he promised. He fucking promised he wouldn’t leave. James Potter doesn’t break his promises.

“Do you- do you want me to leave?” 

“Please.” 

Shit. Shit . He did this to himself. He did this all to himself. 

He’s collapsing back in on himself, like before. Like a dying star - James would say something like that. He would- he loves his metaphors. Loved. 

A star can’t die twice, but Regulus has always been an exception. 

He’s about to break down again, he can tell. His head swims with more black water than the frothing sea before him. He’s swaying, and he might actually collapse this time. He can’t steady himself against anything, so his hands are left grappling helplessly with the air around him.

Then, he notices it. It’s barely a gleam of pink-purple in the receding tides. But he sees it.

James’ glasses. Buried in the sand. They’re cracked, and bent at all of the wrong angles. 

Regulus’ mouth dries up. Shit. This is arguably even worse than James leaving of his own accord. Because this means that there must have been a struggle. Someone likely threatened him- took him by force.

He straightens up. This he can do. He knows- he’s no good at things like talking and showing love. But, he knows how to rescue someone. He knows how to fight, how to throw spells with deadly accuracy, and come out of battle unscathed. 

It’s what he’s been doing all his life. 

So, he gets to work, pushing back the dull panic that threatens to overwhelm him. He’s always been good at compartmentalizing. 

He searches the sand, the whole stretch of the beach for any other signs of struggle. There’s nothing, except a silky strand of seaweed that shimmers disturbingly like hair. It’s snagged on a small stone embedded in the ground. 

The tides rush around his feet. It’s soothing, almost, the biting chill of the water. It keeps the anger and worry at bay. 

He kneels, and prods at the seaweed. He turns it over, and scowls. Fuck . 

There has to be something else. He’s missing something. 

Something like a memory stirs at him. He can’t quite untangle it from the twisted mess that he’s made of his mind. 

Memory. Memory. Fuck. 

Scrambling to his feet, he tears his wand out from his pocket. Please work. Please work. Please fucking work- he’s praying. He hasn’t prayed since he left his Mother. He hasn’t prayed since he was sixteen. But, for James, he’ll do anything. Anything to save him.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if this doesn’t work. 

“ Accio box!” He practically screams. His throat is aching with all of the crying and yelling he’s been doing. 

There’s a beat. And then another. Something is speeding towards him, from the direction of the parking lot. The blue dot widens on the pink horizon, coming towards him impossibly fast. 

He reaches his hand up- lets the pad of his fingers graze the dawn sky. It’s coming closer.

With a soft whoosh , he catches it. Like a bloody Snitch. 

The hilarity of the whole situation isn’t lost on him. He’s catching a goddamn box with a Snitch engraved on it. He wants to laugh, a little bit. Thinks he will laugh about it, someday. Once he’s out of this. Once James is alive and warm and kind and beside him again. 

He’ll tell him, one day. They’ll make a joke out of it. 

“Did you know I saved your life by catching a fake snitch?”

Someday. That’s what he tells himself, as he gently works the box open, as he pries the vial of potion out of it. 

A few hours ago, James was begging him for someday. Now, it’s all Regulus has. 

The potion’s changed colour. It’s a soft shimmering pink, now. It blurs with the dawn sky when Regulus holds it up. 

He uncaps the bottle, and without taking a breath, tips his head back and drinks it.

“What the hell would you even do when you get to the sea?” 

There’s a laugh. The crackling radio is turned down. It’s playing the Beatles.  “I would do sea things, Evan.”

“I don’t think that’s what he means, Barty. Actually I don’t think that means much at all.” The fire crackles in the hearth. 

“Stop being reasonable, Reg. Let me be a prat.” Barty sounds like he’s smiling. 

He can hear the crickets. They’re always so loud, especially on muggy spring nights such as these. 

“You’re always a prat, Crouch.”

There’s a werewolf howl ringing in the distance. He wonders if the werewolf is Remus. Or someone else he knows. Maybe Greyback. 

“You love me, really.” 

Regulus huffs out a sigh. “What would you do?” 

“In the sea?” 

“Yeah. I don’t know what ‘sea things’ you do in the sea.”

Barty’s giggling again. “Beaches, of course.”

“Barty, you hate beaches.” It’s Evan, and his tone is exasperated, but fond. As it always is with Barty. 

There’s a surprised laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

“Then?” 

“We meet mermaids.”

A pause. There’s a softer chuckle from Evan. “You’re fucked in the head, Crouch.” 

Silence. Barty’s probably smirking. He can hear the stampeding of hooves outside. Centaurs. They’re always active at this time of the night. 

“There are merpeople in the North Sea?” Regulus’ voice is sticky with drowsiness. The warmth of his friend’s voices threading around him is lulling him to sleep. It’s been so long since he’s slept properly, always running from one thing or the other. 

“Of course. There are merpeople everywhere. You just have to find them.” Barty’s voice is soft. 

Even Evan doesn’t say anything. The leaves  are rustling outside. It sounds like fireworks if they were tender and green.

The three of them are bruising around the edges. They’re a bit tender too. And they’re like fireworks as well, except they won’t ignite properly. They keep sputtering out, falling back down to the ground. It’s exhausting. 

“We’re gonna visit the mermaids in the North Sea.” Evan is tired. He sounds tired. Lately, he always sounds tired. 

Merlin, they’re all so bloody tired. 

“All of them?” 

“Yeah, Barty. All of them.” 

He can still hear the thumping of the centaurs. Feels their vibrations through the wet earth he’s lying on.  

Regulus wakes with an aborted cry, and feels something heavy settle in his stomach. His grief for Barty and Evan weaves together with his anguish over James and suddenly he wants to break down once again. All of the walls he built crack a little bit, letting the messy bits of his mind mix and coalesce together into something even more acidic and terrifying.  

Shit. Shit. Why didn’t he think of that? Of course. Merpeople. Merpeople who live in the bloody water. 

The seaweed on the rock- it was hair. Mermaid hair. Shit.  

James has probably been taken by the merpeople.  

Fuck .

Regulus grips his wand again, quickly casting a reinforced Bubble-head charm on himself, along with a slew of water-resistance and strength charms. He just hopes they hold out long enough for him to not drown. 

When he plunges into the water, the cold practically knocks him out. His head swims with darkness and the tossing and turning of the waves. He can’t breathe , Merlin. 

The water chokes him, presses him into himself. His chest is aching, and for a moment, he wants to let go. Wants to let the sea swallow him whole. Wants the darkness to blur with his body and mix with his body, until he can’t recognize himself. 

Then, he thinks of James. Warm, lovely James Potter. James, who told him he loved him in no uncertain terms. James, who holds him so carefully, cradles him close to his chest. James Potter who he’s shared breath and heat and love with. 

Shaking the initial shock off, he swims in deeper.  Deeper, deeper, Salazar he needs to go deeper . 

Whenever he feels water close in around him, he thinks of James, and goes deeper . Until he can’t even see the surface anymore. Until it’s just him and the blue-black darkness and the sting of the salt on his tongue. 

Then, he notices it. 

In one of the many sheer, underwater cliff faces- there’s an opening. It’s only about big enough to let a reasonably tall human through. Its edges are jagged and coarse, but wreaths of colourful shells and rusted metal trinkets are strung up around it- signs of life.  

It’s the entrance to the Merpeoples’ dens. It has to be. 

He swims over, and manages to maneuver himself well enough to wedge through the gap in the rock. It’s a tight fit, and he’s not nearly as graceful as a mermaid, so he just has to awkwardly push himself through by scrabbling at the craggy rocks. 

When he finally swims out to the other side, he could cry with joy. He sees looming black shapes ahead, likely the dwellings of the merpeople. It’s is so fucking close . He’s going to save James. Just a bit more, and he’ll be able to have James back. He’ll hold him to his chest, he’ll tell him- 

He sees a dark smear of navy blur past him. Before he can react, something wraps itself in a vice-like grip around his neck. His bubble-head charm breaks with a silent pop , and water rushes into his lungs

The world goes dark.

He wakes up to bound hands, bound feet and a mermaid spitting in his face. He barely manages to gain consciousness in time to push himself backwards when the mermaid moves closer to him, likely in intimidation.  Her slitted eyes are a cloudy white, the refracting moonlight from the surface making it glow dully. Her face is twisted up, all sharp angles and smooth blue skin. She looks livid, her fanged teeth bared in a scowl and glinting silver like a knife’s edge. 

“What do you want with us, trespasser ?” She hisses. Her accent is garbled, and with a jolt Regulus realizes she’s speaking English. Not Mermese. 

Regulus balks, rapidly blinking away his drowsiness. “What?” He says, a little stupidly, and immediately cringes. Merlin , where did all of his cunning go? He had been a spy once, for Salazar’s sake. 

“You are not from here, surface dweller. You are on our territory. What is it that you seek so urgently, that you would invade us to do so?” She draws back- just slightly- her features still marred with hostility. 

For the first time, Regulus is able to take in his surroundings. 

He’s trapped in some sort of reinforced bubble, the sticky surface of it clinging to his skin. It seems to be water-tight, letting him breathe oxygen while still allowing him mobility- like some sort of full-body bubble head charm.  

The sea is a deep navy around him, dragging its cold fingers over the pale expanse of his body. He shivers involuntarily, casting uneasy but discreet glances into the distance, trying to catalog any possible escape routes. 

With a sudden jolt, not too far away, he notices a series of jutting cliffs and spires. Black, humanoid figures are darting between the rocks. Merpeople. 

Fuck . There really were merpeople in the North Sea. And that means that James is likely here too. 

He flicks his eyes up to his captor, who has taken to staring him down with a scowl on her razor sharp face. 

“Well, boy? I asked you a question, didn’t I?” Dimly, Regulus notes that she spits out her consonants when she talks, making them sound more like verbal stabs than speech. 

He already likes her, he decides. Likes her no-nonsense attitude, her bluntness. It’s always easy to work with matter-of-fact people- you either get what you want with minimal negotiation, or you have to resort to force. 

Regulus isn’t opposed to either of those, of course, even if he prefers the first one. 

“I’m looking for something.” He says. His voice is heavy with coldness- not accusing, but nothing close to friendly. 

He’s not surprised how easily he slips back into it: this bitter, unfeeling mask. Barty dubbed it “ Spy-mode .” Evan just called it his Resting Bitch Face. 

“And what makes you think you’ll find it here?” She questions. Her gaze is piercing, each eye bearing more resemblance to miniscule moons than actual flesh and blood. She reminds him of those dolls Bella was obsessed with when she was younger: white, glassy skin; glittering jewels and milky pearls fitted into the skulls instead of eyes. 

He narrows his gaze, even though he knows it’s dangerous. He’s the one at a disadvantage here. He’s captive, bound. He has no bargaining chip, and no autonomy. Right now, he’s more ritual sacrifice than human. He’s sitting, waiting for the blow to fall.

Regulus has worked with worse odds before, assuming this guard isn’t going to be cooperative. Worst case scenario, he hexes the whole lot of them and leaves with James, which is easier said than done. 

“Another surface dweller. You brought him under, did you not?” He says. His tongue and throat are parched, despite his false bravado. Despite the gallons and gallons of water enveloping him. Still, he maintains the steely glint in his eyes.

“And why should I tell you anything?” She narrows her eyes, moving closer to him. Her hands skirt over the length of his body, not quite touching, but as if she’s trying to feel his presence, rather than see it. 

“You have customs, do you not?” He’s playing the only card he has, the only chance of getting out of this peacefully. And he does, he really does want to solve this without violence. If only because James would want him to. James, who would rather see the good in everyone, probably even including his captors. 

“We have many.” Her fingers flutter over his face, and he feels the softest brush of her skin against his. Again, not quite a touch, but as close as it can get. 

She’s blind , he realizes with a burst of sudden clarity. Of course, this barely means anything. Blindness won’t make her any weaker. In fact, her other senses probably more than make up for her lack of sight. Likely, it makes her more dangerous. She’ll be more in tune with his body language, the inflection of his voice, the purring of the sea around them. 

One wrong step, one indication that he’s here to harm her people- he knows he’ll be declared an enemy, between one breath and the next.

So, he decides to be as honest as possible. 

“Customs for the welcoming of guests.” He says, his voice deceptively steady. 

She narrows her eyes. “You are not a guest, though. You are a trespasser.” Her tone is closed off, and he can tell she suspects something. Suspects that he’s going to harm her, throw a spell at her, despite not having his wand. 

He wonders if the wizards and witches who came before him did this. He wonders if they made the merpeople like this: closed off, unwelcoming and sharp. He wonders if they came with the intention to hurt, while promising them the world in the same breath.

“Merpeople are not a reclusive species, far from it in fact.” 

“Don’t they imprison wizards who come into their territory? Seems pretty fucking reclusive to me.” 

“We made them that way, Reg. We’re the ones that hurt them. If you shoot a dog enough times, it starts to hate the gun.” 

He doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry. Of course. Fucking Barty and his stupid obsession with merpeople. Of course that’s the only thing saving his ass today. 

“I am a guest.” Regulus asserts, faux confidence lacing his tone. He squares his shoulders, looking her dead in the eyes, despite knowing that she probably won’t be able to see his piercing gaze. Her sensing it is enough, however. 

“And why is that?” Her voice is becoming more musical, quivering with curiosity. He takes this as a positive sign. She doesn’t seem to feel particularly threatened by him, which is likely the only reason she’s entertaining him. 

“Merpeople are an extremely romantic race, you know that, right?” 

“What the hell does that mean, Crouch? I’m trying to sleep” 

“It means they mate for life. Sounds kind of lovely, don’t you think?”

“I don’t think I’d want to be stuck with you for all of my life, arsehole. I would go barmy.” 

“Love you too, Ev. I would spend the rest of my life with you, you know?” 

“Spare me the horror.” 

“See, Reg? Evan loves me. He loves me so much that he wants to marry me and have my babies.” 

“Shut the hell up! Merlin’s pants, stop running that fucking mouth of yours. Salazar, I should’ve stitched it shut when I had the chance.” 

“See, Regulus? Evan loves me so much.”

…  

“Get the fuck off of me, Salazar’s balls! I’m not kissing you when you have morning breath, Crouch.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing the memories away. Not here- not here. Not now. Not until he’s got James back. 

“James Potter. He’s my mate.” He delivers these words desperately, letting the true extent of the tumultuous emotions clashing in his chest leak out for the first time. He hopes it’s enough to convince her. Hopes it’s enough for her to not doubt his intentions, for her to not deem him a threat. “You have him here, don’t you? 

“Merpoeple take guests sometimes, when a colony of mermaids is particularly starved of external contact. Wizards who they find interesting.”

“They just- kidnap them?” 

“Not always. Sometimes they come willingly. Other times, yeah, they kidnap them.” 

“That’s so fucked.”

“They’re not forced to stay, you know. They can go back after a while.”

“And what if they don’t? Want to go back, I mean.”

“They stay.”

“Forever?”

“If they want to, then yes, forever.” 

…

“How do you know all this?”

“I’m just smart like that, Reg.” 

…

“He’s a nerd, Black. A big fucking nerd. Don’t believe a single thing he says.” 

…

They can come back anytime they want, after the initial welcome. He wonders if- 

He swallows back the thought. Not here, not here , Merlin he can’t be thinking like this now- 

He wonders if James doesn’t want to come back, because of him. 

He wonders if he irreparably ruined another person who loved him. Again.

The mermaid must feel at least some of the despair radiating off of him, because she nods curtly. “Yes. We have him with us. He is a guest of ours.”

Regulus, at this point, gives up on maintaining his emotionless, cold demeanor. It won’t get him anywhere with the rest of the merpeople, not if he wants them to believe that he truly is the worried, distressed mate of their esteemed guest. He sags forwards in relief. 

“Can you- can you take me to him?” His voice breaks embarrassingly, and he doesn’t even bother covering it up. Salazar , he’s such a mess. 

Something softens in the mermaid’s gaze. She relaxes too, just the slightest amount. It’s barely a dip of her shoulders, but at least it’s something . “Come with me. I will bring you to him.”

Regulus nods weakly, and grabs her extended arm. It’s cool to the touch, the skin soft and surprisingly dry. 

“I bet they’re all slippery. It’ll be like touching a dolphin.”

“Crouch, you haven’t seen a single dolphin in your life, shut up and stop hogging the pillows.”

“So rude, Evan!” 

“Merlin, you two are so bloody loud.”

He swallows the memory down, before the ache in him can spread and cut into him even further. 

He lets her lead him through the mermaid colony. They’re all gaping at him, he can tell, their filmy eyes and fanged mouths opening wide with curiosity and something like awe. Many of them stop what they’re doing, staring at him all while swimming in place. A couple of them are whispering to each other, side-eying him all the while. 

He ignores them, and keeps his eyes trained ahead of him. He needs to find James. Needs to know if he’s okay.

He needs to know if he left on purpose.

They finally approach a massive marble courtyard, nestled in the seafloor, surrounded by yawning cliffs and rugged peaks. As they swim closer, Regulus notices the massive marble columns, reaching upwards towards the surface. They line the edges of the courtyard, forming a barrier between the underwater mountains and the delicate patio-like structures jutting from the floor of the plaza. 

“This is the dining hall.” The mermaid says, tugging Regulus along insistently. “We feast here, as do the guests.”

“So he’s here?” He furrows his eyebrows, letting hope leak into his tone. 

If she finds his “anxious lover” act unconvincing, she doesn’t show it. “Yes. Your mate is here.”

She leads him to a colossal dining table situated right in the middle of the courtyard. There are dozens of merpeople milling about the length of the table, chatting with each other, gorging themselves on the trays of food scattered on the table. There’s a noticeable lack of fish or any other form of meat on the plates, and instead their meal seems to consist mostly of strange looking underwater plants. 

Then, Regulus sees him. He feels his limbs freeze up immediately, making the mermaid throw a miffed scowl at him. 

James is sitting right there, right in the thick of it. There are merpeople swarming him, touching him, grinning at him with their knife teeth. He’s laughing.

Regulus feels cold dread pool in his stomach. James was laughing , which meant that he was here on his own terms. 

There was no need to rescue him, not when James had purposefully stayed. Fuck . 

He feels the water close him around him, even through the bubble. His chest heaves with panicked breaths. His limbs lock up, and Merlin , he can’t move .

He wonders if he can drown like this, if he can choke from pure fear.

Fuck . James probably hates him. He probably blames him for ruining things, probably despises him for fucking up. 

Regulus can almost see it: the way James’ eyes widened with betrayal and hurt. The way he drew away from him, hunching into himself. The way his voice broke when he asked him if Regulus wanted him to leave. The way he walked away without argument.

He can almost feel his chest breaking open again. 

Suddenly, cold fingers close around his wrist. He’s jerked back into himself, his own body. He sees a pair of cloudy eyes peering at him worriedly. 

“Your mate is unharmed. He is a guest of ours. Do not fret.” Her voice is soft, all of a sudden. Reassuring. 

Regulus startles at this unexpected display of sympathy, whipping his head up to stare at her incredulously. 

The mermaid, sensing his bewilderment, chuckles. “We are not heartless, nor are we barbaric. We would not hurt guests.” 

Regulus narrows his eyes. “You looked about ready to strangle me.”

“You were not a guest. You were an intruder.” She says testily, her scowl returning full force. “There is a big difference between the two, and there is a big difference in how we treat each of them.” 

Regulus sighs in defeat. Salazar, he doesn’t have time for this. 

He casts a furtive look at James below him, who’s still unwittingly chatting away with what looks like half of the mermaid population. “Doesn’t matter. Take me to him. Please” 

The mermaid sighs. “That is what I’m trying to do, surface-dweller. You are too stubborn for your own good.” 

He bites back a sharp retort, instead choosing to follow her as she leads him to James. She pauses every now and again to talk with the other merpeople. They’re speaking in an unfamiliar language that Regulus can’t even hope to understand. Their words are sharp and pointed, with a healthy amount of clicking dispersed in between them. Yet, somehow, it still manages to be musical, despite the harsh inflections in the sounds. It’s alluring, in a strange and dangerous sort of way, and Regulus finds himself watching their interactions with wide eyes. 

He thinks he understands, a little bit, why sirens are so effective in luring sailors to their inevitable deaths. 

Regulus' musings about the Mermish tongue are cut short when he’s suddenly thrust into the seat right next to James. He sputters, sending an affronted glare at his mermaid guide, who just smirks at him. 

“Regulus?” James sounds mystified to see him.

Regulus freezes immediately. Shit. Shit. James probably hates him, James is going to yell at him he’s going to leave again-

“Reg, is that you?” He murmurs again, concern bleeding into his tone.

Swallowing, Regulus turns to look at him. “Hello.”

James blinks, his black eyes shining with soft blues from the glow of the water around him. “What are you doing here?” 

Regulus scowls, and he feels a rush of anger, even though he knows it’s not fair. Even though he knows that he’s the one who asked James to leave. “You left.” He says, his tone frosty.

“I-” James’ mouth is hanging open, and then his expression shutters, darkening. “You asked me to leave.”

He feels his blood boil, and he just knows he’s going to fuck it up even more. He feels it deep in his worn bones- this bleak certainty that after today, James won’t want to look at him again. Won’t ever smile at him, dance with him, crush him close to his chest ever again. 

It’s like watching a train-wreck in slow motion. He knows what’s coming, he’s prepared for it, but he can’t stop it. Can’t stop the way his eyes blaze, the way his fingers fist in James’ shirt. Can’t control the rising pitch of his voice. 

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that you would run off for the whole night? You were supposed to come back by dinner, you piece of shit!” His breaths are deep, heaving. He can see James’ eyes widening, he can see the way he’s looking at Regulus. He looks so hurt , Merlin. He looks betrayed and hurt and confused. He is all three of those things. All because Regulus is a mess- a fucking mess of a person who can’t stop ruining things, ruining people.

“You- what are you talking about Regulus?” James breathes, his brows furrowing in bafflement. 

Dimly, Regulus sees the merpeople who were previously flocking James scatter. He sees them shooting him barely concealed looks of disdain. A few are shooting worried glances between him and James, like they’re watching a goddamn tennis match.

“What am I talking about?” Regulus hisses, crowding even closer to him, his fingers twisting against jumper, its surface slippery with whatever bubble-charm the Merpeople put on them. “James, I thought you weren’t going to come back .” 

If possible, James grows even more confused. “I’ve been here for barely an hour, Regulus. What the hell are you even saying?” 

“Barely an hour? James, I’ve been waiting all night for you. Don’t lie to me.” His voice is dangerously close to breaking, and he can feel the telltale burn of tears in his eyes. Already, his rage is subsiding. 

James inhales sharply. “What-“

Regulus sags forwards, his body suddenly draining of energy, “If you- if you don’t want anything to do with me after what I said yesterday, I understand. But- fuck - don’t leave , Merlin. Don’t just leave like that.” His last few words are whispered, and he feels himself collapsing forwards, collapsing against James’ chest.

Instinctively, James’ hand reaches up to cup the back of his neck, “ Fuck - Reg- There has to be some sort of misunderstanding-” Regulus feels him cut himself off, feels the warm timbre of James’ voice resounding through his chest, even through the bubble covering.

His head’s swimming- flooding with black water and anguish. The exhaustion of the last few hours is beginning to catch up to him, and he’s holding on to James like he’s his only lifeline. James just clutches him tighter, rubs soothing circles into his neck, his back.

He can’t hear what is being said, but he thinks James is talking to the merpeople again. He feels himself being pulled along by cold hands. 

They’re swimming up, he thinks, dazedly. They’re going up towards the surface. 

James’ worried gaze pins him in place, and he wants to reach out to him, to tell him everything that’s been festering in his chest. He wants to tell him that he loves him, wants to tell him that he’s loved him since he was sixteen and hated by everyone who mattered. He’s loved him through being a spy, through being a runaway. He’s loved him through death, or at least something close to it. 

He wants to say those words- I love you . He wants to say them over and over again, wants to press them into James’ skin, inscribe them into the palms of his hands. He wants and he wants and he’s trying to say it, but his words won’t come out right. 

He’s so tired, Merlin. He’s so tired of fucking up. He’s so tired of ruining things.

I love you . He wants to say. 

He just wants something beautiful, for once in his life. He wants to have something without having to hate himself for it, without having to destroy himself over it. He wants and he wants and it’s not enough and it’s never enough. It wasn’t enough to save Barty, it wasn’t enough to prevent him from making a mess of things with James. It wasn’t enough for him to not hurt James. 

I love you , and I don’t know what to do with that - He wants to say

He blacks out before they break through the surface of the water. 

“Regulus?”

There are hands on his chest, on his face. They’re gentle touches, barely grazing his shuddering form. 

He’s blinking, probably. Or maybe he’s coughing- he can’t really tell. 

He thinks he lets out something close to a groan. Or maybe it’s a scream. His throat aches. 

“Regulus- fuck - Regulus can you hear me?”

Fingers like butterflies moving over him: tracing his face, the length of his jaw. He leans into the warmth as a palm cups his cheek, letting out a wounded noise. 

Another palm goes down to his chest, pressing insistently. It’s heat- it’s home. 

It’s love.

Dimly, he wonders who could possibly hold him like a lover, hold him like this .

“Regulus- please-'' Someone's crying. Wet warmth spills down onto him, smelling of salt- bleeding into his shirt, bleeding into his chest. 

Don’t cry. He wants to say. I’m not leaving.

“Regulus, wake up, I’m so sorry, please .” 

It’s not your fault- he wants to say.

And, miraculously, he does. His sandy throat clears, and he says it. 

“Merlin, James. Calm yourself. I’m not dead, you prick.” He rasps. “Get your great big hands off of me.” 

Close enough. 

James lets out a punched out breath of relief above him. “Oh thank Merlin I thought-“ 

Regulus pries his eyes open with no small amount of difficulty. James is there, hovering worriedly above him. His glasses are back on his face, crooked as they are. His eyes are wide and open and soft and- lovey. He’s so lovely. 

He smiles fleetingly up at him. “I know. I’m ok.”

James is still squinting at him in concern, his mouth twisted with distress. 

“Help me up?” Regulus says, raising an eyebrow and quirking his lips upwards. 

His act doesn’t seem to convince James, but he still hoists Regulus up to a sitting position, with only a bit of tricky maneuvering.

Behind him, Regulus sees the stark blue sky. 

“It’s morning already?” Regulus asks, choosing to ignore the concern lining James’ face, instead focusing on brushing the sand off of his clothes.

Salazar’s shit . He really does have a load of sand up his pants.

Even with how distracted he is with the less than ideal condition of his clothes, he can’t miss the unmistakable drop in James’ mood. 

When he looks up back at him, James’ features are warped with regret and remorse. Regulus feels his chest tighten in response. 

“What happened?” Regulus asks, desperately scanning him for any sign of hurt or injury. “Are you okay? Did they hurt-”

James shakes his head softly and flicks his gaze up to meet Regulus’. “I’m sorry.” He breathes.

Regulus is floored. Why is James apologizing? After everything Regulus did, after everything he said, he should be lashing out. James should be screaming at him, ruining him right back. 

“What- James why are you apologizing?” Regulus blinks at him, his brows furrowed in worry. 

James stares at him dumbly as well. “I left?” He asks, sounding genuinely puzzled. All of a sudden, he seems to realize what he said, and scrambles to clarify. His eyes are wide and panicked, and if Regulus was a weaker man, he would call it cute .  

“I mean- I didn’t mean to leave that long. Apparently time feels different underwater and I thought I was down there there for like an hour but apparently it’s different and I was actually there for the whole night- Merlin I’m so sorry, please- fuck -“ James cuts himself off with a resigned sigh. When he looks up, his eyes are crinkled at the edges with sadness and his mouth is warped with regret. “Please don’t hate me.”

Regulus balks, and all of a sudden the meaning of his words sink in.

James didn’t mean to leave. He doesn’t hate Regulus and he didn’t mean to leave. 

He can’t help it. He bursts out laughing- great heaving howls punctuated with delirious little chuckles. 

James looks astonished only for a minute, before he’s joining Regulus in his laughter. His laughs start small, before they rapidly devolve and soon they’re both practically hyperventilating. Their feet are tangled together in the sand, and they’re all over each other. Regulus’ fingers are fisted inJames lovely, dark hair and James is cupping the back of his neck and their foreheads are pressed together and they’re bleeding warmth and sharing breath all over again. 

It feels like the most natural thing in the world- the sun rises in the morning, the moon shines at night and Regulus and James fall into each other’s arms. It’s as inevitable as the turning of the seasons and as innate as a breath.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, foreheads pressed together. Sometimes, they’ll manage to stop laughing for a few seconds, before meeting each other’s gazes and they’ll be set off again. 

Because, once again, it’s hard to care about time when James Potter is holding you.

By the time they manage to finally calm down, Regulus is dizzy. He’s dizzy with laughter, with love and with the scent of the sea on James’ calloused skin. Their noses are still slotted against each other’s. James’ hands are a line of a heat around his jaw, and Regulus’ forehead aches a little from where it’s pushed against his.

Regulus flicks his eyes up to meet James’ gaze. His eyes are liquid obsidian- or perhaps twin black holes. He finds he can’t tear himself away from their pull.

They’re drifting closer, if that’s even possible. He doesn’t even want to stop it. Not if it means hurting James like he did before. 

All of a sudden, James laughs again. Something quiet and breathy and undeniably private. 

“Look at the mess we’re making.” He murmurs fondly. His eyes crinkle as he smiles even wider. 

“Of what?” Regulus whispers into the minuscule space within their bodies. He wants to close that distance, wants to meld their silhouettes together. He wants to weave James’ veins with his, until he can’t tell where he ends and James begins.

James’ eyes slit, catlike and content. “Everything, darling. Everything.” The warm puffs of his breath fan across Regulus’ lips. He can feel James’ deep chuckles, their vibrations ghosting through the pads of Regulus’ fingers from where they rest on James’ chest. 

“Define everything.” Regulus quirks his lips, just the smallest amount. James grins even wider.

“Love, for one.” James’ eyes are shimmering and heated, but Regulus can tell that there’s an undercurrent of doubt under it. Of insecurity. 

Merlin , he’s so tired. He’s so tired of going against this gravity he and James have. He’s so tired of resisting James’ love.

At least, that’s what he hopes it is.

Regulus parts his lips. He wants to taste James’ words, wants to eat them. He wants to swallow his warm, wet breaths. Wants to engulf every part of him. 

“Love. Is that what this is?” Regulus says, instead. 

James’ gaze grows a little softer. For the first time, Regulus notices the way the sun drips his golden rays onto him, smearing fistfuls of amber through his skin. “I think so.” He says, a playful lilt to his voice.

“You think?” Regulus can barely breathe . The Snitch is back, and it’s hammering at his rib cage. It’s struggling to be let out, to be caught. 

“I know. I know it’s love.” James' mouth quirks up in a small, rueful smile. “But do you?” 

Words have been scarcer before this moment, yet he still can’t find it in himself to say anything.

His heart flutters wildly and he swallows, his throat coarse. Little, punching breaths make their way out of his lungs. 

“Are you ready, Regulus?” James says, his voice quivering with anticipation. “Are you ready for this?” 

Regulus licks his lips. He can’t look away. James is so beautiful, Salazar. He’s so beautiful and so kind and he smells like the sea and love and home. 

“What if I’m not?” 

Something cracks in James’ expression, but his tone is determined as he continues. “Then I will wait.” 

“You’ll wait?” Regulus whispers, his chest positively overflowing with warmth. He didn’t think it was possible to fall even deeper in love with James, but here he is.

The coastal wind stirs the soft edges of their intertwined silhouettes. The salt dissolved on his tongue, makes his eyes burn. 

“As long as you need me to. I’ll wait for you.” James’ breathes out his promise, his admission. 

Regulus’ breaths grow scarcer, until he’s sure he isn’t even living anymore. Until he’s sure he’s just dreaming; or- he’s just a ghost of a person, breathing only through the fantasies he’s crafted for himself.

He feels James hand’s tighten around his face. It’s warm. They’re both bleeding warmth. His breaths are gusts of heat against Regulus’ lips.

Regulus fists his hands in James’ scratchy jumper. It’s still slightly damp, despite the drying spell he likely put on it. 

James’ heart is a clot of blood and flesh, thumping steadily beneath his ivory ribs, under the layers of flesh and love that makes up his form. 

Thump- thump- goes the beat of James’ heart.

“Tell me what you want, Regulus. Tell me if you want this. Tell me if I should wait or if I should-” James is pleading, he’s begging. They’re drifting closer and they’re swaying in the sea-salt laden breeze. 

It bubbles over- two decades worth of love for James Potter. It boils and boils and it spills over the flimsiest fucking dam in the world and he can’t do anything but let himself get swept up in the deluge of rawness that envelops him thoroughly and completely. 

Regulus silences him by moving even closer. It seems a bit impossible to close the distance between them when there’s barely any, but he does it anyway. 

He feels James’ breath hitch,  and his heart beats faster under the calloused pads of Regulus’ fingers. Thump-thump-thump- it’s insistent, a metronome for their love. A measure of the breaths between them. 

“I love you, James.” Regulus whispers. 

Thump-thump-thump. James’ eyes widen with awe, and with something close to reverence. 

“I’ve loved you since I’ve known what it meant to love someone. I’ve loved you through the war, through being a traitor. I’ve loved you through living and through death and through all of the in betweens.” He’s running out of breath, and the things he wants to say all expand and grow until his chest is bursting with them. “I love you. I love you .” His words decrescendo, until fevered whispering is all he has. 

Words have never been so scarce. They’re inadequate to describe everything in his stomach, his chest. Every place  he’s touched James with, every way they’ve fallen together, every breath they’ve loved each other, even without realizing.

James is crying now. The tears carve rivers down his cheekbones, down the sides of his jaw. His sobs are soft and deafening at the same time.

Regulus presses closer to him, fists his hand in his jumper. They’re swaying together, right there in the sand. Right there, in tandem with the sea-salt laden wind. 

“Don’t cry, don’t cry, James.” He says James the same way someone says love .

James sobs harder, and clutches onto Regulus like he’s his anchor. 

“I was so- I was so scared.” James is murmuring, his voice sticky with tears.

Regulus’ heart is breaking and it’s sewing itself back together all at the same time. His chest is cracking with the force of the snitch, bleeding him out from the inside out. 

Regulus is crying now too. “Why? Tell me why. I’ll fix it, James. I’ll fix it. I’ll give you anything. Tell me.” There’s that word again- James and love seem to mean the same thing to him. Synonyms. 

“You told me to leave. I thought- I thought I was reading it wrong. I thought I ruined us.” James admits, his voice feather-soft with shame.

And Regulus wants to laugh again, because here he was, afraid of the same thing.

“I was too.” 

“What?” James’ eyes crinkle in confusion. His eyelashes are wet with dew-like tears. 

Regulus can’t stop it. He can’t stop telling James things, can’t stop confessing every illicit secret he promised to take to the fucking grave.  “I was scared that- I was scared that if I loved you, if I allowed myself to be loved by you, I would destroy you.” He whispers. 

His eyes flutter close. He can’t look at James, doesn’t want to see the pity or the confusion or the hatred or- 

James’ hands press down on Regulus’ jaw. His eyes blink open, and he sees the heartbreak splashed as plainly across his face as the daylight around them. 

“Oh love,” James says, his voice like liquid heat and summer, “Oh, love. You’ve never ruined anyone. You’ve never ruined anything.” He looks like he wants to cry again. 

Regulus’ breath stutters. “What about- what about Barty? What about Sirius?  What about Evan?” He’s begging. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m wrong, love, tell me I’m wrong.

James pushes even closer, his lips ghosting over Regulus’. “You never ruined them, love. You can’t ruin people. It’s just not that easy.”

“Then, what else could it have been? ” Prove me wrong, prove me wrong, tell me- tell me- 

James pauses, a breath before their lips can connect. “Circumstance.” He breathes into his mouth. “You do not make circumstances, Regulus. They make you.”

Regulus could cry. Merlin- he is crying. He feels the slippery trails of wet salt chart his face. His chest is expanding and contracting all at once, and he’s drawing closer to the black holes that are James’ eyes. 

“Do you want this, love? Do you want this?” 

He silences James by pressing their lips together. 

Thump-thump-thump- his heartbeats are doubling, tripling. They’re crescendoing together, soaring higher and higher. 

When their mouths connect, something slots together in his chest. The snitch brushes its cold metal surface past the pads of his fingers- and he catches it- between one breath and the next. 

James tastes like salt and the mint that he chewed last night, talking about his old man breath. He smells like their car, with its eternally present stench of new leather.  He tastes like love and forget-me-nots and the stars. 

His lips are warm against Regulus’ and they’re pushing, pressing closer. Still trying to fuse into a single being. 

Binary stars, he thinks. And then he can’t think of much at all when James’ hands are in his hair and his chest is pressed against his and they’re tangling together. Closer. Always closer. 

When they pull away, James is panting. Regulus isn’t much better, his skin an unflattering shade of tomato red, and his hands quite literally shaking.

James grins wildly and lovingly, in the way only he can achieve. He catches Regulus’ trembling fingers within his own, twining them together and pulling them close again. Forehead to forehead, as if he can’t stand being away from Regulus for even a second. 

The thought sends a line of heat through his caved-in chest. 

He can still taste James, on his tongue. He can taste the weight of his words, the burden of his kindness. Can taste the sunlight that James poured into him. 

“There are many things lovely about being human, Regulus.” James’ eyes are liquid black, glinting gold with the residues of the winter daybreak. He’s whispering and his voice is low with a special kind of reverence. 

“Yeah?” Regulus tilts his head in a half-smile. He’s watching the sunlight fall in thick bars of gold across James. He knows James is watching right back. It’s an exhilarating feeling.

“You are one of them.” James murmurs. Regulus' smile grows softer. He hopes James can see the overwhelming love in the way Regulus cradles him, holds him like he holds nothing else.