Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m not afraid of you. If there’s something you’re going to do to me, do it.” – Captive Prince, 93

Regulus pressed his back against the wall of the hotel. The night air was cold and harsh on his face and the street lights didn’t reach his path. His feet balanced on the narrow ledge as he looked to the road three stories beneath him. His breath was even. Any fall could be broken.

He wouldn’t fall.

He never fell.

He snuck along the ledge like a cat until he reached the window of what should be room 302.

He had mastered quite a few wand- and soundless spells. A simple charm to open the window next to him was one of them.

He let himself glide into the room.

With the far-away street lamps as his light source, Regulus could only see shadows. It didn’t matter. He had scouted this room during the day. He knew that from this window, the bed was to his right. A wire was put between the bed and wall to catch any intruders, on the left side, further inside the room by the front door, was the bathroom. Opposite the bed stood a dresser and a muggle TV.

Hiding in a muggle hotel. Pathetic.

Regulus turned toward the bed on his tiptoes. He stepped over the trip wire.

His prey lay in his bed, sleeping soundly under his blankets, undeterred by the open window.

Regulus pulled the dagger out of his thigh sheath.

He has acquired many daggers over the years. His friends Evan and Pandora, she an inventor, he a magical bladesmith, made them for him.

He could have taken one of his ordinary daggers on such a mission, but not for this target.

This target deserved one of the special blades: pitch-black and curved, with a serpent wrapped around the handle. He chose the curved one because he didn’t intend to just stab. He wanted to slice. He wanted to tear this man open and flood both their clothes in blood. Maybe he’d heal him and start anew.

He took the edge of the blanket between middle- and forefinger and pulled it back.

Instead of finding a sleeping man, James Potter was wide awake and smirking up at him. “You’re being too loud, Love.”

He grabbed Regulus’s wrist and used it to pull himself up.

Regulus cursed and pulled up the dagger to slice across his chest. James caught his arm with his other hand and pushed him back.

“I saw your footprints on the ledge outside when I came back.”

Regulus lunged at him, trying to cut into his skin. James was tall and muscled, giving him plenty of surface to hack and slice at. He evaded him, walking backwards and bending out of the way.

Footprints on the ledge. He never made such mistakes. Or at least, James usually didn’t look.

James got a hold of his arm again and Regulus kicked him hard enough for James to let go in shock and stumbled back through the trip wire, falling to the ground.

Regulus pounced on him. He straddled him and held the knife to his throat.

“Any more smart-ass comments?”

“Nah, I’m good like this,” he said nodding toward Regulus’s spread legs.

Regulus pushed the dagger through his bicep.

James hissed and cursed in pain.

“Fuck, I just got that healed. Can’t you do the other arm for once?”

Regulus obliged happily, slicing through the skin on his other arm.

James hissed. “Granted, I had that one coming.”

“You have everything coming and more. I will carve you up until not even your mum recognizes you anymore.”

He put the blade of the dagger against James’s chest until the drawn blood soaked through the shirt.

“Fuck. Mh, listen, solid plan, Love, really. Just – Merlin – tiny problem.”

Regulus loved it when he hissed and grunted like this. Every little noise of pain was music to his ears. He was almost melancholy at the thought of never hearing it again after tonight.

“I have aurors standing by and they were alarmed when you pushed me over that wire. They will be here any second.”

Regulus glanced toward the door. They had tripped the thing at least a minute ago.

“You’re lying.”

“Because they’re not here yet? I told them to wait two minutes before coming in. We put an anti-apparition spell on the whole hotel. You have either enough time to kill me or to make your exit, not both. And we both know you’d want to savour this one, don’t you?”

Regulus wasn’t completely sure he was telling the truth, but he could not risk it. He had other business in this town – not to mention that he considered himself too smart to get caught.

He cursed. James winked up at him. That stupid fucking bastard. It seemed a miracle that he possessed enough brain cells to tell him how to breathe.

Regulus sheathed the knife and stood up. James exhaled in relief. He was far too happy with himself.

Regulus put the tip of his boot underneath James’s chin. He pressed his foot against the shallow cut on his chest, drawing more delicious moans and curses from the man.

He indulged himself as much as he could before hearing something outside the door. He hasted to the window.

“Til next time, Love,” James gasped from the ground, lying on the floor, a dizzy smile on his face and blood soaking through his shirt.            

***

Regulus returned to the run-down roadside hotel where Barty and Evan were waiting.

He jumped over the fence and walked to the back of the building where he could slip through a bathroom window.

He hated this kind of hotel. Barty sort of loved them – mainly because it gave him an excuse to break out his muggle toys and search the room for human fluids. He enjoyed the disgust it inspired on Evan’s and Regulus’s faces.

He tried not to think about all the glowing stains Barty had shown him with his black light earlier while stripping out of his clothes and throwing his dagger into the sink. James’s blood splattered onto the off-white porcelain.

He risked a peek into the shower and decided that a cleaning spell was the safer option. Then, he took a set of new clothes he had sat aside earlier and finally returned to the hotel room.

Evan sat on his bed with crossed legs, holding his face up and slowly guiding Asian noodles into his mouth. He held onto the chopsticks for dear life, and dark sauce lined his lips.

Barty sat on the ground surrounded by papers, notebooks and self-made floorplans. He had abandoned his foot container a few feet away by the old tomes and Regulus grimaced when he noticed sauce stains on a few of the documents. He had his sleeves pushed up and the dark mark was glaring at him.

Regulus ignored both boys and went to his bed. A black suitcase lay on top of it, and next to it was a small chest, akin to a jewellery box but filled with poisons and potions. He unravelled a knife roll, revealing a small part of his dagger collection.

“And? How’s the boyfriend?” Barty teased.

Regulus grabbed one of the daggers and flung it in his direction. Barty, who was familiar with this reaction, pulled his head out of the way in time for it to soar past him and get stuck in the wall.

“Still alive, I take it?”

“Have you made any progress?”

“Panda was here,” Evan said through his dinner. “She says, she thinks she finally found the book.”

“And?”

“She wants to meet for lunch tomorrow and tell us about it.”

“We have to leave. I don’t know why James is in town, but he brought friends.”

“Friends like Order or aurors?”

“I don’t know. Aurors, definitely, might be Order too.”

“Maybe he wanted to spice things up a bit,” Barty suggested, almost earning another knife to the head. “Panda insisted to meet us at an actual lunch-place by the way.”

Regulus stopped checking his knives and looked up. “In the open?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know what she was thinking,” Evan said, trying to balance a new portion on the chopsticks. “Wants to meet for lunch like regular people. Does she not know we are super secret super spies?” A noodle fell on his face.

Regulus sighed deeply. “Please, for the sake of peace between nations, get a fork. This is just sad to watch. Barty, let’s pack all of this shit up. We should try to find another hotel. Evan will be the only one to check in and then we’re staying in the bunker for the night.”

Barty started raking the papers together. “I don’t know why you’re being paranoid. You try to kill that bloke every other week and he never sends his people after you.”

“Correction: We are never caught by any people he may or may not send after us because we immediately disappear.”

Barty rolled his eyes at him and put the research documents into neat piles, decidedly ignoring the sauce stains on some of them. While he put the stuff away and Evan was still trying to eat, Regulus cleaned his dagger and his other clothes.

In a matter of minutes, they were packed up and out the door.

***

While Regulus, Evan and Barty had been dormmates at Hogwarts for seven years – proud Slytherins through and through – Pandora had been a Ravenclaw. She has always been one of the weird ones, wearing butterfly jewellery and flower crowns while speaking of the end of the world. She was, all things considered, the weirdest person Regulus knew and his favourite at that – two bold statements, considering he counted Barty Crouch Jr as his best friend.

Pandora likely wouldn’t have been in his life this much if not for the fact that she was Evan’s twin sister.

When they met her for lunch, the twins did their weird, secret twin handshake (Regulus was 99% sure they came up with something new on the spot every time just to mess with him and Barty), and sat down at a table in the back. Pandora had a new, sparkly butterfly hairclip with golden chains and purple and pink gemstones hanging from it. The three boys were clad in black with a bit of navy and dark green peaking out every once in a sock.

Regulus sat next to Pandora, keeping his eyes on the door and the too-large window fronts. They had many people to keep an eye out for these days: Aurors, the Order of the Phoenix, Death Eaters.

Super Secret Super Spies, Evan said yesterday. Far from it. Spies were loyal to one organisation and pretended to be loyal to the other. Regulus and his friends were only loyal to themselves and stopped pretending to be part of anything else, least of all organisations.

To Regulus, one organisation was as bad as the other. A bold statement, considering that the Death Eaters called for the execution of muggleborn wizards and enslavement of muggle-kind. But when it came to recruiting teenagers straight out of school to die in a war, they were equals – no, the glorious Order of the Phoenix was a thousand times worse.

The death eaters recruited students and then sent those students to recruit their classmates.

The Order chose the swifter option: Teachers recruited their own students straight from the classroom. It wasn’t a coincidence that the students who were asked to join the Order were those with good marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

To Regulus, who has never learned to care about muggles (or anyone really), the crimes of the Order were as vile as those of the Death Eaters.

“Marlene McKinnon was killed,” Pandora said. She was the only one keeping up with the developments of the war, while the boys followed their own missions. “Her whole family wiped out. Her muggle parents and her little brother.”

McKinnon used to be one of James’s classmates. A member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. She was that one blond girl with the pink highlights and septum piercing. She and Sirius made their piercings with a hot needle and a potato in 5^th year.

“How’s Dorcas holding up?” Evan asked.

“Hard to say. I expected her to be sad but… she was just angry. Screaming at Dumbledore and Order-members.”

“Does she want to join us?” Regulus asked.

Pandora shook her head. The metallic tendrils and gemstones of her hair clip got tangled. “But she did say, she could shelter the suitcase and keep watch.”

Barty gasped theatrically. “Does this mark the end of my beautiful, cum-stained inns?”

Evan leaned to him and whispered, not even trying to go unnoticed, “Don’t worry, I’ll stain all your sheets and let you use your blacklight during the process.”

Pandora kicked her brother under the table. “You’re a pig, Evan.”

“Pandora, you said you know something about the book?” Regulus asked before Evan could follow up with more of their perversions.

The book seemed almost too gentle of a word for what they were seeking. It was an ancient tome of forbidden necromancy, with pages made of human skin and words written in blood – according to legend at least. It belonged to one of the primal goddesses of magic until she gifted it to a promising young witch in the east. She owned it for a thousand years until the witch hunts caught up with her. She was burned with her grimoire, but it withstood the flames and any other method of destruction. It was then entombed in an unknown location and has been lost ever since.

There were whispers about such a book being taken back and returned to wizard kind but to most of them, it was nothing more but a fairytale.

Pandora was never deterred by claims such as “it’s just a fairytale” and “It’s not real.” She searched for this book, knowing how important it was to Regulus and followed its trail across the European continent all the way back to Scotland.

“I have been working at the castle for a month. I’ve gathered as much information as I could and I’m certain, if that tome still exists, it’s in his vault.” She said.

“But you haven’t seen it,” Regulus clarified.

“No. The vault is in the secret library in the forbidden crypt… Not even we, the staff, are allowed to go in there to clean.”

“Then how do we get in?” Barty asked.

“Force, Magic and maybe a bomb, I’d say”

“Oh, yay, I love bombs.”

“What about the other servants and Lord Karnstein?”

“Well, the Lord is sleeping during the day, naturally. If you come during sunlight, he at least won’t surprise you somewhere. If you spill blood,” she looked at Regulus, “he might smell it though and rise.”

“So, the ancient, exceedingly powerful wizard-turned-Vampire-Lord doesn’t have a castle big enough not to notice when someone spills blood at the other side of the building? Loser.” Evan rolled his eyes and flipped his imaginary hair.

“You’re not taking this seriously enough. He is dangerous and the staff consists of people who adore him, want to be turned and would kill for him, and thralls, whose objective it is to kill for him.”

“And Blood fetishists,” Barty interrupted. “I assume a lot of his followers have a kink for having their blood sucked out by a Vamp. Which reminds me: Is he hot?”

“You did hear the killing part?”

“Yeah, sure, but we have the dangerous killer on our side.” Barty nodded toward Regulus. “As long as Potter isn’t there, I don’t see why we wouldn’t be able to kill everyone in our way and take the book.”

“The plan,” Regulus interrupted him, half mourning that he couldn’t throw his dagger at him in public, “is to get in and out quickly. You let us in. We get to the library, unseen, break in, break into the vault, get the tome, leave. Killing vampires is a bonus.”

“Ah, come on, admit it: You want to kill the vampire just because you can,” Evan winked at him.

 Pandora glared at her twin. “He is a dangerous and sadistic Vampire. The world would be better off without him, definitely. But it is too risky. In and out. During the day. Without him noticing – that should be the plan.”

Regulus’s attention was pulled to a movement by one of the windows. He glanced toward it, only seeing the last trace of a limping man with wild, blond-red hair.

“We should go. Talk about the rest later. And Panda, never insist on meeting in public again. James is in town, and he brought his auror friends. I think Alastor Moody just walked by.”

“What is he doing here? Is he following you now? You’ve tried to… you know.”

“Carve him open and decorate my bedroom with his organs? Well, he was never burdened with Intelligence, so who knows.” Regulus finished his coffee in one gulp and gestured at his friends to wrap it up.

***

It was noon and the sun sat high in the sky. Any Vampire not yet tired of life would be asleep at this hour. The human thralls roaming the castle, however, would be awake, cleaning and waiting for their master.

The floorplans Pandora sketched for them showed two entrances: the main doors and the servant’s entry. All others were bricked up and hidden.

They chose the servants' entry to circumvent the guards (and traps) at the main doors.

Pandora unlocked the small door for them and Regulus, Barty and Evan slipped into the castle.

All windows were either boarded up or, further into the castle, covered with heavy curtains.

They stood in a small servant's hall with a long table, covered in stains and holes. The walls were of naked brick safe for a crooked picture of a revered Lord sitting on a throne of bones. Low light came from wall-mounted candles, creating deep shadows in every corner.

“Disillusionment charms,” Barty mumbled, nodding at Evan. The two took their wands and with a flick camouflaged themselves.

Regulus picked a small vial out of his pocket and downed an invisibility potion.

Pandora took a deep breath and led them through the servant’s quarters. They passed a kitchen, where a hollow-cheeked man prepared the Lord’s next meal: Cut-up shepherd in his own blood.

Pandora took them up a narrow staircase and they emerged from an almost invisible door into a large hallway. The cold walls were decorated with amateur paintings, mostly of a thin man with white skin and long, dark hair. It was always the same man but in different clothes and eras.

The thralls of the Vampire Lord were mostly human. Some of them had an unhealthy attachment to Vampires and came here knowing well what they were doing and gladly turned themselves into a walking juice box. You couldn’t always cut up a shepherd, after all.

Others were lured here, trapped, and put under the Vampire’s influence, damned to do his bidding without thought or reason.

Then there was the third group of thralls, just two or three of them: Wizards. The Vampire Lord himself used to be a mighty wizard, hundreds and hundreds of years ago before he was turned. There was a lot of speculation about whether or not wizards kept their powers after being turned. Barty and Evan hoped not, Regulus felt rather indifferent about it.

The wizards who worked at the castle, mostly as guards, but also as assistants, still had their magic and their wands. Regulus was reminded of this when they, halfway to the library, walked into one of the servants.

He was carrying a heavy book and looked overall far more important than he probably was.

He stopped, and looked at Pandora, squinting. “Miss Lovegood,” he said. Pandora always used that name when she hid her identity. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on my way to clean the parlour, as it is my duty.”

He looked around the hall like he sensed something, a presence.

“I should be going,” Pandora said after a pause. “The master won’t like it when the parlour isn’t up to his standard, or is there something you need me for, Sir?”

“No, no, you shall go. Do as you ought to,” he said, eyeing the air around them.

Regulus stopped breathing. He reached to his thigh, clasping his hand around his dagger.

Pandora gave a little nod to the thrall and walked past him.

“Just,” he said when they were almost past him and Regulus stood behind him. “One thing: revelio.”

A wave of air passed over the boys and Barty and Evan became visible.

“Fuck,” one of them muttered.

“Intruders!” the thrall yelled, raised his wand and spoke an incantation none of them knew, likely to alert the others. He pointed his wand at the boys. “My Master will have fun with you. St-uh.”

The words died on his tongue.

Before he could finish his next incantation and before Barty or Evan could react, Regulus had snuck up behind him, pulled out his dagger and thrust it into his back.

The man mewled. Regulus pulled out the blade and thrust it in deeper, puncturing the lung. The man choked on his blood. He clawed at his throat. His wand fell to the ground.

“Shshsh,” Regulus whispered to his ear, pulling the knife back out, and stuck it into his throat.

He sank to his knees. Regulus held him and almost gently lowered him to the floor.

“Let’s go,” he said to his friends.

They didn’t get far. Just a few steps further down the hall, people came running towards him. One glance back said that the situation behind them was much the same.

“Fuck,” Evan said.

“Fuck,” Barty agreed and raised his wand. “Well, looks like we’re doing more fighting.”

“At least we won’t be bored.”

Barty levitated one of the thralls and smashed him into the wall. He fell slack to the ground. The painting above him fell and buried him beneath.

“Barty!” Pandora exclaimed. “Just stun them! Most of them are just human and don’t know what they’re doing. They have to respond to the call. Don’t kill them.”

Regulus didn’t have time to roll his eyes at her. One of the thralls dashed past him and lunged at Barty. Regulus only had time to throw his bloodied dagger toward him, perfectly hitting his right shoulder.

With a wand less accio he called the knife back and switched it out for his wand. He didn’t need to anger Pandora for no reason. She had taken out her wand herself at this point and stunned the servants coming towards them. Most were unarmed, just responding to an instinct artificially planted into their heads.

Pandora and Evan took the front and Regulus and Barty took the back as they made their way through the corridor. When one of the thralls got too close, Regulus took his knife and slashed her. If she hadn’t flinched out of the way, it would have gone quickly, almost painlessly. As she decided to move, Regulus didn’t quite catch her where he wanted and instead left her to slowly bleed out on the ground. Her blood was almost invisible on the dark carpet.

“Here it is,” Pandora panted, pointing at a large door at the end of the corridor. “That’s the door to the library and at the end of it, there’s the vault.”

They formed a circle, looking out for more thralls before trying the door.

For a moment it was empty. An eerie silence surrounded them, safe for the soft groaning of a dying woman down the hallway.

The library door behind them pulled open. Regulus turned to see which of his friends had done it but instead saw a tall woman in front of him. She had pinned up, golden hair and was clad in a dark ballgown with ripped lace and torn edges.

“My Lady,” Pandora gasped.

The Lady of the House, the Vampire’s companion, should have been out, according to Pandora’s scouting. She was a witch almost as ancient as her Lord, though she did not look it. While not a vampire herself, she sustained herself with wizard’s blood and youth rituals.

She clicked her tongue in a scolding manner. “You really thought you could just stroll into the abode of the mighty Lord Karnstein? You will pay for this.”

She raised her wand. She fired spells at them. Barty deflected. Evan answered.

“Crucio!” She yelled.

Pandora screamed.

Regulus took up his dagger again. He disapparated from his spot. Apparated right in front of her, and stuck the knife into her chest, piercing skin, tissue, muscle, heart.

He looked into her eyes. She saw nothing. She looked right through him in shock. He pulled the knife back out and pushed it into her eye until it pierced the brain.

The woman fell to the ground, leaving her gore on the blade.  

“Ugh.” Regulus shuddered and wiped it clean on her dress.

The hallway was bathed in silence again.

Regulus looked around, finding no one living or conscious.

“That was disgusting,” Barty said in a choked voice.

Evan tended to his sister.

“I’m fine,” she whispered, “Stop fussing. Help me up.”

She dusted herself off. Her hands were shaking and Regulus wanted to stab the woman again.

Pandora went past him into the library.

“So, we have to go through this, to the very back. There’s another locked door, a concealed hatch, traps, then the vault, it is locked.”

“Fun,” Barty half-laughed, still out of breath. He bent down to the Lady and searched her pockets for a key.

“What about the vampire?” Regulus asked.

“What about him?”

“He must have heard some of this commotion. The thrall didn’t just warn the other servants and the Lady. And even if, then he might wake up from the smell.”

“So? We don’t know whether he’s awake and as long as he’s not coming after us, I’d leave him be.”

“No, we have to kill him,” Regulus said. “What if he just shows up and we’re unprepared? Or he will come after us when he wakes up, finds his staff and lover slaughtered and his prized possession stolen. It’s too risky to leave him alive. We should go there now, hope he is still asleep, and kill him. The world’s not going to miss him: A Vampire Lord who is eating the shepherds.”

“It’s dangerous,” Pandora insisted.

“And what we just did wasn’t dangerous? Whatever, Barty, you go down and open every lock you can. Watch out for traps. We go upstairs and kill the vampire.”

“You can’t do that! First of all, Barty can’t do it alone, and second, we can’t just kill a vampire lord, the three of us. Are you insane?”

“Probably, yes. Then you go with Barty, help him with the traps and the lock. Evan and I go to the vampire.”

“Oh, Evan and I go to the Vampire? Have we asked Evan about this?” Evan said.

“Do you want to kill a Vampire Lord with me?”

“Absolutely. I’d just like to be asked first.”

“Wait, I want to kill a Vampire, too. Why am I on lock-duty?”

“Because you are our lockpick slash mad scientist?”

Barty crossed his arms like a petulant child. “Fine. But if I can open those locks with a simple alohomora, I’ll come find you and kill the vampire with you.”

“Right, if the mighty vampire lord hid his treasures behind a simple, alohomora-breakable lock, we probably won’t need you to kill him but you’re free to come.”

“Watch out for traps,” Evan said to him.

“Yes, yes, I know.”

“Last time you said ‘yes, yes, I know’ you burned off your eyebrows.”

“And you still shagged me, so… your point?”

“It was a pity fuck. Don’t do it again.”

Regulus shook his head. “Pandora, help him.”

“I will but I’m still against you going up there.”

“We’ll be fine. Potion’s still in effect?”

Evan nodded. “Do you have another for me?”

Regulus picked another invisibility potion out of his jacket and placed it in Evan’s open hand. “Told you potions are better than disillusionment charms.”

“Yeah, but it’s also freaky.” He downed the potion and vanished from sight. “Wish us luck guys, and don’t die.”

Regulus assumed he was doing finger guns. He always did that in situations of imminent death.

Barty and Pandora entered the library.

Regulus had studied the layout of this place from her sketches. He described the way to Evan so he could be sure they were taking the same path.

“I hate invisibility potions,” Evan whispered after a few steps. “Where the fuck are you?”

Regulus got close to the voice. “Extend your hand. Now say something.”

“I hate this.”

From his voice, Regulus gauged the position of his hand and then took it. “Here I am.”

“Aw, hand-holding? Watch out, Barty’s gonna get jealous.”

“Please, Barty’s not going to get jealous. He will haunt you for a threeway.”

“It’s not me who needs convincing for that.”

“Fuck off.”

They snuck through the hallways, up an ostentatious staircase with busts shaped like Lord Karnstein on the railing, arriving in his private quarters.

“You’d think his crypt would be underground,” Evan whispered.

“Well, when all the curtains are drawn or windows boarded up, why would you sleep in the basement if you could sleep in a grand bedroom in a castle?”

“Because sleeping in a coffin is cool. You know what I bet is really cool? Shagging in coffins.”

Regulus suppressed a sigh.

They finally arrived at a grand doorway, a dark wooden thing with golden embellishments and scrollwork forming vines along the edges.

“Okay, I get it now. But I’d still have a coffin in there.”

“Shut up,” Regulus hissed. “Let’s hope he’s still asleep. Then we’ll just knife him, stake him, whatever.”

“Do you have a stake?”

“Of course, I have a stake we went into a fucking Vampire’s den.”

“What do we do if he’s awake?”

“Uhm, hope he doesn’t see us and same plan?”

“Cool. …He won’t see us opening the door, right?”

“Oh, fuck it, just do it.”

Evan cast a silent alohomora and let the doors creak open. They slipped into the bedroom.

It was pitch black inside. The door fell shut, killing the last light in the bedroom.

In a glimpse, Regulus had caught a large bed, dark carpet and heavy curtains in front of the window. They didn’t even leave shadows or contours in the dark.

“I know you’re here,” a voice hissed. “I can smell you. Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Regulus held his breath.

“Eins, Zwei, Drei, Vier, Eckstein, alles muss versteckt sein… It’s very impolite, you know? Breaking into another’s home and being invisible when you meet the host. Don’t you think?”

Regulus tried to gauge the direction the voice came from, wondering if he could stab him in the dark. If he were to use a light spell, they might be able to see the Vampire, but he would know where they were, too, as though invisible, the light would break against their physical bodies and he could see where the light came from – the tip of a wand held in one of their hands.

He tip-toed through the room, begging not to walk into any furniture, or the vampire himself.

“Lumos Solem,” Evan’s voice came from the door.

A bright light crashed through the room, blinding Regulus. It was sunlight. The vampire hissed in pain. The room filled with the smell of burning flesh.

He couldn’t even catch a glimpse of him. With inhuman speed, he dashed through the room to where Evan was. He was still not visible, but the tip of his wand was, and the vampire could smell him.

“Evan, watch out!” Regulus called.

But the tall figure with his long dark hair falling into his pale face, sunk his sharp fangs into the air, where Evan was hiding.

Evan screamed.

Red blood splashed on the vampire’s robe.

For a split second, Regulus was frozen in shock, just staring.

Evan became visible, slowly fading into view, almost as if the potion was sucked out with his blood.

Regulus ran through the room. His boots were too loud, but the Vampire didn’t let up. His eyes were open, and he looked in his direction. If Regulus wasn’t mistaken, he was grinning while sucking Evan’s blood, almost as if he was taunting him with his friend’s nearing death.

Regulus took his dagger. “Let him go,” he growled and thrust the blade into his side.

He moved too quickly for Regulus to see, but he dodged the blade.

Evan’s wand fell to the ground. The light snuffed out.

Regulus took his own and recast the sunlight spell. The vampire used Evan’s body like a shield, still drinking his blood, killing him. All colour had drained from Evan’s face. He couldn’t even scream.

Regulus took a moment to memorise where he was standing. He snuffed out the light, dashed through the room until he was right next to him and recast the spell.

The sunlight hit the side of the vampire’s face and with a hiss finally let go of Evan. He fell to the ground.

“I said, let him go,” Regulus growled and pushed the knife into his abdomen.

The vampire grunted and laughed. “You think your little blades can hurt me? Me?”

Regulus reached into his jacket again, feeling for a metal vial. He uncapped it and threw the green liquid into the vampire’s face. The acid hissed and burned through his skin, eating through the cartilage of the nose and the tissue of the eyeball, leaving a gooey, bloody mess instead of a face.

He would likely regenerate, even if it took years. Without letting his eyes sway from the vampire, he reached to his boot, pulled out a wooden stake and thrust it into the Vampire’s heart. The thing blindly clawed at him with last strength. It spasmed and went slack.

Regulus didn’t take the time to watch him fall to the ground but rushed to Evan. His pulse was weak but present.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” he muttered. He pulled out a healing potion. “I must have, I must have, I must have.” He finally found a blood-replenishing potion as well. He dumped both of the liquids into Evan’s mouth. He held him upright so he would swallow. “Wake up you fucking bastard!”

He needed to get him to Pandora. If anyone, Pandora would be able to heal him.

He heaved his friend up, slung his arm around his shoulder to carry his weight and led him out of the bedroom. He accioed Evan’s wand to him and then, as a last courtesy, shot a fire spell at the dead vampire, ensuring he would never rise again.

He half-carried, half-dragged Evan back downstairs to the library.

He heard voices when he entered the vast collection of books and tomes. If he had more time, he’d take a day to rummage through all of it and steal them for his own collection.

He hoped Barty and Pandora were fairing better than them and had the book.

He stopped in his tracks when the voice became louder – it was neither Pandora nor Barty.

He looked at his unconscious friend. He couldn’t drag him into another fight, but he couldn’t just leave him here either.

He pulled him into the labyrinth of shelves and snuck to the back.

He leaned Evan against one of the bookcases and peeked around a corner.

Between the shelves emerged an iron-wrought gate, likely leading to the secret passageway. It was guarded by two men.

Were they men? They looked young. Too young. Boys. Teenagers. His age or younger. Hogwarts students? Maybe. Members of the Order of the Phoenix. They took them this young.

Regulus suddenly remembered that James was in town.

What was James doing here? James never came after him. Regulus was the one to stalk him, follow him, break into his room and try to murder him. Not the other way around.

James only left his home to go on missions with the Order or the Aurors – he also had aurors with him! Why would a mission for the Aurors or the Order involve this vampire lord? This library? This vault.

They were trying to get the book, were they? For what purpose? They would never use it. They would ban its contents. They would rather burn it than use it. They would do anything, anything, to stop who they deemed death eaters to get it.

Regulus tightened his fist around his wand. He didn’t make a habit out of killing children. He left that to the likes of Voldemort and Dumbledore.

He mumbled an incantation. One of the boys was hidden by a red light and fell to the ground unconscious.

The other one stared at his colleague in shock. He looked around and was about to call for help, when a similar light hit him, and he fell as well. They would wake up later.

Regulus took Evan up again and dragged him through the gate.

The hidden passageway was not hidden anymore. It was open and led to a metal staircase.

“Evan, if you wanted to wake up, this would be a good moment for that,” Regulus whispered to his friend. He didn’t respond. “Oh, you fucker. Your sister will kill me.”

He cast a disillusionment charm and silencing spell on both of them and tried to make as little noise as possible as he descended the stairs.

He expected another set of guards at the bottom but found none. Maybe they didn’t bring enough men.

He walked down a narrow corridor and ended up in a larger room, split in half by a wall and a metal door, previously held in check by massive locks and deadbolts. Now, it stood wide open and in it were Pandora and Barty with raised wands and a large tome tucked under Barty’s arm.

They had it.

This would all be well, except that they were surrounded by a half-circle of Aurors.

“Make this easy on yourself, boy. Give that thing here,” Alastor Moody said. He was an auror who was partially responsible for assembling the Order of the Phoenix and it was him, Regulus had seen outside the café yesterday.

“Fuck off,” Barty yelled, “You’re not getting this. We were here first, we did all the things, it’s ours. Just let us leave.”

“And let you just hand over a dangerous book of necromancy to a dark wizard who wants to kill all of us?”

Regulus knew that voice. He knew it too well.

James Potter.

And he stood almost directly in front of him. The gods did work in his favour sometimes.

With one arm still holding Evan, Regulus pulled out his dagger yet again and pushed it almost gently into James’s back. “We’re leaving with the tome, or you will die.”

“Ah, I was wondering where you were, Love,” James whispered. “Not a chance you’re getting that thing.”

“Except that we already have it.” Regulus pushed him forward. He put his arm around James, so the blade was at his throat. “You let us leave,” he said to the Aurors, “Or I kill your little golden boy.”

He dragged James and Evan to his friends with his back to them until he was close enough to disapparate.

The younger ones in the half-circle stared in horror and slowly lowered their wands. They were probably James’s old classmates, or even younger Gryffindors who looked up to him.

“Evan,” Pandora gasped.

Barty took him out of Regulus’s arms, so he had both free to hold James up like a shield.

“You let us go, I let him go. Or you make a fight out of this, and you have James-goo.”

“Regulus don’t do this,” James said. “You’re not getting out of this alive if you do this.”

“Au contrair. You’re not getting out alive if they do this.”

“Enough of your child’s-play,” Moody yelled. “You’re not leaving with that book!”

He didn’t say, “I don’t care whether you kill James,” but instead raised his wand and a red light hit James in the chest making him fall unconscious. It was almost worse than if he had just said it.

James almost fell out of Regulus’s arms, who had not anticipated the sudden dead weight.

He stared at Moody in shock. He just attacked his own man. For a book.

He felt a hand on him. Then the room went blurry and Pandora, Evan, Barty, Regulus and James disapparated.

Chapter Text

“You have a cut on your lip. Someone hit you. Oh, that’s right, I recall. You stood still and let him. Does it hurt?” – Captive Prince, 36

Dorcas Meadows hid in a house in the countryside, an abandoned shack on the property of a wealthy man who was too careless to do anything worthwhile with his land.

She kept a suitcase in her bedroom, which was just a room with a bed and a small dresser. Pandora had given it to her the day before. It was no ordinary suitcase, and while she didn’t want anything to do with it and would never enter it, she knew it led to a vast underground hide-out they called “The Bunker.”

The boys and Pandora had designed it in their second or third year at Hogwarts: The perfect hiding place from their parents with enough room for everything they needed and subsequently no need to leave. Ever. In their childhood fantasy, they had included a playroom and far too many secret passageways leading to slides. By the time they actually constructed it, it wasn’t about playtime or a temporary reprieve from their parents. It was a permanent home for the homeless, outcasts and runaways – for the deserters. Barty, Evan, Regulus and Pandora each had a room and a bathroom. They had a vast kitchen which always restocked itself, a living room, a private library, an infirmary and, their pride and joy, the laboratory.

In this laboratory, James Potter was bound to a chair.

Barty sat at one of his desks (he had three for different kinds of experiments), staring at the necromancy tome. As it was an ancient and powerful spell book, they couldn’t just open it. They should have known.

Barty might have gotten further in his endeavour of opening it if he hadn’t been distracted the entire time. Evan was still unconscious. Pandora was tending to him and had subsequently banned Regulus and Barty from her infirmary as punishment for their “reckless behaviour.”

Regulus sat in front of his desk. It was the neatest out of, well, everything in the bunker. James was propped up on his chair opposite from him. Being a piece of décor might be the first useful thing this bloke has ever done in his life.

Regulus had a heavy lead box in front of him. He levitated one of the objects out of the box: A silver locket with an emerald snake forming the letter S on the front. It belonged to no other than Salazar Slytherin himself, one of the founders of Hogwarts, School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and also the founder of Slytherin House. In conclusion: One of the first architects of Regulus’s damnation.

The other thing in the box was an ostentatious gold cup with a badger engraved on both sides. It had two handles making it look more like a trophy than a drinking cup. It belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, another lunatic with the idea of building a school for young wizard children but without the need to set them at war with each other.

“A good rivalry builds character,” his father had often said. This was before such a rivalry included his own son against him.

Regulus glanced at the door. He didn’t worry about Evan as much as Barty. He wouldn’t die. …He couldn’t die. He couldn’t lose another one.

Regulus smashed the box shut and levitated it to its usual spot in the cabinet, which then locked itself.

“Did you find anything about opening the book yet?” he asked.

Barty shook his head. “Doesn’t answer to any opening spell I know. That’s all I can say for now. How’s your new lamp doing?”

Regulus looked at James. “He’s not bright enough to be a lamp. He’s more like a pet stone. And still sleeping.”

The door to the laboratory opened and Pandora walked in. She had her long hair pinned up and her bracelets taken off.

Barty was instantly standing. “How is he?”

Pandora was biting her lip and looking from one boy to the other. “He… Well, he will be with us.”

Barty exhaled deeply and let himself fall on his chair. “Thank Salazar! When can I see him? Has he asked for me?”

“He’s not awake yet,” she mumbled.

Regulus frowned at her. “What do you mean he’ll be ‘with us’? What’s going on?”

She pushed the words around in her mouth and looked at Barty. “I… there is no way around him dying. He has lost too much blood.”

“What?” Barty whispered. “But you just said- “

“Will he turn?” Regulus asked.

“I think so, yes. Either he pulls through, which I doubt, or he will die tonight and wake up tomorrow as a Vampire.”

“Is there nothing we can do?”

“Kill him. Or let him turn.”

“No way we kill him,” Barty said quickly. None of them had considered it as an option anyway. “Fuck, if I could open this bloody book, maybe it had something in it to help and stop this.”

“Well, you have until tonight. Good luck. If we never went after it- “

“We need it,” Regulus said sharply.

“You need it,” Barty corrected him.

“Need it for what?” James’s voice joined them.

The man looked up at him, squinting without his glasses, and strained against his binds.

“None of your business.”

“Hey,” Barty called, “Do your people know how to open this shit?”

James ignored him. His eyes remained on Regulus.

Regulus picked up his glasses and sat them on his face. He should be able to grasp the situation in its entirety,

“Ah, there you are, Love. ...So, what’s the plan now? The others will look for me. How long do you think you can hide from the entire Order of the Phoenix and the Aurors?”

“Do I have to remind you that it was your people who stunned you when I threatened to kill you? I doubt they’re mobilising all forces to find you as we speak.”

“They wouldn’t give up on me.”

Regulus leaned to him until they were only a breath apart. “They already have, Love.”

He stepped back from the table and took his knife roll. He displayed it on the desk between them. “I have you all to myself and all the time in the world. Think of all the fun things we could do: I could drag out killing you for days.”

“Why haven’t you killed me yet? It must have been a while since we left Lord Karnstein’s castle.”

“I wanted you to be awake for this. I want you to feel every bit of it. You won’t live long enough to remember it, but it’ll be the last thing you know before you die. Isn’t that something?”

He took one of the daggers, a straight, shiny silver blade, with a green stone in the handle. Evan made it for him.

James’s eyelid twitched. He strained his arms against the rope holding him in place.

“Wait, Regulus, wait a second.”

“I think I’ve waited for long enough.”

“Just think about this for a moment. Is this really how you want to do this? While I’m bound and can’t even put up a fight? Sort of anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

“No, I think it’s just fine for my purposes.”

James stared at the collection of daggers.

“Think of Sirius,” he said suddenly, his eyes flicking back up to him. “He wouldn’t want you to-”

Regulus took the dagger, pulled James’s chair around and thrust it into his abdomen.

How dare he.

How dare he even mention his name?

James yelped in pain. Regulus has never come this far in his previous attempts.

He pulled the dagger back out, picked up his wand from his desk and healed him.

“I can do this all day if I want. I dreamt about bringing you to verge of death and pulling you back a thousand times, and then I will do it a thousand times more.”

James panted. His eyes were red with held-back tears.

“Listen, I- I could be an asset. A double agent or something. Clearly, loyalty doesn’t mean much to the Order. Don’t kill me and I work for you.”

“You wouldn’t. Loyalty means something to you after all, and you wouldn’t betray your people. We both know that.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“Regulus,” Pandora called from the other side of the room. “Can you come here for a moment, please?”

“I’m busy.”

“Please.”

“Yes, please, listen to her, Love.” James mumbled through his pain.

Pandora opened the door to the lab. Regulus wiped his blade on James’s face. “I’ll be right back.”

He left the room, gathering in the corridor with his friends.

“What?” Regulus barked.

“Reg, calm down for a moment.” She put her hands on his arms. “Breathe.”

“I don’t want to breathe. I want to kill him.”

“Think about it. He could be useful. If he is ready to help us-“

“He isn’t. He’s just scared. He doesn’t sell out his friends.”

“You might be able to convince him too actually do it. His people abandoned him, stunned him, would have let you kill him. Remind him of that.”

Regulus shook his head. “We don’t need him. Barty will unlock that book. Evan will recover one way or another. We are all we need.”

“Evan will need time to recover and then can’t do any daylight missions. We need help. What we’re trying to do – what you’re trying to do – can’t be done by us alone.”

“And you think James is the magic ingredient? He doesn’t have the stomach for this stuff. He’s too much of a goody-two-shoes for it. First chance he'd get a hand on that book, he’d burn it.”

“James has been one of the best in his year at Hogwarts. He fought with the Order of the Phoenix. They made him an auror without the formal training. He fought you-know-who personally.”

“Pandora’s right,” Barty said. “I hate to say it, but he would be an asset, and we can’t do it alone.”

“It took you long enough to accept our help. Don’t do the same mistake with him.”

Barty nodded. “Also, goody-two-shoes or not, if he knew what we are doing, all of what you’re doing, he’d help you. He was your brother’s best friend. If anyone, he’d help you.”

“It is his fault Sirius is dead !”

Regulus’s voice cracked, raw with fury. He clenched his jaw, stabbing the air with his dagger.

 “His fucking fault! I don’t want his help. I don’t need his help. I want him dead. I want to see his blood staining the floor, to carve him into pieces so small he could never be put back together. I want to feed his own flesh to him. I want to desecrate his corpse. Send his mutilated remains to his precious friends and family. I want to look into his eyes, and watch the light fade from them as I drive a knife through his heart. I want him to hang there, bleeding out over days, strung up above my bed so I can watch every drop of his miserable life drain away.”

His voice dropped to a venomous hiss. “But I don’t want his fucking help.”

Pandora wrapped her arms around him. It was weird to feel her warmth without the pressure of her bracelets against his back. Barty didn’t move or say anything.

When Pandora pulled back again, she cupped his cheeks. “My brother is dying as we speak,” she whispered. “Your friend. Your friend’s boyfriend. If James offers his support, we need to take it. …You can kill him afterwards. You can do every heinous thing you can think of if he missteps or after he has stopped being helpful. I’ll help you hide what will be left of him but please let him help us.”

“We can’t trust him,” Regulus whispered back. “Sirius trusted him. So many children at school trusted him and enlisted in the Order because of him.”

“He’ll pay for it. But make him pay for it last.”

The rational part of his brain knew that she was right. They needed more people. James was powerful. He would be a good asset. But Regulus couldn’t look at him without his anger overwhelming him.

Sirius’s body flashed before his eyes, grey, lifeless eyes staring up at him, his long hair surrounding him like a black halo. He was left on the battlefield with the other fallen when the Order had fled. James hadn’t thought to take him back. James hadn’t been there to look for him. 

Maybe it was the least he could do – help them in their plans. At least one part of his plan. He didn’t want him anywhere near the rest of it.

“Fine,” he said. “Fine. We use him like a tool, like a shield. We’ll set him to the test with the next Horcrux and if he doesn’t get himself killed maybe with the other ones too. But one misstep and I drag him back here and butcher him.”

***

Regulus led James through the bunker. “This is the kitchen. We eat together, but you don’t have to be part of it. I’d prefer it if you ate in another room than me, so I don’t have to throw up my dinner every day.”

“And what about the exit?” James asked. He held his stomach where Regulus had stabbed him before.

“Don’t get cocky,” Barty said. “If you try to escape, he’ll kill you.”

“Not for escapes. I just think taking a whiff of fresh air every once in a while, would be nice, mate.”

“Mate? Not Love?”

“Love is for the pretty boys with daggers.”

“No whiffs of fresh air for you,” Regulus said. “Through here is my library. It’s off limits for you. Same with the laboratory. In fact, you’re not going anywhere alone. Understood?”

“What about the bathroom? Are you going to watch me there too? Will you help me hold it?”

“No, but I might insert a catheter instead.”

James pulled a face.

Regulus stopped by another door and pushed it open. “This is the armoury.”

“The armoury? You have an armoury?”

“Who doesn’t?”

James stepped into the room. It housed his extensive dagger collection, as well as various swords, kukris, machetes, and combat knives. They also had a handful of guns. Regulus disliked using them. They were efficient but too loud for his purposes.

“What do you need all these muggle weapons for?”

“Magic can fail. Also, our opponents are usually wizards and witches. They know what we know. They expect it. They never expect me to stab them in the back. Literally and figuratively.”

“This is kinda cool,” James said. Then his face lit up, and he grinned, pointing at one of the daggers on the wall. “Hey, that’s the dagger you used when you first tried to kill me. Remember?”

 Barty frowned. “Is that a fond memory for you?”

“The one next to it is from when I first drew your blood.”

“I remember: London in May. Shakespeare Hotel. And is that the one you used when you first broke into my house? I had to get a new desk after that night.”

Regulus almost found himself smiling. He quickly wiped it off his face and called James out of the armoury. Barty gave him a strange look. “I’ll go check on Evan,” he mumbled. “I can’t keep watching… whatever this is.”

Regulus rolled his eyes at him and led James further down the hallway. The layout of the bunker was essentially a circle. While there was enough space for several rooms, and they even had the doors for them, only their rooms existed. The other doors were here to quickly conjure guest quarters if needed.

“I’ll place you next to my room,” Regulus said. “So, know that whatever you’re doing, I will know, and I will come and kill you if I don’t like it.”

“Did you put a peephole into the bathroom wall? If yes, tell me where so I can put on a good show.”

“You’ll know soon enough, when I shoot you through it.”

“Promise?”

Regulus unlocked a door and motioned James to enter. It was a barely furnished room with white walls and a simple door leading to the bathroom.

“You should contemplate your options for the future and who has betrayed you, whom you should help from now on and whom you should betray in turn. Should that be me, you will die. Pandora will bring dinner for you in a few hours, and tomorrow we have work for you.”

“What sort of work?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. Should you still be alive by then.”

***

Pandora, Regulus and Barty sat in the small infirmary – another bedroom with supplies for wound dressing and healing.

Evan lay in the bed in front of them. The colour was completely drained from his face.

His heart stopped beating an hour ago.

Barty and Pandora sat next to the bed on either side of him. Barty held his hand so tightly, that Regulus waited to hear the bones break. Pandora was twisting the ring on her forefinger.

“You’re sure he will wake up?” Barty asked.

“Yes.”

Regulus pressed his lips together. It wasn’t like her to answer in one-word sentences. She was worried, too.

“And we don’t have to do anything? Bury him so he can claw his way out, or something like that?”

“No.”

Regulus looked around the room. A book lay on one of the tables. He levitated it over to them. As expected, it dealt with Vampires and their conception. Pandora had marked some of the pages with coloured tabs. He skimmed the pages until he found marked paragraphs on vampire bites.

“ ‘When a human or wizard is bitten by a Vampire and dies because of it within 24 hours, they are likely to return as a Vampire of the same kind as their master.’ “

“Likely?” Barty repeated.

Regulus turned the page, finding several ways to increase or decrease the likelihood of undeath. Pandora had marked several things from drinking the Vampire’s blood to a quick death under the right moon.

Regulus closed the book again. They couldn’t do much more than wait, he supposed.

Pandora fell asleep from exhaustion soon after midnight. Barty held himself upright by sheer force of will, still holding Evan’s hand. Regulus had sat down too at this point.

“Reg, if he doesn’t wake up- “

“He will.”

“If he doesn’t,” Barty insisted, “You promise me that we- “

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, of course. If we figure out how.”

Barty nodded sharply.

He looked back at Evan, slightly easing the pressure on his hand and gently drawing circles into his skin.

“I haven’t told him I love him yet,” he mumbled. “Never feels right these days, you know? I’m not even sure when we went from fucking to boyfriends. Just one day, Pandora called me his boyfriend and he didn’t disagree. That was that.”

“Didn’t you want to be his boyfriend?”

“Of course I did. I do. It just felt so… anticlimactic. I wanted the ‘I love you’ scene to be bigger. And with our work it was never… you know, big enough. Also, since then we haven’t even talked about being boyfriends, we sort of just accepted that we’re together. It’s not like there’s anyone else around to date anyway.”

Another man might have been offended but Regulus and Barty had had a fling back in school until Regulus confessed that he didn’t have romantic feelings for him and likely never would. He was glad to have eliminated himself as a dating option, as it brought Evan and Barty together.

“You should tell him when he wakes up. Nothing is as romantic as near death, or so I’ve heard.”

Barty rolled his eyes. “You’re such a drama-queen. Of course, you’d find death and undeath romantic.”

“And you wouldn’t swoon if he was in this state because he protected you? Instead of us being dumb and too full of ourselves and wanting to take on a Vampire Lord for the sake of it?”

He shook his head. “As if I’m about to take romantic advise from someone who displays the daggers, he used to try to murder someone.”

“What does that have to do with romance?”

“Are you kidding me? You have a wall of anniversary daggers the way others collect keepsakes from dates, and he recognised them. I cannot recall what the daggers you threw at me looked like.”

“I don’t see your point.”

“Of course you don’t. You’re a fanatic. You’re so obsessed with your revenge and your other plans that your and other’s behaviour doesn’t even pierce your consciousness.”

“Maybe. But I’m getting results.”

“Yes, a knife collection and a living James Potter after almost a year of bi-weekly attempts to kill him.”

“Also, nine dead death-eaters, a blackmailed politician and a powerful tome of forbidden necromancy in our laboratory. Not to mention, a captured living James Potter.”

Barty rested his head on the pillow next to Evan. “Ev, wake up. He’s being weird and you need to make fun of him with me. Please.” He kissed his cheek. “Fuck me, I’m so tired.”

“Then sleep. I keep watch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, we have the blood here. I’ll be fine.”

Barty kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed, curling up next to his boyfriend. “He’s so cold,” he mumbled.

“And he will be… but at least he’ll live.”

He nodded slowly and tucked himself into his side despite the coldness. Regulus conjured a blanket and draped it over his friends.

Regulus almost drifted off to sleep a few times, jolting himself awake when he nearly fell from his chair.

He shook his head, hoping to shake the tiredness away. He dragged his hands over his face. When he looked up again, he was staring into a pair of strange, red eyes.

He was wide awake in an instant.

Evan was sitting up in his bed, one arm around Barty, who nearly fell off the edge. He was looking at Regulus confused. Two sharp fangs poked out of his mouth, puncturing his lip.

“Hey, Evan,” Regulus whispered. “Are you okay?”

He kept staring. Barty moved the tiniest bit and Evan’s eyes flitted through the room, from his sister over Regulus toward where they stored the blood until they settled on Barty.

His lips opened slowly, and he lowered his body to him, his eyes fixated on his neck.

“Ah, ah, ah. No biting people. You want blood? I have blood for you.”

Regulus accioed a large cup filled with pig’s blood. Evan snatched it out of the air, letting go of Barty in the process, and began to drain the cup of its contents.

Barty stirred awake from the movement and Regulus shook Pandora out of her sleep.

“Evan,” she gasped and threw herself on her twin.

She hugged him so his face was against her neck.

“No biting,” Regulus said again. "We have more blood if you need it."

Pandora pulled back from Evan and cupped his cheeks. “Evan, are you okay? How are you feeling? Do you recognise us?”

He stared at her for a moment, like he couldn’t comprehend her words.

“Thirsty,” he said finally.

Regulus brought another cup filled with blood.

They fed him all the blood they had and when he finally seemed satiated, he lay down again and fell asleep.

“Maybe we should lock him in,” Regulus said. “Just to be sure he doesn’t bite any of us. Tomorrow we can talk about what happened. He’ll have some questions.”

Pandora nodded quietly.

“I’ll stay,” Barty said.

“He’ll eat you. Literally and not in the way you like.”

He shrugged. “I stay. I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Regulus glanced at Pandora. “Fine. If he wakes up hungry, direct him to James’s room.”

Barty nodded absentmindedly and crawled back into bed next to Evan.

***

Regulus and Pandora were sitting in the kitchen having breakfast. They decided not to bother Evan until he wanted to see other people and join them of his own volition. James was still locked in his room.

“So, what comes next?” Pandora asked. The jam flew over the table and spread itself on her croissant.

“Barty won’t be able to open that book anytime soon,” Regulus said, holding up his cup so two sugar cubes could jump into it. “Back to the Horcruxes, I guess.”

“Do we know what the other Horcruxes could be?”

“Well, two have been relics of Hogwarts founders – Slytherin’s locket and Hufflepuff’s cup. It’s reasonable to assume that another two are objects belonging to Gryffindor and Ravenclaw.”

“It has to be the lost diadem for Ravenclaw,” Pandora smiled brightly. “Can you imagine if we found the lost diadem of Ravenclaw? I love that story. Do you think he actually found it?”

“I think he’s the type of person to seek out that thing and turn it into a cursed object just to be petty. So, yes, he found it because I would have found it too. The good thing is, if he did and hid it, it will be easier for us to find it again.”

“I annoyed our house ghost, Helena, a lot about that diadem when we were still at Hogwarts. She never said anything outright, but it sounded like she thought it might be in the castle.” Pandora pushed her empty plate away. It dutifully picked itself up and levitated to the sink. “What about the Gryffindor relic?”

“Well, there is the Gryffindor sword. It’s the only thing I can think of. Where it is and how we get to it? No idea.”

“We could ask James,” she said innocently.

Regulus didn’t bother suppressing his sound of disgust. “Ugh.”

“I thought we agreed to use the help he is offering?”

“Sure. James doesn’t even know what a Horcrux is. None of them do. None of them have any idea what we are doing and what we’re up against. They’re just fighting death eaters and duelling Voldemort for absolutely no reason.”

“We could explain it to him.”

“Ugh.”

“He might know about the sword, and he might be able to help us in getting the other Horcruxes.”

“Yes? How? How would he be helpful? He is untrained with muggle weapons, he is nearly blind, he is clumsy, he doesn’t know shit about the kind of dark magic we are dealing with, and he has never even heard of Horcruxes. And he is untrustworthy. We tell him about this stuff, and he will run to the Order with it.”

“And you don’t think the Order could use this knowledge?”

“No. Absolutely not. It requires subtlety and secrecy and a certain level of infiltrating and bendy morals. The precious, moral Order of the Phoenix is utter rubbish at all of these.”

“Still, James was a Gryffindor, so he might know something about the sword. He was also in the Order and an auror – so, he’s well-versed in all kinds of magic. He’s strong. He’s fast. Whatever we have to do to get the relics, he will be helpful.”

“If he decides to be.”

The door to the kitchen opened.

Barty walked in, still wearing his clothes from the day before. He stretched himself and yawned.

“Is there coffee? I need coffee?”

The coffee maker sprung to life and an overeager cup jumped out of one of the cabinets.

“Where’s Evan?” Pandora gasped.

As if on cue, Evan strolled in behind him. He was wearing a new set of clothes and seemed far too cheery. He went to his sister and kissed her cheek.

“Evan! How are you?”

“Ah, you know: Dead.”

“You’re not dead. You’re undead,” Regulus corrected him.

“Yeah, but the connecting feature is dead.”

“Oh, shut up, you didn’t want nor expect us to let you die, did you?” Barty said, sitting down with his coffee.

He looked at his boyfriend intently until Evan smirked and leaned down to kiss him.

“No, I know you’d miss me too much. So, is there any blood in this house or shall I snack on Potter? I’ve heard we captured him?”

“Right, you don’t remember that, do you?” Pandora asked while Regulus let a large cup of blood float to the table.

“Nah, I don’t remember shit. The last thing I know is going into a Vampire’s tacky bedroom and then being sucked – and not in the way I like it.” He winked at Barty. “Did we get that book at least?”

“Yes. But when we got back to the vault, the place was swarmed by aurors and Order members. We took James hostage and came back here.”

“Oh, do we get a nice show of you killing him? I get the blood.”

Barty grinned. “You won’t believe this: He’s our ally now.”

“Ugh,” Regulus made yet again. “No. We are using him to our advantage and physically, emotionally and psychologically misuse and abuse him in the process. You know, as a little treat for me.”

“Sounds fun. So, what’s next?”

“Nothing’s next for you,” Pandora said. “Evan, are you sure you’re okay? You died. You’re a Vampire. Do you understand? No sunlight, a blood diet, immortality. …Do you understand?”

Some emotion flicked over Evan’s face. It was gone as quickly as it came. He leaned back in his chair, shrugging. “Ah, come on, no reason to get emotional. I’m still here. Put me on night duty and give me a chicken farm so I can raise them for slaughter. We don’t have windows in this bunker anyway. No biggie.”

Barty wordlessly sipped on his coffee. Pandora and Regulus shared a glance.

“Come on now, people. We’ve got a war to win. What’s the plan?”

Out of all of them, Regulus was probably the last one who should lecture anyone about their coping habits. So, he did Evan the favour of changing the topic.

“You and Evan should research the tome and try to open it. Pandora and I will see if James can help us with the next Horcrux. I’ll get him. We can feed him while we explain all of this.”

“Try not to stab him on the way,” Pandora called after him.

Regulus took a deep breath in front of James’s door. Despite his verbal disagreement, he knew what an asset James could be. He could get them into places protected by the order, raising less suspicion than Pandora would. So, for now, Regulus’s motto was “Use him, then stab him.”

He reminded himself of this before unlocking the door.

He half-expected James to dart out of the room at the click of the lock, knock Regulus over and try to escape, but nothing happened. Regulus carefully opened the door into the room.

James sat on a wooden chair, his feet on the table before him, balancing the chair on its hind legs and a spoon on his nose.

Regulus cleared his throat. James looked down, losing control of the spoon and letting it fall to the ground.

“Ah, hey, Love. I was wondering when you’d let me out. I’m hungry.”

Regulus squinted at him. He stepped into the room and closed the door.

James’s behaviour did not make sense. What kind of captive was this unbothered? Yesterday, he saw a collection of displayed knives Regulus had used in his endeavour to murder him. And here he was, freshly showered, rocking a chair back and forth and playing with the cutlery from his dinner.

“What game are you playing?”

“Game? I don’t know what you mean.” He picked the spoon back up.

“Why are you like this? You’re in a secret location with people you deem Death Eaters and a man who is dead-set on killing you. The head auror gave you to me willingly, unbothered by your possible death. And you are calmness personified.”

James sat up straight. “I thought we came to an agreement yesterday: I will be your ally and help you with whatever it is you’re doing.”

“That switch-up happened suspiciously fast, too.”

“Yeah, you have trust issues. That’s a you-problem, Love. I’m ready to help you, just accept it.”

“You have no idea what we’re doing. We could be practicing vile, dark magic in support of Lord Voldemort. You’d aid us? No. I tell you what I’m thinking: All of this was a ploy. The Order planted you here to spy on us.”

He smirked. “The Order doesn’t think you’re that important. Moody wouldn’t know your name if your cousins weren’t involved with you-know-who. They don’t know who Evan and Pandora are.”

“But you do?”

“Of course I do. They were your friends at school. They’ve gone missing almost a year ago. Just like Mr Crouch’s son. Just like you.”

James reached into his trousers and placed an object on the table before him. It was a throwing knife from the armoury.

“Nicked that from you yesterday.”

Regulus stared at the blade. He prided himself on his keen mind and ability to notice the smallest movements, but he hadn’t noticed James getting close enough to one of the shelves and taking a weapon. He could have thrown it when Regulus entered the room. He could have hidden it and used it against him once they were out of here.

“I’m not useless, as you see. I wasn’t planted here, and I didn’t plan to be captured by you either but …I’m curious. I want to know what it is you four are doing, especially with that book.”

Regulus levitated the knife to him, out of James’s reach.

James nodded. “We’ve been playing a fair game, so far, haven’t we? You break into my rooms. You try to kill me. I fight you off. You leave. I keep to my routines. I don’t lure you into traps. I give you a fair chance to kill me and you give me a fair chance to escape. Why would I bend the rules now? When I say, I’m helping you, I mean it. If anything goes against my morals, I will try to escape. Will I then try to lead the Order or the aurors here to take you out? Maybe. Will I succeed? Probably not. You’re too good for that, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Let me be an asset to you. I don’t expect you to trust me, but I do expect you to be smart enough to use my abilities to your advantage. As you see, I can even steal from you without you noticing. Who else do you know who has accomplished that?”

He, unfortunately, had a point. Regulus rotated the knife in his hands.

“What do you know about Godric Gryffindor’s sword?” He asked.

James frowned at him. He pursed his lips and shrugged. “There’s a legend of it coming to a Gryffindor in a moment of need. It’s a goblin blade, made from pure silver with all the magical properties that comes with such a metal worked by such a bladesmith. Why?”

“Do you know where it is?”

“I do, yes. Why?”

“Don’t ask questions. Where is it?”

“Last seen it in Dumbledore’s office safeguarded by magic locks and traps.”

“Why would it be in his office?”

He shrugged.

Voldemort wouldn’t hide a Horcrux on display in Dumbledore’s office. They were a wicked invention, imbued with such dark magic, that it affected the minds of the people who were around it for too long. While Regulus thought of Dumbledore as an evil mastermind in disguise of the harmless, dotty old man, he assumed there’d be more overt signs of Horcrux poisoning if he had one in his office.

They should take it, nevertheless. He’d rather steal one useless relic too many than miss out on a Horcrux.

They had to go to Hogwarts anyway. The house ghost of Ravenclaw thought the diadem might be there.

Regulus didn’t want to mention it in front of Pandora, but he knew that if anyone knew about hiding places around the castle, it was James. He, Sirius and their silly friends formed a gang back at school, The Marauders. They gave each other silly little nicknames and jumped about the forest as animagi, but they also created one very useful item: A Map showing every inch of Hogwarts and every person in it.

“Do you know of a hiding place at Hogwarts? If someone were to hide his most priced possession and wanted to ensure that no one ever stumbled upon it by accident, where would they put it?”

James seemed far less confused by this question and all the more eager to answer. “Depends, what’s the size, are we hiding or seeking, and should it be easily accessible to the one who hides it?”

“Small, like a diadem, a headband. Someone hid it, possibly in the castle, and doesn’t want it to be found. I don’t think it was important to him to get to it either.

He pondered this. “Well, there’s the come-and-go room.”

“The what?”

“It’s a secret room and it changes shape depending on what you need – from a toilette to a secret love nest.”

“I don’t want to know how you know that.”

James winked at him. “If you need a good hiding place, however, the room becomes the Room of Many Things.” He wiggled his fingers in the air. “It’s basically a giant boxroom housing everything that has ever been lost or hidden at that school. We theorized that it was the default version of the come-and-go room. It is so full of stuff that you could hide a boat in there and would need three days to find it again.”

Regulus nodded to himself. If all of this was true and James would lead them to that room and maybe help him break into Dumbledore’s office, he might be a valuable ally after all. For a short time, at least.

“Fine. You’ve earned yourself the right to leave this room and have breakfast.”

He clapped his hands and jumped up from his chair. “Finally. I’m starving in here.”

***

Regulus decided against clueing James in on the Horcruxes just yet. They further decided that James, Pandora and Regulus should go alone, while Evan and Barty worked on the necromancy tome.

“Here are some ground rules,” Barty said while Regulus stocked up his collection of poisons and potions hidden in his clothes. “You and Pandora can walk around Hogsmeade and Hogwarts undisturbed, Regulus can’t. So, your role in this whole thing is to help Regulus. Got it? You’re his new bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” James asked, mouth filled with scrambled eggs. “He’s a fucking assassin, I should protect people from him not the other way around.”

“You are to make sure that he isn’t seen or gets hurt. You’ll help them find the relics we need, and if you alarm anyone, give a secret sign, pull attention to yourself for no reason, it’s not just that Regulus will kill you, you should also remember that we know where to find your family. Your little hiding spells have been useless ever since the first time Regulus found your house.”

James glanced at Regulus and then gave his full concentration to his breakfast. The man was eating like they didn’t give him dinner.

“And what will you do to not be seen, this time?” James asked.

“I have my ways.”

“Good thing I like it when pretty people are being mysterious.” He pointed his fork at Regulus. “And what’s my cover story? Last time people saw me, I was kidnapped by the four of you and now I’m waltzing around Hogwarts with Pandora Rosier?”

“How about you try not to get roped into conversations where you’d have to explain things? We’ll call this an exercise in subtlety and secrecy. One your secret organisation could have used at some point.”

“Okay, I guess I just improvise.”

Regulus turned to his friends. “Scarier words have never been spoken.”

When James finally finished eating, Pandora bound a scarf around his head to prevent him from seeing the exit of the bunker. They couldn’t apparate into this little pocket dimension, so they had to leave the suitcase and apparate from Dorcas’s bedroom.

They arrived in a dark alley behind a pub in Hogsmeade. Pandora untied the scarf and James took a deep breath.

“Don’t be dramatic. The air in our bunker is fine.” Regulus said. “Now, concentrate. Remember the plan: Through Hogsmeade, to Hogwarts. Normal walking style. Don’t draw attention. Once we’re in the castle you take us to that Room of Rubbish.”

“Room of Many Things.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Just for the record: I’m not getting my wand or a weapon, do I?”

Regulus shot him a long look. “I know you’ve never been burdened with intelligence but not even you could be that delusional. Unless you expect us to run into a fight.”

“Nope. Well, then let’s go.”

Regulus nodded to Pandora. Then, he shifted and warped his form until he sat at James’s feet as a pitch-black cat.

“You’re an Animagus?” James exclaimed.

Regulus rolled his eyes as well as he could and turned to leave the alley.

“Wait, let’s not use the main way to the castle. I know another path.”

“Another path?” Pandora asked. “Oh, is this one of the hidden passageways Regulus talked about? Does that mean you really have that map?”

“We don’t have the map anymore. Lost it in our last year at school. Well, not so much as lost as it got nicked by Filch. But yes, a secret passageway from Honeydukes into the castle.”

“You must tell me everything about the magic you used on the map later. Ever since Regulus told me about it, I’ve been trying to figure out how you did it.”

“Sure. If he lets me live long enough.” James pointed down at Regulus.

He led them through the busy streets of Hogsmeade to Honeydukes, a shop filled to the brim with sweets and chocolates. Pandora quickly took a bunch of red lollipops in passing and slipped them into her bag. They were blood lollies, if Regulus wasn’t mistaken.

James led them to the back and, in an unobserved moment, led them downstairs into the basement. A secret hatch and a long tunnel later, they emerged inside the Hogwarts castle from a statue.

“Tata,” James exclaimed, extending his hands and twirling around like he built the castle from scratch.

Regulus jumped on his foot and pushed his claws into his leg to shut him up.

“Ow! Bad kitty.”

Regulus bit him.

“Stop fighting,” Pandora scolded them. “Let’s go to that room.”

It was either a weekend or in the middle of class time. Either way, the halls were almost empty. They managed to walk upstairs without drawing attention.

James finally came to a stop in front of a blank wall.

“Here we are.”

Regulus shifted out of his cat form.

“That’s a wall.”

“Or is it?” James asked, grinning, and walked along the length of the wall.

“Yes, I’m positive that this is a wall.”

James walked back and then to the other end again. “Look again, Love. Can’t trust those pretty eyes of yours at every first glance.”

“Right now, I’m seeing a dumb wanker about to be stabbed again walking in front of a wall.”

James paced back and forth again. Finally, he stopped in front of Regulus, still with that obnoxious smirk on his lips. “Guess again.”

Regulus opened his lips to answer when the wall beside him began to quake. The stones shifted and rotated out of the way, revealing a door.

“You were saying?”

“I said, I’d stab you.”

James chuckled and, with a grand gesture, opened the door.

Behind it lay a room filled and filled with rubbish. The objects ranged from dice over books to broken bed frames, all piled on top of each other, forming towers twice as tall as Regulus and shaping a labyrinth of forgetfulness and dirt.

“Oh, fun,” Pandora said, and, sadly, meant it. “It will be like digging for treasure.”

“Can’t you just use accio?” James asked.

Regulus knew it wouldn’t work but still indulged James. “Accio Diadem of Ravenclaw.”

Nothing happened.

Pandora shrugged. “Okay. That settles it. Either it is what we think it is, or it is just not here.”

“Yes, or both,” Regulus mumbled. “Fine. Let’s go. You go left, James and I go right. Let’s see who loses their will to live first. Bet it’ll be me.”

Pandora grinned, wished them good luck and then took off.

Regulus sighed, waved James to him and walked in the other direction.

“So, we’re looking for the Diadem of Ravenclaw? Isn’t it lost? As in, really lost?”

“We think it was hidden here. Now, shut up and search.”

They walked along the piles and walls of lost ties and unreadable books, looking for either a silver and sapphire crown or a box big enough to house it. Regulus found several such boxes, but in it chocolate frog card collections and discarded underwear (each with a little tag and a girl's name on it.) (Regulus decided to use a cleansing spell on his hands after that one.)  

James has tried to start several conversations about books, school or why they were seeking the diadem. Regulus didn’t bother answering.

“You know, you’re not up to date on my family,” he said after two hours. “Maybe you’d like to know this for future threats. They, uhm, they died. Both of them. Recently.”

Regulus inspected a blue headband and then threw it away.

“It was a tough year for them,” James said. “I think they died of a broken heart, you know?”

“Shut up, James,” Regulus mumbled and kept walking.

“Because of Sirius, I mean.”

“James.”

“They loved him like a son. It hit them really hard when- “

One of the towers next to them came crashing down, burying James beneath books, boxes and broken chairs.

“I said, shut up,” Regulus yelled.

James pushed the rubbish away from him to sit up.

“I just- “

“You have no right to talk to me about Sirius! He was my brother! Mine! And it is the fault of you and your family that he is dead!”

For the first time, Regulus saw James get angry.

His eyes flashed with such rage that it sent a surge of heat through Regulus's body. He grabbed a thick book and hurled it at him.

“I didn’t kill him! I and my parents took him in when your family threw him out of the house! Your family made him homeless and your fucking death eaters killed him! Your people, not mine!”

Regulus lunged forward. He pinned him to the floor with all his weight, pushing him back into the pile of rubbish. He pressed his knees into his arms, straddling his chest. His hand slammed down on James's throat, fingers tightening around his neck, his dagger hovering over his face. He leaned down until they were only a breath apart, he wanted to see it in his eyes when life ran out.

James didn't submit to him. His broad chest heaved beneath him as he struggled, muscles flexing under the pressure. There was a fire in his eyes - rage burning him up on the inside, a feeling Regulus knew all too well. It was finally enough for James to use his full strength against him. He forced his arm up, pushing his knee away. Regulus almost lost his balance at the sudden jolt, loosening his grip around his throat and holding himself up by digging his fingertips into his shoulder.

“Let me go! You know it’s true! You know!” James spat, grabbing his waist to shove him off. His fingers pressed against his thin shirt into his skin.

Regulus slammed the knife down. James jerked his head out of the way. The knife pierced the book next to him.

James let go of his waist and reached for the debris around them. His hand closed around something big and heavy enough to hit him with. With a grunt, he lifted a wooden box and was about to bash his head with it, it suddenly fell open and the contents slipped out: An ornate, silver diadem, glittering with blue sapphires.

Regulus and James froze, staring at it in surprise.

James's hand was still raised with the box, ready to smash it into Regulus, who had his dagger just inches away from his face. He could still feel the point where James had grabbed his waist, no doubt leaving bruises. His hand had slipped from James's neck past the collar of his shirt. He left deep scratches on his skin.

“What are you doing!” Pandora’s voice appeared behind them. “Let go, both of you!” She took the box from James’s hand and pulled Regulus up.

James let himself sink into the pile of rubble, panting heavily.

“What happened?” Pandora asked.

Regulus ignored her and grabbed the diadem.

“Nothing,” James grumbled and pushed himself back up. “Is that the thing? Can we go now?”

She kneeled down by Regulus’s side and inspected the diadem.

“I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “It’s so beautiful… Is it…”

“We’ll see when we’re back in the lab. Let’s get the sword and go back home.”

She pushed the diadem into her bag.

“The sword? You want to steal the fucking sword, too? You can’t do that!”

“Yes, we can.”

“No! It’s a Gryffindor relic. I won’t let you take it until you tell me what is going on!”

“I need it.”

“For what?”

“For cutting your stupid, loud-mouth head off!”

Pandora stepped between them. “James, we can’t tell you until we know we can trust you. Just believe us that this very important – fate of the world kind of important. Besides, if you aren’t trustworthy, you would have already seen too much and we would have to kill you. So, you might as well cooperate.”

James closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Then another.

And another.

“If you want to get into Dumbledore’s office, we need the map. It is enchanted to show the secret passwords for all entrances – common rooms and offices alike.”

Without further discussion, Regulus shifted back into his cat form, and they made their way to Filch’s office. Hiding behind a corner, Pandora sent a jolt through one of the decorative armours near the office. As if he had been waiting for an excuse to scold someone, Filch darted out of his office to inspect the disturbance. Pandora led him further down the hallway, by pushing over more armour. In his haste, he had let his door open just a smidge – which was enough for Regulus to slip inside. James followed him, while Pandora followed Filch to rope him into a conversation. They found the map in a locked drawer, which James could alohomora even without a wand in hand.

“Dumbledore’s not in his office,” James whispered as the three stood by a large gargoyle. He held the map in his hands, which was up so high, that Regulus could just scowl at him. “There’s the password.”

Pandora leaned over his shoulder. “This is amazing,” she whispered. “I’ll stand guard down here. You should leave this with me.”

James looked like he wanted to protest but Regulus jumped and dug his claws into his leg.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth and handed the map to Pandora. “Just… be careful.”

“Sure. Go up and take your time.” Pandora said, already nose-deep into the map.

Regulus pushed at his leg until James finally went up to the Gargoyle and said the password.

The thing jumped aside, revealing a spiral staircase. Once they were in front of the office, Regulus shifted back.

“I’ll put a sleeping spell on the portraits,” he whispered, “only then you come in. Understood?”

He nodded begrudgingly.

Regulus opened the door just far enough to reach inside and cast the charm. A quick peek inside assured him that they would have no witnesses. He waved James inside.

Without another word or a glance, James strutted past him to Dumbledore’s desk. A silver sword, with egg-sized rubies in the hilt, hung on the wall behind it.

James reached out to it. “It’s magically protected. It’s supposed to come to a Gryffindor in need.”

“You’ve always been in need of brains and character. Take it.”

James inhaled deeply, his chest rising as he pulled the sword from the wall. “Maybe I need it to defend myself from you,” he growled.

Regulus raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “With a sword? Don’t embarrass yourself. You can’t even use it properly. Look how you’re holding it, you wouldn’t be able to swing it properly. It'd be like watching a Hufflepuff try to duel.”

“Can’t be too hard. I’ll just swing it and hope to catch a snaky arsehole.”

Regulus spread out his arms, offering his body. “Give me your best shot.”

James weighed the sword in his hand, tightening and loosening his grip. The muscles in his arms flexed as he looked Regulus up and down, gritting his teeth.

If he had a brain – and Regulus wasn’t entirely sure he had – and debated whether or not to attack him, the brain lost the fight.

With a low growl, James darted forward, swinging the sword with all his strength. Regulus didn’t move until the blade came close enough almost to graze him. He stepped aside and the sword found no mark.

Before James could even raise it again, Regulus was behind him. He wrapped his arm around him, pressing James's forearm into his side, and sprawling his hand out against his chest, pushing him back against Regulus's body. With the other hand, he held his dagger up to his throat.

“That was embarrassing,” he breathed against his neck. His lips almost brushed against his skin. “Don’t try it again, you’ll only hurt yourself.”

James tightened his jaw. The sword dropped to the floor.

Regulus removed his dagger and his body from James and stepped back. When James didn’t move, he picked up the sword instead.

“Time to go back,” he said, and James followed him without a word but anger-reddened cheeks.

***

When they returned, Regulus and Barty sat down in the laboratory to examine the founders’ relics. As Pandora and Evan didn’t want to babysit James, they got stuck with him.

“This is definitely one,” Regulus said, levitating the diadem.

Pandora had created spells and potions for them to work with cursed objects and Horcruxes. Regulus didn't need them. He had worked with Voldemort before everything fell apart. He was his student, his protegee. He knew the dark arts better than he should and was tuned into their aura more than his friends. This one pulsated with dark magic. Regulus’s fingers tremored, even when he wasn’t touching it.

He accioed the lead box and carefully tucked the diadem inside.

“The sword isn’t,” Barty said, picking at one of the rubies. “It’s literally just a sword. Pretty though. Maybe we can pawn it.”

“Pawn it?” James exclaimed.

“Or at least get the rubies out and sell them.”

“Fuck no. That is the Sword of Godric Gryffindor! You can’t sell it or pawn it or dismantle it. Are you insane?”

“Yes, but that’s unrelated.”

“That’s enough. I demand to know what all of this is about. Now.”

Barty laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so silly. Sit down.”

Regulus didn’t find it amusing. There was no reason for James to be free-roaming. He was seeing things he didn’t understand and now he was demanding.

Barty looked at Regulus. “Hey, James, what languages do you speak?”

“English?”

“That can’t be all. Don’t prove his claim of your stupidity.”

“English, Spanish and enough Welsh and Portuguese to get me by. Some Italian, too, but just the words that are similar to Spanish.”

Barty nodded and then switched to German when he said. “Maybe we should tell him about all of this.”

“Nein.”

“Come on, Reg. He helped getting these, didn’t he? We could use him in finding the rest and destroying them.”

“He swung that sword at me and tried to beat me with a box.”

“Yes, but that’s your love language, isn’t it?”

“Fick dich.”

Barty smirked. “We can use him. And let’s be honest your other plans will require someone dumb and reckless enough to help you. He might even want to do that.”

“I don’t need his help.”

“You need to use someone as a shield to die in your place during your stupid and reckless moments.”

Regulus glanced at James, who was evidently unhappy with being left out of this conversation.

“I want nothing to do with him that doesn’t end with his head on a platter.”

Barty clicked his tongue. “So? You can always kill him after he stopped being useful. I’m just saying: Next time, I’d prefer it if your boyfriend was turned into a Vampire, not mine.”

Regulus threw a pencil at him. “Not my boyfriend. Erzfeind.”

“Arch-nemesis. You’re so fucking dramatic. I’ve had it. We’re telling him about the Horcruxes.”

The rational part of his mind knew that Barty was right. They needed more men. Also, better James got hurt than them.

They switched back to English and turned to James.

“We decided to tell you what we’re doing,” Barty announced. “Reg, take it away.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Fine. James, have you ever heard of a Horcrux?”

“A what?”

“A Horcrux. It is a dark object. So dark, that it is forbidden to make, and the knowledge is almost unobtainable for anyone who doesn’t have it already.”

“What does it do?”

“Makes you immortal.”

James’s brow furrowed. His hand slowly crept to his jeans where he usually would have kept his wand.

“You tear your soul apart and hide a piece of it in an object.”

“Tear your soul apart? How?”

“Murder. As long as these are in tact, as long as pieces of your soul are out there, you can’t be killed. If you had a horcrux and I destroyed this body, you would not die.”

James’s eyes wandered to the sword. His view of the world, like most wizards on his side of the war, was black and white. He, the Gryffindor Head Boy, Member of the Order of the Phoenix and auror, was the good guy. The hero. Regulus and his friends were Slytherin Death Eaters. Evil incarnate. He came to the only logical conclusion. “Are you trying to make…”

“No. When I became a death eater, Voldemort took an interest in me. I became his student. I was granted access to his library and was taught by him in the dark arts. In his notes, I found several pieces of writing regarding immortality and horcruxes. He has made himself immortal by hiding pieces of his soul in these objects: Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, Ravenclaw’s diadem. It’s not all but they’re all we have found so far.”

“And you’re seeking them because?”

“We will kill Voldemort.”

James’s head shot up. His face jumped between confusion, surprise and disbelief.  “You’re what?”

“We will destroy the Horcruxes, make him mortal and kill him.”

James blinked at him, then looked to Barty as if he waited for him to start laughing and reveal their real, vile plans.

“You’re serious about this.”

“Deadly.”

“But you are death eaters. You want Voldemort to succeed.”

“Evidently not,” Barty said. “You alright there? Have we destroyed your view of good and evil?”

James looked from one to the other as if an explanation would emerge from their heads.

“I just don’t get it. Why were you against working with me? Why aren't you working with the Order? We have the same goal!”

“Your order is useless. You can’t even do the secret part of secret organisation. You’ve been senselessly trying to fight Voldemort for years and even if you succeeded, it would not kill him. Your people think you’re stopping something, but you don’t even understand what is happening behind the scenes. They are playing you for fools.”

“If you had shared your knowledge with us-”

“Why would I? So, you could recruit more children and send them to die on the battlefield? Besides, Voldemort is just one of the people on my kill list and the Order won’t support the others.”

James crooked his head to the side. “Am I on that list?”

“You’re at the very top.”

He pouted theatrically. “Sad. I do so very like having pretty boys on top of me. Can you arrange that, Love?”

Regulus arched an eyebrow at him. “I think it’s time for you to go back to your cell. You’re getting far too comfortable again.”

“You’re a little killjoy.”

“Yes, and you’re a massive wanker. Up you go.”

He stood up and led an unwilling James back to his room.

“Can I at least have like a book or something? I’m bored in here.” He said in the door.

Regulus clutched his chest in astonishment. “You can read?”

James tried to glare at him, but his mouth twitched treacherously.

Regulus conjured a red and green bouncy ball in his hand and threw it into the room. It jumped from the floor to the wall, bouncing off it and against the bed frame.

“Go fetch. Pandora will bring dinner later.”

He closed the bedroom door and locked it.

Chapter Text

“ Whatever taint exists in my family, [He] was free of it.” – Prince’s Gambit, 244

The next morning, Regulus allowed James to have breakfast with them. He unlocked his door in the morning and escorted him to the kitchen.

Barty was cooking, while Pandora set the table.

Evan was standing by the fridge, sucking on a straw in a large cup filled with blood. This wasn’t the peculiar thing. His entire skin, from head to toe, was covered in glitter. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only loose-fitting grey joggers and Regulus wondered whether he had also put the glitter on the covered areas. Then he decided that he didn’t want to know.

Regulus and James stood speechlessly by the door.

“Morning,” Pandora sang when she saw them. “Oh, you’re joining us, James? How nice. Tea or coffee?”

James was staring at her twin open-mouthed, deaf to the question.

Regulus cleared his throat. “Evan, what the fuck?”

“Do you like it?” he gave them a little twirl. “I’m trying to find my identity as a Vampire, so I’m just trying out some things. Look.” He made a broody face and pursed his lips. “This is the skin of a killer, Reggie.”

He and Barty burst out laughing.

“You look like a stripper.”

Evan put the cup aside, got behind Barty and moved his hips back and forth, grunting a beat. Barty laughed and joined in, adding more noises while Evan danced around him.

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose.

Looking up at James, he found him smiling warmly at the scene.

“Your choice of friends is… interesting,” he whispered and watched the idiots with something like nostalgia. Something about it sent a sharp pain through his chest.

“Let’s just eat,” he muttered and took the frying pan from Barty.

“So, you’re officially part of the team now?” Evan asked when they all sat at the table.

“No,” Regulus said.

“You wound me, Love.” James pouted theatrically and Regulus let a sugar cube throw itself at his head. “I was wondering: How is the Necromancy tome you stole going to help us with the Horcruxes?”

“It’s for something else. If something about the Horcruxes was in it, that would be great, but it wasn’t the reason to getting it. Barty, did you get anywhere with it yet?”

Barty nodded and hummed through a mouthful of eggs. “I identified some of the warding spells and curses on it. I’m working on them, but it will take some time.”

“Then what do you need the tome for?” James asked, frowning at the body glitter in his breakfast.

“Private reasons. If you ask again, I will cut out your tongue. Now, eat your glitter-eggs.”

James looked like he wanted to ask again just to test him, but, in a rare moment of sanity, decided against it.

“What about the other Horcruxes?” He asked instead. “How many are there?”

“Regulus thinks there are seven in total, including Voldemort himself,” Pandora said. “Seven is an important number in Numerology and it’s more than a single person has ever made.”

“We thought he would have used one relic per Hogwarts Founder, but since he hasn’t used the sword, and I can’t think of any other Gryffindor relics, we assume the other three are personal objects.”

“Sounds logical. Well, who is he really? His real name isn’t Lord Voldemort, right? We can’t search for his personal things.”

“We don’t know,” Pandora said.

“If we find out who he really is, we might find objects connected to him he might have used as Horcruxes.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Wow, such a good and unprecedented idea. Would have never occurred to me. Now, do tell me where to get that fucker’s name.”

“Since three of the Horcruxes are connected to Hogwarts, he might have been a student there.”

“Yes, along with a thousand others. We don’t even know his age. We can narrow down his identity to ‘male Hogwarts student of the 20^th century.’ Excuse my lack of excitement.”

James nodded slowly. “He was likely a Slytherin.”

“Why, because all of us are evil by default?”

“Yes,” he said cheekily. “But also, he recruited from your house and uses a lot of snake imagery. So, like… that’s what I would do if I were a Slytherin maniac.”

“People take those houses too seriously,” Pandora said. “It’s just school. It’s not the end of the world and it doesn’t, or shouldn’t, determine your entire future. Imagine, you’re trying to get a job and are told ‘no, we don’t take Gryffindors as Healers because they’re too reckless.’ It’s an arbitrary sorting system that is supposed to instil camaraderie within a house and rivalry between it and the others, determined by baseless presumptions of an eleven-year-olds personality. You are identified with one group and othered by the rest which determines your entire future at said school and actively prevents you from branching out of your assigned social circle.”

James blinked at her. “Okay... I still think he was a Slytherin. So, why don’t we ask Dumbledore or Slughorn whether they remember a Slytherin student with a particular interest in the dark arts?”

“Because, the moment I lie eyes on Dumbledore, I will stab him in the face, not swap stories.”

He looked at Regulus in confusion. “Dumbledore? Why would he be on your list?”

“He built that stupid Order.”

“The Order that is trying to safe muggleborn wizards and witches, and fights death eaters? What a grievance.”

“He recruited his own students from the classroom into a war. He lets children duel Death Eaters. When they die, it’s because Dumbledore put them there like nameless pieces on a chess board.”

Like Sirius, Regulus didn’t say. He didn’t need to. He could see how the words reached James anyway. He averted his eyes.

After pushing his breakfast around on his plate for a few minutes, he mumbled, “There’s a Room of Records. They keep the old files and school records there. We can search for students who could have become you-know-who.”

Pandora squealed with excitement, cracking the tension. She ran out of the kitchen and soon returned with the Marauders’ Map. “Show me!”

As they didn’t want to give James a wand yet, he had to teach Pandora the incantation the day before. He spread out the map on the kitchen table and showed her the Room of Records.

“We already broke into the school yesterday,” Regulus said. “We can’t do it twice in a row. It’s too risky.”

“Too risky?” Barty asked, twirling his glitter-covered fork between his fingers. “When we got that tome of yours, I remember you taking a couple of unnecessary risks.”

Regulus crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You don’t think the Vampire would have come after us if we had let him live?”

“It was an immense risk going up there, only the two of you at that. You might as well take a risk for our shared goal not just your own.”

Before Regulus could argue that Evan had been very willing to fight Lord Karnstein, James said, “I could go alone.”

“No,” Barty and Regulus said in unison, not bothering to look at him.

“He’s right. It’s too risky,” Pandora said, “And being risky once doesn’t mean you have to be it every time you can just to be fair. We have to do research on how to destroy the Horcruxes anyway, while Barty tries to open the tome. You could show James your library.”

Never in a million years would he let James Potter enter his library.

“Fuck it, Potter, you and I are going back to School and steal some files.”

***

Regulus insisted that they wouldn’t stay long at Hogwarts. In, steal all appropriate files, and out. They didn’t have time to sit down for ten hours and decide which bloke might have turned into a dark wizard on the spot. They could do that at home – in the lab, not the library.

“Regulus, can I ask you something?” James asked when they were in the Room of Records.

Regulus was looking through the files of male Hogwarts students from the beginning to the middle of the 20^th century. James stood by the cabinets next to him, searching for male Slytherins who attended Hogwarts from the middle to the end of the century.

“You already did, and I have this strange suspicion that I won’t be able to stop you from asking another.”

“What did your friend mean when they said you took risks when they were on your mission?”

“None of your business.”

“Did they mean when you stole the necromancy tome? You said it was a private mission.”

“What about none of your business did you not understand? Where did I lose you? Was it the ‘your’?”

“I was just wondering,” James said, shrugging. “Evan’s a vampire. That’s a new thing, right?”

“Yes.”

“New as in he was bitten at the Karnstein castle? He was unconscious when you appeared, right?”

“Yes,” Regulus mumbled.

“So, what happened?”

“Merlin, I don’t know. He was not a Vampire when we entered the vampire castle, and he was one when we left. What do you think happened?”

“You took a risk?”

“…Maybe. It was necessary and it wasn’t as if Barty or Evan opposed me in the moment.”

Regulus sighed, taking another stack of files from the forties out of the cabinet.

“We killed or stunned most of the servants, and then we killed his lover. While we weren’t sure whether he had noticed any of that, I knew that he would notice once he woke up and he would hunt us down. So, I thought it would be better to get ahead of him and kill him. Evan agreed. Barty agreed. Pandora was against it. Barty is our lockpick and curse-breaker, so I sent Pandora with him to the vault and went up to the vampire with Evan.”

James stopped searching and looked at him. “The two of you went up against an ancient vampire lord on your own?”

“Yes.”

“That is a stupid risk.”

Regulus glared at him. “I will not be lectured about risk-taking by a Gryffindor.”

“Point taken. Was that all? They agreed to take on the Vampire. Was that all the risk-taking?”

Regulus wasn’t sure why he was telling him anything, but since he had already started talking, he might as well continue.

“When we planned the heist, I… I decided Pandora should infiltrate the castle and the others said it was too risky. She’s always the one who infiltrates places for us, has been since our school days, but, granted, it was never that dangerous. I didn’t think anything would happen to her – and nothing did happen to her. She would be so low in the hierarchy of the staff that she would not even interact with Lord Karnstein. …I also planned to loot the library. I always do that, and they always argue that it’s too risky and takes too much time for too little gain. It was never a problem, and it wouldn’t have been a problem this time if your people hadn’t shown up. I bet, there were some interesting books there. …Also, some might say, though I disagree, that seeking you out every other week is a stupid risk.”

“It would be,” James agreed, “if I were inclined to catch you and have you arrested.”

“But you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. Just like you’re not actually trying to kill me.”

“What are you talking about? I have tried to kill you many times. I stabbed you three days ago.”

“Yeah, but are you really trying? I know you could be successful if you really wanted to. You don’t want to kill me quickly. You want to terrorise me. You want me to fear for my life until you take it. Until then, you want to break in during the middle of the night, pull me out of bed, put a knife to my throat, make me beg for my life, and, ultimately, you let me go, I let you escape. I don’t doubt that your goal is to kill me eventually, but you want to drag this out as much as you can.”

“You sound like you’re okay with that.”

He swayed his head from side to side. “More like, I accepted that I’m not able to stop you. I hope I will be able to stop you from killing me in the end, but stopping you from having that end goal? You’re too stubborn for that. …Besides I enjoy our little midnight quarrels.”

“Enjoy?” Regulus frowned.

James just smirked at him. “Especially when you wear those tight little assassin outfits. You look to die for. Literally.”

Regulus slapped him with the files in his hands.

James just grinned at him. “I’ve got everything we need. Shall we go back?”

“Yes, before someone sees us. Go ahead.”

Before Regulus followed him, he quickly returned to one of the cabinets and looked for the files of Gryffindor boys.

He pulled out Sirius’s file. It was thicker than the average student’s, but the same size as James’s. He hid it between the others and followed James out of the room.

***

Back at the bunker, James, Pandora and Evan divided the files into three piles and began to read through them. They were looking for a Slytherin boy, academically successful, and noted for having strong interests in the dark arts. Part of the Slughorn Club, maybe. Not a rule-breaker. Not a muggleborn but also not part of a prestigious pureblood family – he wouldn’t bother to hide his name if he was one of them.

Meanwhile, Barty handled the necromancy tome and Regulus brooded over books and notes dealing with the dark arts, hoping to find something about Horcruxes – and their destruction.

The afternoon crept upon them, the evening went by, dinner was prepared and eaten in silence and as night approached, they left for their bedrooms one by one. James was the last to leave besides Regulus.

“Fuck me,” James muttered while stretching his back. “I’ll go to bed, or I’ll pass out. What about you?”

“I wouldn’t mind you passing out.”

“Funny. Not tired yet?”

“No. But you should go. You’ll only make mistakes if you keep going while being tired.”

James nodded, stretching his arms. “Do you happen to have a gym in this place? I haven’t gone on a run or worked out in three days, and I feel like I’m about to burst.”

“We have a training room, yes. You can use it after I removed all the weapons from it.”

“Ah, you don’t have to-“

Regulus looked up at him.

“Fine,” James mumbled. “Good night. Sweet dreams.”

Regulus didn’t respond. As the door shut behind him, he closed his books and neatly stacked them in one corner. Then, he pulled open a drawer and took his brother’s school file.

This wasn’t the right environment for it. He didn’t steal the record for research or cold, methodical reading.

He tucked it under his arm, stopped by the kitchen, prepared himself a glass of red wine, and walked toward his bedroom.

The corridor was empty. No one watched, as he slipped past a door, leading through another short hallway to a naked stone wall.

He placed his hand against it and the stones quivered and bent to reveal a passageway. Behind it lay a high-ceiled, stone chamber.

It wasn’t much. Naked walls, except for a large portrait of Sirius and Regulus when they were children. Regulus was a head shorter than his brother, his curls were too wild for his mother to ever be satisfied and his brother’s too-long hair was tight in a ponytail. They wore almost identical outfits: a white dress shirt, a green waistcoat and a black dinner jacket. They shared the same pale skin, the shape of the face, the eyes, the nose, the lips. They had identical silver-grey eyes, looking at the beholder with an empty expression.

Against the same wall, beneath the portrait, stood a divan, far too fancy and ostentatious for such a hidden stone chamber, but so was the portrait. Next to the divan was a small side table. His mother would scream if she saw the faint rings left there by wine glasses during previous nights.

In front of the wall to the left of the divan he had erected an altar – a massive stone table with a narrow, second tier at the long end. A black cloth with silver embroidery ran along it. Regulus had scattered candles, sweets, flowers and children’s toys on it. Sirius’s favourite toys from when they were children. Fizzing Whizzbees, his favourite sweets from Honeydukes. Moonflowers, his favourite flower.

Regulus lit the candles in passing and the dried petals revived themselves. The candles smelled like burning wood and red berries.

Across from the altar, another dozen candles lit up. They were black and unscented. Regulus placed his wine glass among them and sat down on the dark red carpet.

Candles on a carpet, his mother would have a field day with him if she only knew.

The candles were arranged around a golden platform, low and rectangular. On top of it, a glass covering, rounded and clean of fingerprints.

Regulus pushed his fingers against the glass. Behind it lay a young man. Pale skin. Long, black hair. His eyes were closed, and his body was unmoving. His hands were folded on his chest, a wand stuck between them. His nails still had chipped, black polish on them, and he was wearing a moon-shaped ring.

“Hello Sirius,” Regulus whispered. He held up the file. “Look what I got. All your misdeeds in one place. …I bet you’re really proud of this, huh?”

He opened the file to a sheet detailing Sirius’s name, his date of birth, Hogwarts house and blood status.

“You know what I find peculiar? Dumbledore and all the people at that school or at the ministry argue that families like ours are insane and no one should care about blood status. But whenever there’s a written record of your existence, they insist on noting down your blood status. At least our people are honest about our obsession with it.”

He flicked through the pages.

“Ah, look at that: Your first detention. ‘Sirius Black and James Potter were caught trying to mix catnip into Professor McGonagall’s tea.’ Really? Did you have a death wish at eleven? …Sorry, that was in poor taste.” He took his wine glass, raising it to his brother and taking a sip. “Speaking of James. He’s here now. Alive. Can you imagine? That auror, Moody, he stunned him when I threatened to kill him, so we sort of had to take him with us. He’s our hostage slash slave slash shield slash associate now. Helps us getting the horcruxes and killing Voldemort. Provided that he doesn’t die prematurely by running into a knife after making a stupid comment about me.”

“No, I haven’t told him about you yet, or any of this. Barty said, he might be willing to help, but… I don’t know. Despite all of this childish mischief in these files, he’s far too moral and righteous to agree to this. But hey, if he finds out about this and tries to stop me, I will kill him and mount his corpse on the wall above you so you can be close. Would you like that? You’d be less alone.”

“I know I haven’t been visiting as often as I ought to. I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy couple of days. Evan’s been turned into a vampire. I don’t think he’s handling it too well, or it hasn’t sunken in yet, but I’m not the person he’d talk to about it, you know? Of course, I’m worried. He’s one of my best and only friends. But I’m the last person who has any right to press him on the matter and make him talk about it. I mean, look at me.”

Regulus pointed from himself to Sirius and back.

“Whatever… We’ve got the book I told you about. The ancient grimoire, big, powerful necromancy tome. If my sources prove correct, it should contain all the information we need. Provided we can open it. …No, I don’t know what James thinks we’re doing with it. Some evil Slytherin shit, I presume. You know how he is.”

He rolled his eyes and kept flicking through the file.

“Of course, I’m still trying to kill him, what do you think? He has to die for taking you from me. Yes, I know he didn’t send the killing blow but … you know what he did. He took you away from me. See, it’s all here.” He held up the file with the hundreds of notes about Sirius, James and their friends getting up to no good. “He was so great and morally superior that you wanted him to be your brother rather than me. He was the perfect brother, and you followed him straight to the Order, straight into battle. Look where it got you. And his stupid parents were no better. They lulled you in with their… oh, what do I know. What did they do to lure you away from me? Was it the curse-free parenting? The lack of torture and insults at dinner?”

He took a deep breath of crypt air to compose himself.

“I know, I know. We’ve been over this a hundred times. You don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to say it. It makes me self-reflect, and you know I hate that. …I don’t care you think self-reflection is good for me. You don’t get to have an opinion on what’s good for people. Your ‘good’ has killed you.”

The body remained silent.

“You know it’s true,” Regulus said with a shrug and turned to another page in the file. “Ah, look at this: Sirius Black was caught sneaking into the hospital wing after hours to visit Remus Lupin. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were caught being indecent in the hospital wing. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were caught being indecent in the broom closet on the third floor. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were caught being indecent in the Prefect’s Bathroom. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were caught sneaking into the Astronomy tower after hours and engaging in indecent behaviour. Fucking pervert. Is there any place at Hogwarts where you haven’t shagged Lupin? Don’t answer that.”

Luckily, Sirius didn’t answer. He’d likely say, he had sneaked into Regulus’s dorm and shagged Lupin there just to tease him.

“Sirius Black and Regulus Black had an unauthorized duel in the Great Hall. I remember this. It was your last year at Hogwarts, and you picked a fight about me taking the dark mark.” Regulus looked at his arm. He has always preferred long-sleeved shirts and long trousers but since taking the mark, he has worn exclusively long sleeves to cover it up. “I never told you, but it meant a lot to me. I didn’t think you cared about me anymore. I thought I didn’t matter enough to you for you to even blink an eye if I died. That you cared enough to beat the shit out of me after finding out I had the mark… it didn’t give me hope by any means, but it meant a lot.”

He blinked rapidly against a sudden flood of burning tears.

“Sorry, I know, I’m being sad again. I know you hate it.”

“Well, what do you want me to do, huh? …Tell a joke? Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Regulus swirled the wine around in his glass. “Okay, I have one. Are you ready? What did the mother say to her second-born? ‘Who?’” He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Oh, come on. It was funny. Yeah, well, tell me a better one. What did the mother say to her children? ‘I love you.’” Regulus laughed into his wine. “Okay, okay. I give it to you. That was a good one.”

He flipped through the file again.

“What did the father say to his children? That’s unfair. That’s a trick question, Sirius. Fathers don’t talk to their children. Nice try.”

“Look, I found your OWL marks. Nerd. How did you have time to study with all of your indecent behaviour throughout the school? What, me, jealous? You think you had so much more game than me? I just didn’t get caught, and my marks were still better than yours. No, being part of the Slug Club had nothing to do with my good potion marks. Stop being disgusting, ugh. If one of us fucked himself into getting full marks, it was you by seducing Lupin into letting you copy his homework. Why are you denying it? I’ve got your reports right here. All your marks went up at the same time as you were caught engaging in ‘indecent behaviour’ with him. Yes, that’s what I thought.”

He shook his head and pressed his fingers against the paper detailing their fight in the hallway during Sirius’s last year.

“You remember the last time we spoke? Before you… you know. You were already out of Hogwarts and caught me in Hogsmeade. …You said you were scared because of the war, scared for your friends, scared for Lupin. I think, he hadn’t been home in a couple of days and you were losing your head because Dumbledore had sent him to infiltrate a werewolf pack. You disliked him, too, by the end. Didn’t you? I think you did. I think you lost trust in him and didn’t want to say it out loud. …You asked me to come to your side, regardless. I suppose you thought Dumbledore was still better than Voldemort  - I’m not saying you’re wrong and I don’t want to have that fight again, Sirius.

He took a deep breath.

“I almost did it. I was just… scared. I already took the mark and, what can I say? Voldemort made me feel safe. Isn’t that mad? It’s madness, I know, but our parents respected me, even showed affection towards me, because he chose me as a student. I rarely had to participate in battles, I was just the research assistant to the mad scientist, not his lacky. It was comfortable.”

“Still, I almost did it. I would have come with you. I should have come with you. But there were also Barty and Evan to consider. Our cousins, too. I didn’t know anything about Horcruxes yet, either, so really, maybe it was good I stayed. I know you disagree. But at the end of the day, you were part of the Order and I wasn’t, and look at you and look at me.”

He looked at his motionless brother through the glass.

“You know what we should have done? Run away together. You could have taken Lupin, I could have taken my friends and we would have just run away from the war entirely. James and Pettigrew? No, we wouldn’t have taken them. I told you what happened to Pettigrew. He would have ratted us out. And James, trust me it would have been better for all of us not to take him with us. Sirius, you’ve been claiming that he and I could be friends and would like each other for over a decade now. Put it to rest. You are wrong. His parents?...”

He hasn’t told Sirius about the Potter’s death yet. It seemed silly but Sirius loved those people and Regulus, who was running low on sympathy for the two, shouldn’t be the one to break the news to them.

“Yes, maybe them. I heard they’ve been doing well. I know you’ve said that they would take me in and treat me like a son if I came with you. And you know that I said that I doubt it. Hasn’t changed. I was too angry then. I would have lashed out on them. …Now? Yes, now, still, of course, but differently. It’s not like I have got any less angry. It’s different, though. …Yes, I’m being sad again. Sorry. I can’t help it. …I miss you.”

After another hour, when his wine was empty and the altar was covered in wax, Regulus pressed his lips to the glass coffin. He said his goodbyes and went to bed.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know. I don’t know why.
I don’t know what I did to make him hate me as much as this. Why we couldn’t go as brothers to mourn-“ Prince’s Gambit, 99

It has been several days since they stole the school records. Pandora, responsible for keeping up with the world beyond their bunker, said that Hogwarts hadn’t reported any theft. Dorcas told her that James’s remaining friends tried to convince the Aurors to use their resources to rescue him. The rest of the Order, including his auror colleagues, treated James like he was already dead and not important enough to spend a half-day on a rescue mission.

Regulus didn’t waste a second to tell James about this – cutting him up and rubbing salt into his wounds couldn’t have felt better.

“It only makes sense, of course,” Regulus said. “They left you to be killed by me; and the Order doesn’t care enough about its members to recover corpses.”

He expected James to pick a fight about it. Moody abandoned him but he still loved his precious order. He would run straight back to them if they let him go. He wanted them to share their knowledge about the Horcruxes and work with them. They were the good ones. He was the good one.

James didn’t fight. He didn’t jump up and yell at him. He didn’t even make a snarky comment and call him ‘Love.’

James’s only reaction was to avert his eyes, get up and disappear into their training room for two hours.

Afterwards, he showed up at the laboratory again, shoulders tense and skin glistening with sweat. He sat down among the school files and muttered, “Let’s find and kill this son of a bitch.”

Regulus was nose-deep in a book he had stolen from Voldemort himself. It was the only book Regulus knew of that actually contained information about the making of Horcruxes. He has read and reread these chapters so many times, he knew them by heart. Yet, he tried to reread them every once in a while, just to make sure he didn’t overlook the giant red blinking sign saying “THIS IS HOW TO DESTROY THEM”

He was pulled out of the book by someone clearing their throat. When he looked up, James, Pandora and Evan stood in front of him.

Today, Evan had magically altered his hair to dark and was wearing a black leather jacket and spoke with a weird American accent.

“We’ve read all the school files, Bro,” Evan said.

“Bro?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I’m an American vampire. Dude. Wouldn’t that be so dope?”

Regulus’s eyelid twitched.

“We narrowed it down to five names,” James said, likely saving at least one tongue from being cut out of someone’s mouth. “Slytherin students with good marks, an interest in the dark arts, no pureblood names and more or less unclear parentage.”

He dropped the files on Regulus’s desk.

“Thaddeus Emory Merrick. Slytherin Student, would now be 52. Halfblood. Grew up with his wizard mother, no record of the father,” he said when Regulus opened the first file.

“Then, there is Ambrose Harlow, now 87. Prefect. Head Boy. Teacher’s Pet. Grew up in an Orphanage, parentage and blood status unknown. Pandora found out that he later became an alchemist.”

Regulus wondered, not for the first time, whether wizards stopped ageing once they made a Horcrux. The Voldemort he met didn’t look 80 but he wouldn’t have been able to say whether he was 35 or 55. There had always been something otherworldly about his appearance, something odd and wrong, which altered his face and his body, defying the rules of ageing and recognition.

“Lucian Everett Alden. 48. Member of the Slughorn Club. Halfblood. Got detention for sneaking into the restricted section of the library multiple times. We’ve found nothing about his whereabouts now. He vanished from the public eyes shortly after he finished school.”

“Then, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Now, 52. Slughorn Club. Great student. Grew up in an orphanage. Parentage unknown but his blood status is marked as half-blood.”

“And at last, Balthazar Greaves. Now 73. Broke into the forbidden section of the library a few times. Was an exceptional student but suddenly vanished in his seventh year before taking his final exams. Halfblood.”

“Yo, Dude,” Evan said. “How are we gonna find out who it is? I wanna punch a hole through the ass’s chest and pull out his heart for my Elena.”

Regulus gave him a long, long look.

He turned to Barty. “Hey, Elena, fix your boyfriend before I get the throwing knives.”

Evan jumped on one of the desks. “I don’t need fixing. I’m a former American civil war soldier. I think on the side that wanted to keep the slaves, right? We should have a movie night.”

Regulus showed an impressive amount of self-restraint as he didn’t throw any knives but instead took a piece of paper to jot down the names.

“Movie night sounds good. Hey, Potter, have you ever watched a bad muggle movie about vampires? They’re hilarious.”

“Some of them are good. The TV shows, mostly.”

James looked from Barty to Evan and settled on Regulus. “You lot watch muggle TV? I didn’t think you’d do as much as read muggle books.”

“Ha! Someone’s never been in Reg’s library. Of course he reads muggle books. He thought it made him rebellious.”

“Shut up Evan,” Regulus mumbled. He began to push the letters of the names around.

“We have a TV,” Pandora said. “We even have the Netflix. And other things where you can stream.”

“Stream?”

“Watch shows and movies. They call it streaming.”

“Muggles,” Barty said, snorting, and shook his head.

James had to sit down for this. “You might be the most confusing people I have ever met.”

“I’d be hurt if it was any other way,” Barty said. “And mildly concerned for you.”

“For as long as I’ve known you, you were blood purists. You bullied muggleborn kids at school. You said ‘mudblood’ like it was just another word. Merlin’s balls, you became death eaters. And now, you’re planning to kill Voldemort and engage with muggle media?”

Evan leaned to his twin. “Psst, Pandora, don’t show him your mushroom Insta account. He’ll have a heart attack.”

“Not everyone keeps believing in their teachings for the rest of their life, James. Some people question. Some people change their minds. Some people work to reject their doctrine.” Regulus explained. “You should try it.”

“I wasn’t indoctrinated.”

“No? So, you came up with the thing about Slytherins being evil, and all of us children of pureblood families being, genetically, exactly like our ancestors? Were you born with the knowledge that all of us have a broad understanding of the world and chose to be hateful towards one group based on our own, independent convictions? Who taught you that the world was black and white, and you were the good one?”

“That has nothing to do with it. Your people murdered muggleborns. You knew what the mark meant and still took it.”

Regulus tapped his finger against the paper in front of him. “Maybe,” he admitted. “And maybe I still don’t care for you precious mudbloods. Maybe, they have nothing to do with my goal to bring down Voldemort. I can’t speak for the others. Nonetheless, I recognise that I was manipulated into seeing the world this way. No matter whose opinion is morally superior, you’d do good to admit yourself, that you, too, were manipulated and manipulated others in turn.”

“I never- “

“You signed up to fight in a war that has, objectively, nothing to do with you at age 17. Or was it 16? How many children followed you? You were made the prime example of good Gryffindors fighting against Voldemort. The pureblood prankster turned serious auror and Order member to defend his muggleborn friends.”

Regulus looked up at him. “They made you the face of the Order. Ever wondered why? I wondered. I wondered why they would take a pureblood boy to be the face of the resistance. Not your unarguably smarter and more talented just as righteous but muggleborn friend, Lily. Not my gay, long-haired brother who escaped a family of death eaters. No muggleborns or half-bloods, no girls, no Slytherins who were on your side, like Dorcas Meadows. No. It was the straight, pure-blooded, Quidditch star, Gryffindor head boy.”

James didn’t understand what he was alluding to. Of course, he didn’t. Despite his experiences of the past week or two, he was still clinging to the silly idea that his people were so different and so much better than theirs.

“They made you the male pureblood protector of your weak, inferior muggleborn friends.”

He shot up. “That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is.”

“No. My people don’t think like that. You’re just projecting- “

“Why is it you, then? Was Lily made an auror without the formal training like you? You were given all those things and were put into your role for the same reason you were made head boy, despite being a rule-breaker and prankster. It was never about your talent. It was about your looks and your marketability.”

All the anger Regulus had missed the last time, came now crashing down on James. With a scream of rage, he lunged at Regulus, grabbed his shirt, pulled him from his chair and pushed him against his desk.

“Shut up! Shut! Up!”

James’s lip was quivering in anger, his face had reddened. He used his body to keep Regulus pinned against the desk.

“You know it’s true. Your side used just as much lies to recruit just as much kids as mine.”

James punched him. Regulus let him. He earned that one.

The force of the blow sent his head flying to the side. One of his friends shouted something lost to the ringing in his head.

“Shut up!” James screamed at him. “My friends died for something! They died for something good! We are fighting to save the people your family is hunting for sport! Your side started the war and mine is trying to end it!”

“From where I’m standing, we are ending it, not your precious Order!”

James pulled his fist back to hit him again. A hand shot up out of nowhere and grabbed his wrist.

Regulus looked up to see Evan. He closed his hand around James’s wrist and pulled him back. A crack echoed through the room like a wand snapped in half, accompanied by a pained cry from James. The room fell silent.

Evan pulled back, eyes widened in shock.

James kneeled on the ground, holding his shattered wrist. The others paid him no mind, they were looking at Evan.

“I… I- uhm-“ he stammered staring at his hands. “I- I need a snack.” He rushed out of the laboratory. Wordlessly, Barty got up and followed him, and so did Pandora.

Regulus took his wand and a piece of paper from his desk and leaned down to James. He pried his hand away and grasped his arm.

“Let me,” James growled and tried to wriggle himself free, but stopped, huffing in pain.

Regulus pushed the tip of his wand against his wrist, carefully mending the bones.

“Don’t cry, you baby.”

“Your friend just broke my wrist,” he muttered.

“I know. He’s still unaware of his new powers. You hit me, so you sort of deserve it.”

James looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, and his face was red and stained by tears. “I hate you,” he hissed. “I have never hated you as much as I do right now.”

Regulus nodded. “And I hate you. I was always honest about that. You said, we were playing a fair game, you and I. It’s true. You were always fair, and I was always honest. I’m honest about my plans to kill you. Let me clear the rest up for you: I’m not one of the good guys. None of us are, except for Pandora. I’m not someone who would join your Order. I haven’t changed all my views on muggleborns, half-bloods, purebloods. I don’t love muggleborns. I don’t view them as equal. I don’t want to kill Voldemort to save them. Or save your friends. Or anyone. I’m not reformed. I have realised that all the knowledge I grew up with were mere opinions. I have accepted that those opinions may be factually incorrect. I have accepted that I should change them. But none of that matters. Your friends don’t matter to me. Your Order doesn’t matter to me. You, Dumbledore and Voldemort only matter in the context of my revenge. I want to kill Voldemort because he killed my brother. Not any other morally superior reason. I don’t care about anything else. Anything. I will kill him. I will kill Dumbledore for recruiting him into your Order. I will kill you for taking him away from me.”

James averted his eyes when he mentioned Sirius.

“If you want, you can go back to your people,” Regulus offered. “The people who left you for dead. Who stunned you and let you be abducted. The people who don’t care enough to search for you. The people who claim all this moral superiority while pulling children into a war, - while subtly perpetuating the exact same prejudices I grew up with, - while fighting an enemy they don’t understand. Go back if you want. Go back to the people who would be too scared to work with dark magic like we do, like we have to. But we just figured out Voldemort’s real name.”

He held up the piece of paper from his desk.

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE
I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

***

Later, Regulus and Barty were preparing dinner.

“Fixed James’s wrist?” Barty mumbled. He was quieter than usual, just stirring the sauce in a large pot.

“Yes. I think he’s slowly coming to terms with his disillusionment of the Order.”

Barty hummed.

“At least we know that he’s too much of a righteous moralist to stab us in the back. He’ll try to run at most.” Regulus continued.

Barty hummed again.

They were planning to indulge Evan tonight and watch one of his muggle shows during dinner. So, the twins were setting up their TV room while the boys made the food. James had decided to lie down in his room after the altercation in the laboratory and hasn’t shown his face since.

When he laid down his motives earlier, he was only speaking for himself. Pandora was the first one of them to actively fight against her parents' opinions. She didn’t do it loudly as Sirius had. She simply met her peers in Ravenclaw with an open mind, learned about their realities and unlearned her parents’ opinions. Of course, as they were young, scared and dependent on their families, the rest of them didn’t want to hear any of it.

He wasn’t sure where Evan and Barty stood regarding muggle-borns and Voldemort’s plans now. They rarely discussed moral themes such as this. He, personally, wouldn’t join the Death Eaters anymore if he was given a choice. He wouldn’t murder people who had no part in the war and never hurt him or one of his friends. He wouldn’t burn down houses and destroy lives. He wasn’t hateful toward muggles. He didn’t care for them and he doubted he ever would bring himself to care about them. He remained indifferent and he would not fight a war for or against them. If this wasn’t enough for James, he was free to leave.

“How is Evan?” Regulus asked finally.

“Ah, you know…”

Regulus raised an eyebrow at him when he didn’t continue.

“I don’t know. I just don’t know, okay? He doesn’t talk to me.”

“At all?”

“Well, he’s joking and imitating dumb muggle characters but that’s it. You know me, I’m not exactly Mr Emotional either but… I thought if anyone, he’d talk to me about it.”

“Is he talking to Pandora?”

“No. He gets upset when we try. Tells us to ‘get off his arse about it.’ Earlier, after the thing with Potter, he just downed a cup of blood and went to his room. We decided to give him an hour to calm down and when I went to look for him, he was just… sitting there in the dark, staring at his hands.”

“It was the first time his vampire powers manifested like this. It must have been a shock to him that he is capable of such things.”

Barty shrugged.

“Should we say something like it wasn’t his fault?”

“I tried that. He called me an idiot.”

“Fair. Maybe we should just treat him like nothing happened. It’s a lot to deal with and I know that I’d go crazy if I was trying to come to terms with all of it and people tried to make me talk about it constantly.”

“Sure, but isn’t there a reason I’m dating him, not you?”

“I seem to remember the reason for that being that I didn’t want to.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Barty mumbled, still stirring the sauce aimlessly. “Still haven’t told him that I love him. I thought he’d wake up and we’d have our ‘thank Merlin you’re not dead I love you so much don’t do this to me’ moment. …Didn’t happen.”

“What did happen? The morning after he turned, I mean.”

Barty stopped stirring. “I woke up and he was just sitting there. Freshly showered. Staring at me. I asked if he was okay, if he needed anything, if he had any questions. I tried to fill him in on what happened. He just sat there, staring like a fucking maniac until he said, ‘your heart is too loud.’”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it as a metaphor, Barty. Our hearts must sound like dinner bells to him.”

“Oh, shut up, I know it wasn’t some ‘you love me too much’ sort of metaphor. I’m not as dramatic as you. The point is, he didn’t talk to me. And he hasn’t been talking to me or really interacted with me except when we’re among you guys. Then he acts like everything is normal and kisses my cheek or dances against me or makes me the brunette teen his hundred-year-old vampire self is in love with.”

“And apart form that nothing? You share a room most of the time.”

“No, we don’t. I go to bed and no matter whose room I go to, he goes to the other. And when he goes to sleep before me and I join him, I wake up to an empty bed the next morning or he locks me out of the room from the start. And then he says, nothing is going on and everything is perfectly normal.” He threw the whisk into the sauce, sending splashes through the kitchen and on his shirt.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

With a flick of his wand, Regulus cleaned up the mess and made the food jump onto their plates.

He wasn’t good at this sort of thing – talking about emotions. He wasn’t even good at feeling emotions. Much less discussing them or guessing what others might be feeling.

But he knew a thing or two about loss.

He knew that Barty loved Evan. Barty didn’t have many people in his life he liked, much less loved. He loved his mum, Pandora, Regulus and Evan. A complete, short list.

Barty almost lost Evan. They all almost lost him, which, Regulus quickly realised, none of them had dared to realise. They almost lost him but instead, he was saved and continued to be with them. How and as what didn’t matter as long as they didn’t lose him.

From Regulus’s perspective, he didn’t lose him. Evan behaved like he had before, apart from the sudden burst of strength and costumes.

But Barty… He lost something and none of them, maybe not even Barty, realised it. Evan was still here but he didn’t talk to him, didn’t kiss him, didn’t spend time with him. He might as well be gone and there wouldn’t have been a difference.

“Have you maybe… tried to tell him how you feel?”

Barty scoffed.

“Or you just leave him alone and wait for him to talk to you again.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know for how long I can do that, Reg. What if it will never be how it was? What if he just doesn’t want me anymore?”

“That’s bullshit. He’d never stop wanting to be with you.”

“How would you know?”

“I’ve known you for nine years. He’s been crushing on you even when we were getting it on. Maybe he’s scared or confused but he’ll come back to you.”

“So, what, I’m supposed to be patient? I’m supposed to just wait? Have you forgotten that we’re in mortal danger twenty-four / seven because we’re trying to kill a dark wizard?”

“Then talk to him.”

“Oh, you suck.”

“You know what I would do.” Regulus took a bag of blood from the freezer and put the contents into the empty sauce pot to heat it up.

“Stick your head into the sand and pretend you’re completely unfazed until it is too late and then have a mental break down?”

“Exactly. If you think you can do better, by all means, do.”

Barty stared at the pot with cold pig’s blood. “I don’t think I can,” he whispered.

Regulus wanted to say something. Anything. ‘Of course, you can’ or something like it. But in truth, he didn’t know whether he could. Barty was strong but all of them were weak when it came to things like this. He wanted to say something else reassuring. ‘We can handle it’ ‘We’ll help him’ ‘Evan will come back to himself soon’ – but this he didn’t know either.

He had nothing to say at all. Maybe the same was true for Evan.

***

James

James sat on the edge of the bed in his prison cell. Calling it a “room” felt generous.

The walls were bare, grey, and cold. The crude frame and a hard mattress were hardly worthy of the term “bed.” He counted himself lucky to have a pillow and blanket, though the thin fabric offered little comfort. A small dresser, a table, and a chair completed the sparse furnishings. At least he had a bathroom—an unexpected luxury compared to the bucket he’d feared.

It was quiet in here. No creaking pipes, no broken floorboards, no mice in the walls or people out in the hallway. James would have preferred to be yelled at by Regulus or his friends. The silence pushed down on him, forcing him onto the bed and shrinking and pressing him back into the body of a little, helpless boy.

The last thing he remembered before the bunker, was storming a vampire castle with a small unit of Order members and Auror Moody. Moody never made a habit of telling them why they did things. He gave them missions. They followed suit. He claimed that there was a valuable and dangerous grimoire hidden in that castle and they needed to seize it before the Death Eaters could get their hands on it. James had trusted him, as he always did.

He didn’t connect Regulus’s visit that night to their mission. Regulus was always stalking him, showing up in the streets behind him or rented rooms in countryside pubs.  

When they reached the castle, they found a dozen dead and stunned servants. A trail of blood led them to the library. James noticed a dead woman in a ball gown. Her eye socket was filled with a bloody goo, slowly dripping over her cheek. She had been stabbed, James realised. Once in the eye and once in the chest, and James wondered – Was this Regulus’s work? Wizards typically used magic, not muggle weapons, and he didn’t understand why Regulus rarely used his wand anymore.

They stepped over the body and into the library. Just as they reached them, Barty Crouch Jr opened a secret vault and grabbed an old, thick, leathery tome.

Soon after, Regulus appeared behind him. He felt his dagger against his skin and knew who it was before he ever spoke a word to him. His body reacted to his presence before he pierced his consciousness. His breath tickled the back of James’s neck as he whispered his threats.

Then everything happened too fast. James was dragged around by Regulus and pressed against him with a blade against his skin. Regulus threatened to kill him again. A spell hit him in the chest. Everything went black.

He woke up to hushed voices in the laboratory – a room filled with desks overflowing with papers, notes, plans and books. Regulus had his own desk, so did Barty. The other tables were purpose-bound. Desks for cutting potion ingredients, for alchemical research, for reading about history and reading about the dark arts. He has come to like the room. It was the perfect mix of chaos and organisation.

His first instinct wasn’t to like it. His first instinct wasn’t to get out, either. No, he, wholeheartedly, trusted his friends to get him out. So, he didn’t mind playing his usual game with Regulus – threat & flirt, as he called it. Regulus threatened. James flirted.

He didn’t mind not being rescued right away. He didn’t even think too much about Moody being the one to stun him and leave him with Regulus. He had been curious about Regulus and he, ever the optimist, was almost excited to figure out what was going on in here. Whatever it was, he would be able to use it for his goals, he thought.

Regulus has interested him since their school days. At Hogwarts, he was both known and unknown—a Black, but not that Black. Not the firstborn. Not Sirius. His ancestry wasn’t what was fascinating about him. It was the strict differences between him and his brother.

Sirius Black had been James’s best friend since their first day at Hogwarts. The black-haired boy with the old-guy clothes, perfectly tailored waistcoats and an extensive knowledge of cravats and ties, quickly turned into a mud-loving menace, who learned the word ‘prank’ and decided to make it his entire personality. He was the most loyal and best friend anyone could ask for. He was, although starved of it in his childhood, full of love. He was all fire and rebellion, a whirlwind of defiance wrapped in leather jackets and mischief. He was always laughing, even in the eye of his mother’s wrath. He never talked about his parents. He avoided the topic so much, that James believed he didn’t have any until the first howler arrived in the Great Hall.

The one person Sirius talked about was Regulus.

Little, baby-brother Regulus. A curious thing somewhere between boy, grandpa and stuffed animal, a thing of legend and story.

James met Regulus at the beginning of his second year. Regulus was in fact a real boy. He was dressed like Sirius – tailored clothes, waistcoats, trousers, handmade shoes. He had his eyes, his nose, his mouth, his face. Their mother had given them the same haircut, too. They were twins in all but birth.

Regulus was sorted into Slytherin. Sirius was the first of his family not to be a Slytherin and he had hoped for his brother to be like him. He wasn’t. And suddenly, with this revelation, they fell apart. All the similarities were pushed aside by their glaring differences.

Regulus was a quiet boy. He never made eye contact. He stalked the halls, staying in the shadows. He never received a howler. He seemed cold and calculated. He never did anything impulsively – while Sirius was all impulse, no control.

They grew up and more apart. The first few years, Sirius was still complaining about Regulus – their relationship, his behaviour, his silence in the eye of their parents' behaviour, his opinions, his prejudice. Then, he stopped talking about him. He just stopped. Regulus was shoved into the same category as his parents – Sirius denied his existence for as long as he could. Then he ran away from home and moved in with James.

James kept an eye on Regulus. He didn’t believe that the brothers, who seemed so similar, could be so different. There had to be a good core in him. He couldn’t be an evil, pureblood maniac as his parents or some of the other Slytherins.

He made friends somewhere along the way: The Rosier twins, two blond purebloods, she a Ravenclaw, he a Slytherin, and Barty Crouch Jr, the rebellious son of the Head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. He was on the Quidditch team, and he was not just good, he was the best fucking Seeker James has ever seen. He could have gone pro. He seemed to be close to his teammate Dorcas as well – a black half-blood witch who later joined the Order and dated James’s friend Marlene.

James knew how much it hurt Sirius to have a strained relationship with his brother and for this very reason, James was convinced they’d sort themselves out eventually. They had to find back to each other and fight on the same side. They just had to.

Then Regulus took the mark.

James would never forget the look on Sirius’s face when he found out. Sirius had cried for three days, locked in their dorm. He never spoke of Regulus again.

He didn’t look like Regulus anymore at that point. He had pierced ears, one or two tattoos, long hair, eyeliner and hadn’t touched a waistcoat in years. And even James had to come to terms with the fact that they had removed themselves too far from each other.

Regulus fell out of his life after that. James graduated, and he and his friends joined the Order of the Phoenix. They fought Death Eaters and went on missions. James was promoted to the rank of Auror without the formal training as he needed certain rights of authority, and they didn’t have time or resources to make him go through the training-

Why not Lily?

Regulus had asked that. Lily was smart. Far smarter than him and maybe more talented also. Why him and Sirius? Why not Lily? Or Marlene, who has actually wanted to be an auror since she was 12?

It all went well for a while. They were the good guys. They fought on the right side. They saved people.

Marlene and her family were dead.

Peter was dead.

Sirius was dead.

Sirius.

James clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms until it hurt. Sirius had been his brother in every way that mattered. From childish pranks, over bad marks, down to life-or-death battles, he had always been by his side. The man, who had been as close to him as breathing, was gone.

They didn’t even take his body back from the battlefield

“The Order doesn’t care enough about its members to recover corpses.” Regulus had said.

They didn’t. James did.

James went back. He searched that field, his hands trembling as he turned over corpse after corpse – the eldest was 50 the youngest not even 17. He looked into their lifeless faces, searching for grey eyes and a set of familiar moon tattoos.

He found nothing.

For a moment, there had been hope. Maybe he survived. Maybe he was still alive and got kidnapped.

He wasn’t.

James knew Sirius was dead when Regulus stood by his bed for the first time. James had seen his eyes first, the hair, the pale skin, and he thought Sirius had come home. He hadn’t. It was Regulus who held a dagger to his throat, tears in his eyes, hissing about Sirius being killed.  

James had hardly cared for the dagger. He wanted to pull him into a hug and cry with him about the brother they had both lost. He quickly learned that this wasn’t something Regulus was open to. He wanted to cut, stab and kill. James almost wanted to indulge him just to comfort him.

Sirius hadn’t been the first or last one he lost. Shortly after Sirius, there was Peter.

Peter, who laughed with them, fought with them but died without them. James remembered him, and would always remember him, as the small boy with the roundish face and soft eyes, who made corny jokes and loved them with his whole heart.

He was found in an alleyway, a dark, narrow road in a neighbourhood he had no business in. The terror was still on his face when he was found and the word TRAITOR was cut into his arm. The left arm. In the exact spot where a dark mark would have sat.

They didn’t talk about Peter anymore after that day. When he tried to ask questions, he was shot down. In his mind, Dumbledore had sent Peter to infiltrate the Death Eaters for the Order. He was the only one who believed it. He had to believe it. How could he go on if his mind did as much as acknowledge the other possibility?

Finally, there were his parents. Just when he thought he knew what pain meant, they were taken from him, too.

One day, they were full of life, hope and pride for their children. Then Peter died. Then Sirius. It seemed like they had taken all youth and vigour from his parents as they died. James was their only biological son, but they didn’t love Sirius any less. They treated all of his friends like their own kids and as they were plucked from the earth one by one, they too wasted away.

His mother, who had endured the death of many children she never got to know before finally having James, passed first. She hadn’t spoken a word since Sirius’s death and she would never speak another word again.

His father followed just days after.

A few days ago he lost Marlene McKinnon, who had been his Quidditch teammate and friend at Hogwarts. She was killed by death eaters. In response, Dorcas left the Order. James didn’t have it in him to grieve properly anymore.

During all of this, he suddenly realised that the only person he could rely on, whose motives he knew and who was a steady fixture in his life, was Regulus.

He didn’t hate his brother after all, did he? He stalked him, came to his room, threatened him and tried to kill him not out of hate. He loved Sirius and, in a way, James thought they were bonding over this.

Regulus and his friends vanished from the face of the earth, except for these nightly visits. What were they doing? They weren’t seen at Death Eater missions anymore. They weren’t on the radar of the Order or the Aurors either.

When James was taken here, still full of hope and conviction he’d be rescued soon, he was excited to find out what was going on with Regulus, and maybe get a conversation about Sirius.

Instead, that man has shattered him.

Not literally, not like Evan broke his wrist earlier.

Not with his claims that he was responsible for Sirius’s death.

No, he looked him dead in the eye and told him the Order didn’t care about him or his friends and then he proved it. He took all that hope and slapped it across his face. He took his optimism and slashed him with it.

James knew that Regulus was in the wrong about many things. There was no doubt in his mind which side was good and which was bad.

The Death Eaters and Voldemort wanted to enslave muggles, kill muggleborn witches and wizards and go around spreading terror and violence.

But the Order and the Aurors… yes, James’s friends didn’t think about blood status, he was sure. But what about Dumbledore and Moody? Was Regulus, right? Did the old blood status prejudices influence these organisations after all? Was he in his position because he was a handsome pureblood man? Was that all?

It didn’t make the Order as bad as the Death Eaters. Only someone indifferent to Voldemort’s goals and people’s lives would claim such a thing. But Regulus had nonetheless kicked the Order, Dumbledore, and all his heroes, off their pedestal.

Was he indoctrinated? Was he turned into a pawn, a child soldier by the people he trusted? Has he in turn influenced and recruited students younger than him? Did Sirius and his friends only join because of him? Were they all dead because of him?

James felt sick.

And all of it for what?

He just turned 22. More than five years of working for and with these people and for what? He hasn’t saved anyone. All that has happened was people dying around him. Then his head auror stunned him and let him be abducted.

And now, in a couple of days, Regulus and his ragtag group of Death Eater defectors have come closer to killing Voldemort than the Order ever had.

They had marks on their arms which would throw them into Azkaban without as much as a trial regardless of their work and their convictions. They had none of the righteousness James and his friends had, but somehow, they ended up on the right side of this.

No one would come to get James. And if James left, nothing would change. They would keep doing their thing and James would keep risking his life for nothing.

Dumbledore and Moody did not care about him. He owed them nothing. He owed nothing to the Order.

He owed it to Sirius to kill Voldemort. He owed it to Peter and Remus, too. He owed every child who was pulled into this war, believing they were making a change.

Voldemort must die. Regulus had the means to do it.

James looked from the grey wall to his wrist. When he healed him, Regulus had held it with more gentleness than James thought him capable of.

There was no choice to be made here, just a realisation to be had: If he wanted this war to end, he had to forget the Order and give Regulus all he had.

He got up and left the room.

He knocked on the door across the hallway, not letting up until finally, a tired and enraged Regulus opened.

His curls were handsomely tousled. His eyes blinked against the hallway lights. He was wearing a nice set of silk pyjamas, Slytherin-green. It was fitted slightly tighter than James would have worn and for a brief, distracted moment, he wondered whether the Blacks had everything, even their night clothes, tailored to their bodies.

“What the fuck do you want, Potter? Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“No. I have neither clock nor windows in my room.”

“You don’t have windows because we’re inside a suitcase, you dumb fuck. Why did you wake me up?”

“I came to tell you that I’m staying.”

Regulus frowned at him. “Okay? I could have gathered that from context clues in the morning, like you being there.”

“I need to go home.”

Regulus took a deep breath, tipping back his head and exposing his throat. “Contradicting statements,” he muttered.

“I need to pick up my invisibility cloak from my house. I think it will help us. In case we have to break into the school or another castle.”

“Your what?”

“Invisibility cloak. It’s a cloak that makes you invisible.”

James could tell that Regulus was close to simply shutting the door in his face.

“So, you want us to leave our bunker and follow you to your house so you can pick up a cloak. Doesn’t smell like a trap at all. If you want to leave, leave, but don’t play this game with me.”

“I’m not playing. I want to see Voldemort dead. Until then, I have no reason to go back to the Order or stop you. You will try to kill me as soon as I stop being useful, so I will run after his death, and we can go back to our games if it pleases you.”

Regulus slowly moved his head forward again. He gazed at him with cold, grey eyes as if he could read his truthfulness off his face. “Fine. We’ll get your cloak. You and me. I have plans for a small robbery tomorrow, so we will go there when you have that cloak.”

James nodded sharply. “And I want my wand.”

“Out of the question.”

“I can only be half as useful without a wand. If we go on a Horcrux hunt alone, I’ll need it.”

He weighed his options, grinding his teeth together.

“Fine.”

“Good. And I want a better bed. A real blanket and pillows and a picture for my wall.”

At this, Regulus rolled his eyes and shut the door. James took this as an agreement. He strutted back to his room and went to bed.

Chapter Text

“It was like being pleased by a thorn bush, feeling fond of every prickle.” – Prince’s Gambit, 228

Regulus

The house was watched by Order members. The last of his friends who cared enough to worry, Regulus assumed.

“I could just,” James started and then cut himself off.

“Just tell them you’re fine?”

“Yes.”

“You could,” Regulus agreed. “Would they demand that you go with them? Would they try to ‘rescue’ you from me? Would they try to capture us and ruin everything?”

He averted his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“It’s a risk I’m not willing to take. If you talk to them, you’re out.”

They were hiding a few corners away. James wouldn’t have noticed the two witches, one of which might be Lily, judging by the red ponytail. Regulus knew how to spot Order members, death eaters and other people lurking in the shadows. As soon as he noticed the stake-out, he pulled James away from his childhood home.  

He had no idea what had happened last night that made James bang on his door and proclaim his support (not for the first time, which made it all the more ineffective), but his role in all of this didn’t seem to be a question anymore. He didn’t stand there, considering and weighing his options, finally coming to the conclusion to stick with Regulus. Instead, his face hardened. “Okay. Can I at least leave them a note in the house? Just tell them I’m okay. Nothing traceable.”

“Why?”

“They might be the only people left in the world who worry or care about me. I can’t just abandon them.” He looked at him with big, brown eyes, like a puppy begging for a treat.

Regulus was a cat person.

“If you expect pity, you’re barking up the wrong tree. I don’t care enough about you or your precious little feelings for this to work on me.”

“But you’re a leader, aren’t you? A leader’s job is it to make sure all of his people are happy.”

“I’m not a leader. I’m just an organised person who shares the goals of a lot of talented but chaotic people.”

“No, you’re their leader. They listen to you.”

“That’s proof that you haven’t been around us for long. If you appoint a leader by how well others listen to them, our leader is Pandora.”

“Pandora? Skirts, dresses, floral print, butterfly-jewellery and bows Pandora?”

“Yes. She’s scary.”

James frowned at him, then a smile tugged on his lips and he chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

“What? You clearly have never received a prophecy about your own death from her …or were glared at.”

“No. I just didn’t think something could scare you. How many people have you killed, personally, up close with a dagger?”

“Lost count.” He hadn’t. Counting the recent deaths at Karnstein castle, seventeen.

“You wouldn’t lose count of that,” James said. “You’d be too proud of your kills.”

Maybe.

“You don’t know me.”

“Don’t I, Love?”

It’s been a while since he had last called him ‘Love.’ A while since he smirked and smiled, too.

 “I think, you’ll let me sneak into that house, because I know how to get in unseen, get my cloak, my pillow, my blanket, leave a note for me friends, and come back.”

He’d do the opposite just out of spite.

“And now you’re thinking that you won’t let me do any of that out of spite.”

Regulus wondered briefly whether James knew how to use legilimency. No, impossible. Even if he tried, Regulus was well-guarded against it. He grew up with a mother who repeatedly used it against him. This idiot could never circumvent his defences.

James met his eyes and smirked. “Now you’re thinking I’m an idiot.”

“I’m always thinking that. Now, go get your cloak. I have plans for today.”

James pulled his wand from his jacket and cast a disillusionment charm on himself.

Regulus had planned to give him his wand later when they were on their actual mission, but Pandora overruled him.

Regulus had three cousins on his mother’s side: Andromeda, Bellatrix and Narcissa.

Andromeda was a rebellious spirit. She fell in love with a muggleborn wizard and was subsequently disinherited from the family. She had been Sirius’s idol.

Bellatrix didn’t only follow and believe the things her parents taught her, she put them into practice. Regulus was scared of her as a child. As adults, Bella was Voldemort’s right-hand woman, his most loyal soldier, his most convinced follower. She practiced blood-purity and muggle-hate like a religion and Voldemort was her messiah. She was a witch to be feared and respected but Regulus wasn’t scared of her anymore.

Then, there was his favourite: Narcissa. They were each the youngest of their siblings, though Narcissa was still significantly older than him and Sirius. She was quiet and obedient. She was perhaps the most intelligent out of the cousins, the perfect manipulator and loyal to no one but her family. She would betray her husband for her blood family. While she supported her husband and her sister in their ambition of shaping a new world with Voldemort, she herself felt no loyalty for the dark wizard. She shared their views on blood purity and her own superiority but did not care enough, either way, to pick up a wand to fight for her convictions.

Narcissa married a Malfoy – which was the best family to marry into, considering she came from the Blacks, which was the most respected and powerful of the sacred 28 pureblood families. Regulus happened to know a few things about Malfoy and his family. Apart from his hubris, his money and the stick up his arse, he had a collection of family records: Large tomes detailing the history of pureblood families. They included family trees, chapters about notable members, rumours and stories about their downfall. The Malfoy family had made these hundreds of years ago and each generation had the task of keeping them magically updated. They sold unchanging copies for certain families, striking out any information not meant for the broader public, but the originals stayed in the library at Malfoy Manor.

The theory was, that Tom Marvolo Riddle had to tie back into one of these families. Given his respect for purebloods and hate for mixed families and muggle-borns, it only made sense that he was – or should have been – part of the purebloods. He might be the half-blood to have ended a pureblood line and was thus cast out, disowned and hidden.

The Malfoy records might not have him listed but at the very least would give them a clue which family he belonged to. All this in the hope that he would have used at least one family heirloom as a Horcrux or hidden one on his family’s estate.

Regulus just hoped that it wasn’t the Black family. They had too many disgraces already, they didn’t need a secret half-blood child somewhere in it.

James returned after a few minutes. He had shoved his cloak, a pillow, a blanket and a bunch of other stuff into a duffle bag. How inconspicuous. He, no doubt, also left a note inside the house. How this guy was accepted into a secret society remained a miracle. Regulus kept at his theory that it was about him luring others into the Order.

“Now what? Are you going to bring this thing when we go to my cousin’s?”

James shrugged, cast a spell on the bag and shrunk it to the size of a penny which he could slip into his pocket. “So, what are we doing at your cousin’s?”

“We are not doing anything. We are not doing teamwork. We’re not a team, I tell you what to do and you do it.”

“Yes, but as long as we’re doing it together, we’re sort of a team. Not to mention that your people at the bunker are a team and I’m in that team.” James grinned and moved his hand to poke his shoulder. Regulus caught his wrist. He twisted until James’s eyelid twitched ever so slightly, betraying his smirk.

“That is why Pandora is our leader. If it were up to me, you’d be a slave under my Imperio curse and attend to my every whim while I carve my name into your skin.”

James met his eye, seemingly undeterred by his threats. “Kinky.”

Regulus twisted his wrist further.

“You’re no fun.”

“You’re dead meat making a home in the slaughter house.”

James’s eyes flickered away from his. Regulus took it as a win.

“Let’s go. We have things to do.”

***

Regulus only told James the basic information he needed to complete his task. Regulus would sneak him into Malfoy manor. He would then distract his cousin, while James searched the library and stole the pureblood family records.

“How are you going to sneak me in?”

“Just wear your cloak and be quiet.”

“How do I find the library?”

“Just walk through the house until you find a room with a lot of books.”

“What if someone is there?”

“Won’t be the case.”

“What if-“

“James. Shut the fuck up. I’m the planner. You’re the tool. The only thing you have to concern that empty head of yours with, is the location of the records.”

James mumbled something under his breath and put on the cloak, instantly vanishing from view.

“Good. Now, follow me.”

Regulus shifted into his Animagus form. As the cat, he led James to a tall, iron-wrought gate. It was closed.

“Fuck. Now what?” James asked.

Regulus was glad he couldn’t speak as an Animagus. At least, he didn’t have to answer his stupid questions.

It was Tuesday, which was errand day for Narcissa’s house elf. She was coming and going several times a day. Just before he turned, he had noticed her coming down the long path from the manor to the gate. With a snap of her finger, it unlocked and glided open. Regulus slinked inside and hurried along the path.

“Lucky us,” James’s voice appeared somewhere above him. Idiot. Luck - as if Regulus would ever rely on such a thing.

The long road up to the main entrance of the manor was lined by hedges, which, inward, turned into mazes, housing peacocks, and leading any visitor either to the garden, another exit, or doom.

Instead of the front door, Regulus jumped on top of the hedge maze and led James through it to the back of the house. They had a small sitting room with a high, glass door leading to the gardens. Narcissa loved that room. It came as no surprise to find her sitting in a chair by the door, basking in the winter sun with a book in her delicate hands.

She has always been the most beautiful of her sisters. Lately, to set herself apart and proclaim her loyalty to her new family, she had dyed her hair white-blond, like her husband’s. She still had their family’s typical fair skin, high cheekbones, straight nose and storm-grey eyes. Her posture spoke of years of a traditional upbringing, being tied to broomsticks and chairs to keep her back straight. She only smiled when the moment demanded it. Regulus had been just like her once.

He walked up to the glass doors and put his paws against the glass panels. The movement caught her attention. She gazed at the cat for a moment, then called behind her into the house. When nothing happened, she stood up, hurried to the door and opened it for him.

“Regulus?” she whispered.  “Is that you?”

It wasn’t the first time he had visited her like this. The first time, she had tried to shoo him and almost had a heart attack when Regulus revealed himself.

He shifted out of his cat form. Her eyes turned soft when she saw him and, in an unusual display of sentimentality, she hugged him.

She didn’t notice how one of the doors opened on its own and closed itself again when James slipped out of the room.

“Regulus,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was worried.”

She cupped his cheeks and took a moment to study his face as if to search for signs of an old injury or a flaw in an illusion.

“I’m okay,” he said and gently pushed her hands away.

She ushered him to sit and conjured a tea set for them, which filled itself with his favourite tea, milk and sugar.

“I want to ask where you are and what you are up to but you shouldn’t tell me. It’s not safe.”

Regulus nodded. Voldemort could read minds. Coming here put his cousin in danger but she, like him, was trained in occlumency from a childhood spent with parents who would use their mind-reading capabilities against her.

“Your parents are worried about you,” she said, stirring her tea. “They want you to come home.”

“I won’t.”

“I know. …There are rumours. They think you’re a deserter, or, worse, switched sides and are working for the Order now.”

“I would never work for them.”

“I know. Others, your parents, still think you had some sort of psychotic break when Sirius… But it’s been almost a year and they’re growing restless. Especially since Mr Rosier and Mr Crouch disappeared as well.”

They weren’t entirely wrong, Regulus thought.

“Regulus, I’m serious. Voldemort is growing suspicious. He wants you back… not necessarily alive.”

He smacked his lips together. “I wonder what took him so long to give the order for my capture. Don’t worry, he will see me again. Briefly. Sooner than he’d like.”

Narcissa averted her eyes. “You scare me, sometimes.”

Regulus didn’t have an answer for this. They sat in silence for a while, Narcissa kept stirring her tea instead of drinking it.

“You remind me of him more and more,” she said eventually. “Your brother. He was angry too. You remember how he jumped atop the dining table at Christmas and screamed about us being evil and willing to kill an entire population to feel better about ourselves?”

“I’m nothing like him,” he rushed to say. “He was blinded by optimism and faith in good prevailing. He thought he could change the world if he couldn’t change us. I have no such ambitions, faith or trust.”

“Then what are your ambitions? What are you doing?”

“You just said you shouldn’t ask me that.”

He couldn’t tell her anyway. She couldn’t know. His plans were too insane, even for her ears. She’d try to talk him out of it. She didn’t want him to dabble in magic so dark it was banned from ordinary books. The only flare of rebellion this woman has ever had, appeared when his parents talked about Regulus studying with the Dark Lord and going on missions for him, and Narcissa stood up and exclaimed in dismay: “He is just a child!”

He was sixteen then and took the dark mark mere days afterwards. He hadn’t felt like “just a child” then. Children never do.

Narcissa put her cup on the low table in front of them. “I’m just worried. I already lost one cousin to this war. I’m on the verge of losing my second sister – sometimes I feel like I already have. And my husband… he’s like Bella. He rather spends time with the dark Lord than with me. He doesn’t care for my concerns, my fears, my family. According to him and Bella, I only have one sister because the rest of you are not part of us anymore. I just don’t understand when opinions and some halfblood became more important than family.”

“Opinions have always been more important than family, Cissa. Have you seen our tapestry? How many people has mother burned off?”

“So? Just because we formally disown them doesn’t mean we have to cast them out of our lives completely. I’d never argue for Andromeda to be invited to our gatherings, but why can’t I write to her? My sister? Why can’t I know my niece? Did you know she had a daughter? And your brother – why aren’t we allowed to mourn him? We’d be traitors if we did. …I know your mother mourns him, in her own way.”

“Cissa, stop. You’re talking nonsense now.”

“No, I mean it. She has not touched either of you boys’ rooms since you each left. I think deep, deep down, she loves you both more than anything.”

Regulus would have laughed if he had remembered how.

His mother has never loved anyone or anything. They were born to continue the family legacy, not because of love.

Maybe, she mourned the idea of her sons. Maybe she mourned the children she was supposed to have: Loyal pureblood boys, students of the dark arts and willing followers of Voldemort. Her two boys: His right-hand men.

If she laid her eyes on Sirius, if he was still alive and strolled into her house, she’d curse him. She’d use torture and killing spells on him. She’d do the same with Regulus.

“I should go before your house elf comes back, or worse, your husband.”

She nodded, refusing to look at him. He’d see too much emotion in her face.

“It would probably be best if no one knew you were here.”

Regulus swallowed. “Yes. …You should go wash these and I’ll leave.”

Narcissa stood up, cleared the table and went to the kitchen.

Regulus followed her on his tip-toes. After she had cleaned his cup, he raised his wand to her head and whispered “Obliviate.”

***

After altering his cousin’s memory, Regulus dashed through the house to the library.

It seemed undisturbed. Maybe the idiot didn’t find it.

“Reg, I’m here!” James whisper-yelled from the other side of the library, where a book was waved back and forth by an unattached hand.

Regulus rolled his eyes and joined him. “Did you find everything? We have to go.”

“I think so.” He kicked the duffle bag at his feet. “Knew it was a good idea to bring this. I just put every single of those record books I could find in here. They have a thick-ass tome just about yours.”

“Fantastic. Let’s go.” He urged him to get away from the windows and touch his shoulder to apparate when, suddenly, he felt a pulling and tingling sensation in his gut.

Regulus stopped. He focused his mind on it. A force pressed against him on his left, like a heavy blanket being thrown on him. He moved towards it. The air got thinner and gravity pulled him down and towards the spot.

“What is it?” James asked confused. “Regulus?”

“There’s a… Horcrux here, I think. Don’t you feel that?”

James came to a halt next to him. “Feel what?”

“Dark magic. It’s in the walls. It’s infesting the air.”

“I’m not feeling anything,” he said, and then, with concern slowing his voice, “Are you okay?”

Regulus pulled out his wand and stepped closer to the wall. Horcruxes, like many dark magic items, affected the world around them – people and places alike. If they were not stored correctly, and if one knew what they felt like and was attuned to dark magic, they were easy to detect. – which meant exceptionally hard to detect for normal people.

They kept the Horcruxes they already found in a lead box because of this.

 He stretched out his hands, searching for the source of the magic, its core.

James was mumbling something beside him but he tuned him out. He didn’t need to hear his babbling while he was doing this.

They tried to hide the Horcrux behind layers of protective and obscuring magic – useful at first but eventually weakened by it. What most didn’t understand about these objects was that they wanted to corrupt. It was their only purpose of existing. They wanted to be found, jump into another’s hands and subject them to their influence. They have learned this the hard way with the Locket – Regulus had worn it for weeks after they got it and ended up stabbing Barty when he bothered him in his library. The incident was long forgiven, but they were careful to not expose each other to the horcruxes for too long.

This thing has eaten through the protective magic and corrupted the world around it, yearning to be released from its prison and wreak havoc. After all, these contained parts of Voldemort’s soul – one part more wicked and inhuman than the next.

Regulus wishes Barty had come with them. He always turned to him about breaking locks and curses. He had no doubt he could do this on his own, but time was of the essence and Barty would be faster.

Regulus closed his eyes and concentrated on feeling and touching the magic. He played it like music, feeling the keys and analysing the tune until the counter revealed itself to him in a different instrument. Spell after spell, shield after shield fell away under his hands until he touched raw, dark energy.

He opened his eyes again. James was still beside him, talking. His voice was merely wind through the music. Words didn’t reach him.

Regulus reached out toward the wall, further and further, until the brick melted beneath his fingertips and he reached into a pocket of air, and in there, grabbed something thin, leathery and rectangular. A book?

Regulus pulled it out of the wall. It was, indeed, a book. He was pulled out of his head space by a hand closing around his arm, turning and pulling him.

“Watch out!” James’s voice reached his brain, but he wasn’t sure when he had screamed it.

New sounds reached him, the sizzling of magic and lightning, the falling of books and the creaking of shelves collapsing under force and fire.

He must have triggered a trap. Magic shot out of the walls from two sides, firing at them.

The next thing Regulus realised was that it was James who had pulled him away. He had turned him and pressed him against his chest while curling his body around him. His mouth was somewhere by his ear when he gasped and cursed, and his breath hit his skin.

Regulus stood in his arms, paralysed. He realised that the triggered alarm must have, somehow, altered either Malfoy or Voldemort. They had to leave and they had to do it quickly. Before he could get to the end of that thought, the space around him warped and shifted and James apparated them back to Dorcas’s house.

The smell of fire and magic evaporated instantly, except for the scent clinging to their clothes. James’s arms were still around him.

“You okay?” he whispered. He pulled back slowly, leaving his hands on Regulus’s arms and looking at him.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, clutching the Horcrux.

He wound himself out of James’s hands and opened the suitcase, ushering him inside.

When James turned his back to him, limping to the suitcase and slowly climbing down a ladder into the bunker, Regulus noticed scorching marks on his jacket and dark liquid seeping through the fabric.

He followed him, closing the suitcase above. When he reached the end of the ladder and looked down the corridor, he saw James, lying on the ground, unconscious, the blood trickling to the ground.

***

Regulus sat in James’s room on the wooden chair leaned against the wall, which was now decorated with a family photo – a large group of wizards and witches, constantly grinning and waving. It was unnerving. Furthermore, there were clothes in the dresser, a fluffy pillow and a thick, red blanket covering James. Next to him on a bedside table stood a photograph: James’s parents, with four teenagers between them: Peter Pettigrew, who was dead, Remus Lupin, who might be dead, James, who was knocked out, and Sirius. Sirius and Remus were holding hands. The scrawny boy with the scars was balancing on a cane while Regulus’s brother was winking and not-so-subtly showing off the hickey on his neck. This group of teenage boys called itself “The Marauders” back at school and thought itself incredibly funny. They were not.

Regulus was staring at the photograph, spinning a throwing knife between his fingers. It must have been taken shortly after Sirius ran away from home. He ran during the Christmas Holidays, so this might have been the summer afterwards. He must have been 16. Less than six years later, and they were all dead.

Almost.

The book he found in Malfoy’s wall looked to be an old diary. It likely belonged to young Voldemort, when he was a dramatic and spiteful teenager. It was indeed a Horcrux.

James stirred and groaned in pain. Regulus bit the inside of his cheek. It was an atrocity that he was in pain and he wasn’t the cause. Their relationship of victim and attempted murderer should be an exclusive one.

James groaned again and finally opened his eyes. He looked confused from his blanket to the rest of the room until he settled on Regulus. He stared for a moment, then hastily felt for his glasses on the bedside table. The sudden movement brought another burst of pain to his face.

He put his glasses on and blinked at Regulus. After a quiet moment, he began to grin. “Are you checking in on me, Love?”

Regulus said nothing, meeting his eyes and spinning the knife.

“Aw, were you worried about me? How sweet of you.”

Regulus threw the knife.

It lodged itself next to James’s head into the headboard.

“Just making sure you’re alive. You’re not completely useless when you are.”

“Just a few scratches, no biggie.”

He was wrong. His back was adorned by huge, ugly scars as if he were grazed by oversized muggle bullets. Pandora said, with a bit of time and the right ointments, they should disappear in no time. Nevertheless, he was seriously injured in his nonsensical attempt to protect Regulus. So, the opposite of “No biggie.”

“Why did you do it?” Regulus asked.

“Why did I do what?”

“Almost set yourself on fire while I got away without a scratch.”

“Ah,” he looked at the knife next to his face. He lifted his arm to touch it, but the pain returned when he tried to move, so he abandoned the task. “It’s my job now, isn’t it? Barty said, my first task is always to help you. I’m the bodyguard of your stupid assassin-arse.”

Regulus nodded, getting up from the chair. He leaned over him, bracing his hand against the headboard, and holding his face just inches away from James’s.

“How very twee.” He pulled out the knife and put the blade against James’s cheek, not cutting, just holding it there. James didn’t flinch. “For next time, just remember: If you die, it will be by my hand, no one else’s. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Regulus pushed himself up. “Don’t call me Sir, Idiot.”

He turned to leave. James should sleep some more and have his dinner.

James laughed lightly, broken up by noises of pain. “Yes, Love.”

Chapter Text

“I’m just here.” – Kings Rising, 197

Regulus, James and Evan have cleared some of the desks to have more space for their pureblood family research. They weren’t entirely sure what they were looking for – a gap, an anomaly, scratched-out notes, a familiar name. “Marvolo” was a rare name, one that should stand out even amidst such names as Abraxases, Bartemius, and Druella, but so far, the search was fruitless.

Pandora sat at a desk on the other side of the room, doing what she did best: Inventing and engineering. Her life ambition was to infuse muggle weapons with magical energy – not just Regulus’s daggers, but muggle guns. When Regulus walked by her desk earlier, her sketches were of jewellery, not of bullets or knives.

Barty was still working on the necromancy tome. To the naked eye, it looked like he wasn’t doing much. He sat at his desk, hovering his wand over the clasped book. In reality, he was slipping into the realm between here and there, diving into the magic to analyse it, to prod at and dismantle it. According to him, the book was locked tight, wrapped in layers of dark magic, and cursed to the moon and back to prevent anyone from opening it ever again.

What may deter people like James from such a book, only encouraged Regulus. This book must contain the information and rituals he needed. No other magic would be as forbidden and locked away as this.

Barty was more productive than Regulus by far. With the book so close, he couldn’t concentrate on those stupid records and Voldemort’s real identity. Every day, he was one step closer to getting what he wanted, but at the same time, every day he had to wait felt like torture. He caught himself staring at Barty, trying to catch a glimpse of his work. He could only imagine the kind of old and powerful magic holding the book bound. He’d like to study it, learn it, even use it.

It could bind objects, and protect places – could it be used on people? Could it restrain a person in invisible, unbreakable binds to remain motionlessly wherever Regulus wanted them? A fine target for knife throwing and trying out his new daggers. His eyes wandered to James.

No, not him.

He liked it when James put up a fight. He’d prefer to kill him the proper way, as a person, not an object.

He forced his gaze back to the family records sprawled across his desk. The letters blended together as his focus wavered again. The faint sound of Evan’s quill scratching across parchment and the occasional frustrated sigh from James filled the room. Regulus glanced at his laboratory-throwing knife on his desk. It was usually reserved for Barty’s stupid jokes but he felt compelled to use it to shut James up.  

A sharp, crackling noise drew his attention.

He looked up just in time to see Barty’s wand jerk upward, the book’s clasp glowing a faint red. Barty muttered under his breath, his voice a strange mix of exasperation and exhilaration. His face was pale, his jaw tight as he tilted his wand again. The air around the book shimmered faintly. The aura of magic crackled like static before subsiding again.

Regulus shot up and crossed the room to him. The grimoire lay between him and Barty. The desk trembled.

It stilled. The room was thick with silence. Regulus didn’t dare to breathe.

Suddenly, a searing wind tore through the room, carrying the smell of blood and rot. The grimoire’s pages fluttered open like a tornado was about to tear through them.

Barty pulled back from it, covering his mouth and nose with his hand. Regulus didn’t care for the smell, or the wind forcing it through his hair and coating his skin in it. His eyes were locked on the book. Normal pages would have torn under the force, would have been ripped out and strewn through the laboratory. These didn’t.

Regulus tried to catch a glimpse of written words, sketches and ritual circles. The pages were moving too quickly, preventing any meaningful discovery.

As suddenly as it started, the wind was gone. The smell of rot lingered in the air and the grimoire lay bare before him.

The pages were of an old, discoloured beige, thick and bendy. But there were no words.

Regulus reached out, turning one of the pages. It felt rubbery between his fingers.

The next page was blank, too.

And the next. And the next.

Regulus flipped through the book.

“It’s empty,” Barty said.

Not one word, not a line, no pictures, diagrams, sketches, not even a blot of ink.

No.

No, this couldn’t be.

All of their effort couldn’t be for nothing!

“FUCK!”

His future and all his plans hinged on this book. It was the only thing – the only thing – that could have helped him! That could have given him the ritual and the information he needed! No other book would speak of it. It was his only hope.

He swiped over Barty’s desk, sending a stack of books to the ground.

“Fuck!”

“Regulus,” Pandora said softly.

He didn’t want to hear it.

Why bother with Voldemort and his stupid Horcruxes? What did that man matter if this book didn’t work? Why would he bother with him? He didn’t matter.

Now, he had to go back to searching for a different ritual.

He grabbed the knife from his desk and hurled it across the room. It lodged itself into Barty’s desk next to the tome.

James drew nearer. “What do you mean, it’s empty? Why would Moody want to take it away from you so badly if it’s empty?”

“He probably had no idea, just like us,” Pandora murmured. She was next to Regulus, softly covering his hand with hers.

“So, everything was for nothing?” Evan asked. “Seriously? Fucking-“ He slammed the family record in front of him on his desk. The wood splintered under the blow.

Regulus, Barty, and Pandora looked at him. Evan looked at the desk and then his own hands in shock.

Regulus was too distracted to see what James was doing until he said, “These pages feel weird. Like… old leather but thin. Ugh.”

“It’s not leather, you idiot. It’s made from human skin.”

James dropped the tome.

Regulus’s head snapped around at the dull thud.

“Have you lost what little sense you possess?” He hissed, rushing back to Barty’s desk. “Do you have any idea how ancient this is? How valuable? You ungrateful, clumsy excuse for a sentient being. Were you raised by trolls or are you just so hopelessly idiotic that you can’t manage the simplest act of care?”

James raised his hands. “Okay. Sorry.”

“No, not okay. It’s bad enough that you breathe in the same room as me or this book – bad enough that I have to trust your oversized hands anywhere near it – but now you’ve gone and treated it with all the grace of a Hippogriff at tea time. Even empty and useless it’s more important than the sum total of your Order’s collective failures! Keeping your stupid arse alive can’t possibly worth the effort! This thing was made by a primal goddess of Magic from human skin and blood. Don’t go near it.”

James stayed calm at his insults. Too calm. He should get angry. He should scream back. He should raise his oversized fists and try to hit him again!

“Maybe it’s a fake?” James suggested instead. “Maybe the real book is still somewhere out there?”

Regulus ignored him. If he didn’t want to fight, he could as well just shut up. This had to be it. They were looking for it for so long.

The material of the pages was different than anything he had felt before. Was it a fake or real human skin?

Maybe he should cut James up and hang his skin out to dry to compare the textures. Maybe he should take his blood and write his own grimoire.

Regulus ran his finger over one of the pages as if he could make the words visible.

Could he?

Maybe… maybe this was the right book. It had to be. Maybe this was the last safeguard. Even if one managed to open the book, they shouldn’t be able to read it unless they paid a price worthy of old gods and ancient, dark magic.

Without further comment, he grabbed James’s hand, pulled his knife out of the desk and sliced along his palm.

James hissed and grunted his name. Regulus pressed his palm onto the open page.

James pulled back his hand, leaving a red smear on the page.

Under Regulus’s gaze, the blood began to move. It pooled in the centre of the page, then bloomed into peculiar shapes, until settling into a three-headed raven. The blood sank into the skin, forming lines and shapes until it revealed letters, words, and sketches.

Regulus dropped the knife and picked up the tome. The rest of the world slipped out of his focus. He found back to his desk and sank into his chair, staring at the lines of dried blood.

He couldn’t read it. It wasn’t written in English – it was written before English was a thing. He flipped a page. His eyes got hung up on one of the sketches of a ritual circle infused with ancient runes.

“Regulus?” Someone asked. His brain didn’t care enough to realise who it was.

“You alright there?”

The people kept talking. How was a person supposed to be able to concentrate with all this babbling around him?

Regulus bit his lip. He stood up and muttered. “I’ll be in the library.”

***

Barty

Regulus left the laboratory, muttering into the grimoire, leaving Pandora, Evan, James and Barty alone.

Evan was still staring at his splintered desk.

He shook his head and stepped away from it, plastering a grin on his face. “Hey, Potter, still need that wound or can I have lick?”

James, who has been staring at the door Regulus left through, frowned and clenched his hand into a fist.

“What? Could use a little snack, that’s all.” Evan laughed and strutted through the room.

That’s what he’s been good at lately, making jokes. He was wearing a black cape today, slipping in and out of a Romanian accent. He has been dressing up and joking around for weeks now but refused to sit down and talk about this.

“Should he be alone with that book?” James asked. The guy only had enough brain capacity to focus on one thing or person at a time, and that was usually Regulus. Fuck knew what they had going on. They were looking at each other like they were constantly debating between kissing and killing each other – Regulus was heavier on the killing part.

“You wouldn’t be able to stop him if you tried,” Pandora said and took his hand to heal him.

“Dora,” Evan complained, “Why did you heal him? I just wanted a little snack. We can’t let Regulus have all the fun with him.”

“Hey, you do remember that I’m a person, not some thing you guys can pass around.”

“So, Reg’s the only one who is allowed to play with you and make you bleed?”

“Yes.”

Evan snickered and even Pandora chuckled behind her hand.

Barty was too tired for their shit. Regulus and his stupid book. James and his stupid knife kink. Evan and his fucking jokes.

He just spent days breaking curses and ancient locks and his stupid-ass boyfriend talked about licking another bloke’s hand.

Fuck this.

Barty stole himself out of the room to grab a drink from the kitchen and then went to bed to sleep for six business days or more.

Usually, he would have expected Evan to follow him, kiss him and go to bed with him, but he has moved past such delusions.

Armoured with a couple of beers, he retreated to his bedroom. His back screamed for a hot shower, aching from the hours he spent hunched over the necromancy tome, meticulously undoing ancient warding and curses.

He could have been a real curse breaker. He would have been a good one. The best, even.

He has always been bright, everybody except his father had said so. His father didn’t reward brightness, he just expected it. He wanted him to go into politics.

Barty was ambitious enough in his youth to be sorted into Slytherin but at some point the urge to defy and disappoint his father won. He failed all of his classes, broke rules, and picked fights until Mr Crouch was called into Dumbledore’s office.

Barty was bright enough to save his marks in a last-ditch effort not to be expelled or forced to repeat the school year, but he left a dent in his father’s perception and expectations of him - Something he was undeniably proud of.

He hasn’t talked to his dad in a couple of years. He didn’t mind, was glad even, except that it also meant that he hadn’t talked to his mother in a long time. She has always done her best, which set her apart from Regulus’ and Evan’s mothers. But when Barty kept derailing, she was at her wit’s ends and, while she would never give up on him, he went so far off track that he slipped out of her reach.

This moment of slipping, of jumping off the track head first down a cliff turning his life into a trainwreck, was when he took the dark mark.

It seemed like not a big deal and his most important action all at the same time. It was meaningful in the sense that it made him part of something, earned him respect and irrevocably changed the trajectory of his life. But it was nothing, not worth the grief or too much thought regarding the specifics. It was something, something, muggle-domination, something, something, murder, blah, blah, blah. Whatever. He was part of something big and his friends were with him.

Barty treated being a death eater like he treated most things in his life – a game, an experiment, a project he could simply abandon if it got too exasperating.

It wasn’t.

Oh, how it was not any of that.

People died. In front of him. Next to him. Behind him. Not play-pretend dead. Not pissing off their parents dead. Dead dead.

They likely all had that same revelation sooner or later.

The moment something changed, however, was the moment Sirius died.

It changed Regulus. Fundamentally changed him, more than when his brother left.

He snapped.

There was no other way to describe it.

He stole his corpse, ran away, built a bunker and locked himself away for two months, drowning himself in dark magic books and research.

Evan and Barty sought out Pandora and went looking for their friend, finding a suicidal insomniac sitting next to his brother’s corpse, magically kept from rotting, reading to him about the most insane and forbidden magic they have ever heard of.

It took until Regulus almost died in a cave filled with Inferi while trying to get a cursed locket that he agreed to accept their help.

Pandora hadn’t taken the mark and, unlike the rest of them, cared about muggles, muggle-borns, and their friends. She ran away from her family and hid with their friend Dorcas after refusing to attend death eater meetings with Evan. She has never wanted to be part of the war one way or another. She said she wanted to help the people and support them with her inventions and experiments – but take up her wand to fight? No. Working here with them to fight Voldemort in the background was not what she had meant but ultimately exactly what she wanted.

Barty expected there to be far more discussions about the value of muggle life and issues with Voldemort’s ideology to come with James in the bunker. It wasn’t something they concerned themselves with. Pandora always spoke of “unlearning” but Barty had never “learned” that ideology in the first place, not like Regulus and Evan had. He has always been indifferent to it all as long as it didn’t interfere with his goals. And maybe that was worse.

He turned the shower to hot, letting the scalding water massage his back for a few minutes.

At school, he had a mad crush on Regulus. How could he not? The guy was fucking beautiful. Guys, in general, were handsome, hot, fit, cute. Regulus was beautiful when he slapped and kicked some wanker, pretty when he insulted people in passing, and fucking hot when he played Quidditch or held up a dagger to someone’s throat. They fooled around at school, kissing, exploring, and the first awkward sexual encounters. They were never officially together and Barty hadn’t been in love. It still hurt when Regulus took him aside one day to tell him, he didn’t and wouldn’t love him, ever, and maybe they should stop their thing if this was a problem for Barty. It was. They stopped. They remained friends. It was fine.

Barty was glad it went down like that. It made way for Evan to take centre stage in his life. Barty left his home after Hogwarts, being a part of the Death Eaters at that point, and found shelter in the Rosier house – which rather quickly led to Barty and Evan being alone all the time, which led to kissing again. The kissing led to far less awkward and all the more pleasurable sex.

This time, they were officially together and Barty was in love.

Everything was fine.

Except that, since Evan’s transformation, Barty has been constantly expecting to be taken aside again. “Listen, you’re my best friend and what we’re doing… it’s good. It’s great. I enjoy it. But I want to be honest with you: I don’t have romantic feelings for you. I can’t lose you as a friend, so if me not liking you that way is a problem, I’d rather go back to… just being friends…”

With Regulus, it had stung but ultimately, it was for the better.

He couldn’t take hearing this bullshit again from Evan. He just couldn’t.

Maybe the waiting for it was worse.

Barty shut off the water and stepped out of the shower.

He grabbed a towel, dried himself off and returned to the bedroom, rolling his neck and rotating his shoulders.

“Are you okay?”

Barty stopped in his tracks and looked up. Evan sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with his hands. He had abandoned the Dracula cape somewhere on the way. He almost looked like his Evan again, sitting there with messy blond hair and a faded shirt of some wizard rock band.

“You just left without a word.”

No way. Not this bloke telling him he didn’t communicate.

“Tired,” he muttered and began to change into his pyjamas.

“You, uhm… did good work.”

Barty glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Was he genuinely here to talk? If he wasn’t exhausted and generally fed up with every guy in this place, he’d welcome it. But as it was…

“What do you want, Evan?”

“Just checking up on you. It’s unlike you to just leave after a great success.”

“You are going to lecture me about acting out of character?”

Evan pressed his lips together, looking at his hands.  

“Can you just go? You haven’t cared enough to speak to me since the castle and now isn’t the right time. Just let me sleep.”

Evan shot up. “What’s your fucking problem? I just wanted to check on you and you want to pick a fight?”

“My problem?”

“Yeah.”

“My fucking problem is that my stupid, tosser of a boyfriend refuses to talk to me! Whenever I try to speak with you, you tell me to leave you alone. You don’t look at me. You don’t kiss me. You don’t sleep with me. And you’re not telling me why!” Barty yelled at him.

“What the hell do you think why? I’m dead, Barty! Dead. I died. And  - and now I’m this thing. I keep breaking shit around me, I can hear Potter rubbing one out three doors down, I can smell when my sister is on her period! I can’t even hide from all of this shit because we’re trapped in a fucking bunker and if I go outside and the sun is shining I will burn alive! But, oh! So fucking sorry that I wasn’t shagging your brains out every day!”

“Fuck you. You know what I’m talking about. This isn’t about sex, you idiot. All this shit you just screamed about – why can’t you fucking talk to me about it? Aren’t I your boyfriend?”

“Because you couldn’t possibly understand what the hell I’m going through! Go ahead, give me your best shot! What stellar advise do you have for me?”

“I’m not your rotten therapist. I don’t need to give you bullshit advise you won’t follow anyway. You’ve been ignoring me! You’ve talked more to Potter than me these past couple of days. And your excuse is that you’re dead and can’t deal with being a vampire?”

Evan looked back at him bewildered. “What other ‘excuse’ do I fucking need?”

“I know you’re dead, Evan! I was there. I watched you fucking die! Okay? You died right in front of me and I couldn’t do anything about it and all I got since then was you telling me that my heart is beating too loudly and one pretend-kiss in front of Reg and Dora!”

“Yeah, I bet this shit is so much harder on you than it is on me.”

“Maybe not – but could you at least pretend like you care that it is hard for me? Or at least fucking act like you care about me?”

Evan crossed his arms in front of him, shaking his head and looking demonstratively away from him. “You’re a fucking selfish bastard. I’m going through some shit here and all you care about is how it makes you feel.”

“Don’t you dare to turn this around on me. I know that you’re going through something. I care. That’s why I’m trying to fucking talk to you! You block every attempt I make. I’m trying to help you, care for you, be there for you, and you lock me out, play dress-up and joke about sucking some other bloke’s blood. And now, after ignoring me the entire time, you come in here after I just finished breaking a dozen fucking ancient spells that could have killed me, and want to start something! How about you’re trying to be a prick somewhere else?”

He picked up one of the beers and opened it, decidedly ignoring Evan’s presence.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Have it your way. Get wasted. Wallow in your fucking self pity, that’s what you’ve always done best.”

He left the room with his stupid inhuman speed.

“Make sure you don’t run into a wall and crack it!” Barty called after him.

He rubbed his hand over his face.

Maybe Evan simply didn’t want to understand him. Was that possible?

Whatever. Fuck it.

Barty threw himself on his bed with his beers and nursed himself to sleep.

***

The next morning Barty was the first in the kitchen. He only made breakfast for himself, unsure which of his friends would show up at the same time to eat with him, and also indifferent to whether or not James ate anything. Dirty dishes piled up on almost every surface. He glanced at the cleaning schedule. It was his turn yesterday. Today it was Regulus.

The second who arrived was, unfortunately, Evan.

There were a million things to be said and a million things not to be said. Barty was sure, they would end up saying all the things they shouldn’t say. He didn’t have the energy for this shit right now.

Evan stopped at the door, looking at him.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Barty muttered, gazing at his toast.

“Do you want to keep going where we left off or should I come back later?”

Barty glared at him.

“First one then. Well, then let’s find a solution for your little problem, huh? I allow you to fuck someone else, will that put you into a better mood?”

“You’re such a wanker. You don’t understand anything, do you?”

“What don’t I understand? You’re upset that I don’t talk to you about things that I barely understand myself. I can’t fucking help you with that. Other than that you want to snog, you want to shag – fine. I’m gonna find you a substitute.”

Barty just looked at him, then turned back to his food. This wasn’t about physical intimacy. Sure their relationship had started that way and for a large part it was based on it, he had to admit that but it wasn’t what it was all about anymore, was it? It wasn’t about snogging and shagging and doing it in Regulus’s library, kind of hoping he would catch them for the thrill but at the same time begging he would never find out about it – they’d want him to join in but he’d use them as target practice instead.

This was about the fact that Barty loved him. Loved him. The realisation was hard enough. He thought he would finally have his big “I love you” moment after Evan woke up.

Instead, he had this.

He had a boyfriend who did not speak to him and somehow reverted their relationship back to that of fuck buddies.

It hurt.

It hurt so much that Barty wanted to be destructive. Maybe taking a sledgehammer to their relationship and fucking Regulus right in front of this guy would wake him up, make him come back to his senses and be a proper boyfriend again.

Remembering Regulus’s body and considering how much it might have changed since their last encounter, it might even be worth the risk. 

“So, who is it gonna be? You wanna fuck my sister? Almost as good, right? Can’t get more of a substitute than that.”

“Fuck you, I’d never touch Pandora.”

It wasn’t like Pandora wasn’t beautiful. She was, and Barty had a taste for beautiful women, but he respected her too much for that kind of thing. Pandora Rosier was not the kind of girl one used for a revenge fuck. She was the kind of girl one tried new hobbies, crafts and pastimes for and, in return, ended up with an office space full of little gifts. She was one to be respected and worshipped. Barty wasn’t made for that. Also, over the years, she has become something like a little sister to him. While he was all kinds of weird, a bit kinky and probably a bit sick, this was a line even he wouldn’t cross.

“Regulus,” Evan proposed. “Been a while, huh? He’s been looking mighty fit lately. Are you like Potter? Have a thing for him when he pulls out his pretty little daggers I made? I bet you wanna dick him down every time he throws one at you.”

“No, I don’t. Not every time.”

They looked at each other, having a quiet contest of who could look the most indifferent.

The kitchen door opened again and Potter walked in.

“Morning. Is there breakfast?”

“In the world? Not enough, I assume. In here? You’ll have to take a look for yourself.”

“Ah, we’re being cheery this morning. Good to know.”

His presence was a fucking insult in here. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he chained to a desk, forced to do their dirty work? Instead, he walked around their bunker like he owned the place like it was his magic flowing through the very walls of this place, not theirs, and made his stupid little comments while goading Regulus into pandering to his sick little knife kink.

“Hey, Potter,” Evan called. “Barty’s looking for a shag. Are you up for that?”

James stopped and slowly turned to them. “Pardon?”

“Fucking. F U C K. Are you familiar with that? It’s the thing you fantasise about when Regulus holds a dagger to your throat.”

“Okay… first of all, I’m not thinking about that when he threatens me.”

“Tell that to your face.”  

James frowned. “Uhm, Okay. And now we’re not talking about that anymore. Actually, really, you and I and Barty, we’re not talking about anything related to that. You know, in general, not just regarding Regulus.”

Evan clicked his tongue, returning to Barty. “Tough luck.”

“Shut up, Evan.”

James went to the fridge and prepared a small breakfast for himself.

“I’m almost too afraid to ask,” he said when he sat down at the table. “But is everything alright?”

“None of your business, Potter. Eat your toast.”

“Just trying to find a fuck buddy for Barty. Apparently I’m not enough anymore.”

“Shut your fucking mouth or I will sew your lips together – manually, not magically, so you choke on your own fucking blood. Get your breakfast, yeah? Go to the freezer, get out some pigs blood and heat it up in the pots we set aside and labelled just for you. I don’t want to hear this anymore. If you want to be stupid and act like I said something I didn’t, do that in your head. There’s enough room for a whole conference in there.”

Evan muttered something under his breath but stayed seated beside him.

They were eventually joined by Pandora and Regulus.

Regulus was not, as Barty expected, nose deep in the necromancy tome. However, he looked like he hadn’t slept at all. His hair was tousled and his clothes didn’t sit completely straight but might be a new set compared to yesterday.

He grunted in their general direction as a greeting and went to the kitchen.

“Someone has to do the dishes. We don’t have clean knives.”

“Check the plan, it’s your turn.”

Regulus looked around the kitchen and the dirty dishes with a frown. It was, theoretically, one little cleaning spell, but dishes were dishes and they hated doing them by principle. Instead of casting anything, he pulled out a dagger from somewhere and used it to smear jam on his bread.

“Hey, Reg,” Evan continued when Regulus sat with them. Barty almost stole the dagger to stab him with it. “Are you sexually frustrated?”

Regulus stopped in his tracks and slowly looked up at them. “I’m… good. … Thank you?”

“Only because, Barty is-“

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Barty slammed his hands on the table. “I’ve had it with you! Just shut up!”

James leaned to Regulus “I think they’re having a fight.”

“You’re so observant, Potter. I’m amazed every day anew.”

“As their friend, shouldn’t you say something? They’re being weird.”

“It’s so clear that this is your first time seeing this. Shut up, eat your breakfast. – And, why are you talking to me at all?”

“I don’t know… I’m talking to you because you’re here?”

“Doesn’t seem like a legitimate reason.”

James looked helplessly at Pandora, who just shook her head in his direction.

They continued to eat in silence, with Evan watching them.

“Soo,” James said eventually. Was this man capable of shutting up? Barty wasn’t convinced. Probably a Gryffindor thing. “What’s on the agenda for today?”

Pandora took pity on him. “Same as yesterday: Searching the family records. Find a connection to Tom Riddle. Right, Reg?”

“I’ll be in the library with the tome.”

“Oh. Did you find anything interesting? Anything helpful?”

“Not yet. It’s in a language I can’t read yet.”

“What language?”

Regulus moved his head from side to side. “I’m not sure about that yet.”

“You don’t even know what language it is?”

“I can’t even tell you what language it evolved into. It’s an extinct language that doesn’t respond to any translation spell I’ve tried to far. It’s not old English, it might be older than that, even.”

Barty sighed. “So, you have no idea what it says or how to figure out how to read it.”

“I’m working on it. You do the lock-picking thing, I do the reading thing. You didn’t know what you were dealing with at first. I’ll figure it out just like you did.”

“Yes, but I at least knew the language of magic.”

“It can’t be too hard. It’s a language that has existed on this planet at some point. I’ll go from there.”

“Oh boy,” Pandora mumbled.

“Do you need help with that?” James asked.

“No. Especially not yours.”

“Come on. Those family records are so boring. Give me something more interesting to do.”

“Oh, you want something interesting? Sorry, are we not entertaining enough?” He clutched his chest. “My bad! Maybe we should throw you at Voldemort’s feet – I’m sure I’ll find that insanely amusing.”

“You’re no fun sometimes, you know that?”

“It’s not my job to be fun. It’s my job to be efficient.”

“Not sure you’re doing such a great job with that either.” This got him a good glare and a tightened grip around the dagger. That man liked living on the edge, and Barty respected that.

“Well then, James, Evan, Barty and I are going to work with the records. We’ll find someone called Marvolo or Riddle and find out who Voldemort’s real family is, then we’ll find more Horcruxes connected to his past.”

Barty groaned. His body still ached from the work of the last days. “I want to take today off. I’m just exhausted from that fucking book.”

Evan scoffed. 

“Sorry, was there something you wanted to say?”

“No, sure. You’ve had a bad day, you’re getting the day off. I’ve had a bad couple of days, you’re getting on my arse about it. Or complain that you’re not getting up my arse about it.”

“You know, it’s moments like these where I wonder what I even like about you.” Maybe he also wondered if he did at all.

Judging by the look on Evan’s face, this did something to him.

Good.

“Okay,” James said, setting his cutlery on the table. “I have to ask: Is everything alright? You guys are being weird. …-er than usual.”

“Have you ever learned to mind your own business? In general, I mean.” Barty asked.

“No. So, what’s up? What’s going on? Maybe we can help.”

“We’re not going to tell you. Shut up, eat your breakfast and go sifting through old family records until you find something useful. How about that instead of freeloading off us and picking fights about Dumbledore and the fucking Order.”

“I’m not picking fights-“

“Yes, you are. Believe me, none of us want to fight with you about whose ideology is worse.”

“This again? You still maintain that we’re on the same level as the Death Eaters? So, the Order recruits students out of Hogwarts. That’s bad, okay. You can’t possibly think that’s just as bad as Voldemort’s entire plans being based on the oppression of muggles and muggleborn wizards.”

“Could we not do this over breakfast?” Pandora asked. “They know it’s not the same. Don’t fall for his bait. Of course, they don’t think it’s the same level of evil.” She glanced at Regulus. “Right?”

“Sure, yeah, whatever. I don’t care. Dumbledore is still a bastard and I will kill him eventually. Maybe I’ll indulge Barty and let him build a bomb. We could blow up the entire headmaster’s tower.”

Barty perked up at that. It’s been a while since he was allowed to build a bomb. They were fun.

“Well, sometimes, not at the breakfast table, James, but sometimes we like to practice empathy.”

“Oh, I’m good at empathy.”

There was a collective eyeroll between Evan, Barty and Regulus.

“Not everyone is blessed with such an understanding and skill. Some of us have to practice and learn it, but, uhm, usually at the end of a day, not the start of it. It puts certain people into a very homicidal mood.”

“Oh. Well, the training hasn’t been very successful, I’d say.”

“It’s a slow process.”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you ever stop talking? Like ever, just once, for five minutes?”

“Consecutively? Rarely.”

“How about, you practice that and I practice empathy. Let’s see who gives up first.”

“Well, you could practice empathy right now by asking your friends what troubles them.”

“Or I could leave them in peace until they ask for help. You should try that. They’re my friends, not yours, they don’t need your comments.”

James didn’t want to accept this. He turned back to Evan and Barty. “So, what’s up with all the hook-up talk? Are you okay? Did something happen that made either of you uncomfortable? Have you talked about your boundaries? Consent? Safe practises?”

Everyone at the table stared at James, which he seemed unbothered by.

“Well, gathering from the general mood, and the vibes, I guess this is more of an emotional problem, right? Maybe you have a communication issue. You should take the day off, sit down with some food and a nice cup of tea and just… talk, you know? Remove yourself from all of this for a while-“

He was interrupted by a loud thud as Regulus slammed his dagger into the tabletop, right into the space between his fingers. James pulled back his hand in surprise, cutting himself in the process.

Next to Barty, Evan inhaled as a thin trickle of blood ran down his finger.

“Either you shut up or I’ll stab you in the face.”

“Fine,” James grumbled. “Just trying to help.”

“You didn’t. Now, I’ll be the in the library and if I hear that you opened your fucking mouth again, I will come back and use you as target practice for the day. Haven’t thrown a dagger in a while.”

“You just did yesterday-“ But Regulus was already up and half out the door. “Fine. Sorry.”

“See?” Pandora whispered, pulling the dagger out of the table and tapping it with her wand, changing the colour of the blade to purple. “Homicidal moods.”

“Yeah…”

“And you two,” she turned to her brother and Barty. “It wasn’t bad advise, even though James should learn to restrain himself and not give it unsolicited. Why don’t you two take the day off and just… meditate on your problems. Maybe we can talk later.”

“I’ve heard enough of this for one day, thanks.”

“Fine. Maybe you can talk to me and I will translate it into a non-hostile version for the other. Though, I probably already know what is going on.”

Barty rolled his eyes at her.

“Don’t roll your eyes at my sister.”

“Shut up. A few minutes ago, you asked me to fuck your sister.”

“What? Evan!”

“I didn’t, I-“

“What is wrong with you? That settles it. You take your breakfast, go to your room and meditate.”

“Meditate? You were serious?”

“Yes. You’re thinking about what you’re saying and what you actually mean, what’s actually behind this stupid fight. And Barty, you will do the same.”

“I don’t need to-“

“Yes, you do. You need to calm down. You did a lot of hard work with the tome and we – especially Regulus - appreciate it a lot. You earned to take a couple of days off. James and I will deal with the records alone.”

“Fine.” Barty got up, leaving his dirty dishes on the table.

“Fine,” Evan echoed him.

***

The days went by in near silence. James, Evan and Pandora read the thick tomes on current and former pureblood families, Barty recovered from his work, and Regulus was only seen for dinner (breakfast, too if they caught him and dragged him to the kitchen.)

No news about the war or new casualties reached them. As they didn’t go outside, this wasn’t necessarily because nothing was happening. Sometimes, Barty lay in his bed and wondered if the world outside still existed.

What was happening out there while they gave themselves headaches trying to decipher decade-old handwriting? Maybe Voldemort has already killed everyone they have ever known. – Wouldn’t be a tragic loss. Most people Barty knew were assholes.

Being in the bunker removed all of them from the horrors of war, but also from any kind of pressure. They weren’t working against the clock down here as they didn’t notice any clocks ticking.

When they first made this version of the bunker, they had neither calendar nor clocks and lost themselves completely after a few days. Pandora was coming and going more often and was their only source of information about the outside world and the passing of time. They have since learned to keep track of the days and adhere to a somewhat normal activity schedule – wake in the morning, work during the day, sleep at night.

Pandora and Evan stole a bunch of muggle technology to make it easier for them and open up lines of communication that didn’t rely on magic or owls. Wizards didn’t know how to track mobile phones, but Pandora found out how to get cell service and internet into their little suitcase. Regulus didn’t trust the entire ordeal and “just didn’t get the phone thing.”

Sometimes, when the curiosity became too big but he didn’t want to risk leaving the bunker and getting a wizarding newspaper, he turned to the muggle internet to see if the war had left its traces in the muggle world – collapsed building, abducted and murdered families, that sort of thing.

The casualties didn’t leave them completely untouched. Not even Regulus, who was generally of the opinion that the world would be better with far, far fewer people in it. They refused to get emotional about it, especially as emotional as James.

They did their part. They were making up for their contribution toward the body count by bringing Voldemort down. They worked day and night to kill him and stop this war. Not for glory or any self-righteous reasons but out of the self-serving interest of not wanting to live in war times anymore. That, and revenge. They didn’t need to debate the ethics of it all with a Gryffindor golden boy.

James did his part. He helped them and fulfilled his duty, and none of them have forgotten that he protected Regulus at Malfoy Manor and let himself be injured in his stead. Still, he complained and goaded them into discussions of morality almost daily. Since Regulus was busy with the Necromancy tome, which had nothing to do with killing Voldemort, James was whining even more. “What is so much more important that he doesn’t help us with these records?” and “I thought he wanted to kill Voldemort – now he’s been locking himself away with that book for a week!”

He was in the middle of such a complaint, frustrated with the narrow handwriting of a Malfoy ancestor, when Evan had enough.

“For fucks sake, do you ever shut up?!” He exclaimed, jumping up from his chair. “We get it! You’d much rather duel Voldemort in person to sacrifice yourself for the cause – then get out and go do that or stop complaining!”

“I’m just saying, we’re doing all this work while Regulus does his own, unrelated thing. It’s sort of unfair.”

“Take that up with him if you must. I’ll make him a new dagger so he can pin your hand to the table in response! That would be more entertaining to watch than hearing your whining all day long!”

“I don’t whine.”

“Then what do you call this?”

“I’m just saying, it seems weird that we’re doing all this work while he does something else he doesn’t want to tell us about.”

“He doesn’t want to tell you about,” Pandora corrected him.

“Wait, so I’m the only one who doesn’t know what is going on? Why? Is he doing something illegal? Dark magic? Does he intend to use the magic in that thing for himself?”

“For fuck’s sake! It is none of your business! You’re still breathing because we advocated for your usefulness. Either be useful or do us all the favour of getting yourself killed! I’m fucking tired of this shit!” He hurled the records book in his direction. James ducked just in time and the heavy tome slammed into the wall behind him. It clung to the crumbling wallpaper for a moment, before it keeled over and fell to the ground. It left a hole and a spiderweb of fissures across it.

The room fell into deep silence once again, as the four stared at the broken wall.

“How did you… that wall is made by magic, Evan, it can’t get much sturdier than this,” Pandora said, a bit of wonder and almost excitement in her voice. She walked up to the wall and traced the fissures with her fingertips. “Fascinating.”

“Fuck you,” Evan growled. This shocked Barty almost more than what he had done to the wall. Evan has never said this to Pandora. Not her. “Fuck this.”

He walked away from his desk and left the room, throwing the door shut so hard, that Barty expected the walls to shake and break around it too.

He looked back to Pandora, who was staring after her brother, too, shock written across her face.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       

“That’s it,” Barty muttered. “I’m going to talk to him whether he wants to or not.”

“Barty, wait, I don’t think anger is what he needs right now,” Pandora tried to stop him.

“Yeah? Tough luck! It’s all I have right now.”

He left the laboratory, stomping down to Evan’s room. He pushed the door open without knocking.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He yelled. “You go right back in there and apologise to your sister, you twat!”

Evan was sitting on the ground, leaning against his bed and staring at his hands. Barty could just as well have screamed at the broken wall in the lab.

“Hello? Earth to idiot.”

Evan didn’t react. He kept staring at his hands as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

Barty scoffed and walked up to him.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” he said and shook his shoulder.

Evan flinched away under his touch, scooting back until he hit the corner where his bed and the bedside table met, looking at him with panicked, green eyes. “Don’t touch me!”

“Evan, I-“

“No. Just- just stay back, please.”

Only now that Barty took a moment to look at him, really look at him, he noticed that his eyes were reddened. His hands were shaking and his lips quivering. His eyes flitted around the room as if his attention was drawn away by a million different things at once.

He knew this bloke inside and out. He knew what he looked like when he was just angry, and he knew what he looked like when he was panicked and overwhelmed.

He remembered how, the other day during their screaming match and accusing the other of being selfish, Evan had complained about how he could hear, see, smell and feel everything in the bunker all at once.

Barty turned away from him, not to leave but to close the door as gently as he could. He took out his wand and cast a silencing spell on the room, then a series of cleaning spells on himself until he smelled like nothing.

Evan stilled and his eyes settled on Barty.

“Better?” he whispered.

Evan’s head slipped into his hands, muffling the miserable sob escaping him.

‘Fuck, Evan,’ he thought and sat on the ground with him. He scooted closer until he could wrap himself around him, pressing Evan’s face into his shoulder.

Evan protested weakly, pushing against him. “Let me go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Barty kissed the top of his head, calling forth another pitiful sob. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You won’t hurt me.”

Evan used more of his strength to rip himself away from him. “You can’t know that! I can’t control this, don’t you understand?”

His face was stained red, smeared with his own blood. For a panicked moment, Barty thought he had hurt himself. Then he realised, that the blood was streaming out of his eyes.

Evan wiped his face and stumbled back in horror when he saw the blood on his sleeves and hands.

“What is this? What is happening to me?”

“Evan, it’s okay-“

“No! No it’s not! I- I don’t know what is happening to me anymore! I’m so angry at everything all the time, I keep breaking things, and this- this-“

“Hey, Evan, listen to me. It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything will be fine, I promise.”

“How can you say that? I don’t even know who I am anymore! I’m- I’m stuck in some sort of nightmare where I was turned into a monster!”

Barty took his wand and whisked the blood away. He closed the distance between them again and took his hands. They were cold and hard beneath his fingertips.

“Look at me,” he whispered. “You’re Evan. Our Evan. My Evan. That is all you need to be.”

“I-“

“If you let me help you, we can figure it out, okay? Let me help you, please.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. I- James’s wrist snapped like a twig. I hit tables and they break, I throw a book against a wall and it makes a hole. What if I try to fucking kiss you and you end up with a broken skull? What if I try to hug you, or cuddle with you while we sleep and break your rips? Or you get too close and I can’t control myself and bite you? What if I kill you and every one of our friends?”

“That is why you’ve been avoiding me and trying to make me sleep with someone else? You could have said something.”

“Say something? I don’t understand what is happening to me. What was I supposed to say? Hey, Barty, sorry, but I can’t keep being your boyfriend as I was before because I have so little control over my own body that I’m afraid to crush you with my bare hands?”

“Seems to be the better option than ignoring me,” he said and bit his tongue. He didn’t want to pick another fight.

Evan turned away, new blood threatened to spill out of his eyes.

“Maybe we have to learn how to communicate better, huh? Can you imagine that? Everyone being right about that?” Barty whispered and guided Evan’s fingertips to his lips.

None of them were great at communicating their feelings. Maybe that was their problem.

“Can you talk to me from here on onwards? Maybe we can learn how to be two men in an adult relationship?”

Evan grimaced. “You mean us being the responsible and well-adjusted guys in this bunker?”

“I know it sounds gross and impossible, but our competition in this field is Regulus, so on the well-adjusted part we’re winning by default.”

Evan almost smiled at that.

Barty cupped his cheeks and leaned it.

“Barty, I-“

“Just relax,” he whispered. “You won’t hurt me. Just let me do it.”

Evan stood still, so Barty could press their lips together. They were as cold as the rest of him, slightly softer and giving.

When Barty pulled back, Evan’s eyes remained closed.

“I’ll talk to Pandora about casting a permanent and heightened silencing charm on your room. Reg and I will make calming draughts for the anger and all the other heightened emotions. Will that help?”

“Maybe.”

“Will you accept our help and let us take care of you?” Barty asked, echoing the words Evan had said to Regulus a couple of months ago. Back then, he had his hands on Regulus’s shoulders, forcing him to endure direct eye contact until he agreed.  

Evan slowly opened his eyes to him. “Yes,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to push you away I just… I don’t know… I don’t want to lose you.”

Barty kissed him again. “We’ll be fine. You will be fine. Just let me kiss you.”

‘I love you,’ he thought to himself. He opened his lips to say it but couldn’t. This wasn’t what he wanted. This wasn’t the big, sappy moment he had been hoping for. Evan had so much going on and he probably wouldn’t get a real answer to his confession. He would just concentrate on helping him, for now.

***

James

It’s been over a week since Barty had finally opened the book. During this time, James hadn’t seen much of Regulus, as he had immersed himself in it and was hiding away in his library.

It wasn’t like James wanted to be put into constant danger by being near him, but he expected Regulus to help with their original task.

All James has ever wanted, in joining the Order, the Aurors, and finally Regulus, was to stop Voldemort and put an end to his terror. Regulus promised him exactly that. Instead, he was working on some other, secret project, hiding himself away with the necromancy tome. In the meantime, James’s body ached from sitting over old documents, his eyes hurt from trying to decipher the tiny handwriting, and his head was about to explode. Pandora just smiled sympathetically and reminded him that this was what they were doing for the most part. Breaking into Vampire castles and stealing documents were side missions. Their real work was research.

While James read a hundred records, documents, and school files, and compared information to archived newspapers and other texts, Pandora sat in front of a muggle computer, searching for muggle news about the family “Riddle.” Amidst all of this, James was also informed that, yes, Regulus had an archive filled with old Daily Prophets, and also stored old, stolen diaries in his library. He wasn’t sure why he found it surprising. It was very him.

Still, the bloke promised him a dead Voldemort and now he wasn’t helping! James had many talents – he was fast, strong, magically gifted, knew certain places inside and out and had inside knowledge of the Order and the Aurors – and they put him on desk duty! In the meantime, Barty took a few days off to recover from curse-breaking and then sat down with Evan to sift through the books. The boys got distracted every once in a while, ending up kissing and laughing. Evan had stopped with the impersonation of muggle-made Vampires and accepted Barty bringing him a bottle of blood when he got himself a snack.

James loved to watch them. It hurt just right, prying open his heart and calling forth soft memories of Sirius and Remus. They did that too – kissing and laughing while they did their homework. Sirius would bring Remus his chocolate or pain-relieving potions. They were the best couple James had ever seen, even though it took years for them to acknowledge their feelings and they sometimes got into the most dramatic and stupid fights. He missed them, all their antics and even their fights.

He tried to use this group as a substitute, but it was like trying to satisfy hunger by smelling three-day-old tea. Evan and Barty were loud, chaotic and in love – but they weren’t Sirius and Remus. Pandora was kind, cute, and living in her own world – but she wasn’t Peter. This group loved each other, shared everything, and had been friends since Hogwarts – but they lacked the warmth, the feeling of hope, home and freedom James remembered from his Marauders.

They finally had a breakthrough, sitting amidst books, newspapers and school files: an old, presumably extinct pureblood family by the name of Gaunt.

To James’s question whether they should tell Regulus, the group looked at him like he was crazy. Interrupt him while he was reading the tome? Was he mad? James just rolled his eyes at them. He wasn’t as afraid of Regulus as he probably should be.

“He’s not our babysitter, Potter,” Barty said. “We can decide the next steps on our own. In theory, the next Horcrux is an object connected to either his magical family or his muggle family – Gaunt or Riddle. We have locations, we can just go there and look, right? Can’t you use your auror status to look up some files for us?”

“You want me – presumed captive and or dead – to stroll into the ministry and read classified case files? I probably couldn’t do that if I still were in my old position.”

“Oh, so the main reason we’re keeping you alive for, you aren’t actually capable of?”

“It won’t be necessary,” Pandora interjected. “If we’re careful about it, I don’t see why we couldn’t roam around the old Gaunt house and look for clues.”

Evan sighed exasperatedly. “Can’t you give us a little prophecy about what it is and where to find it?”

“I have been telling you this for 21 years: They’re not prophecies, and that’s not how it works.”

James grabbed some of the notes they had compiled. “Where’s Regulus? I tell him about what we found out.”

“In his library where you’re not allowed to go.”

“Oh, yeah? Who’s going to stop me?”

Barty frowned at him. “Literally him? He has special go-into-the-library-unannounced-and-interrupt-me-daggers. Pandora designed them for him.”

“They have lines from his favourite poems on the blade and the handles look like a bookmarks.”

James didn’t mind being threatened every once in a while. It reminded him not to get too comfortable and work towards ending Voldemort. He knew that Regulus needed someone to blame and this was his way of coping with Sirius’s death. James accepted his role in all that. Besides, Regulus was attractive and James didn’t mind being threatened by pretty people.

The slashing and stabbing, he minded. It fucking hurt and while the wounds could be magically healed, they left scars across his body. It was all fun and games until the poem-lined blades penetrated his skin and drew blood. The first day he was here, Regulus had stabbed him in the gut and healed him right after. He had threatened to do it a thousand times over, growling it into his ear, his silver eyes flashing with rage – that was the first time James had been genuinely scared of the man.

“He’ll want to know what we found out. Besides, this is his plan, isn’t it? Why are we doing all the work while he’s trying to decipher some old tome that has nothing to do with Voldemort?”

The three shared a look.

“Fine,” Barty said, smirking. “Go ahead. Interrupt him. It’s your funeral.”

James ignored him and left the lab.

He wasn’t completely suicidal, so he knocked first. When he didn’t get an answer, he tried the door and walked into the library.

He expected the term to be an exaggeration but he found himself in a vast chamber, with overflowing bookshelves arranged like a maze, and the floor and walls resembling the library at Hogwarts.

“Merlin’s balls,” James mumbled to himself. “I’ve entered Moony’s wet dream.”

Well, not quite. In Moony’s wet dream, Sirius would have draped himself in the middle of the maze, naked, covering his privates with an annotated copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray.

“Hello?” He called through the room. “Regulus? Are you here? …Somewhere?”

Despite receiving no answer, he made his way along the bookshelves, passing sections dedicated to Africa, Alchemy, Arithmancy, Brooms, Charms, and Dark Arts. He reached the centre of the room, finding next to a desk, chairs and writing materials, also lounging couches and a fireplace with a crackling, but fake fire.

Regulus sat on one of those couches, looking from the necromancy tome to another book.

“There you are. Good news: We think we found out who Tom Riddle’s mother was, and with her his entire magical birth family.”

Regulus didn’t react.

“Hello? Are you with us or has the book sucked out your soul?”

Again, nothing. This was ridiculous. They had a major breakthrough in taking down Voldemort and this guy was completely unbothered by it.

James walked up to the couch and grabbed the book, yanking it from his hands.

James didn’t see him move afterwards, he felt his arm being seized and twisted, and then there was pressure against his chest as he was shoved until his back hit one of the bookshelves. Regulus pressed his arm into his neck, glaring at him out of silver-grey eyes. His breath hit James’s face. His lips were chapped from biting them while mulling over the tome.

“Get your dirty hands off my stuff, Potter. This book is worth more than your entire life,” he hissed.  

James pressed the book to his body and strained his neck against his arm. “I don’t give a fuck about your book. What is in there that you think is so much more important than killing the most evil wizard of all time, huh?”

Regulus pressed down harder on his throat, almost cutting off his air. He would have been more successful if he used his hand, maybe both.

James stomped on Regulus’s foot. He loosened the pressure on his neck for a second, which James used to slip away from him.

“You’re a bit off your game, Love. Might be the lack of sleep and breakfast.”

“Shut up. I’m not playing stupid games with you. Give me the tome or I will kill you right here and now!”

“No! I demand to know what you’re doing with this!”

“Demand?!”

“Yes! Yes, demand! We’ve been working our arses off searching for Riddle’s family because you think he is Voldemort and because you think the next Horcrux is connected to that family – and now you don’t even care about the progress we’ve made?”

“You’re helping Pandora, Evan and Barty – why the fuck are you annoying me? I don’t care about what you found, I have more important things to do, now give me back the book before I cut off your whole fucking arm!”

“You don’t care? It was your idea to take down the most dangerous and evil wizard of all time, we’re following your plan and now you don’t care? Nothing is more important than that! Do you hear me? Nothing in this fucking thing could be more important, so get your shit together!”

Rage was dancing in Regulus’s eyes.

“More important,” he spat.

He crossed the distance between them, grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the library. James followed him more or less willingly, certain that he would get to see the poetry daggers if he didn’t follow him.

Regulus dragged him through the corridor to another door. It looked like every other but when James had been tempted to try it once, it was locked.

Now, when Regulus touched it, it swung open.

Regulus was growling and muttering while pulling him into the room. It ended in a naked stone wall. There was nothing in here. Was this his new cell? Did he throw himself out of his room into an actual jail cell now?

But Regulus pressed his hand to the wall, and the stones began to quiver and rotate out of the way. James tightened his grip around the necromancy tome.

The chamber in front of him was made of dark stone, barely lit by candles which ignited as soon as Regulus stepped inside. The floor was covered by a dark red carpet. The only decoration on the wall was a giant portrait of two Victorian children. The rest of the sparse furniture consisted of a couch, a stone table covered in junk and candles, and across from it a gold platform with a glass covering.

Regulus pulled him into the chamber and pushed him to the ground. He hit his head against the glass covering.

Time stood still.

James couldn’t feel the pain in his head. His eye glimpsed onto the platform, catching the sight of pale hands and black hair.

He realised everything all at once: The platform with the glass covering was a coffin. The Victorian portrait on the wall pictured the Black brothers as children. The person lying in the coffin was Sirius Black.

He looked just like James remembered him – the long, black hair, the chipped nail polish, even the eyeliner, just smudged enough to look attractive. James knew him as a man decked out in jewellery, but the only piece that remained was a ring with a silver crescent moon on it. He was stuck in a set of clothing he would have never touched voluntarily – looking suspiciously like the formal set he wore in the portrait. His hands were folded on his chest, clasping his wand. James needn’t see his eyes nor the moon tattoo to know it was him.

Sirius.

His best friend. No, his brother in all but blood.

“He is more important than that stupid wizard,” Regulus’s voice shook. “Everyone on my kill list, everyone who will die by my hand is there because they – you – brought him here and I will right your wrongs, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

James clutched the necromancy tome, his eyes remaining on his friend. What was this magic that kept Sirius’s body in such pristine condition? Has time stopped around him? Were the effects of death held at bay by a powerful spell James hadn’t heard of?

He didn’t wonder about the why. No, the why was clear as day. The purpose of the tome, the use for necromantic rituals, the importance of all of it.

James didn’t dare to disturb the air of the crypt with a voice louder than a whisper. “You are trying to bring him back.”

Regulus didn’t need to respond. He knew the answer.

James turned to him, offering the book like a lamb for slaughter. “Let me help. Please, let me help. He was my best friend. I’d do anything for him to come back. Dark Magic. Human sacrifice. Whatever you need. Just, let me help.”

Regulus took the tome. He looked at his brother, then James. He nodded sharply.

Chapter Text

“ ‘You just surprised me. Sometimes I think I understand you, and at other times I can’t make you out at all.’ ‘Believe me, that sentiment is mutual.’ “ – Prince’s Gambit, 60

Regulus gathered the rest of the group in the laboratory. He opened the tome in front of them. He figured out that the text was written in code. So far, he has decrypted some of it, decoding and translating as much of a page as he needed to determine what he was dealing with – from powerful divination rituals to turning corpses into inferi.

At last, he was fairly certain that he had found what he has been looking for since learning of Sirius’s death: A resurrection ritual. Not animating a corpse, not turning him into an undead, not even rewinding time, no, fuse the soul with the body once more and regain the person as he was when he died.

He relayed this to his friends and James.

James’s eyes flashed with excitement. He has never seen him pay attention to just one activity for this long. Regulus thought that James would try to stop him if he learned of his plans. This was ancient, dark magic. Not just the dark arts as they studied them at school, no, forbidden and lost necromancy. James with his ridiculous moral code and righteous heart would surely be against utilizing such magic. But no. He wanted this almost as much as Regulus.

They agreed that Evan, Barty and Pandora should keep working on the Horcrux front while James helped him with the tome. Then, they summarized their findings about Tom Riddle’s birth family:

They found a Marvolo Gaunt, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself. The Gaunt family was, towards its end, consisting of a father and his two children: Merope and Morfin. Before this, they were well-perceived. They fell from grace in a series of scandals as muggle-sympathy increased and they didn’t give up on their hobby of torturing them for sport. Marvolo, Merope and Morfin lived near a manor owned by a wealthy muggle family named Riddle. Merope vanished. Marvolo was imprisoned in Azkaban for a while and then died shortly after his release. Morfin, the last Gaunt, was imprisoned for a couple of years as well, was released and thirteen years later murdered the Riddle family and was sentenced to life in Azkaban.

“Whichever Malfoy wrote the last note on Morfin Gaunt in the family records was gleeful they died like this,” Barty finished the report. “He might as well have drawn a smiley face next to ‘deceased.’”

“And you’re sure the Tom Riddle we believe to be Voldemort is of the same Riddles as the Gaunt’s neighbours?”

“Well, the old guy Riddle was called Thomas, who had a son called Tom, who could be our Tom Riddle’s father, age-wise.”

Evan, who has seemingly given up on the costumes, held up one of the Malfoy records. “I was so free to add these little details about marriage and a half-blood child to the Gaunt pages. His ancestors would be most displeased. …Though they’d probably be thrilled about Baby Gaunt’s first little Racewar.”

“Given how Voldemort thinks,” Pandora returned to their actual topic, “we presume that he made a Horcrux out of a Gaunt relic, not out of a Riddle relic, in an effort to connect to his powerful, pureblood-“

“mad, crazy, incestuous, absolutely unhinged-“

“Family. We have an approximate location for the old Riddle manor and from there we should find the village and the home of the Gaunts, or the other way around. Maybe we’ll find something there – a clue, or, if we’re lucky, the Horcrux itself.”

A map unravelled in front of them. Pandora tapped her wand on the location of the village.

Regulus grabbed one of the source materials – an old Daily Prophet article informing the public of Morfin Gaunt’s crimes and imprisonment. There seemed to be no reason for him to murder the Riddle family all those years later.

“Is there any way to find out what happened to the Riddle mansion?”

Barty shrugged. “Knock and ask?”

Regulus ignored him. “Ask around the village, but be smart about. Make people drunk and let them tell you the town’s gossip.”

“What for?”

Regulus frowned at the article. “I don’t know. Something doesn’t add up and I don’t like it. How would Merope end up with the child, why was the child an orphan and not living with either family, where is Merope, and why did Morfin kill the Riddles after thirteen whole years of living next to them without incident?”

“Shouldn’t we concentrate on what is relevant to our mission?” Evan asked.

Always the same with Barty and Evan: No thirst for knowledge.

“It might be relevant later. But it’s your thing, if you go there and find the Horcrux on your first attempt, by all means, just bring it home and don’t linger.” He handed the article back to Pandora. “James and I will work with the tome in the meantime.”

They nodded at each other and broke apart into their groups. Pandora, Evan, and Barty had to prepare for their Horcrux hunt. James and Regulus set up in the laboratory.

The library was still off-limits for James. It seemed unnecessary to keep him out of there after he had let him into his innermost sanctum, Sirius’s crypt, but he wasn’t allowed to feel too much at home in here. The bloke had family pictures in his room, he was spoiled enough.

Regulus spread out his notes between them.

“This is the ritual we need,” Regulus pointed at the open tome between them with far more security than he felt on the matter. “It’s written in code and in a dead language. These are book I’ve found about this language, syntax, morphology, register. Here are my notes about the code so far. I have decoded and translated just a few things, titles, buzz words, and such. Once we fully understand the code, we can really get into the translation of things.”

James frowned at all his different notes. “And how do we decode anything if we can’t read the decoded text?”

“Ah, I see you understood the problem. Good. Whoever did this used three different modes of encoding and mixed them together.”

“Where they a genius or a maniac?”

“Both.” He used his wand to point at a series of scribbles. “These are symbols instead of words. This is a normal word but it’s written backwards. Over here we have numbers.”

“Don’t look like numbers.”

“Not Arabic or roman numerals, the way numbers were written in said language.”

“Which is what?”

Regulus looked at his grammar books. “Which might be some sort of old Slavic.”

“Old Slavic?”

“It doesn’t always fit. It could be written in the extinct language other Slavic languages have emerged from. Linguistically, this could be the most interesting and important find ever made, which would be far more exciting if it didn’t make our job so much harder. The books I have here are on Old East Slavic, which has done its job so far.”

James looked at the papers and sighed. “Okay, so, it’s written backwards, drawn in symbols and numbers to hide a dead language no one speaks anyway. How exactly are we supposed to figure this out?”

Regulus looked up his main note sheet where he had descrambled some of the ritual.

“This series of numbers spells the word soul. These drawings depict a crow, a grave, and a hand. This word means something like back, backwards, reversal, return.”

“Soo… it’s guesswork.”

“Yes. But I was also guessing about the Horcruxes before I found the first one. Anyone being capable of destroying one is also guesswork. Finding this book at Castle Karnstein was guesswork. If we had all the answers, we wouldn’t have to put in the work.”

One of the pages was filled with scribbles, probably detailing the ritual and its components. The other page showed a large, intricate diagram with two stick figures inside.

“And what’s that picture?” James asked.

“The ritual circle I’ll have to draw. I assume this will be me, performing the ritual, and this figure will be Sirius. We’ll concentrate on the text over here. I suggest we take this line by line.”

James looked like a teenager forced into a school project all over again. He was close to proposing they just skip school, head out to the Quidditch pitch and fail on purpose.

“You can always go with Pandora and the boys.”

“No, no. I said I’d help you. I’ll just get us some tea first.”

He jumped up and fled the laboratory.

“Typical,” Regulus muttered to himself and organised his notes so he could start working properly.

James returned a few minutes later. Two cups followed him and settled on their desk.

“I brought snacks, too.” James put a bowl of sweets between them.

Regulus inspected his tea. He doubted James was capable of making it the correct way. He took a sip.

Well, it wasn’t horrible. He frowned at the liquid and placed it back on the desk.

“What? Did I do it wrong? Do you have just one, specific way of drinking your tea?”

“Yes. And this is not it.”

“Good thing you’re so tolerant and flexible, Love.”

“You will never find out how flexible I am. Especially if you keep disappointing me like this.”

He called some sugar from the kitchen and dropped them into his tea. Better, but still not perfect.

***

After an exhausting day of research and translation, Regulus began the next by calling James to the training room.

James flexed and stretched his arms. “This is just what I need after all this time at the desk.” He grinned and went to open the training room. It was locked.

He looked at Regulus confused.

“Well, open it.”

James tried the door again. When it wouldn’t budge, he pulled out his wand. Regulus snatched it out of his hand.

“You’re about to break into a secret hideout of evil and mad wizards. Do you think a simple alohomora will do the trick? Don’t you think there might be wards here against magic or alarms in place?”

“Uhm, no? It’s a gym I’m allowed to use.”

Regulus closed his eyes for a moment. “Salazar, you’re stupid.”

“Ah, you want me to break down the door.”

“Maybe use a quieter option.”

“Pick the lock?”

“Yes. Can you do that?”

James smirked at him and kneeled down in front of the lock. “Do you have a lockpick?”

“You’re in luck, Pandora came with us and has hair pins for you. I have a safety pin. Which do you want to take?”

“I would have been prepared and brought a lockpick. Unless I was put into a cell and I was searched for one beforehand.”

He grabbed the hairpins and bent them at a 90-degree angle. Regulus watched as James stuck the hairpins into the lock and with a few twists opened the door.

“Have I impressed you yet?” James grinned, pushing the door open.

“You impress me every day when you find a new way to be an idiot. It’s a true talent.”

“Keep telling yourself that. For your information, you are Sirius’s brother by blood, but I was his brother, too. He taught us the same things, including lockpicking.”

Regulus tightened his jaw. This little tale would make what came next so much sweeter.

Ignorant of the anger he just inspired, James strutted into the training room. “So, what are we doing? Do you want to race? See who can lift more weights? Duel?”

“I’ve decided that, since you are working with us now, it is paramount that you are versed in the same skills as us.”

James gasped and put a hand to his heart. “Oh my, did you just admit I’m part of the team? I’m honoured.”

“I said no such thing. I said, we’re officially using you as a shield and that shield should last longer than 5 minutes in battle.”

“Whatever you say, Love. You do remember the part where I’m a brilliant student, Order member and honorary Auror, right? You let me be part of the team because of my talent.”

“I’m talking about non-magical combat.”

James took a long look around the room. In recent days, it had looked like an ordinary gym – some equipment but largely just a spacious room to run his silly laps and do his push-ups. Now, it was what it was meant to be: Filled with weapons, targets and dummies for honing skills in knife throwing and various other ways of slicing, hacking and shooting people to death.

“I see. You just want to use me as target practice, don’t you? You flirt.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and picked up one of his daggers. “Choose a weapon. Close range.”

James looked at the range of weapons Regulus had picked out beforehand. Of course, he took the longsword. A walking cliché, that one.

“I wanted to get another chance at this anyway,” He said, smirking and throwing the sword from one hand to the other. “I was wondering, though. Why do you rarely use magic?”

Regulus picked up his wand and pointed it lazily toward the sword, letting it fly out of James’s hand and drop to the ground. “I use magic all the time.”

“Not for combat though. I’ve never seen you fight with magic.”

“You’ve rarely seen me fight at all. I want it to be personal when I kill you, that’s why I use daggers on you.”

James hummed and picked up the sword again. He took a hand axe into the other hand, comparing them in weight. “What about the people at Castle Karnstein? They were stabbed. I’ve found death eaters who were stabbed as well – your handiwork? It looked like you but I couldn’t figure out why you would kill your own people.”

“Not my people.”

“I know that now.” He chose the sword again. “Still, you prefer the dagger to magic in combat. Why?”

Regulus crooked his head, eyeing the sword. “Fine. Put down the sword and I show you.”

James didn’t hesitate to throw the sword back onto the pile of weapons. He had no self-preservation instinct whatsoever, did he?

Regulus directed him to stand a few feet away, wand at the ready. He pointed his own wand at him and said, “Expelliarmus.”

James countered the spell with his own. The beams of light met in the middle pushing at each other. Regulus pulled his away and dodged James’s spell.

“See, I fire a spell, you counter, we duel. Nice. Neat. Alternatively, you use a shield, right?”

“Yes?”

“Now, what if I have my friends with me? We’re two or three people all firing at you at the same time. What do you do?”

“Shield.”

“Good. But, if you’re busy using shield spells, when do you counter? You can only have one spell active at once.”

“I’m quick.”

“I assure you, so was Sirius. So were many people on your side. When you were part of your enemies, you know their tactics. Death Eaters love to pile on one threat, corner them, isolate them, fire at them simultaneously. You can’t be that fast. It’s impossible.” He tucked his wand away and took his dagger. “Now, again, hit me with a spell like you mean it.”

James frowned at him, then raised his wand and shouted, “Expelliarmus!”

Regulus shielded. “Again. Rapid fire. Come on, I’m the evil death eater. You want to kill me.”

James followed with a rapid volley of disarming jinxes. Each one collided with the shimmering barrier while Regulus ran toward him. He disapparated with a crack and reappeared behind him, pressing the dagger against James’s back.

“Got’ya,” he murmured to his ear.

“I-“

“You’re dead now. And exhausted. Shields and apparating cost less energy and you can combine them with attacks without compromising your safety.”

James reached back, grabbed Regulus’s arm and forced the blade away from him while turning. He pushed his arm until the tip of the blade was directed at Regulus.

“Good. This is where your speed and strength would come in handy.”

“Why is it relevant how I fight?” James asked, looking curiously into his eyes. His were dark brown, like hot chocolate or tea with too little milk. “I’ve been doing well so far.”

“I know. But you said, it’s your first job to help me and be my ‘bodyguard,’ remember? I might… have to use you for shields and the like in the future, so you will need to be versed in non-magical combat enough not to die.”

He frowned and slowly let his eyes glide over Regulus’s face, down his neck and body and back up as if searching for an injury.

“Why? You’ve always been a talented and strong wizard. Voldemort didn’t choose you as a student for no reason, right?”

“Right. And I will return to my old strength in time but until then, I need to…”

“Rely on me?”

Regulus grimaced. “I hate that word. Pandora is working on items that can store shielding spells for me. Until then, it was Barty’s idea for you to help me and that includes making sure I don’t die. Are you up to that task?”

“Will you tell me what has weakened you so much?”

“No.”

James regarded his body again, scanning every freckle on his face until settling on his eyes again. Regulus suppressed a shudder, fighting the instinct to look away first and take a step back from him.

“It’s Sirius, isn’t it?” He whispered. “Some kind of Magic has to keep him in that state and stop him from deteriorating. …It’s you.”

Regulus said nothing.

“Have you been constantly sacrificing a part of your own energy and magic to keep him like that?”

He didn’t owe him any answers. He gave into his instincts and pulled himself away from James.

“Get your stupid sword. I’ll teach you how to hold it.”

James didn’t react immediately. He stood still, watching him. Regulus threw the dagger. It pinned itself into the ground by James’s foot.

“Now, Potter. We don’t have all day.”

James nodded, more to himself than Regulus, and picked up his sword again.  

“First of, I want you to forget three things: Pointless spinning around, moving the blade around as much as possible, and leaving too much space between you and your opponent. Use the sword accurately and to a point. Parrying is as essential a skill as slicing or stabbing. You’re most likely to fight someone without a sword, which eliminates a lot of threats and lessons in traditional sword fighting, but you need to watch out for ranged attacks – spells – instead and learn how to ward them off during a fight. I won’t be able to make you a master, or even good, but if you listen to me you might be able to survive should it come to it.”

James frowned at him, then at the sword. “Shouldn’t I do this with a wooden practice sword or something?”

“See it as motivation: When I think that you’re actually capable of hitting me with that thing, I’ll give you a practice sword. Now, hold it properly – either with one hand or both hands, but if I see you doing some fancy backward-holding because you think it looks cool, I will cut your ulnar nerve. Are we clear?”

James swung the sword around, then put both hands on it and swung it again. “How do you know how to fight with a sword?”

“Illegal fencing club in Slytherin. And, besides traditional ballroom dance, Latin, French, piano and violin, my mother also demanded education in sword fighting.”

“Your mother is insane.”

She was. Regulus rarely spoke about all the insane things his parents did to him. He wasn’t sure, whether Sirius had ever told James or any of his friends. He doubted it. James likely knew that they were mistreated to a certain extent, but he didn’t know everything, did he? There were things you simply wouldn’t tell anyone. Then again, Sirius became so different towards the end, that he might have dealt differently with it than Regulus.

“Shut up and copy me.”

They spent a couple of hours practising stands and how to use the sword as a precision tool instead of a random metal sheet. Regulus had no illusions about making the man an above-average swordsman, but he might be able to do some damage if they continued to practice.

***

Pandora took the suitcase to a small Inn in the countryside. She and the boys tried to find the exact location of Riddle Manor and from there the Gaunt house and village. Most of the time Evan stayed behind in the bunker, as Pandora and Barty searched the little towns in daylight.

Regulus and James remained inside the bunker as well, working with the tome.

In the morning, Regulus sent James up to the gym to do his usual morning workout and practice his axe and knife throwing (He preferred to be far away from him during these, as James had no control whatsoever and had a tendency to accidentally hit Regulus or himself. He could respect it if James used the practice as an excuse to injure him, but he could tell from the blades’ trajectories that these instances were indeed accidental. Pathetic.)

With Pandora and Barty gone and no interest in following them, Regulus sought out Evan.

They haven’t spoken in a while. Not since he was turned. He and Barty seemed… better. They weren’t quite back to normal but Barty seemed decidedly less helpless with the situation. The main difference in their relationship was the lack of appropriating shared space for indecent behaviour. Ever since Evan turned, he hadn’t seen his tongue piercing once, which meant that said tongue was neither shoved down Barty’s throat nor in any other place on Barty’s body – at least not in a room where Regulus would have noticed. While one could imagine that these two adults have simply learned how to restrain themselves in public and act like normal people, Regulus, who has known them for close to a decade, knew better.

The real reason wasn’t hard to guess. Evan has changed. His body changed, too. And none of them have really acknowledged these facts yet. Well, maybe Barty has. Regulus still kept it at a distance. He saw no value in pondering about how they almost lost him and how altered his state truly was. He was still here. He was still alive. Everything else didn’t matter.

Despite this fact and Regulus’s persistence to ignore everything until it went back to normal, he visited Evan in the forge.

Yes, they had a forge. Where else would Evan make his daggers? It was Barty’s favourite room, as Evan frequently took off his shirt while working. Regulus doubted that being shirtless was on par with usual safety regulations for operating a forge, but when he mentioned this once, Barty jinxed him silent and pushed him out of there.

Usually, the room was so hot that Regulus habitually cast a cooling charm on himself before he entered. Today, there was neither fire nor heat in the room.

Evan was standing in front of the dormant furnace. One or two unfinished projects were spread out on a table nearby.

Evan heard him come in and turned too quickly for a human eye to see. “Hey. Any news from Pandora and Barty?”

“They just left.”

Evan blinked at him, then turned back to the abandoned projects with a light frown. “Oh, right.”

“It’s been less than an hour since we had breakfast.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I was distracted.”

Regulus knew that he should ask ‘Are you okay.’ He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted an honest answer. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person to ‘say the right thing’ in situations like this.

Instead, he went to the desk. “What are you working on?”

“Uhm, that’s your new dagger. Still working on it.”

Regulus picked up the blade. It was straight and silver in colour, a standard, classical look Evan had abandoned many projects ago. It was expertly made, well-balanced, light and a nice length for stabbing. Next to it on the table sat a collection of weird blocks, some cut into little cylinders, and some were carved into. They were hilts, he realised, unfinished or broken. Among other notes, diagrams and sketches, he noticed another, separate project in the corner of the desk: a thin, steel rod, not quite straight, with little bits poking out on the sides, and next to it a pile of thin sheets almost looking like flowers.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing the unfinished blade at the little pile of cold steel.

“Oh, nothing. Just something I worked on a while ago… Was supposed to be a present for Barty but it’s stupid. Guess, I’ll just throw it away.”

“A present for Barty? What’s the occasion?”

Evan stared at the abandoned project. He shrugged. “Just ‘cause…”

“Because?”

He picked the blade out of Regulus’s hand and put it back on the desk. “Did you want something specific?”

Evan rarely got snappy with him. He wasn’t really the type to get snappy. He was the type to make dumb jokes and do finger guns.

Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. Don’t ask.

“Evan, are you okay?”

He cursed himself for that question. He wouldn’t be able to help him anyway, so why ask? He’d make it worse, if anything. Also, Evan probably didn’t want to talk about it, right? At least not with him.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, shooting him a quick grin. It wasn’t very convincing. “Don’t you have to babysit Potter? He might run into a wall if you leave him unattended for too long.”

“If he hits his head hard enough during practice, he won’t find his way out of the gym, so I have no fear of losing him.”

“Well, I should go back to work.”

Regulus glanced at the cold furnace. “I guess so.”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead.”

Evan glanced at the projects on the desk. “Don’t you have a super secret, super dark death-magic book to translate?”

“Yes, but I have some time. I’d like to see you work if you don’t mind.”

Evan pressed his lips together. “Fine. Sure. Great.”

He rounded the desk, sat down on his stool and grabbed his carving tools.

There was a pause. Evan sat there like a painting of a man about to start working. He stared at the broken hilts before him, unmoving.

“I like that one,” Regulus said, pointing at a sketch of a hilt shaped like an owl with outspread wings. He took one of the blocks – it might have been bone – and put it in front of Evan.

He stared at the sketch with the fine details it required, from the feathers to the carved owl face. He has made more complicated, detailed and delicate pieces before.

Regulus didn’t say anything, didn’t push him or ask him. He just watched and waited.

“Fine!” Evan exclaimed and threw his craving tools down. “I can’t, okay? I can’t do it anymore! I tried but when I use the lightest pressure everything falls apart! You think strength is good when you’re a smith? Sure, but it’s no good when you keep hammering shit out of balance all the time and tear through metal like through cold butter!”

He picked up one of the blocks and closed his hand around it. The material gave instantly, trickling onto the desk as gravel and powder.

“I was an artist, Regulus. Now, I’m a sledgehammer.”

“You have to give yourself time, Evan. You’ll learn how to use these new abilities. Until then, you can make simpler things.”

“I don’t want to make simple things!” He yelled and picked up another block to fling it across the room. “And even them, I break! I can’t do what I’ve always done best. I can’t go outside to help Panda and Barty, and I am no help with destroying the other Horcruxes either! I’m just sitting around this room being utterly useless!”

“You’re not useless. Not at all. The past few days, as soon as the sun was down, they got you to help them. If you want, you can try to help me and James with the tome.”

He shook his head. “I’d be rubbish at that and you know it. I don’t want you to offer me a new job out of pity. I want to have my old skills back. Look at this.”

He took the rod and flower shapes from the corner of the table. “It’s a steel rose. I have made these for Barty for birthdays, Christmas, and whatever else for years. Since that summer I had a crush on the magical welder in Diagon Alley and interned with him. One of the first projects I made was a steel rose – it was uneven, too thick, crappy, and overall pretty fucking ugly. I gave it to Barty and he – he kissed me for the first time, okay? So, I made these until my fingers were blistered and I’ve burned about every inch of my hands, so I could give him a prettier one for Christmas. Then for his birthday. The next year for Valentine’s Day. I could make this in my sleep. I’ve made the most beautiful roses this world has ever seen – I silver plated them and gave them gem-stone inlays. And now, I look at these and… and… fuck.”

The pieces looked completely untouched, not broken or ruined in any way.

“Have you tried to assemble it yet?”

He shook his head, looking at the thing like it had personally offended him. “It’s a delicate process and I can’t fucking do delicate anymore. If I try I’ll just ruin it. …I know I need to try and learn how to control my abilities, bla bla bla. I’m running out of time, man, and I can’t make myself pick this shit up.”

“Running out of time? Christmas is still more than a month away, isn’t it?”

“Our anniversary isn’t,” he mumbled, averting his gaze entirely.

“Oh… I didn’t know you even celebrated your anniversary.”

“We don’t. Didn’t. All the dates are a little messed up. …I wanted to surprise him this year.”

‘I haven’t told him I love him yet’ Barty had said the night Evan was turned. Perhaps Evan’s anniversary rose held the same message.

Regulus picked up the rod with the bumps. It was clearly a stem with thorns coming out of it, now that he knew that it was supposed to become a rose.

“Well, there are three options I see here.”

“Is one of them ‘giving up’? ‘Cause I’ll take that one.”

“That’s option number four but Barty wouldn’t give up on you, would he?”

Regulus cleared the hilt blocks, sketches and the unfinished blade from the table and put the components of the rose in front of Evan.

“Option One: You make a rose. Then you make another. And another. And another. He gladly accepted the first ugly, misshapen rose from you, he will accept another. Make him a bouquet of progress. Believe me, he’ll be more interested in the message and the fact that you tried than the actual state of these roses. Option Two, also quite romantic: For your anniversary, you teach him how to make one. Explain all the steps and re-learn it together. If it looks awful, you can act like it’s because he’s a beginner but it also won’t matter because you made it together. And Option Three is to magically manufacture one and act like everything is fine. Not very romantic and not necessarily the point of gifting these roses at all, but you don’t have to do any personal growth or confront your new state of being and emotions attached to it.”

“Option three doesn’t sound so bad…”

“Yes. It’s what I would do but may I remind you that I’m not only single but also generally unsuccessful in interpersonal relationships? Keep that in mind while you decide.”

Evan sighed and gingerly picked up one of the flower shapes which would become a sequence of petals. “For his last Birthday, I made one out of silverplated steel and enchanted it, so it would be a little nightlight that had my voice wishing him a good night, in case we needed to sleep apart from each other. …After I was turned and avoided going to bed with him, I heard him listen to that message four or five times a night. And now, I guess I’ll have no choice but to gift him a crappy, uneven, ugly rose for our first official anniversary.”

Regulus handed the stem back to him. “He’ll love it. Believe me. I’ll leave you to it now. I must see whether James has accidentally stabbed himself yet. He knows how much I’d hate that. I’m the only one allowed to make him bleed.”

Evan hummed. “I can’t believe I’m taking romantic advice from you of all people. …There might be a delay in finishing your next dagger.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need a new one right now.”

Regulus looked around the forge. When he first went into hiding and created this space, it consisted of only one room to eat, sleep, work and keep Sirius in. His friends found him after a few weeks and only then they created this entire bunker together, a system of rooms and hallways, infinitely expandable. He didn’t want them here, initially. He knew that what he was trying to do – from resurrecting Sirius to more foolish things like killing Voldemort – was too dangerous to drag anyone else in. At first, they begged him to let them help. He couldn’t do it alone, they said. Then they tried it with logic, which might have worked on the old Regulus, and finally, they convinced him with their own thirst for revenge.

“You know, people keep telling me to accept help for things. Are they saying that to you, too?”

“Yes. It’s fucking annoying. I understand why you hate it so much.”

“Objectively though, it’s good advise, isn’t it?”

Evan looked from him back to the steel rose, nodding lightly. “I guess so.”

“I’ll leave you to your thoughts and roses, then. James and I’ll be in the lab, if you need to speak with me.”

Evan managed somewhat of a smile when he looked up at him again. “Thanks, Reg.”

***

 Regulus’s and James’ approach regarding the tome was to translate and decode as many words and phrases per line as possible and afterwards turn them into more comprehensible instructions. They were, surprisingly, making good progress. Despite letting his thoughts wander every once in a while and taking far more breaks than necessary, James applied himself to the task and solved his fair share of riddles.

“So, this glyph means either under or over, right?” James asked, tapping his quill against the page.

Regulus shooed his hand away. He had a bad habit of touching the pages as if they were dealing with the 100^th copy of an average textbook.

“And this is an eye. So under the eye or over the eye, or maybe the eye is above the ritual? – Imagine just an eye hanging from the ceiling. I bet you’d like that.”

“Depends on whose eye it is.”

“Mine?”

“Yours… hm, I think one I’d use as a Christmas tree ornament, and the other I’d put in a jar on my nightstand.”

“Kinky.”

Regulus kicked him under the table. “It’s so I can remember your painful death every night before I go to sleep. I’ll have the best dreams for the rest of my life.”

“Yes, but I’ll also watch you wank for the rest of your life, so, keep that in mind.”

“Seems like an appropriate hell for you.”

“Oh come on now, I doubt that you’re that ugly under those clothes.”

“Better-looking than you,” he said dryly and jotted down James’s translation on his paper.

“In your dreams.”

Regulus has often been considered the “less handsome” brother – which was ridiculous given that he and Sirius looked almost identical. It was mainly a difference in how they carried themselves. Sirius was a rebellious teenager with a cocky smirk and a ‘rules don’t apply to me’ attitude, black-rimmed eyes, pierced ears, bad tattoos, and long, wild hair. Regulus was the opposite. Still, he wasn’t lacking in suitors in his youth by any means.

Better-looking than James, though? Well, Regulus had to admit that James was, at the very least, attractive. Provided that one fancied broad-shouldered, tall men with bulky muscles and glasses. James had taken off his shirt a few times while they were in the training room together – it did not help his technique – and, yes, if someone happened to be attracted to this kind of man, then James constituted a good specimen. His upper body was also littered with scars: The huge burn scars on his back, and the little white lines reminiscent of the nights Regulus has sought him out. They were the only part of him Regulus found appealing.

“You see this word and this row of numbers?” Regulus asked, putting his attention back on the tome. “This one is ‘death’, we’ve had it before. And this one… I’m not sure. I think it is sort of an article or a pronoun? This word means give, gift, lead to, or bring.”

“Death give? Like, death-giver? He who brings death?”

Regulus nodded slowly. “Under or over the eye of the murderer, maybe.”

James frowned at the text. “Sirius was killed by Voldemort.”

“I know.”

“So, we need to kill Voldemort in order to complete the ritual? Great.”

“What? Does it interrupt your schedule, poor thing?”

“I just thought…” James averted his eyes, biting his lip. “I hoped by the time we had to face him, Sirius would be back with us.”

Ever the optimist, that one. How annoying.

“I never anticipated to get even close to having him back before everyone on my list was dead. You put a wrench into that plan. Wanker.”

James’s eyes flickered back to him with a smirk. “Yeah, sorry about that, Love.”

“I thought after getting him back, I’d be done.”

“Done?”

He shrugged. “No more killing. No more death. No more fighting… It’s mad, I know, because it assumes that Sirius likes me again when he wakes up.”

Regulus bit his tongue. This was none of James’s business. His plans were his own.

There was a bit of pause between them. Regulus barely took note of it. He shuffled words and symbols around on his paper, but James sat frozen in front of him, until he said in a gentle murmur, “Regulus, he never stopped.”

“I’m not some child, James. There is no point in telling fairytales. I know he didn’t like me anymore when he died. I wasn’t his biggest fan either. It’s fine. I’ll bring him back and then, in time, he’ll like me again. …You’ll be dead, so I’ll be the only one he has left.”

James looked at him for another long, quiet moment. Then he laughed lightly, shaking his head. “Solid plan, Love. I’m amazed. I’ll go and get us more tea, yeah?”

Regulus nodded absentmindedly.

The instructions consisted of one large text, which, according to their translation, detailed the ritual components, then there was the large diagram of the ritual circle, and around the text, they found little notes in different hand-writings and drawings. There was a line between one of the components and the diagram that said “use blood to draw circle” in some sort of Livonian, and another note gave instructions about the needed quantities of water in millilitres, which meant it couldn’t have been written pre-Enlightenment.   

The other door to the lab opened as Pandora and Barty returned.

“Hi,” Pandora sang, dropping a bag on one of the desks. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going well. How are things on your side?”

Barty threw himself into James’s chair. “We think we found the right town and the house the Gaunts lived in. You can’t call that old thing a house really, it’s a rotten shed if anything.”

James returned and, barely reacting to Barty having claimed his place, put a cup of tea in front of Regulus. He has got better at making it. Regulus took a sip. It was almost perfect.

“Better,” he said to James, who grinned at him like he just told him he made the best cup of tea ever created.

Barty frowned at them. “Anyway… we talked to some towns folk. There’s a hill overlooking the village with a giant manor on it. It belonged to the Riddle family once until the parents and son were murdered some fifty years ago. People think it’s haunted.”

“Muggle superstition or do you think there’s something to it?”

“Allegedly, two families have tried to move into the building and fled soon after. Surely that’s the source for the rumours, but in recent years more and more people want to have noticed ‘activity’ in the house, although it’s supposed to be empty.”

“From the outside, it looks abandoned,” Pandora said. “Damp and falling apart, shingles are missing in the roof, all that. The grounds are reasonably well kept because one of the old gardeners is still employed there. He refused to speak with us.”

“Pandora said, she felt magic activity near the house, we thought it was saver not to get too close in case there were people in there, who, you know, shouldn’t know we’re here.”

James looked up as if, until now, none of this concerned him. “You mean there could be Death Eters here?”

“He means, Voldemort could hide in that house. If we’re correct with our theories, it’s his ancestral home, after all,” Regulus explained.

“Wait, that was a possibility the entire time and we came here despite that? Are you insane?”

Barty laughed sharply. “Did it take you this long to figure that out, Potter?”

James ignored him. “We should leave this place.”

“A, not without the Horcrux. And B, since when are you so afraid? Wasn’t fighting him your whole thing?”

“Yes, before I knew that he’s literally immortal and before I had a ritual that needed to be completed before I die.”

Pandora gave Regulus a look he didn’t understand.

“Pandora is an expert at magical disguises and infiltration. They won’t be caught. Right?”

Barty agreed, but Pandora was looking James up and down like he was a puzzle she intended to solve.

“Anything new about the Horcrux?” Regulus asked. “Do you think it’s in the Manor?”

“Nah. We’ll check the Gaunt shack, first. People are still telling stories about the crazy Gaunts who lived there. There’s a well established rumour that they were doing all kinds of incest over there and that the father and brother went to prison because of it. Then the daughter married Riddle Jr and when she fell pregnant, a lot of people still believed it was a relative’s kid, not Riddle’s, which is why he left her.”

James pulled a face.

“Well, he’d be pureblood, at least, if that was true,” Regulus said, shrugging, mainly to get a reaction out of James. He shuddered and muttered something under his breath, which was good enough for the moment.

“We thought Evan might want to look for the Horcrux with us tonight,” Pandora said. “If not, we’ll do it tomorrow by daylight. Do you want to join us?”

“No. We’re getting closer to the end of this. You do your tasks, we’ll do ours.”

“Fine by me.” She took her bag and pulled out handfuls of snacks and sweets. “We stopped by the shops. I’ll put the dinner into the fridge. Have some sweets.”

“Thanks,” James said, immediately recovering from the horrors of pureblood-incest. He grabbed some things from the pile. “Barty, can I get my chair back now?”

He put a few sweets in front of Regulus. They were his favourites. He always picked them out of any assortment James brought for his many “snack breaks.”

“Where’s Evan?” Barty asked, ignoring James again.

“Forge. Though, I’m not sure you should go in there without knocking. He’s working on some important things.”

Barty looked at him surprised, then hurried out of the chair and left the laboratory.

“For the record,” James said, sitting down opposite Regulus again. “The fact that you have a forge in this place, is insane.”

“Where else would he make my daggers?”

“He makes them? Really?”

“Yes. Do you think I have a special dagger collection just lying around, one fancier than the other, perfectly manufactured for killing you? It’s called planning, James.”

James clutched his heart theatrically. “You had them made just for me? I’m honoured. …You know, sometimes I think, in a different life, with different parents and without a war, you would have been a romantic.”

“But I have this life. ‘What if’ scenarios are meaningless and a waste of time.”

He just smiled at him. “Some day, someone will teach how to dream, Reg. You’re in desperate need for it.”

“I’m not desperate for anything. Desperation makes you weak.”

“That’s the biggest bullshit you’ve ever said. Of course, you’re desperate for things, like getting your brother back.”

“The word you’re looking for is determined.”

“Determination mixed with the impossible becomes desperation. You’re determined to kill me, but desperate to bring Sirius back from the dead.”

Regulus pushed the necromancy tome toward him. “It’s not impossible anymore. So, by your logic, I’m determined. If I were a dreamer, like you, I wouldn’t have this. I wouldn’t have a plan, a ritual, enough determination to follow through. Then, I’d just be desperate.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” James smiled and sipped his tea. “Sirius was a dreamer.”

“Yes, and it killed him. I fail to see the advantages of dreaming. You just delusion yourself into optimism. It’s dangerous. I’d advise you to learn some rationality. You’re in desperate need of it.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Maybe we can teach each other, meet in middle.”

“Maybe not. Maybe, you should get back to work. We’re not solving this by dreaming.”

James raised his hands in mock surrender. “Eat your sour gummies. You’re cranky.”

Regulus didn’t dignify this with a response but took to the sweets.

Chapter Text

“You really do have ice in your veins, don’t you,” – Prince’s Gambit, 16

Pandora sat across from Evan on the floor of the forge. Around her were various powders, liquids and knick-knacks arranged in a half-circle. Regulus sat at Evan’s desk, idly spinning a steel flower in his hand. Some of the petals were over-bent, and one or two were broken, maybe because too much force was used, or the metal was pulled too thin until it broke. 

Evan looked from his sister, armed with glitter gel pens and a notebook, to the various substances around them. “What exactly is the point of this?”

“Research.” 

“Strangely, I can’t remember agreeing to be your test subject.” 

“Yes you did. In the womb, when you decided to develop alongside me, you incidentally agreed to be my standard test subject for the rest of our lives. Twin Rules.” The girl tied up her long hair and pulled up a pair of Evan’s welding goggles from around her neck. 

“And what do you need those for?” 

“In case you go up in flames,” she said, shrugging. 

Evan looked from her to Regulus. “What a calming thought.” 

Pandora picked up the first liquid with a small pipette. “Have you taken up a religion in recent years?” 

“Uhm, no?” 

“Good, hold out your arm.” 

He did so without hesitation but still shared concerned glances with Regulus. 

“What’s that?” Regulus asked, watching the experiment. 

“Holy Water.” 

“What?” Evan exclaimed. “That shit is gonna burn me like acid!” 

“Or will it? You’re not Christian, so maybe this is just water for you. Thus my hypothesis.” 

She pressed the end of the pipette and watched the Holy Water drip on her brother’s wrist. Evan winced at the contact, squeezing his eyes shut, only squinting at his arm after a few seconds. 

The three of them stared at the patch of skin. The water ran down his wrist and dropped to the ground without effect. 

“Fascinating,” Pandora and Regulus said in unison. 

“I hate you both,” Evan muttered. “Does that mean I can walk on holy ground too?” 

“We definitely have to try,” Regulus said.

Pandora cleaned his arm and moved on to the next substance to test. “So, Reg, how is it going with James?” 

“Better than I expected. We’re practicing non-magical combat every day, and neither of us is dead yet. We’ve translated everything we could from the ritual and are now trying to turn it into actual, English instructions and not just a row of random words.” 

“Which weapon did he choose?” 

“Sword, of course. It’s boring when he’s predictable. Recently, he’s been asking me to show him how to use a pistol. I told him to ask Barty. I don’t touch those things.” 

“Barty mentioned it,” Evan remembered and hissed when Pandora touched his arm with a cotton ball dabbed in a golden powder. “Ow! Note that down as a no. Anyway, Barty is of two minds about it: He needs someone who appreciates guns and wants to shoot with him, because they’re like wands but they ‘go bang.’ But he also doesn’t want to spend time with him and thinks he’d end up shooting him instead. He’s worried you might get upset about that.” 

He would. “I’m the only one who’s allowed to hurt him. They can play pretend with their little guns, but if anyone is putting a wound on that man, it’s me.” 

“You’re a freak.” 

Pandora hit Evan’s shoulder. “Do you really still want to hurt him?” She asked. 

“Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“He’s helping you with Sirius and the ritual. He’s helping us with Voldemort.” 

“And that’s why he’s not dead yet.” 

“He brought you tea and you didn’t hate it. He picked out your favourite sweets for you. He has survived all of your attacks” 

“So?” 

“So, he’s nice, attentive, and capable. Aren’t you starting to like him?” 

“Because of tea and sweets?” 

“And because he's the only person who has ever managed to impress you. When I pictured you having a relationship, it had the same vibe as your interactions with him.” 

Regulus frowned. He may not be a very good person, but he expected himself not to routinely stab his partner, should he ever have one. Be that as it may, said partner would not be James. He’d rather get fucked with a hedgehog. 

“He took away my brother. Sirius is dead because of him— among other people, but also him. He didn’t even bother to take his body home from the battlefield. He doesn’t deserve to live if my brother doesn’t.” 

“By that logic, you’d have to let him live after the ritual succeeded.” 

“After I killed him, Sirius is free to attempt another resurrection.” 

Pandora gave him a look, which didn’t really have an effect because of the oversized goggles hiding her eyes. 

“I, for one, think he is nice.” She took a piece of wire out of a shallow bowl. “Evan, this is important. I’m trying metals on you for the jewellery I’m making. I need to know any and every discomfort or dermatological effect.” 

“You’re making jewellery for him?” Regulus asked, watching with interest as Pandora bent a copper wire around the brother’s arm. 

“She’s trying to infuse jewellery with sun resistance potions,” Evan said, rolling his eyes. “Which is insane, impossible and annoying.” 

To his luck, those were Pandora’s favourite words. 

“Don’t you think that if such a thing were possible, someone would have done it already?” Evan asked his sister. “Copper’s fine.” 

“Should I stop trying just because lesser men have failed? Don’t you know me at all?” She took another wire and bound it around his other arm. “And you, Reg, don’t distract from our topic.” 

“Which topic?” 

“James,” she said firmly. “He’s kind, righteous, empathetic, and has a big heart. If you put your differences aside and concentrate on all the things you share, you might benefit from each other.” 

"Ugh."

She bound a silver wire around Evan’s wrist now. The second his skin connected with the pure metal, Evan hissed and pulled back as if burned. 

“Hm, so the silver thing is real,” Pandora muttered. “Let’s try gold!”     

Evan stared at her bewildered. “Hello? I’m injured.” 

“You’ll live. You have strong regenerative powers.” 

“Regulus, say something.” 

Regulus looked thoughtfully from the abandoned silver wire to the aluminium. “Can you see yourself in mirrors?” 

Evan sighed and held out his arm to his sister. “I hate that there are two of you.” 

“I think we should invite James to our movie nights,” Pandora returned to the former subject. 

“Ugh,” Regulus muttered yet again. 

“I think it would be good to make him feel welcome.” 

“I don’t want him to feel welcome. I want him to remain in a constant state of anxiety and fear.” 

Evan snorted. “You’re not doing a very good job.” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“You’re keeping him in a constant state of horny, if anything.” 

Regulus grimaced. He and Barty kept insinuating sexual tension and James having a knife kink or something sick like that. But they projected their own perversions onto everything and everyone, so it didn’t mean much to Regulus. 

“He’s calling me ‘Love’ to mock me and his other comments are supposed to distract me. That’s all. It’s so easy to recognise. You’re misinterpreting it because you’re pent up. How long since you last scored with Barty, huh?” 

“Hey,” Pandora interrupted. “Didn’t we have a deal about ‘no sex talk as long as a sibling is in the room’?” 

“He started it,” Regulus shrugged. “If you want to invite James to your movie night, does that mean I’m excused?” 

“No.” 

“Oh, come on! I hate them.” 

“No, you don’t. You like some of the things we watch.” 

“I find the things with murder less unbearable,” Regulus corrected her. “It’s muggle entertainment for the illiterate. I have better things to do.” 

“It’s part of your empathy education: Engaging with muggle inventions and media, and seeing them as actual human beings.” 

“I read muggle books. Isn’t that enough?” 

“No. Besides, watching telly is so much more fun, is it not?” 

“No.” 

“After the war, we should found a magical movie studio and make our own films and telly shows. It will be like theatre but accessible to everyone.” 

Evan shook his arm, pulling off the gold wire. “At least then the details about magic would be correct, but to Regulus, even the magical radio is too modern. The gold started to burn after a while.” 

Pandora made a note on her chart. 

“If watching television is an exercise in empathy and muggle-love for us, why does James have to participate? You said yourself how perfect he is already.” 

“Bonding exercise for you two.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Actually, for all of you. You and Barty could be nicer to him, too,” she told her brother as she bound yet another wire around him. 

“Ugh,” Regulus and Evan said in unison. 

***

Winter was rapidly approaching and the sun disappeared in the late afternoon. Evan went out with Pandora and Barty to search the woods for the Gaunt shack and traces of the Horcrux. 

James made dinner. Regulus was sitting in the kitchen going over the finished instructions over and over again. He had copied the ritual cycle into his notebook and his finger was absentmindedly rubbing over the stick figure which marked Sirius’s body. 

“Read it again,” James said, throwing a towel over his shoulder. His glasses had fogged up while he bent over the boiling water. He pulled them off to clean them on his shirt. He looked weird without the glasses, though not worse than before. 

Omitting the preamble, Regulus read the translated text yet again. “Mouth of those who prey not on the living weak but the dead of any strength. A wing of the cave-dweller for every year the dead had lived. Of the skull-moth three, dried and scattered as a fine powder over the foot of a messenger of death. The blackest stones broken into pebbles for protection against a thing touched by the most vile magic. Stirred into the water of the full moon. The touch of the lover. The Blood of the Brother. The voice of the mother. The embrace of the father. He lives again under the gaze of the killer.”

James cleaned his glasses with utmost concentration. 

“Any ideas?” 

“The blood of the brother means yours.” 

“Your talent for deductive reasoning never ceases to amaze me. According to the added notes in the book, I need to draw the circle in blood. My blood.” 

“Mother and father are also clear, but how are we supposed to add a voice and an embrace?” 

“Do you know what a metaphor is?” Regulus asked, scribbling ‘arms’ next to the word ‘embrace’ with his pencil. 

“I know that a vulture preys on the dead of any strength. His mouth is a beak. Beak of a vulture is our first ingredient.” 

Now, that wasn’t half-stupid. Regulus decided to take a new piece of paper to write down numbers. Next to ‘1.’, he put ‘beak of vulture’ and next to ‘11.’ he put ‘Orion’s arm(s).’ 

8. Touch of the Lover

They both knew the name of Sirius’s lover. James hasn’t mentioned Remus Lupin to him yet. He has never mentioned him, come to think of it. Not Peter Pettigrew, either. Regulus had detailed knowledge of what happened to Pettigrew and why it happened to him, but Lupin? He knew suspiciously little about him, and nothing about his current situation. 

James turned back to the stove and continued his mad experiment he called Fideuà. Regulus had every right to be scared of being poisoned tonight. Not even on purpose – he would respect that. Judging by how often he has seen James in a kitchen thus far, which was zero, the bloke might accidentally poison him, which would be embarrassing for both of them. 

“I know you want to ask,” James interrupted his thoughts. “Just do.” 

“Are you going to poison me?” 

“No. And that’s not what I meant.” 

Regulus was still tracing diagram-Sirius. “Where is Lupin?” 

Despite anticipating the question, he hesitated. “I’m not entirely sure. After Sirius was gone, he lost it. He cursed the Order, Dumbledore, everyone. Then, he left.” 

“He just left?” 

“Yes. There was nothing left worth fighting for, he said. He wouldn’t risk his life by spying on Voldemort after they let Sirius die.” 

“So, he blames the Order and Dumbledore, too? I may grow to like him.” 

“No.” James quickly turned back to him. “No. He was just… hurt. He was grieving. He didn’t know what he was saying anymore.” 

Regulus opened his mouth to argue. Instead, he left him to his delusions for now. He was sure that, deep down, James knew he was right. 

“Whatever,” James mumbled. “He left the order and went into exile. I’m trying to keep track of the news, looking for signs of activity somewhere in the countryside. He’d hide near a forest, I wager.” He sighed, “I think he’s still alive.” 

“Can you give me an estimate in percentages?” 

He hesitated again, though Regulus wasn’t sure whether it was emotional or intellectual hesitation. “Fifty-five.” 

It was lower than he expected. “Given what variables?” 

“Resourcefulness, intelligence, pragmatism… against depression and suicidal ideation.” 

Oh. 

He didn’t expect this. 

“You must be worried then.” 

“What kind of question— of course I’m worried! He’s my best friend. He’s the only one left of the boys I considered my brothers.” 

“I thought that if you were so worried about him, you would have followed him, heroically saved him and strapped him to your white steed to drag him back home to the Order.” 

“No. He’s gone through a lot. He deserves to rest. He deserves to be far away from this war and this life. I hope he found peace somewhere.” 

Regulus shut his notebook. “He didn’t.” 

“How would you know?” 

“You can’t run away from this. If he loved my brother as much as I think he did, he won’t be living in a cottage somewhere at peace with the world.” 

James sighed deeply. He turned off the stove and moved pots and pans around. “Do you know what the word hope means?” 

“Yes. I’ve got no use for it. We should find Lupin. Either he wants to help us or we’ll make him an ingredient. Regardless, we need him.” 

“You know, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t talk about my friend, and last member of what I considered my family, as an ingredient.” 

“For that not to occur, he simply has to not stand in my way. Aren’t you appreciative of how easy I’m making this?” 

James gave him a look over his shoulder and finished their plates. 

Just as James set the dinner on the table, a commotion behind the kitchen door caught their attention. 

They rushed outside to see Barty and Evan hurrying down the hallway. Barty was as pale as Evan. 

“What happened? Where’s Pandora?” Regulus asked. 

“Good news and bad news,” Barty shouted in his direction and rushed into the laboratory to his right. 

Regulus and James followed him. 

“Where’s Pandora?” Regulus repeated. 

“Apparating us back to Dorcas’s place,” Evan said. “We, uhm, sorta, kinda, may have found Voldemort’s hideout.” 

Regulus and James stared at the other two in stunned silence. 

The quiet stretched on until another sound came from outside and Pandora appeared in the lab. 

“You found what?” Regulus exclaimed while Evan hugged his sister. 

“Well, we found the Gaunt shack and searched for the Horcrux, while Evan wandered off— he’s got mad darkvision now, by the way,” Barty said, almost beaming with pride. 

“I found a point from where you can perfectly see the Riddle manor,” Evan continued. “I can see quite far now, but my vision became blurry after just a few feet. So, I got closer until I realised it was a magical barrier. You remember how, when we got our marks, we were brought to that old mansion and when we tried to look out of the windows, there was thick, magical fog all around the place? It was the same fog! I got closer, and I swear it’s the same house, too!” 

Regulus blinked at his friends. “You mean, Voldemort hides in his ancestral home, and it’s the place where we got our dark marks? We were just casually walking around the town at the foot of his headquarters?” 

“Yes!” The three exclaimed in unison. 

“It’s a miracle we’re still alive,” Pandora added. “We can only hope that none of his spies noticed us.” 

Regulus nodded slowly. “This might be good.”

“Literally, how?” James exclaimed. 

“We know the house. We’ve been in the manor. I have been in the manor many, many times. He took me there to study with him in his library. I haven’t seen much of the place save for a few hallways, the dining room, the library and the grand chamber we got marked, but we are not going in blind anymore.” 

“Are you sure your education happened in the same house?” 

Regulus shrugged. “Some architectural details of the grand chamber, the library and hallways were the same. Also, I remember seeing fog every time I looked out a window.” 

James pinched the bridge of his nose. “You remember that we’re in England? There is fog everywhere.” 

“Magical, obscuring fog, obviously.” 

Barty cleared his throat. “There’s one more very good thing,” He said, reaching into his pocket. He took out one of the boxes they had enchanted for safe Horcrux transportation. “We found this.” 

He opened the box and produced a golden ring. A jet-black stone sat in the middle, it looked like it was scratched, or maybe something was etched into it. The gold was tarnished like the ring had rarely been cleaned. It pulsated with dark magic like a small heart. Another Horcrux. 

“Found it under the floorboards in the Gaunt shack.” 

Regulus frowned. The locket, the first Horcrux they found, was hidden in a secret cave, only accessible after drinking a torturing potion and surrounded by Inferi-infested waters. This thing was just stuck beneath the floorboards? 

“There were traps and protections,” Barty clarified. “Don’t worry, we didn’t have it easy. Not to mention that Evan rushed us after he realised Voldemort’s having his beauty sleep basically around the corner.”

“Good work,” Regulus said. He was told to be more appreciative of others’ work. That was enough for the rest of the week, he wagered. 

He put the ring with the other Horcruxes. 

James reminded them of the dinner he prepared, and the group slowly left the laboratory. Regulus stood by the boxes with the Horcruxes for a moment. 

The Slytherin Locket. The Ravenclaw Diadem. The Hufflepuff Cup. The Diary. The Gaunt Ring. 

If Regulus’s hypothesis was correct, Voldemort has severed his soul into seven different parts, creating six Horcruxes and himself. They had five. They were missing one more. Only one more. 

And they had to find out how to destroy them. 

“Regulus?” James asked from the door. He didn’t notice that he had waited for him. “Are you coming?” 

Regulus shut the cabinet and followed the others back to the kitchen. 

Pandora prepared two more plates, while Barty heated up a portion of blood for Evan. 

“So, what do you guys think is the next Horcrux?” James asked, sitting down with the rest of them. “Should be the last one, right?” 

“Either something very personal to him or a Gryffindor relic after all, right Regulus?” Pandora said. 

Regulus sat down with them as well, eyeing the food. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was. Pandora, Barty and James were digging in, so he decided to give it a try as well. 

“I can’t think of another Gryffindor relic,” Regulus said. 

“Me neither. Hey, maybe he turned McGonagall into one,” James mused. “She’s the first thing that comes to mind when I think of our House.”  

“Trust me, you’d notice if a person around you was a Horcrux,” Pandora said. “Horcrux poisoning isn’t fun to experience.” 

“Horcrux poisoning?” 

“Yes. It’s quite fascinating actually. These things are so dark, the energy is oozing out of them and spreading like a virus. It makes you angry, aggressive, paranoid, irritable, hostile-“ 

“Oh, do you have Horcrux poisoning, Regulus?” 

Regulus glared at him, which was undermined by his friends giggling beside him. 

“No. I just hate your face.” 

“This face? Come on now. What’s there to hate, Love?” 

“Do you want it by severity or alphabetically?” 

“By percentage of how much it takes up of my facial surface area,” James said with a smug grin on his face. He was close to having this food smeared over 100% of his facial surface area. 

“Your hair. Your glasses. Your nose,” Regulus said dryly. “And your mouth but mostly for what comes out of it.” 

“Oh, so, other than my words, you like my mouth?” He winked at him. 

Barty snorted, not even trying to hold back anymore. 

“Yes. In fact, I’m willing to cut it off and keep it as a trophy. While I’m at it, I might then sew the remaining hole shut so I can finally be free of these useless comments.” 

“Put ‘em on your nightstand next to my eye.” 

“I will.” 

Regulus pushed the food around until he found some part of it he could eat. Pandora, Barty and Evan exchanged meaningful glances and then decided to tell the details of how they found the Gaunt ring. 

Regulus was barely listening. He cared, of course, but he cared more about the last Horcrux. He doubted that it was a Gryffindor relic – not only because McGonagall wasn’t one. 

Was it even possible to turn a living thing into a Horcrux? 

Voldemort himself was alive, but he was the original host of his soul. He wasn’t turned into a Horcrux. Regulus wasn’t sure if calling him a Horcrux would be accurate. Could one lock a part of the soul into a living thing? From one body to another? What effects would this have on the other’s body and personality? Would they contract Horcrux poisoning? Would a body be able to house two souls at once? Which would dominate? 

These were truly fascinating research questions. Had Voldemort’s plans been different, Regulus would have loved to be his student. He would have revelled in being educated by him in these dark corners of magic. As it stood, he could neither ask, nor conduct an experiment to test the outcome of human Horcruxes. 

There wasn’t a person close enough to Voldemort to be entrusted with a piece of his soul. Not even Bellatrix or Malfoy. There was, however, his snake. The giant, thick snake would slither around the room, keeping her unblinking eyes on Regulus during his lessons at the manor. Voldemort never left her out of sight. Her name was Nagini and Voldemort caressed her like a precious pet on some days, like a lover on others. Voldemort only loved himself. 

“What about Nagini the snake?” He asked Pandora. “Could he have turned her into a Horcrux?” 

She looked at him like he was crazy. Then her mind jumped to all the different questions he just had. 

“It’s his most personal object, I’d say. It could be, right?” 

“Maybe,” she said quietly. “Yes… maybe. I’ll read up on it in your library.” 

Regulus nodded. 

Next to him, James almost choked on his dinner. “Wait. Why is she allowed in your library and I’m not?” 

“Because I like her and not you,” Regulus reminded him. He demonstratively turned away from him and to Barty. “Either way, we can’t steal the snake. All efforts must go toward finding out how to destroy them now.” 

Barty grinned from ear to ear at that. “Oh, I have been waiting for you to say that. I have so much shit in the lab I want to throw on these fuckers. It’ll be so much fun. I have acids, poisons, potions, fire, weapons – I don’t know where to start.” 

“How about you start by taking a break for the rest of the night and join me for movie night?” Pandora suggested. “You, too, Evan and Reg. James, you’re invited, too, but it’s not mandatory as it is for them.” 

“Uhm, thanks… I’d love to. Just for the record: Do I have to be worried about Barty blowing this place up?” 

“OH! Bombs!” Barty exclaimed, hitting the table in pure joy. 

“You don’t have to be,” Regulus said. “I’d advise it, though.” 

Evan had finished his blood by now— he was drinking it out of an inconspicuous water bottle— and asked, “How are things going with the ritual?” 

“We have a decent translation of the instructions. Now we just have to find out what the phrases mean.” 

He frowned, looking from him to James. “Isn’t that what you have been doing?” 

“No. We translated and encoded the written text. Now, we’re finding out what the text means. Come tomorrow, we will search for Remus Lupin.”

Regulus pushed the food away, stood up and prepared himself a sandwich to eat instead. James rolled his eyes at him and took his full plate for himself. 

Chapter Text

“Nothing given freely, nothing done out of feeling, everything coerced, with bloodless planning.” – Kings Rising, 50

James always got up far before anyone else in the bunker. Most of them stayed up until late at night and wouldn’t force themselves out of bed before half past eight. Despite joining them in the TV room last night, James was up and running in the training room.

Regulus joined him an hour later, at a reasonable time, almost stumbling over a discarded shirt by the door. James must have thrown it aside not long ago, leaving his upper body bare and shining with sweat. The muscles in his arms flexed with every swing, his broad shoulders moving in rhythm as he jogged along the room.

“Ah, finally!” James exclaimed when he caught him lingering by the door. “You know what I was thinking just now?”

“That running laps in a room as small as this makes you look like a hamster running in his tiny wheel?”

“No.”

“Huh. You should.”

James came to a halt in front of him. He grabbed the shirt from the ground and put it back on. It was sleeveless. “Hey, if you want to make a bigger gym, I’m all for it.”

Changing the architecture of this place took a lot of energy. Energy Regulus didn’t have to spare, as he didn’t know what else the day would demand of him.

Regulus grabbed a practice sword and tossed it to James, who caught it effortlessly. He has gotten better in this style of fighting in the short time they’ve been working together. He was good at picking up new skills, especially physical ones. James seemed like someone who lacked discipline, with his insistence on breaks, jokes and distractions, but as long as he had a goal, he was dedicated. Aside from playing bodyguard for Regulus, reviving Sirius, and bringing down Voldemort, his current goal was to be allowed to wield the Gryffindor sword. Pandora kept it safe (which meant she was using it for experiments,) but she promised to give it to James for the next fight, should Regulus deem him experienced enough.

“I was thinking,” James picked up on his initial comment, “that we should have a room big enough for Quidditch. I miss playing Quidditch, don’t you?”

Regulus took up his wand. “I want you to concentrate on wandless shields and apparition again. Wandless and wordless shields are easy. Apparating can be dangerous if you don’t concentrate. It’s no use appearing behind your enemy if your sword hand stays over there.”

“Should you use magic for this exercise? I don’t want you to overexert yourself. Which reminds me— what’s on the agenda for today?”

“If I use my throwing knives, I will definitely hit you if you don’t get your shields right. They hurt more than a disarming spell.”

James gasped. “Are you worried about my well-being? That’s so sweet of you!”

Regulus stumbled over his own intentions. No, he did not worry about him. He wanted to hurt him. The best thing about these training sessions was to have an excuse to bruise and cut him. He might need his energy later in case they found Lupin and he had to fight both him and James to get the ingredient he wanted. It was the logical thing to use his knives.

“I just don’t want you to start whining again because of a little nick,” he said and exchanged his wand for his throwing knives.

This also wasn’t true. He loved to hear him whine. He enjoyed every groan, moan and hiss when James was pinned down beneath him and metal pierced his skin until thick rivers of blood ran across his body.

The tip of a sword tapped against his arm. “Hey, Reg. Can you hear me?” James asked. “Zoned out?”

Regulus cocked his head to the side. “I imagined you lying on the floor, covered in blood. You never looked better.”

James smirked at him. “You’re such a flirt.”

Regulus threw the knife at him. James raised his sword arm instinctively while casting protego in time to deflect the blade.

Regulus the blade back into his hand, and flung it again. James shielded at the right moment.

“So, Quidditch,” James said, as Regulus flung two knives at him. “Do you remember our matches? Gryffindor against Slytherin? They were fun.”

“I remember beating you. That was fun.”

“You were good.”

“I was extraordinarily talented,” Regulus corrected him. He apparated behind him, but James had raised a protego as soon as he left his field of vision, to protect himself from any flying knives or stabs. He was becoming really good at this.

“I bet you still are. We should play some time.”

Regulus apparated right in front of him. James swung his sword, cutting only air as Regulus side-stepped. “Are you allergic to concentrating on one thing?”

“If I multitask during training, I’ll be able to fight through the distractions of an actual battle,” James explained, swinging his sword again. He would have hit him, had Regulus not used a protego as well.

His reasoning made sense, and clearly, it worked. James wasn’t typically this intentional with his actions. Regulus respected it. Mildly.

“We have far too much to do to take a Quidditch break,” he said. “And not enough people.”

“Just you and me, then. Fighting for the snitch.”

“You’re not a seeker.”

“I could be.”

No, he couldn’t. Regulus had been the best seeker Hogwarts had seen in decades. James, a chaser, couldn’t pose a challenge even if there were two of him.

“Forget the shields. Apparate.” Regulus instructed, raising his knife to stab him with it.

James parried him with the sword and apparated to the other side of the training hall.

“Not away from me, you idiot! Now, I have the advantage. These knives, like spells, are ranged weapons.” He threw the knife.

James apparated again. He reappeared behind him, pushing the sword tip into his back. “Yes, but the knife had to travel farther, which gave me more time for my next move.”

He'd started to think like a fighter. Impressive. If he wanted to, he could have stabbed him a little bit, maybe enough to make him bleed. He didn't, and yet a part of Regulus, a part he has locked away in the darkest fragment of his soul wanted to lean back just a little, until the blade pierced his skin, and his clothes were stained with crimson.

James might have let him do it or thrust the blade up into him, had he been a more interesting person. Instead, he pulled back, tossing the sword from one hand to the other like the pretentious idiot he was. “So, back to the topic.”

“I’m not playing Quidditch with you.”

“The other topic. What’s on the agenda for today?”

“We’ll do this again. Then, you’ll tell me everything you know about Lupin and where he might be hiding.”

James clenched his jaw, all playfulness gone from his features.

“You know we need him.”

“I know,” He sighed. “I’m just not sure how to convince him to come back. He left… and he was very clear about not wanting to have anything to do with the war anymore. How am I supposed to make him dive right back into this mess?”

Regulus needed a moment to realise that James had directed the question to him, not to himself.

“Let me ask you a question,” Regulus said, as he called back his throwing knife from where it had lodged itself into the ground on the other side of the room. “Did he love my brother?”

“Of course! They were inseparable. They were soulmates, even if your cynical arse doesn’t believe in them.”

Regulus nodded curtly. “Then he is still in this mess. It’s been less than a year since Sirius died. If Remus is over it and living somewhere in peace and tranquillity, then he doesn’t deserve to see Sirius again anyway. He’ll still be right in the middle of the mess; we’re just moving him to a different point in it.”

James chewed on his bottom lip, taking in the words, mulling them over until finally he agreed. Regulus nodded and they resumed practicing.

***

After a well-deserved shower and breakfast, they arrived together at Regulus’s desk in the lab. Pandora was in Regulus’s library, and Barty was most likely in the forge with Evan to conduct an experiment or snog.

James took a map of the Welsh countryside from Pandora’s bookshelf (she had a map collection that she was rather proud of) and spread it out in front of Regulus.

“There is something you should know,” He said, “but I’m not really at liberty to say.”

“Not at liberty to say?” Regulus repeated. “We’re trying to resurrect my brother, and you’re not at liberty to say?”

“There is a secret regarding Remus and it isn’t mine to tell. However, it is important for why I think he’s in a certain place. Now, if you’ve ever had an inkling about a secret of Remus’s and would like to share it, so I can confirm or deny, I’d be terribly grateful.”

Regulus had an inkling indeed. However, this was far more fun. “Just say it.”

“It would be better for my conscience if you just guessed. Or I can tell you where I think he is hiding without explanation.”

The last option sounded quick and efficient, just how Regulus liked it. The former promised the moral corruption of James Potter, which Regulus much preferred.

“Spit it out. I want to know every secret and your thought process in great detail.”

James sat down with a heavy sigh. “Okay, but I have to start at the beginning,” The only words which could make Regulus regret his actions. “Which means, I’ll tell you a story involving my relationship to Sirius and you can’t stab me.”

“I will stab you for telling me what I can and can’t do.”

James shot him a disapproving look but nevertheless began his tale.

“The four of us, Sirius, Remus, Peter and I, met on our first day at Hogwarts. I met your brother on the train. Peter was sorted right before me, so we sat together in the Great Hall by sheer coincidence. Then there was Remus. Everyone had noticed him before and during the sorting of course. What eleven-year-old kid has so many scars across his face, right? But we really met him when we went up to the dorm and he joined us. He kept to himself most of the time, didn’t really engage with us or, well, anyone. I wanted to be his friend, but he had a hard time opening up… Then Sirius fell into his rebellious streak. Believe it or not, the first few weeks of Hogwarts, he was constantly crying and worrying about what your family would think. He went as far as requesting a switch to Slytherin. He was denied, obviously. Peter and I tried to cheer him up with jokes, pranks and general mischief and Sirius just… fell in love with the chaos. Anyhow, Remus was under the impression that Sirius wanted to switch houses because your parents wouldn’t want Sirius to be around ‘someone like him.’ Of course, all we knew about him back then was that he was a Halfblood. Sirius reassured him that it wasn’t about that, and that he now wanted to associate with people his family would disapprove of.”

Regulus remembered the days following the news of Sirius’s sorting. His father locked himself in his study and wouldn’t speak for two weeks, while his mother threw a tantrum, screaming and crying and writing blackmailing letters to Dumbledore.

“I assume being a Halfblood isn’t the secret?” Regulus asked, trying to drown out the memory of his mother.

“No. Of course, we noticed that something was wrong with him. He was sick a lot, had to stay in the hospital wing every month and came back with new injuries. We snuck into the hospital wing to visit him, and to spy on Madame Pomfrey because we thought she might be hurting him. Of course, we were three clumsy boys. There is no way she didn’t know we visited Remus, but she played along.” James smiled at the memory.

Regulus could picture this, too. He remembered their pranks and attempts at stealth when they were in their second year and he in his first. He would linger in the shadows and watch as the four boys toppled over each other while looking around corners and spying on teachers.

“Hey, is that a smile I see?” James interrupted his story.

Regulus looked up. He hadn’t noticed his lips treacherously stretching at the corners.

“Fuck off,” He mumbled, rubbing his hand over his mouth.

“No, don’t. I think… I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile since Hogwarts.”

“And when would you have seen me smile at Hogwarts?”

“When you won at Quidditch, obviously.” He grinned at him.

He returned to his story when Regulus didn’t respond. “Sirius had this strange idea of curing Remus of whatever illness he had. So, we began researching his symptoms. Mood swings, disappearances once a month, injuries – and all that around the full moon.”

“He’s a werewolf,” Regulus concluded. He had this theory when they were still in school. Once someone started looking for an explanation, as James and his friends had, it was obvious.

“We eventually confronted him about it. He thought he’d have to leave school and that we’d hate him. Nothing could be further from the truth, of course. We loved him. We kept visiting him in the hospital wing, learned how to homebrew pain relieving potions, and devised a plan on how to help him.”

“Don’t tell me you thought three teenage boys could cure Lycanthropy.”

James laughed brightly. “Of course we thought so! You know me, you know your brother. We were twelve going on thirteen and we were certain we could cure it.”

Regulus shook his head to himself, fighting hard not to let another smile slip.

“Ah! Is that another smile I see?”

“No,” Regulus said, pressing his lips together.

“You don’t fool me, Regulus Black. Sirius used to look the same when he tried to stop himself from smiling. He wasn’t as good at it, though.”

Regulus turned away from James and let the corners of his mouth jerk up. No one has ever suggested his smile was similar to Sirius’s. He didn’t believe it. Sirius was all open faces and big emotions. Regulus wasn’t. Still, being told that they looked alike in their expressions, even a little bit, sent a wave of warmth through his body— Something James didn’t need to know.

 “Anyway, where was I? Right, we were stupid and did not, in fact, cure Lycanthropy. Instead, we decided to become Animagi so we could give him company during the full moon.”

“Illegal Animagi,” Regulus added.

“Oh, sorry, are you registered, my darling kitty cat?”

Regulus kicked him under the table. “Call me that again and I will claw your eyes out. I’m not registered, but I’m also a Death Eater defector who murders people for fun and employs forbidden dark magic to bring my brother back from the dead. You’re a goody-two-shoes Gryffindor Auror of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“I was also in detention every other week for playing pranks on the teachers, and almost blew up the Astronomy tower one night when Peter and I used muggle fireworks to make a romantic show for Remus’s and Sirius’s anniversary.”

Regulus remembered that evening. It was quite a show and went on for long enough to draw almost every student out of their bed and to the windows or out to the courtyards. Regulus had been able to see the faint lights and colours broken up and reflected through the lake onto his common room floor.

“Barty and Pandora once thought it was a good idea to test one of their explosives in the Slytherin common room next to the big window.” He frowned at himself, unsure what prompted him to respond with a nonsensical story of his own.

James misinterpreted his confusion. “And it wasn’t?”

“The window leads to the Black Lake, James. They flooded the whole dungeon.”

James looked at him with raised eyebrows, then descended into a fit of giggles, turning gradually into a hearty belly laugh. Regulus watched his shoulders shake through it.

“It wasn’t funny!” Regulus scolded him, unable to control his own smile. “There was a giant squid in our common room. A mermaid stole my homework!”

“How have I never heard of this story? More importantly: How did we not come up with it! We could have flooded Snivellus’s dorm for seven years, but it never occurred to us! Oh, I feel so stupid!”

Regulus shook his head. “It happened in my last year, so after you left.”

“It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard. That settles it. I must steal Barty from you. He’s clearly destined to be my friend.”

“He dislikes you.”

“He showed me how to use a gun. We’re bonding.”

Regulus grimaced. “Somehow the thought of you two together fills me with unspeakable horrors. I’d rather let you keep Lupin around.”

“We won’t ‘keep him around’ like a pet. We’ll invite him to stay with us and give him a choice to be part of all of this. He’s my friend. He’s practically your brother-in-law.”

“Right now, he’s an important part of this ritual and I will determine his fate based on his cooperation.” He gestured to the maps. “You wanted to tell me where he’s hiding?”

James’s eyes lingered on his face.

“James. In this day and age, if you may.”

“You should smile more often. It suits you.”

Regulus frowned at the map, maintaining the silence after that statement until it forced James to see how stupid it was.

James cleared his throat.

“There have been reports of wolf attacks in a few of these woods. Attacks, howls, an increase in muggle-superstition and stories about werewolves and haunted houses. It doesn’t have to be Remus, but I think there is a lone werewolf passing through these towns, moving northward. Remus has family down here in the south. They said, he passed through town shortly after Sirius’s death and they haven’t seen him since. All of these places have abandoned houses, huts and cabins deep within the woods. See?” He pointed at a mark he made on the map, indicating a spot near the centre of a forest. “Removed from society but close enough to get provisions. He’d choose such a location.”

“And where do you think he is now?”

He pointed at another mark and Regulus wondered briefly whether Pandora had allowed him to draw on her maps, or would kill him once she found out. “He stays in one place for a few months, until there are too many rumours. He might still be up here.”

“And they have such a forest hut?”

“Yes. A haunted house the muggles think used to belong to a witch.”

“How do you know that?”

James shrugged. “Magazines, newspapers, secret Auror reports, breaking into the department dealing with werewolves and other magical beasts to steal their notes. Also, Pandora showed me how to use the ‘internet.’ It’s fascinating.”

“So, you spied on your friend, breaking rules and laws in the process?”

James gave him a long look. He gestured to his notes on the ritual. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I’m not—“

“I’m not a rule-abiding, goody-two-shoes just because I was part of the Order and think treating people differently because of their blood status is wrong, Regulus. You can’t blame me for turning your brother into a rebellious troublemaker, and shame me for being a self-righteous good boy at the same time.”

“Yes, I can. Because you’re frequently being both. Specifically, the self-righteous part. This place where you assume Remus is hiding, can we apparate or do we have to fly?”

“I’d enjoy flying, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s November, James. No, I would not enjoy flying from here to Wales.”

“Fine. Yes, we can apparate. It’s close enough that we can apparate back, too.” He regarded him for a moment. “I guess I’ll do the apparating, right?”

“I’m minimally weakened, not a squib, James. I have 85 to 90 percent of my usual power. I’m just cautious. Energy goes down fast in a battle, so I prefer my daggers, but I can still apparate us back here.”

Regulus scoffed. “Whatever. Fine, exert yourself. But don’t you dare think I can’t take care of myself.”

“Of course not. I’m just doing my duty in making sure you can safely stab anyone you want. Except Remus, please.”

Regulus shook his head and pushed himself away from the desk. “Get your things. We’re going.”

***

They arrived at the edge of a dense forest.

James looked from the sun to the trees, spinning a few times around his own axis until he indicated a direction with about as much confidence as a Flobberworm in a broom race. “That way …I think.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but having no basis on which to correct him, he followed him. According to James, they should find a hut or a heap of leaves magically obscuring a tent half a mile into the woods. James hadn’t outright said that Remus was on the run from someone, but a man moving from forest to forest, hiding in huts or bushes surely gave the impression. James had mentioned —and so had Sirius during their last conversation— that Remus was sent to spy on a pack of werewolves. Perhaps he was on the run from that werewolf pack or the Death Eaters. Or the Order.

The floor was covered in dry, brown leaves, rustling with every step. They were quickly approaching the end of the year. The trees above them were almost bare, but the thick and gnarly branches still prevented the sun from fully slipping through.

After not even ten minutes of walking, James began to whistle.

Regulus’s eye twitched. Just when he thought the bloke couldn’t get any more annoying, he whistled. He repeated the same melody thrice, then switched to another, even more jarring one. Regulus’s hand moved toward his dagger on its own accord.

“So, what’s the plan?” Regulus asked loudly, pulling his hand back.

James stopped whistling to look at him. Thank Salazar. “I dunno. I guess we just see what happens?”

Regulus pressed his lips together. Just a few hours ago, he told him how difficult it would be to convince Remus to join them, but he still didn’t have a plan? “Have you and Lupin left things on good terms?”

James scoffed as if the mere suggestion of the opposite was outrageous.

“Then maybe you should talk to him alone first. You said, you want to take him back to the bunker. Convince him to come with us.”

“And what should I tell him about ‘why’?”

“The truth.” Regulus shrugged. “He was Sirius’s boyfriend. You said that they were— what was that mad little superstition? Soulmates. Helping us with the ritual should be in his best interest, shouldn’t it?”

James tilted his head slightly, his brows knitting together. “I don’t know if that’s the best course of action.”

Regulus decided to indulge him just this once, considering James knew Lupin better than him. “Why?”

“Well… I’m not sure Remus would be okay with ”

“Condition?” Regulus repeated. “His current condition is ‘dead.’ I’d think his lover would feel positively about changing that.”

“You know what I mean. Alter alter him. His Body, his…” He moved his hands in front of his body, indicating his head and then the rest of him.

Regulus understood. Remus was turned into a werewolf presumably against his will. James seemed to think that he wouldn’t want a similar fate for his boyfriend. Regulus thought of Evan, then. Would he let them turn Pandora or Barty into Vampires to save their lives? Or would he rather live without them? Regulus knew what he’d do, but Evan? He didn’t seem to particularly enjoy vampiredom so far, but would he rather spend eternity without his sister, his boyfriend or his friend? After a long life spent with them all, maybe he’d let them rest, but if they died tomorrow and could only be saved by being Turned, would Evan let them go? Regulus couldn’t imagine anyone making that choice.

“We’re not turning him into an undead. That’s why I searched for this specific ritual for so long. We will bring him back from the dead just the way he was. …It will be like he just took a nap.”

James gave him a long look. Regulus turned away, searching the trees around them for a sign of Lupin. He had a vague memory of him: tall, brown hair, scars. He assumed if they met anyone in the middle of a forest in November, it was bound to be him… or a serial killer. Regulus was fine with either, as long as the killer didn’t get to Lupin before them.

“Still,” James interrupted his thoughts, “I don’t want to promise him anything or make him do something. I want him to come back with me and have a home, you know?”

“My bunker isn’t a shelter,” Regulus said absentmindedly.

“Prick.” James scoffed. “Remus is one of the few friends I have left. He is the only one who understands our grief for Sirius.”

“Our,” Regulus sneered. Has he still not understood that their feelings about Sirius’s death were not comparable? They didn’t lose the same thing.

“You will let him come live with us and give him a home in the bunker. You will… right?”

“If he decides to be useful, sure.”

“If he— fuck! How can someone be so cold? Sometimes I forget how fucked up you are.”

“Why are you acting like your bad memory is my fault?”

“It’s not my bad memory. I simply hoped you’d change or at least show a little bit of benevolence towards someone who loved your brother and is important for the ritual.”

“Sounds like a you-problem,” Regulus said dryly. “Besides, why do I have to change? Listen to yourself. A few hours ago, you told me that you don’t want to drag him back into the war. Now, instead of going to him saying ‘hey, will you help us resurrect Sirius,’ you’d prefer it if he came with us to fight. You want him to come back to do the right thing instead of returning for purely selfish reasons like getting his boyfriend back. Not only have you still not abandoned those ludicrous ideals, but are also trying to push them onto others and recruit them as soldiers for the war. Again.”

Now, it was James who averted his eyes. “To you they’re ludicrous ideals, not to me. …Besides, Remus is a good man, whether or not he’s fighting.”

“I never claimed otherwise. I don’t measure the character of people by whether or not they fight in a war. You do.”

James scoffed. “Yes, you do. You hate Order members. You judge people based on whether or not they joined an organisation to have a better chance in this war – be it the Order or the Death Eaters.”

“I don’t hate Order members for joining the Order.” Regulus frowned in confusion. How did this man still understand so little about him. “I hate people who turn the children they’re in charge of into soldiers. Parents, leaders, headmasters, take your pick. And I judge people by how much they praise, indulge and support their organisation despite or because of this practice.”

James drew a slow breath, his jaw tight as if holding back a retort. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. “You think I don’t hate it, too? That I don’t wish things could have been different? But I can’t go back and undo it. I can’t stop my friends and I from being manipulated, I can’t stop us from signing up for the Order, I can’t undo being used to recruit more students. The possibility of undoing what happened to Sirius is still utterly insane to me. All I can do is try to make it all worth it. All this suffering can’t have been for nothing. When we stop Voldemort, no more children will be dragged into this mess. …You’re right, Remus shouldn’t come with us to fight Voldemort but we need to give him a home. Regarding the ritual… Maybe I just don’t want to give him false hope.”

“It’s not false hope. The ritual will work.” It has to.

James nodded lightly. “Just let me handle it. You said, I should talk to him alone. I will.”

Regulus gave him a short nod. They kept walking in near silence, only disturbed by the cracking twigs and branches beneath their boots. Thick clouds swallowed up the sun, leaving the woods around them in dull browns and greys.

Regulus looked up at the sky, trying to estimate the position of the sun and gauge the time of day.

James’s hand shot up, pushing against his chest to stop him in his tracks. Regulus frowned, looking from James’s hand to him.

James pointed at a tree a few feet away. It looked like an ordinary tree: stem, branches, brown, tufts of dry grass at the bottom. He took James’s sleeve, holding the fabric between thumb and forefinger, and moved his arm out of the way. When he took a closer look at the tree, he noticed something moving in one of the branches – a black ribbon fluttering in the wind. It could have been placed by anyone at any time, except that it didn’t look weather-beaten, so it couldn’t have hung there for long – or it was protected.

“Do you think Lupin put it there?”

James nodded. “Sirius used to hang them around the forbidden forest to help Remus find his way back to the castle after a full moon. He can’t be far.”

It seemed a stupid thing to do. Lupin would have been able to find his way by scent even as a child, and he definitely would be able to find his way back to his hide-out today, as a grown werewolf.  Either he was not as smart or more sentimental than he thought, or this ribbon led them into a trap.

“I’m going to change into my Animagus,” He said. “I’ll hide, while you approach him, should we actually find him in this… place.”

“It’s called a forest,” James provided. “Have you ever been in one?”

Regulus frowned at him. “Have I ever been in a forest? Did you seriously just ask me that?”

“Well, with your upbringing, I figured… and I can’t imagine you’ve ever been in the Forbidden Forest.”

“I’ve been in the forbidden forest.”

“Really?” James sounded almost impressed.

“Yes. Obviously. Every other student has run into that thing at one point or another. It’s a school full of teenagers categorized by being reckless, ambitious and nosy, and they called that thing ‘forbidden.’”

James grinned, nodding. “Fair point. I haven’t seen you as a little cat in ages. He’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Yes. Cute little kitty cat.” He grinned at him. “You can’t insult me as him or pick fights.”

“I can still pick fights with you when I’m a cat. In fact, it gives me an advantage because I can bite you far better than as a human.”

James looked like he wanted to say something stupid relating to ‘biting,’ but, in a rare strike of genius, decided against it.

“It’s good for stealth, too,” Regulus said, looking up at the empty trees again. “And I sort of want to see whether or not I can jump from branch to branch up there. It would be less noisy than wading through all of this fucking scrub.” He kicked at a small heap of dry leaves.

James looked up toward the branches, his eyes getting caught at the black ribbon again. “As long as it doesn’t take up too much of your energy.”

“What?”

“You should watch how much energy you use. Even when I’m in charge of apparating, you still have to concentrate when we do. And you never know who we might run into on the way and what you might need your magic for. What if you turn into your Animagus now, losing too much of your energy, and we run into a problem while you’re exhausted and… you get hurt?”

Regulus clenched his jaw. James was looking him up and down with worry across his puppy-dog eyes as if Regulus were some child or squib that he had to save from being impaled by a fucking twig.

“I’m not weak,” he spat the word like a curse.

“I’m not saying you are, but you’re giving up a part of your magic every day, and I just think that when push comes to shove—”

James was interrupted when Regulus hit him with a spell and threw him against a tree.

“I am not weak.”

He disapparated from his spot to appear in front of James, uncomfortably close, his knees pressing against James’s legs.

“I’m not,” he hissed, pushing his wand into James’s neck. “I have always been and always will be a strong and gifted wizard. I have won duels against students two years above me. I was chosen by Lord Voldemort himself to study under him. I have killed your people and adult Death Eaters with magic and without. I, slightly weakened, am still stronger than anyone you have ever faced before. And you will stop treating me like some squib, who is going to be knocked out two seconds into battle. I’m doing you the favour of making you feel useful. I’m trusting you with knowledge about me, my brother, and what I’m planning, and you will not throw these things back into my face.”

His hand closed around James’s jacket, pulling his body closer, and jabbing his wand into his skin.

“Right now, I could take you and your friend out at the same time, take what I need from him and apparate home in a matter of minutes. You think I’m that weakened? In this state I have survived torture, inferi, and horcruxes, and in this state I will kill Voldemort. I will kill Dumbledore. And you dare question whether I can handle turning into an Animagus and fight afterwards? Do you want to test it? Do you want me to fight your friend and kill him in front of you?” He dropped his voice to a whisper, staring into James’s eyes, their noses almost touching. “Because. I. Will.”

James stared back at him with wide brown eyes. Regulus’s wand moved when he swallowed heavily.

“I’m sorry,” James whispered. “I didn’t mean to imply… ‘M just trying to look out for you. …Maybe in return you could try not to threaten the only friend I have left.” His eyes hardened at the words. He pushed ever so slightly against where they were connected— their legs, Regulus’s hand against his jacket, the wand against his neck. “Because otherwise, I will fight you until you’re exhausted, and then we’ll have a conversation about what happened to my third friend.”

Regulus was confused for a moment, until his mind provided a name, then a face.

Peter Pettigrew. A pudgy, small boy with mousy blond hair, pockets full of dung bombs and other practical jokes. He was the forgotten one next to charismatic Sirius and James, and mysterious Remus. People rarely noticed when he was around and ended up spilling their secrets in front of him, making him the perfect spy for the pranksters.

James has never mentioned him to Regulus. The fact that he did now, distracted him enough for James to push him and move away.

“I’m not your enemy, Regulus. Not right now. Maybe you could acknowledge that every once in a while, and act like it?”

Regulus didn’t turn to look at him. “You’ll always be my enemy, James.”

James huffed, and looked up at the sky, like he mentally screamed what he wanted to say toward the clouds instead of him.

“Why? How come that even now when we’re working together and you’re trusting me enough to tell me about Sirius and the ritual, letting me help you with it, and even teaching me how to fight with a sword, you’re still blaming me for everything? Because I gave Sirius a home? Because I was, as you said, manipulated by Dumbledore? I’m trying my best!”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me! I’m trying my best to help you. I’m trying my best to gain your favour and be your friend despite your stabbing, cutting, and insulting me—”

“I don’t want you to be my friend. I don’t need you as a friend. I just need you to function.”

James scoffed; the sound sharp in the quiet of the forest. “Right. Just to function. Because that’s all people are to you, isn’t it? Tools for you to use and get closer to your goals. But I know that you care about people other than yourself, so why are you so bloody determined to make everyone believe the opposite?”

Regulus bit the inside of his cheek. He had a handful of people he cared about, yes, but a lot more he didn’t. He saw no value in forcing himself to care about more, much less in pretending to do so. “Caring alone doesn’t bring people back. And it doesn’t win wars either.”

“No, but it’s why we fight them.” James’s voice softened ever so slightly. “It’s why you take risks and give yourself to this ritual. It’s why I help you and betray the Order. It’s why I drag my friend back into this. And Merlin’s beard, it’s why I am trying to protect you! Because you care. Because I care. And since we’re working together, why can’t you care about me, too?”

Regulus stared at him. Was James trying to say that he cared about him? There was hardly anything less probable. James wanted Sirius back, and Voldemort dead. This partnership was as beneficial to him as it was to Regulus. He had the same goals. That was why he was here, why he did all of this, why he agreed to ‘protect’ him. He would only care for as long as it was useful for him, which, in Regulus’s opinion, was the same as not caring at all.

Tired of this argument, and even more so of James’s hypocrisy, he shrunk, shifting into the body of a cat.

“Prick.” James looked down at him and sighed. “Fine, follow me.”

They found two more ribbons bound around thick branches pointing further into the woods. Regulus climbed up one of the trees and bit and pulled on the ribbon until it came loose. It tasted like old satin.

Regulus’s ears perked up at a distant sound: objects colliding with force in a steady rhythm. Heavy things fell to the ground and every once in a while, a man grunted and cursed.

Regulus jumped from branch to branch carrying his trophy until he finally spotted a structure among the trees. A tattered, dark roof emerged from the greyish browns. Regulus dropped the ribbon from his mouth, watching it float down and land perfectly atop James’s rat’s nest of dark hair.

He took the ribbon and glared up at him. Regulus balanced along one of the thinner branches until he could safely jump to the next tree. James, following him confused, caught sight of the roof, too. He must have been able to hear the sounds too at this point.

He took a moment to seemingly collect himself, taking a deep breath, running his hand through his hair and checking for his wand. Regulus crawled his way ahead until the hut sat underneath him.

It was an old wooden building, with too many holes and broken windows for this time of year. The sounds came from an axe being swung by a man chopping wood for a fire. The man was lanky and thin, his figure, even though half-hidden by jackets and a faded red-yellow scarf, didn’t suggest he had the strength for his task. His face, however, revealed that he had the necessary anger inside of him to temporarily find said strength. His brown hair looked dirty and unkempt and his fingernails were crusted with grime. His face was moderately clean, save for the early stages of a beard. It wasn’t enough to cover his deep scars: Fine, white lines across his nose, cheek and chin, through his eyebrow, and likely everywhere else on his body.

James took careful steps around the hut until he could lay eyes on his old friend.

“Remus?”

Lupin’s head shot up in shock. He recognised him, then scanned the woods around them, searching for more figures lurking in the dark, Order members to drag him back into a war or shape shifters intending to kill him or return him to Voldemort.

James, either oblivious to or undeterred by his mistrust, walks up to him and pulls the man into a tight hug. He mumbled softly into his clothes.

Regulus, unable to hear them properly, climbed down some of the branches.

“I’m so glad to see you,” James said, pulling back and looking up at Lupin’s face. “How are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m… okay, yes. What are you doing here?”

“I… I left the Order.”

Lupin looked even more surprised to hear this than to see him.

“And I wanted to ask you to come back with me. Come home.”

Lupin’s face darkened. “Home.” He scoffed and pushed the axe into the tree stump he had used as a chopping block.

“Yes, home. I can give you a good home. Not just me, we—”

“I am home. As good a home as it gets.” He picked up the pieces of wood.

James looked back at the run-down shack.

“It’s all I need,” Remus said and kicked open the door.

“Sirius wouldn’t want this for you,” James said.

If he had said it to Regulus, he might have punched him or sank one of his blades into his body. Lupin stopped for only a moment and then went into the house undeterred.

James followed him inside. Regulus jumped from his tree and dashed to the hut to not be locked out when James shut the door.

“Leave me alone, James,” Lupin said. The inside of the house was as pitiful as the outside. He had pulled a sheet over an old straw mattress, a suitcase functioning as his bedside table. Besides that, he had a few books lying around, a wooden table and a three-legged stool which might have both been built by the former owner.

“He’d want you to be among friends,” James said, “He’d want you to be happy.”

“Shut up!” Lupin shouted. Up until now, he had sounded tired if anything, but the anger which had been so evident on his face while he was chopping firewood, found its way back into his voice. “Fuck you. Don’t tell me what Sirius would fucking want, Prongs. He’s dead! Fucking dead! It doesn’t matter what he’d want. If he had wanted me to be happy, he shouldn’t have died! Now, get the fuck out of here!”

“Moony, please listen to me. You can’t keep going on like this—”

“Yes, I can. When I left, you promised to leave me the fuck alone. You promised not to look for me or try to change my mind.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you come? Do you think I enjoy fighting with you? Or did you just think I needed to be reminded of Sirius?”

James looked to the ground in shame, only then noticing Regulus hiding by his feet. He softly shook his head at him.

They needed Lupin. The ritual called for the touch of a Lover. Lupin was that lover, and while Regulus wasn’t entirely sure what ‘touch’ meant, he knew that it needed to be him.

Regulus shifted out of his cat form and slowly stepped further into the room.

Remus’s eyes widened in shock, his breath hitched and for a moment, his face brightened with hope. His eyes flitted over Regulus’s face, his eyes, his hair and his body. He seemed to crumble under the weight of disappointment when he realised that it was the other Black brother standing in front of him.

“We found a way to bring him back,” Regulus said. “And if you don’t come willingly, I will reunite your corpses instead.”

Chapter Text

“Congratulations. Your show of compassion rings false.” – Captive Prince, 122

Remus Lupin sat at Regulus’s desk in the bunker with clean hands wrapped around a mug of warm tea. His frown deepened as he examined the necromancy tome and their notes on the ritual.

He looked at a page listing the components they needed, where the phrase ‘touch of a lover’ was circled, and an arrow leading to his name.

He looked up at James and Regulus. “How did you find this?”

James, sitting on the other side of the desk, bent his neck back until he could see Regulus standing behind him.

“Stole it,” Regulus said dryly. “Translated it. If we do it right, Sirius will live again.”

“And you’re certain?”

“As certain as I can be.”

This seemed good enough for him. He leaned back in Regulus’s chair, inhaling the steam of his tea. “I won’t fight,” he said. “I’m too tired of it all. But this… I would do anything for this to work.”

“You won’t have to fight,” James assured him.

Remus gazed at him with all the warmth of years-long friendship. “And you? You’re not with Dumbledore anymore?”

“No. The Order… It’s a long story. I’m on Regulus’s side. He, Barty Crouch Jr, and Evan and Pandora Rosier will take down Voldemort. They have the means to do it. I’m helping them, like I’m helping Regulus with this ritual.”

He nodded slowly. Without the anger, he looked decades older than he actually was. Even as the oldest of the bunch, he wouldn’t be older than 22, but he read as late thirties. “When Sirius… I begged Dumbledore to bring him back. Did he tell you?”

James softly shook his head, as if he was worried to disturb the air around his friend.

“I begged him. I begged the Order. They refused because they ‘don’t employ the Dark Arts.’ …I even went to the Death Eaters. I was so desperate, I promised to spill all of the Order’s secrets and give them my life if they helped me get him back.”

Regulus glanced down at James. His hands were balled into fists beneath the table. He couldn’t understand how his friend could offer to betray them all for the chance of getting Sirius back, could he? Regulus understood. This was the only one he understood among all the motives of betraying one’s friends to the other side of the war.

“They never recovered his body. Don’t you need it for this ritual?”

“I have it.”

Remus’s eyes shot up to him, while his head remained motionless above his tea's steam.

“I took him from the battlefield after the Order left. I’m keeping him safe here.”

Emotions ran rampant on his face for a moment, finally leaving him looking even more exhausted than before.

“Can I…” He bit down on his lip, not daring to say his request aloud. He met Regulus’s eyes. His and Sirius’s were the same. “Can I see him?”

***

Remus

Regulus led Remus through a narrow, unassuming hallway, curving ever so slightly. If the light hit the walls a certain way, he could discern a pattern in the beige and blue colours, interrupted every few feet by doors. The doors were identical to each other, and Remus wondered briefly how Regulus or James knew which one to use. He assumed that they had taken the wrong door when they came to a dead end – a naked stone wall in a narrow, empty room.

He glanced at James, who gave him a careful smile. If anyone, he could always trust him.

The wall before them began to move and shift, and when Remus looked again, it had revealed a high-ceiled, dark chamber. Regulus entered and, one by one, a few dozen candles lit up, dousing the room in a warm glow. He must be crazy to ever consider following a Death Eater into what was so obviously a ritual chamber.

But he wasn’t just any Death Eater, he was Sirius’s brother. The brother Sirius could never hate, always worried about until the very end. He rarely admitted to it. He likely didn’t admit it to anyone but Remus, but despite all his faults and the anger he inspired, Regulus had always been Sirius’s first and greatest weakness. He was a source of overwhelming emotion coming and going in all directions.

Remus was the love of his life. James was his brother, best friend, home and comfort. But Regulus was something else entirely, situated somewhere above and beneath them all, hated and loved, forgotten and remembered, despised and revered. At home, he was his greatest enemy and his only ally, his betrayer and his comrade, his jailor and his liberator.

To the naked eye, Sirius hated his brother. He made fun of him, called him the son of his parents, and treated him like every other Slytherin at first, and every other Death Eater Scum later. Remus knew all of Sirius. He knew him inside and out. He knew his feelings towards his brother and his parents in all their confusing, disgusting and irrational details.

He had never wondered whether Regulus might feel the same about him. Sirius had often lamented that Regulus hated him for being a Gryffindor, rebellious and a blood traitor. As if the ritual wasn’t enough, this chamber proved that Sirius was to Regulus, exactly what Regulus had been to him.

Remus stood at the line where the wall had shifted out of the way, not quite daring to disturb the crypt air. Regulus placed himself in front of a stone altar, where wilted petals put themselves together again. His eyes moved on their own accord, being pulled to the other side of the room. A glass coffin stood surrounded by black candles as if taken out of a muggle fairy tale. Remus’s feet moved before his brain could grasp the picture in front of him. One second, he stood at the edge of the room, then he was in front of the coffin.

Sirius.

His Sirius.

Death has not left a single mark on his body. Time stood still around him, the polish on his nails still chipped, his eyeliner smudged just the right amount, and a moon-shaped ring around his finger. Dark waves of hair framed his pale face like a halo. If it weren’t for the missing pink tint to his cheeks and lips, Remus could have believed he was merely asleep.

After Sirius was gone, Remus kept coming home to an empty flat, half expecting, half begging, to find him sleeping on the couch, passed out from exhaustion at the end of an eventful day. He’d look like this, he thought. Many memories may fade with the passage of time, but not he. Sirius’s face has been as clear in Remus’s mind as it lay before him, now. When he unfocused his eyes and merged the scene with the pictures in his head, he swore, he could see Sirius open up those perfect silver eyes and smile at him, that soft, genuine smile, void of performance and exaggerated emotion, pushing at the corners of his mouth, reaching his eyes and whispering about love and devotion.

The one thing out of place was his clothes. He was stuck into a fancy suit, how he might have worn it at home. Had he been wearing his leather jacket when he died? Where was it? Was Regulus keeping it in this room, crammed into a box together with the rest of his jewellery? He should be wearing them. He’d hate to be dressed up like this by someone else. His mother used to force him into these suits, waistcoats and fancy shoes and banned him from running, jumping and singing around her house. Whenever he could, he’d opt for muggle band tees, for ripped-up skinny jeans, crop tops, mesh, lace, and leather jackets.

Remus bit his lip. He couldn’t ask Regulus to redress his brother. He took him from the field, brought him here and kept him safe, building a bunker around him while searching for a way to bring him back. He wasn’t in the position to make demands about Sirius’s clothes.

He wasn’t in the position to make demands about anything regarding Sirius, was he?

He thought he’d never see him again. According to the story told by Alastor Moody, the battle had been hectic and confusing – Voldemort himself turned up out of nowhere. By the time they fled, were safe and counted their losses, Sirius was gone. Moody’s rule was to wait at least one day before recovering bodies so as not to run into the enemy again. When James returned to the field, ignoring Moody’s deadline, he couldn’t find him.

No one even bothered to tell him.

Remus was undercover with the werewolves, spying for the Order.

There was no owl, no secret message, not a note lost to the wind.

He came home to an empty flat.

Not quite empty, James and Peter were waiting.

“Where’s Sirius?” Remus had asked. The silence had been thick between his friends. It told him more than a thousand words and explanations could have.

He knew.

He knew instantly when no sound or smell was telling him Sirius was getting ready in the bathroom, or hiding in the bedroom in a new outfit he wanted to show off, or making tea in the kitchen.

He knew.

He told himself it was a stupid prank. Sirius’s idea of giving him a small scare and getting his mind off things. Surely, he’d come through the door any minute, black nail polish, eyeliner, a grin on his lips, and kiss him.

It had to be.

It would be tasteless, dumb, yes, downright evil! But he’d rather take the worst prank than this.

“Is this a prank?” he had asked. James and Peter had looked at each other, and then Peter had to look away, pressing his lips together and staring at the ground. James couldn’t look straight at him either, eyes rimmed red.

It had to be a prank.

They wouldn’t have let him continue his mission with the werewolves when-

It had to be.

They would have tried to contact him. They would have told him. It couldn’t be real.

“Dumbledore forbade us to get you out to tell you… refused to tell us where you were…” James had begun to speak, but his voice soon faded to static noise in the back of his mind.

He couldn’t hear him. He couldn’t understand a single word he or Peter said. Somehow, the knowledge still crept up on him, spread through him like cancer and choked him until he ran out of air and his body gave out.

As there hadn’t been a body, there hadn’t been a funeral either. No place to visit. All their friends came together to mourn Sirius at their flat. They swapped stories, even laughed a little while sharing drinks. Remus didn’t laugh. He didn’t tell cute getting-together stories or tales about awkward teenage kisses. He sat in his living room surrounded by too many people but not the one person he wanted. They filled the space, occupied every room, spread their voices and scents on each surface, replacing and obliterating every trace of Sirius.

Remus shared Regulus’s dream of resurrection. He asked Dumbledore about it, Moody, then Death Eaters, Voldemort. He was sent away. Then, he was just done. Done with it all – wars, werewolves, spying, missions, the Order. The werewolves could kill him for all he cared. The Death Eaters could win all their battles, and Voldemort may defeat them and oppress and murder every single one of them. He didn’t care. If their success hinged on him, he still wouldn’t care. He couldn’t do it anymore. What for?

So, he left.

He left thinking, sooner or later, he’d be reunited with Sirius. There were no plans, just aimless wandering.

Until now.

Because now, he stood in front of Sirius, suspended in endless sleep, waiting for them to wake him up.

His eyes glided over Sirius’s body again, halting at the ring.

***

Then

Looking for a flat in the middle of a war felt odd. Especially because the muggles they wanted to rent from had no idea about the danger surrounding them. Most of their friends either stayed with their parents or holed up with James at the Potter Manor, which turned into something like a headquarters for their group – not the entire Order, just their friends from Hogwarts: Emmeline, Frank and Alice, Benjy, Gideon and Fabian, Marlene, Dorcas, Lily, Mary, James and Peter. Not all of them stayed with the Potters, but they came together regularly.

It was a large group, but the warm, welcoming Potters didn’t mind and their house gladly expanded for them. Remus liked them, of course. Some of them were his dearest friends. At the same time, he longed for a calm, safe space. A home just for him and Sirius, where they could temporarily forget about the war and just sit together in the evening, sharing a blanket and drinking cups of hot tea while talking about silly, mundane things.

He was surprised when Sirius agreed to search for their own place. He expected him to insist on at least James, and maybe Peter, to join them. Instead, he said that he wanted to have a home with him for their life together.

They celebrated their anniversary a few days after moving into the little flat. Every room was filled with boxes and the floors were covered in stuff they unpacked to reach other items they needed, and then simply abandoned then and there. It was messy as all hell, but it was home.

“I’m sure if we invite Effie, she’ll start cleaning this up for us,” Sirius said from the couch. He glanced around the living room with a sigh, his legs stretched out, bare feet resting on his uncle Alphard’s old coffee table.

“We can’t do that,” Remus said, topping off the mugs of hot chocolate with whipped cream. “One, you’d feel bad after about five minutes, and two, we’d never find anything ever again.”

Sirius laughed brightly. He looked back at him, resting his chin atop the backrest of the couch – they got it from his uncle Alphard, too. The man had died not too long ago and left everything to Sirius. In a rare strike of genius, Sirius had kept all of the furniture in case Remus wanted some of them for their flat.

Remus took a pack of sprinkles and generously scattered them over the hot chocolates.

“You are so handsome,” Sirius said.

Remus looked up confused and was met with a soft, genuine smile and warm eyes focused on him. Sirius looked like a damn supermodel with the long, black hair, otherworldly silver eyes rimmed in black, and perfect facial symmetry. He was perfect, from the high cheekbones, over the sharp jawline, down to his long legs. And he called him handsome? Remus chuckled shaking his head.

He let the mugs float up and over to the couch, while he took his cane to follow them. He didn’t use the cane all the time. He didn’t want to be judged or written up as a weakling, so he mostly used it at home. Sirius would never judge him for it. Neither would most of his friends, he supposed, but he still worried.

“Don’t laugh,” Sirius scolded. “You’re sexy.”

“Yeah, the cane and the scars are really doing it for you, huh?” He smirked at him and sat down.

“You know they are.”

Sirius handed him one of the mugs. He kept gazing at him, an easy, unwavering smile on his lips.

Remus reached for his hand. “You’re staring at me, sweetheart.”

“I know. You’re too handsome not to stare at you.” He intertwined their fingers and moved his face closer to his to stare at him with even more intensity.

Remus felt his cheeks grow hot like those of a stupid teenage boy encountering this side of Sirius for the first time. He had to look away, chuckling to himself. How was this his life? How did this gorgeous man fall in love with him of all people – a scarred, hot-headed werewolf with a fucked up leg?

“Hey, Moony,” Sirius whispered. “We’re living together now.”

Remus looked back at him. His smile had grown impossibly fonder.

“We are.”

“Isn’t it amazing?”

“It’s bloody wonderful.”

Sirius grinned and pulled up their joined hands to kiss Remus’s fingers.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

They sat together in comfortable silence for a while, drinking hot chocolate and looking at each other.

They were at peace here. There was no war demanding their time. No one would barge in on them and rip them apart. Not every moment had to be filled with meaningful conversation, no, they could waste their time with smiling.

“I have something for you,” Sirius said when Remus had emptied his mug. Sirius’s chocolate was still almost untouched. The cream had melted into the hot beverage by now. “It is technically our anniversary.”

“Yes, but we said, no presents. You need to learn how to save money if we ever want to make something of this place.”

“I’ll start saving tomorrow,” He said with a smirk that was typical for teenage-Sirius. He always used to say this and smirk like that between pushing away his schoolwork and kissing him. “This was important. More important than buying furniture. Or rent.”

Sirius let go of his hand to lean to the other side of the couch where he had abandoned his leather jacket earlier. He returned holding a small, grey box in his hand. It was, without a doubt, a ring box.

Was Sirius proposing?

Remus could feel his heart beating in his chest.

It was too soon for proposals, wasn’t it? They were fresh out of school and in the middle of a war. Sirius was going on Order missions and Remus was trying to build rapport with a group of werewolves who were rumoured to have ties to Fenrir Greyback, who in turn, was working with Voldemort. They were not even 20 years old, far too young to marry and the future far too uncertain for an engagement.

Maybe he was too pragmatic about this. He loved Sirius. If it were up to him he’d stay with him forever. A part of his brain was still convinced that Sirius would wake up one day and realise that he was far too good for him, so maybe he should lock him down.

Remus was suddenly very aware that Sirius was studying his face, watching how he was panicking and pushing words around his mouth. He said nothing as if he was waiting for Remus to talk first.

“Are you… are you proposing?”

“Something like that.” He carefully pushed back the lid, revealing a set of rings. They were silver in colour, one with a crescent moon and one with a five-point star at the top. “They’re white-gold, so I can keep my aesthetic and you won’t burn.”

When they first got together, Remus had burned himself several times when touching Sirius’s silver jewellery. He had then exchanged all of the silver for white gold or cheap fashion jewellery. White gold sounded far more expensive than Sirius should spend on him.

Remus was far more focused on Sirius doing ‘something like proposing’— whatever that was supposed to mean.

“They’re not engagement rings, they’re… promises. Reminders.”

“Reminders of what?”

“That, one day, in the very, very near future, all of this war-business will be over and then we will actually get engaged and get married. No matter what happens with the werewolves and for how long we will have to be apart, I will marry you one day, Remus John Lupin, and we will have a very happy life together.”

Remus’s heart must have given up on beating at some point. His eyes welled up with tears, blurring Sirius in front of him.

Sirius held up the ring box between them. “Will you take my promise?”

Remus blinked, letting tiny tears run down his cheeks. He likely wouldn’t have believed that such a future was within reach if it were any other person than Sirius telling him it was.

“I will.” His voice was barely above a whisper and he was certain, he couldn’t speak any louder if he tried. Instead, he cupped Sirius’s face and kissed him deeply. He felt Sirius smiling and chuckling against him.

“I love you,” Remus whispered, pulling back just enough to speak.

“I love you too, my Moon.”

Sirius took the star-crowned ring and Remus’s left hand. He had no reason to be nervous, but his fingers were shaking when he put the ring on.

Remus took the moon-topped ring and did the same to Sirius.

“I guess, next time it’ll be my turn to propose.”

Sirius laughed heartedly, tipping his head back and shaking his hair. He was the most beautiful man to ever walk the earth.

“Yes, if you like. And then, we’ll have a giant wedding with all our friends, because they will survive this, too. Prongs has to be my best man, you’ll take Peter. I think, I’ll try to invite Reggie. What do you say?”

‘If he is alive and not in Azkaban, then yes,’ was what Remus thought, but he’d never say that to him. He looked at the star ring again. Sirius would get anything he wanted as long as Remus got to marry him.

***

Now

Remus looked at the star ring on his finger. He put his hand against the glass coffin until it was aligned with Sirius’s ring.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Regulus moving as he touched the glass. Remus turned to the younger Black brother. He was watching him like a hawk.

“Can I… may I touch him?”

Regulus was just looking at him for a moment, not moving a muscle but watching his face.

He took slow steps toward the coffin. “I’m keeping him suspended in this state,” he said quietly. “Concentrated on the space of the coffin. The bigger the space, the harder it is to maintain.”

He touched the lid and a moment later, the glass was gone, and Sirius lay in front of him with only the barrier between life and death left to separate them.

The air became thick around him. Every movement was slowed as if he had to activate each muscle separately.

Remus’s hand trembled as he reached within the coffin He was watching himself do it, as it seemed like it took ages to reach him. The memory of Sirius’s warmth still lingered at the tips of his fingers. His hand ghosted over his form, not yet daring to feel him again.

He had half a mind to rip the fabrics and free him from the suit.

“Where is his jacket?” He whispered. “The leather jacket? He loved that one.”

“I keep it with his other things for when he comes back.” Regulus sounded unsteady. Remus glanced back at him. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed in concentration.

He looked at Sirius again, who had been dead for close to a year but looked like Sleeping Beauty in her eternal slumber. Regulus must have been using powerful magic to keep him like this, confined to a closed space which had now been multiplied by ten at least. Remus couldn’t ask him to do this for long.

James, who until now has held himself in the background, joined them. He positioned himself next to Regulus, watching him with worried eyes, until he pressed his lips together and crossed his arms in front of his chest as if something about this scene angered him.

Remus held his breath and reached back into the coffin.

Sirius’s skin was cold and dry. He could have deluded himself into believing he was merely asleep, but not anymore, not with his cold skin beneath his fingers. He cupped his face and brushed his thumbs over his cheeks. He almost didn’t feel human anymore. Remus almost sobbed when he realised this sensation would override the remaining memory of what it felt like to touch him.

He traced his brow, his eyelid, catching some of the smeared liner, his cheek, his jaw, down to his neck. He lingered on the spot by his neck, beneath the right ear, where he had preferred to be kissed. He rubbed his left little finger over the spot, then traced back up his face to his lips.

He used to have the most mind-numbing smirk. He had warm, little smiles reserved for his closest friends. Remus had a thousand precious memories of feeling those lips against his own, against his hands and every inch of his body. How they stretched into smiles, grins, laughs, how he bit and licked them, how they quivered when he cried.

Now, they were unmoving, slightly chapped and wrinkly.

He’d still kiss him.

What a mad thought that was.

He’d do it.

Not now. Now, he traced over his lips, pressing his little finger into his skin until he felt sick to his stomach.

Remus stepped back from the coffin and the glass reappeared. Regulus inhaled sharply next to him. James betrayed his angry stance by giving him another worried glance and unhooking his arms as if to reach out.

Remus held out his left hand.

“Cut it off.”

Regulus opened his eyes in surprise.

“What?” James exclaimed. “No, absolutely not.”

“Touch of the lover. That’s what you need for the ritual, isn’t it? Take my finger, it’s the last thing I touched him with.”

“Remus, no,” James said.

“And if it doesn’t work, take my whole hand.” He only looked at Regulus. He had the same grey eyes as his brother. He gave him one sharp nod.

James looked in shock from one to the other. “No, no, no, wait. There has to be another way. Maybe it’s a metaphor.”

“Yes, touch of the lover is a metaphor for a body part of the lover that has touched him,” Remus explained.

“A metaphor for a metaphor. You can’t really ask us to cut off one of your fingers, Moony!”

“I’m not asking you. I’m asking him. I’m not asking at all.”

Regulus left them to sit down on the divan beneath an enormous portrait of the Black brothers. He reached next to it and pulled a dagger out of a chest.

Remus followed him.

“Shouldn’t we at least try to find another option first? Maybe there is a surrogate,” James suggested, coming over to the divan as well.

Regulus looked pale from exhaustion. He eyed the dagger in his hand.

“Okay, even if we do this, you’re not just going to cut off my mate’s finger with that,” James said. “There are better tools to use, and Pandora is your usual healer, so if anything, this is a job for her in her infirmary. Also, there is no rush. We don’t have the other ingredients yet. We can look for an alternative to this.”

Regulus might have argued with him if he had had a bit more energy. Now, he just glared up at him.

“I’m not letting this happen,” James insisted. “We’ll sleep on it and look for an alternative. You’ll have to fight me if you want to do this. Go ahead. Try.”

He looked down at Regulus, eyebrows pulled up, goading him. Regulus stared coldly back at him. Remus saw his hand move and James twitched violently and screamed in pain. James’s legs gave out underneath him and he fell on the red carpet directly at Regulus’s feet. The dagger was stuck in his leg where blood was rapidly soaking through his jeans.

Regulus stabbed him. Just like that without any warning, like it was nothing. James held his leg, breathing heavily against the pain. Remus could only watch in horror.

“Oh no,” Regulus gasped, leaning back on the divan with a hand to his forehead. “It seems I am too weak to heal you. Oh, what a shame. Oh, if only you had tried to team up with someone stronger. But alas, you may have to crawl through these halls until you find Pandora. Maybe she will take pity on you.”

Remus stared at him even more horrified. James was bleeding and gasping in pain because Regulus was petty?

He dropped to his knees beside his friend and pulled off his cardigan. He gingerly touched the handle of the dagger. He had never touched one before and had no idea how to pull it out in a way that didn’t hurt James even more.

“Just pull it out,” James muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

Remus nodded and pulled. The blade slid out of muscle and skin. Remus shuddered and dropped the blade, pressing his cardigan against the wound instead. He pulled out his wand and pointed it at the cut, mumbling healing spells until James’s breathing calmed down again.

Regulus scoffed, glancing at them from the divan. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re insane,” Remus spat.

“Are you retracting your offer regarding that finger?”

He had no doubt that Regulus would take it with force if he had to. However, Remus didn’t change his mind. He wanted Sirius back at all costs. The ritual called for something of his. A finger or a hand seemed a small sacrifice, if it returned Sirius to him.

“No. Cut it off. I’ll help you with the ritual. But don’t hurt James ever again.”

“I don’t agree to your condition,” he said simply. “Look at him, he’s fine. He’s had worse.”

James averted his gaze when Remus looked at him again. What happened in the months he was gone? He thought James teaming up with Regulus was the weirdest thing he’d encounter in this bunker. But this was worse.

Remus held out his hand to Regulus.

“Cut it off,” he said again.

Regulus picked up his dagger from the ground.

“Over there,” he said, pointing towards the altar.

They gathered in front of it. Regulus picked up a golden, deep plate from next to the altar, and set it on the ground in front of Remus.

“We should at least get Pandora and the right tools,” James mumbled, limping over to them. He winced when he sat down by his side.

“It has to be this way,” Regulus said. He cleaned the blade of James’s blood and sat opposite him, holding his hand between them above the bowl.

James looked like he wanted to protest again. This time, he sighed in defeat and placed a numbing charm on Remus’s hand.

Regulus raised the blade toward the ceiling. It reflected the candles around them, gleaming dangerously silver and sharp. Remus wondered for a moment if actual silver was in the blade. It would make for a worse experience.

Remus felt his finger being bent back, then pressure was applied just above where his finger and palm met. For a moment, his world narrowed down to that part of his body. Sharp, cold metal pushed through his skin. It parted obediently, exposing wet sinew beneath. Remus’s body jerked back, but Regulus held him firmly in place. Blood gushed out of the wound, soiling the blade and Regulus’s hands, and dripped down into the bowl.

The exposed tissue beneath peeled away under the force. The numbing charm was of no use anymore. He had gone through worse pain in his transformations. At least this would be worth something.

The tip of the blade scraped against bone, making a horrifying sound echo through the crypt. James pulled Remus against him, pressing his head into his shoulder so he wouldn’t look. Remus howled in agony, his tears drenching James’s hoodie. His stomach churned, sending bile up his throat.

James mumbled next to his ear. Remus couldn’t hear him, deafened by the blood rushing in his ears. It took him a while to realise that he was casting numbing, healing, and calming spells.

The crypt air was thick with the smell of iron.

The blade burrowed deeper into his finger, splintering the bone. Regulus carved the bone out of the flesh, pressing the blade down on the joint until it cracked and yielded.

Remus wailed, daring to peek at the scene, half obscured by James’s body twisted around him. His hand was covered in blood. His finger hung from the rest of his hand at an unnatural angle, clinging to it stubbornly, its flesh refusing to surrender until the last desperate twist. Looking at it somehow made the torture worse.

Regulus clasped his bloodied hand around Remus’s wrist as he severed the last layer of skin. The finger fell into the bowl, splashing the collected blood over the edge.

In place of his little finger, was now a bloody stump, relentlessly gushing blood in rhythm with his heartbeat, spilling over the jagged edges and remaining scraps of skin and sinew.

Remus clenched his jaw, stilling his body and pushing the bile back down.

James ripped his hand from Regulus’s grasp and wrapped it up in the cardigan he had used on his leg moments before. He mumbled a couple of rudimentary healing spells.

“I’ll get you to Pandora. She’ll be able to take care of this.” James muttered, glaring at Regulus.

He pulled Remus to his feet and dragged him out of the room. Remus kept his eyes on Sirius’s coffin, craning his neck to catch a last glimpse of him.

Chapter Text

“My scorn and contempt are not in need of your leniency.” – Prince’s Gambit, 262

James

Pandora was a cheerful young woman with butterfly charms in her hair, pastel tops, lace skirts, and pockets full of crystals, who seemed horribly out of place among the insane and miserable blokes she called her friends. She was appalled when James brought Remus to her, pale and missing a finger, and told her what Regulus had done. Remus argued weakly that he had asked for this.

After taking care of Remus’s wound in the infirmary and filling him up with potions to ease the pain, she activated one of the doors leading into nothingness and created a bedroom across from hers. Then, she excused herself to take care of dinner, so Remus could eat and sleep as soon as possible.

Remus lay down on his bed with a long sigh. How long has it been since he slept in a real bed?

The room Pandora made was nicer than James’s room, with a real, comfortable bed. James pushed off his shoes and lay down beside him.

“You could have at least waited until we were sure this was the right thing to do and the only way to do it,” He mumbled, glancing at his friend’s hand covered in gauze.

Remus grunted. “The book was clear.”

“No, it wasn’t. Most of the translation we have is guesswork, Moony.”

He closed his eyes and lightly shook his head. “If there were the slightest chance to get him back for it, I’d cut off my whole arm.”  

James looked at him for a long moment. He looked like he had aged five years instead of one. His hair was thin and dirty, looking like it was ripped out in a few places. His skin was pale, not just from blood loss, and he looked shorter than James remembered as if his body were forced toward the ground and he lacked the strength to fight gravity. Sirius would be heartbroken if he saw him like this.

“Have you ever considered that… Sirius wouldn’t want you to suffer like this? He wouldn’t want you to isolate and torture yourself, becoming homeless and sleeping in abandoned huts in the middle of winter. By Merlin, he definitely wouldn’t want you to mutilate yourself for him, Moony.”

James wouldn’t have dared to say this to Regulus. He was unlikely to survive it.

Remus, on the other hand, didn’t respond with anger. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

“Maybe,” He admitted. “But if he has such problems with my behaviour, he should come back and tell me himself.”

James scooted closer and wrapped his arms around him.

“It’ll be alright,” He whispered. “We’ll get him back, end the war, and return to our lives.”

Remus hummed lowly. “That’d be nice.”

“But until then… promise me you’ll be kinder to yourself, okay? You don’t deserve cold woods and broken houses. You’ll stay here with us, help us with the ritual, eat three times a day, shower, and sleep in a real bed.”

Remus was quiet for a long time, James half believed him to be asleep until he said: “And what about you? How do you treat yourself?”

James frowned. Remus’s eyes were open again, looking from his face down to their feet.

“Regulus stabbed you. And your reaction suggested it wasn’t an unusual thing.”

James averted his gaze. While he had told some of his friends and colleagues about Regulus’s midnight visits and attacks, he rarely spoke about the injuries. He had forgotten that Remus didn’t know and that this behaviour wasn’t normal to people outside of this bunker.

“It’s not what you think.”

“I think he stabbed you. Without warning. And you did nothing in retaliation.”

James sighed and slowly retracted his arms. “You don’t understand. He hasn’t done this since we started working together. He was just exhausted, and has been fed up with me since the forest.”

“So, he stabbed you?”

“It’s how he copes,” he explained, suddenly too aware of the fine lines marking his body. “After Sirius’s death, he started visiting me and we’d fight.”

“Sorry, are you trying to tell me that he stabs you as a coping mechanism?”

“I’m not sure he is aware of that, so please don’t mention I said it. But, yes, essentially. He needs an outlet for his emotions; he chooses anger, he chooses me. As I said, he hasn’t done it since we teamed up.”

“Merlin’s bloody blue balls, James. Why would you work with someone who fought and hurt you?”

The answer to this question was too long, too complicated, and riddled with too many emotions James couldn’t explain. The order. The Aurors. Moody. His friends dying and leaving. His family being gone. The helplessness. The hope Regulus and his friends provided— first regarding Voldemort, then regarding Sirius.

“Look, it is how it is. He was hurting, and he needed to hurt someone is return. I suppose, out of all the people he holds responsible for Sirius’s death, I was the easiest mark. But we’ve come to an understanding. We’re working together to get Sirius back and afterwards he’s free to try to kill me and I will try to stop him.”

Remus stared at him like he had just said the most outrageous thing he'd ever heard. He opened his mouth to cuss. Then didn’t. He opened his mouth, pointing his finger, with that look on his face that told James he was about to scold him for an hour and a half. Finally, he sighed in exhaustion and buried his face in his hands.

“No. I’m speechless. You did it. After knowing you for a decade, you’ve finally made me speechless, Prongs.”

James bit his tongue. His body turned uncomfortably hot. An irrational fear crept up on him that if he sweated through his shirt, the scars underneath would become visible on the fabric. He zipped up his hoodie, just in case the thin tee underneath revealed too much.

Remus’s large, warm hand settled on his shoulder. “Why would you let him do that to you? Hm? You don’t have to let yourself be stabbed to help someone through their grief, James. And, you’re not responsible for Sirius’s death, you know that, right? Whatever Regulus has done, and what he did earlier, wasn’t okay. You don’t deserve that.”

James couldn’t look at him. His eyes had glued themselves to the wall opposite the bed. James’s walls were a dull grey, but Pandora made Remus’s walls a muted red with faint moon and star patterns all over them.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Remus moved around slowly, like his anger was fighting his exhaustion, until he sat in front of him, forcing him to look him in the eye. “You know that you don’t have to let him treat you this way, don’t you? Not even for the promise of Sirius’s return and Voldemort’s death. Why would you let him do this?”

Remus pushed his hand down into his shoulder to keep himself steady. James looked at his other hand, covered in thick gauze with a hint of red. There were many things James did and didn’t have to do— but hasn’t Remus done the same? He left to roam the Welsh countryside like some feral animal.

“He was just… there,” James whispered, staring at the mutilated hand. “Sirius was gone, you left, Peter died. My parents, too. Marlene died, Dorcas left. And at last, Moody fucking left me. But Regulus came back to me like clockwork. …I know it’s sick and strange, but he was the only one I could count on. Lily and Mary were still there, I suppose, but even them… They didn’t know what to do with me anymore, after everyone else was gone. They were weird. They couldn’t just be my friends anymore without pitying me or trying to talk about all we’ve lost. So what if I played this game with him to help him cope? It helped me, too. The wounds healed. And now, we’re working together and he really isn’t that bad anymore. That thing earlier… You have to understand, we had a fight. He thinks I think he’s weak. That’s what that was about.”

Remus slowly retracted his hand.

They sat in silence for a few minutes without daring to look each other in the eye.

“I’m sorry,” Remus whispered, “for leaving. …I just had to.”

James quickly shook his head. Remus shouldn’t feel bad about his grief. He’d lost so much, and they didn’t handle it well. “Don’t be. I know you had to. You lost the love of your life, Reg lost his brother, I lost my friend. It’s not the same. It can’t compare.”

Remus looked up at him again, confused. “What are you talking about? Sirius was more than ‘just a friend. He was your best friend. Your brother. He lived with you. Merlin, at times, you were closer to him than I was. Why would you think your grief comes after ours? Regulus hasn’t even spoken to Sirius for years before his death. He has no right to let his emotions out on you, for one. But you have every right to be upset with what happened to your life, too, even if you think I was right to leave.”

It felt strange to hear this. He almost wanted to say that he knew this. Of course, he knew this. He had more than enough fights with Regulus about it. He had hurt him multiple times because he dared to suggest they lost the same thing and that their pain was identical.

Sirius was his favourite person in the world. He lost everything with him— he was the first domino in the long line of his derailing life. He was his brother. Whether Regulus liked it or not.

James felt anger bubbling up in his stomach. That brat did it. He really did it. He convinced him to think his relationship with Sirius was less important than everybody else’s.

Why wasn’t Regulus angry with Remus? Why didn’t he attack and insult Remus? Remus was allowed to grieve Sirius, talk about him, and even touch him! Was James’s role in Sirius’s death truly so much greater than his? Remus was a werewolf half-blood, two traits Sirius should have hated, so why was Regulus convinced that James alone ‘changed’ him? Why was he alone responsible for ‘taking’ Sirius away and pushing him into the war? Why didn’t Regulus stalk and stab Remus for making Sirius fall in love with him and fight this war in his name?

James loved Sirius. He lost his brother. He was in so much pain, that he perfectly understood Regulus’s pain and his need to hurt someone. He understood and let him do it— and in response, he wasn’t allowed to talk about Sirius half the time!

A knock at the door interrupted his rushing thoughts.

Pandora came in with a bowl of food and a glass of water floating behind her. She promptly threw James out of the room and ordered Remus to rest. James welcomed the excuse to leave.

Regulus had no right to make him feel this way. None.

He bid Remus good night and then stormed down the hallway to the crypt.

The door wasn’t locked and the wall not shut, meaning he was still there.

“Regulus, we need to talk!” He yelled, slamming the door shut behind him. His voice echoed back from the naked walls.

He received no answer. Regulus must have gone back and taken the Necromancy Tome, as both his notes and the book were scattered across the floor by the ritual bowl. Regulus himself lay next to it all, unconscious, with his wand next to him. It must’ve slipped out of his fingers.

The anger slowly subsided as he took in the scene before him. Regulus must have done something to bind the finger to the ritual, using even more of his energy, and passing out from pure exhaustion.

James had never seen him so relaxed before. He lay just a few feet away from his brother. They haven’t looked this alike since their childhood just two beautiful young men, fast asleep.

“Oh, you idiot,” James mumbled and knelt down by his side. He gently shook his shoulder. Regulus neither woke nor stirred.

He’d probably get stabbed again, if he was caught fussing over him.

“I would have helped you if you said something,” he said. “Or you could have asked Pandora or Barty. Do you get a rash from asking people for help?”

He shook his head and pushed a hand under his knees, and one beneath his shoulders.

Regulus was in good shape; Tall, toned arms, nicely shaped legs, and an arse James couldn’t possibly ignore. He was still light enough for James to pick him up and carry him over to the divan. He arranged his long limbs as comfortably as possible and, after unsuccessfully looking for a blanket, he took off his zip-up hoodie and covered him with it.

He returned to the ritual side, trying to make sense of the notes and spells and coming to the uncertain conclusion that Regulus had finished whatever he was trying to do here before passing out. He picked up Regulus’s wand and dagger to put them on the small side table next to the divan.

The safe option was to leave him here and get out of the stab zone for when Regulus wakes up and realises that he must have been carried here and covered up by James. He looked back toward the door, his gaze temporarily getting stuck on Sirius’s coffin.

He couldn’t just leave Regulus alone.

He has never seen someone pass out from magical exhaustion before— and so quickly, too.

He used to watch over Remus after the full moons, when he was in pain, and passing out from exhaustion. Despite everything, James fully intended to keep Regulus safe, and he surely wouldn’t abandon him like this.

He sat on the ground, scooting into the corner created by the divan and side table. His eyes fell on the dagger Regulus used to stab him and then cut off Remus’s finger.

The blade was straight and silver in colour. The handle was carved out of a curious, off-white material. It almost looked like bone. Knowing Regulus, Evan and Pandora, it most likely was bone. Evan had carved designs into it, made visible by red inks, slightly brighter than the dried and smeared blood. James pulled out his wand to cast a cleaning spell on it.

He turned it in the candlelight, only now noticing faint lines on the blade, forming words in delicate, cursive script:

From hence your memory death cannot take

James turned the dagger. More lines were carved here in the same handwriting:

I shall live your epitaph to make
or you survive when I in earth am rotten

James pressed his lips together and gingerly placed the dagger back on the table.

Regulus woke a couple of hours later. James dozed off too and let his head drop on the divan next to him. So, when he opened his eyes, he was staring into a pair of silver-grey, half-lidded and framed by long, black lashes. He had left his glasses on the little table next to the dagger, but Regulus’s face was so near that he was the only thing not blurred in the room.

“Hi,” James whispered. Regulus was still covered by his hoodie.

“What are you doing here?” Regulus whispered back. The room and the bunker beyond were silent. It must have been the middle of the night, an hour at which talking always felt like screaming.

“I came to yell at you,” James said honestly. He hadn’t yet bothered to move his head farther away from Regulus’s face.

“Oh? What for?”

“For how you treat me. You need to be nicer to me. And you mustn’t stab me anymore.”

Regulus hummed in neither agree- nor disagreement and turned slowly as if he had to fight his own body to allow it. His delicate fingers caught hold of the hoodie, pulling it with him like a blanket. He looked at it. It gave him pause, but he neither pulled it off nor glared at James.

“We’re working together,” James continued, grabbing his glasses so Regulus wouldn’t turn into a messy mix of shapes as he moved farther away. “We’re a team. You need to show me at least a little bit of respect.”

“Do I?” He noticed a loose thread on the hoodie’s sleeve and wrapped it around his finger tightly enough for the skin to turn white.

“I respect you,” he said sincerely. “I care about you. I have accepted that you will never like me and will try to kill me again after all of this is over, but can we do the in-between without stabbing?”

“I think I’ve been doing well,” Regulus abandoned the thread, turning his head back to James. “Haven’t hurt you in a long time before today— or was it yesterday?”

“Probably.”

“I think I was very well behaved, acting almost like a normal person.”

James couldn’t help but smile at him. A black curl fell into his face and James was inclined to reach out and brush it back. Regulus was faster.

“Very well behaved,” James agreed. “My lovely assassin.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Will you keep behaving like that?”

“Will you stop acting like I’m weak?”

“You’re not weak. I know that. But you did just pass out.”

James almost wished he hadn’t said it because Regulus turned away again, staring at the ceiling, gently thumbing the sleeve of his hoodie.

“I did, huh?”

“Yes. Over there. You’re lucky there is a carpet or you might’ve split your head open on the floor.”

“So, how did I get here? Did you carry me like a pretty princess?”

“Yes.” James said shamelessly.

Regulus closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “It was difficult magic, and a lot of it. Anyone would have been exhausted.”

“I know.” ‘Not everyone would have passed out,’ he didn’t say. “Regulus, Barty said I should make sure you’re safe. I promised to help you with this ritual to the best of my abilities. You teach me how to fight, so I can use my magic to protect you during battle. So let me do those things, okay? I’m looking out for you, not because I think you can’t handle yourself, but because I see it as my job to ensure your success. All I want in return is to be treated like a man, not a slave, prisoner, or animal.”

He still had his eyes closed, and if it wasn’t for his furrowed brow, James would have thought he had fallen asleep again.

“You’re too gracious,” he said finally, frowning deeper. “That treatment is something a man would demand, not ask for.”

“Treat me better,” he demanded, but softly, like a wish. “Like you have the past days. We worked well together. You don’t need to hurt me. Accept my help, while you’re at it.”

Regulus hummed inconsequentially. Finally, he said, “I’ll keep trying. You can’t expect me to change, James. I’ve changed way too much, way too often already. I don’t have another in me.”

His voice dropped more the longer he spoke, his body longing for more rest.

“There is another thing I came to yell at you for.”

“Oh?”

“It’s even more important.”

“More important than not threatening you?”

“Yes.” And then something compelled him to say: “I don’t mind the threatening so much. I mind the follow-through.”

This gave Regulus pause again. Then he smiled lazily. “That’s not going to help the rumours.”

With rumours, he probably meant Barty’s insistence on what he called his ‘knife-kink.’ No, it didn’t help with the rumours, but he enjoyed a little banter, a bit of playful danger in their dynamic. At the end of the day, James was a man who enjoyed a handsome person on top of him, able to do all matters of things to him from killing to kissing. Who could blame him?

“I feel like, knowing your friends, nothing is ever going to help the rumours, Love.”

Regulus smiled, still.

“It’s about Sirius,” James continued, knowing it could wipe away that smile. It did. “He was my friend. He was as close to me as a brother. I know you hate it. I know you hate the relationship we had and how it affected you. I know you think I can’t understand what it’s like to lose a brother. But I can, Regulus. His death derailed my life, too. You had me so far that I believed my connection to him was worth less than Remus’s. It’s not. We can both love him, because he loved both of us. You can’t forbid me from grieving him. You can’t keep denying my relationship with him… I’d rather let you stab me.”

Regulus didn’t move. James felt half compelled to check whether he was still breathing.

He sat up abruptly, pushing the unzipped hoodie off in the process.

“I should go to bed,” he said, tentatively placing his tired feet on the floor. James hadn’t expected an answer anyway— not an affirming one, at any rate. He couldn’t do much more than demand better treatment in the fashion Regulus had told him to.

“I'll help you.” James pushed himself up and offered his hand.

“I can walk. I’m fine. Don’t make me go back on my word and stab you for fussing like this.”

“You should have seen how I was fussing over you when I found you unconscious. Now, let me help you, or I’ll carry you like a princess again.”

Regulus cringed at ‘again.’ His revenge would sting, James thought and smiled.

Regulus walked about two steps, before losing his balance and grabbing James’s arm.

James was wisely silent. Regulus glared at him. He steadied himself and muttered and grumbled on his way back to his room. James, who had his room right across from him, didn’t leave his side.

They lingered at Regulus’s door.

“I want a better room, too,” James said. “It’s Remus’s first night and he already has wallpaper. And a bigger bed.”

“Payment’s a finger.”

James gave him a disapproving look, to which Regulus’s answer was about the cutest pout he had ever seen from a grown man.

“You said, I could threaten.”

James felt something fracture in his mind. He needed to get to bed.

“Ask Pandora to show you how,” Regulus said. James needed a moment to remember what they were talking about.

He nodded. “You should go to bed. You still look like shit.”

He didn’t. Even pallid and with tousled curls he looked quite handsome.

“Good night.”

“Good night,” Regulus said. He opened the door, then hesitated. James watched as Regulus was fighting something, narrowing his eyes and tightening his jaw repeatedly. He grimaced in disgust, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “And, thank you.” He looked like he was tasting bile in his mouth at the words.

What had fractured in James’s brain before, splintered.

Regulus quickly disappeared into his room after that. James stayed by his door in shocked silence. A soft laugh escaped him, just loud enough for himself to hear. He would never understand that man, he decided and went to his room.

The walls were still dull grey and the bed looked only less shabby because of the bedding he had rescued from his house. His friends and family were smiling and waving from their picture frames. He brushed his teeth in the adjacent bathroom and then tucked himself into bed, thinking about what his walls should look like, until his mind, half-asleep, drifted into wondering what Regulus’s walls looked like. He pictured black, then dark green, then grey like his eyes, and he fell asleep.

***

Evan

Evan glanced into the mirror again. There was too much gel in his hair, it looked too neat and slimy. The sides were shaved and he usually tied the rest of it up — Pandora liked to French-braid it. Today, it was open and slicked back, looking almost two shades darker than usual. Combined with the dark blazer he looked like a pretentious wanker.

He took the jacket off. He didn’t have any nice dress shirts, so he wore a black tee which seemed far too informal without the jacket. He put the blazer back on, biting his lip and rolling his shoulders.

His eyes wandered to the bouquet of messed-up steel roses on his dresser. The final two or four looked almost as good as they used to. Maybe he should just take those and discard the rest.

His sharpened eyes latched onto every imperfection, every wrong fold of the metal. Since his transformation, he has been able to discern fine groves and traces on surfaces, usually invisible imprints left by tools. Rationally, he knew that Barty would not be able to see them. But he knew they were there. He has not given him an imperfect steel rose in years. Some were more messed up than the very first rose he gave him. Even Barty would be able to tell.

Evan pulled the good roses out of the bouquet.

No. No, there was a reason to give him the entire collection. It was a bouquet of progress. It was a stupid idea, that is what it was! Nevertheless, he stuck the roses back into the collection.

He took a deep breath he didn’t need, bit his tongue, and swallowed hard. Only then could he grab the flowers and leave his room.     

It was late enough for the others to have eaten dinner and gone off to do their own things, but early enough for Barty to still be in the lab. Ever since he was allowed to start on his experiments, which more often than not included explosions, it was nearly impossible to get him out of there.

Barty had claimed a corner on the opposite side of the room from where he was usually working and thus far away from Regulus’s desks. He was crazy, but not insane enough to work with acids, poisons and fire near the stuff of their personal assassin. His new desk was cluttered by various jars and metal boxes, filled with liquids and powders. Notes were strewn across the tabletop and the floor, and Petri dishes lay in a row in front of Barty, one of them housed the ring they had stolen. On the walls behind Barty hung a muggle periodic table and a chalkboard with cryptic notes on it (his handwriting was messier than the notes were actually cryptic.) Underneath the chalkboard, he had mounted a filing system for his notes. He had some sort of order in this mess after all.

The tips of Barty’s brown hair were acid green – a colour difficult to maintain if he weren’t magically refreshing it every morning as part of his routine. In the second it took to spot him at the end of the room, his eyes had quickly registered every detail about him, from the little mole on his neck to his piercing, over the split ends of his hair and badly made tattoos, to the visible dark mark on his left arm. He was handsome in that messy, dirty sort of way only certain guys could be.

Regulus’s desk, like their kitchen, still smelled like that dirty werewolf. The scent made him shudder every time, and he felt the strong need to hiss in its general direction.

Evan hid the roses behind his back. Barty looked up when he entered the laboratory and shot him a short smile before leaning over his desk again. He squished the end of a pipette to drip a yellow, caustic-smelling liquid on the ring in front of him.

“How’s it going?” Evan asked. His voice sounded weird to his own ears.

“Fine. Sort of. I haven’t had a breakthrough yet but I have identified numerous substances which do absolutely nothing on this thing. That’s some sort of progress, right?”

“I guess.” Evan licked his lips and rubbed them together. “Are you done then? For today, I mean?”

“Why? What time is it?”

“Not very late.”

Barty took a metal rod and prodded the ring in front of him.  

Evan rubbed the paper he had folded around the stems of the steel roses. “I just thought we’d spend the evening together.”

“Pandora didn’t mention we’re having another movie night,” Barty mumbled, frowning at the ring, then at the pipette.

“No, I meant… just us.”

Barty looked up for a moment. He looked Evan up and down and smirked. “Is that why you’re all dressed up? Just to ask me to bed? You flirt.”

Evan shifted in the blazer. It felt too small around his shoulders.

“Sorry. Maybe tomorrow? I’m not done with this one yet.”

“But today—” He cut himself off when he met Barty’s blank stare. He seemed confused and maybe even slightly irritated that he was kept from working.

Oh.

Oh, he had no idea, did he? He didn’t know why he was here. He didn’t know what day it was.

If Evan still had a heartbeat, it would have stopped at the empty look he received. His throat dried up and his stomach sank to his feet.

“Today what?” Barty asked confused.

Evan bit his tongue. He should go. This entire idea was stupid. They have never celebrated an anniversary before, and with all that has happened between them recently, this wasn’t the year for it.

“Evan?”

“Ah, nothing. Go back to work. I’ll go to bed.”

“Are you sure?”

He rubbed the paper of the bouquet again. He could at least give him one, right? He worked hard on these and, if nothing else, Barty deserved to get a pretty steel rose for all that he has done for him recently.

“Wait a moment,” he mumbled and walked up to Barty’s usual desk. He put the bouquet on the chair, so Barty couldn’t see it and picked the last rose he made out of the bunch. “I have something for you.”

He crossed the room to the experiment site. The fumes of the chemicals and potions stung his nose.

Barty frowned at him like he was making about as little sense as the ring in front of him. He cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders again.

He had to avert his gaze as he presented the rose.

The stem was straight, just an ordinary metal rod between his fingers. He gave up on adding thorns or leaves to it after destroying two of his other roses. The petals had a good thickness, though Evan could discern tool marks on a lot of them. The centre was too small and some of the petals were bent too far out. For the past few years, Barty has received nothing short of masterpieces in terms of steel roses, and now it was this wonky, ordinary little thing. Evan almost smiled when he thought how fitting it was for their first forgotten anniversary.

For a moment, Evan just stood there with the rose in his hands like a fool.

Then, he heard the soft clinking of glass and shutting of containers, as Barty got rid of the brunt of his experiment and wiped his hand on a towel before the rose was taken out of his hand.

Evan pressed his lips together and risked a glance back at his boyfriend.

Barty was holding up the rose toward a lamp, twirling it between his fingers in wonder.

“I know it’s kinda crappy,” Evan said quickly. “It’s not plated and the petals are off, the stem is just —”

“It’s beautiful,” Barty interrupted him, smiling. He walked around the desks to stand in front of him.

“It doesn’t look like the others I made for you.”

Barty shrugged. “So what? Did you have to relearn how to do this? Because of the new strength and the small, tiny emotional outbursts?” He smirked up at him. “I like it very much.”

Evan can’t help the shaky giggle escaping him. “Good, because I have about a dozen more.”

“A dozen?”

Evan dashed to Barty’s desk, grabbed the bouquet and hurried back, which took him about a second with his new speed. The vampire thing had its perks occasionally. The air broke against him, freeing some of his hair from the gel cast.

He presented the bouquet of badly made, uneven roses.

Barty looked at them with raised eyebrows. Then his face erupted into a bright smile. He laughed as he put the rose back into the bouquet and then lifted the whole thing to smell at them like an idiot.

“You can throw them away,” Evan said, biting his tongue. “I know they look like shit for the most part.”

“Throw them away? Never. You put so much effort into them. I might have to put them into your bedroom though, so you won’t keep forgetting that you can get all of these changes under control again.” He poked his finger into his cheek. “I want to kiss you now.”

Evan nodded quickly and held his face still. He was still unsure about taking the initiative in kissing, too afraid he might accidentally hurt him.

Instead of jabbing his finger into his cheek, he placed his hand around his jaw and pulled him in to press their lips together. He was warm. Before he died, Evan had never realised how warm this man was. Has he always felt like this?

“Thank you,” Barty whispered and pecked his lips twice more. “But why give me these now? I usually get them for Christmas, Birthdays and such. Not that I’m complaining.”

Evan’s mind was racing, searching for an excuse and an explanation that didn’t involve their anniversary.

“Ah, well, you know, just… stuff.”

“Stuff.” Barty repeated, raising his eyebrows at Evan.  “I see.”

“Yeah. I mean… I just thought today because…” He started gesturing with his hands, making even less sense than with his words.

“Because what? Is everything alright?” Barty looked at him with his stupid brown eyes, which turned green toward the middle.

“I just thought it would be nice for our anniversary,” he pressed out in a rush.

Barty’s eyebrows wandered up into his hairline in astonishment. “Our… since when are we celebrating anniversaries?”

Evan shrugged. “I thought it would be nice.”

Barty considered the roses. He pulled one out. The points where the petals and the stem were welded together were uneven and brittle. “Without telling me so I’d look like a fool?”

Evan was halfway through sputtering an apology when Barty gave him that signature cocky grin and leaned up to kiss him again. “Fine. From now on, this day will mark our anniversary and we will celebrate. Though I have no idea how you landed on today.”

Evan bit the inside of his cheek, shrugging, which felt weird in the tight blazer. “Do you remember when we first kissed?”

Barty twirled the rose between his fingers. “Of course. It was summer. You were making heart eyes at that welder in London. You made a rose for me for the first time.”

“It sucked almost as much as those,” Evan said, making himself smirk at the roses.

Barty looked at him, brown eyes unwavering. “I kept it. I put it on a string and hung it from the wall by my bed at home.”

Evan’s chest tightened and the corners of his mouth pulled themselves involuntarily upwards. “You were with Reg then. But then you broke up—”

“We weren’t really together, so it wasn’t really a break-up.”

“Fine. You stopped whatever you were doing. You were moping around for a few weeks. Eventually, one weekend, I took you out to the village. We had a couple of drinks, I suggested we dine and dash, and then we collected a bunch of rocks and threw them at random people’s windows.”

Barty smiled, too. He hummed, deep in memory, looking at the twirling rose. “Got us three weeks of detention and nasty letters to our parents. And that was today?”

“Yes. Today six years ago. I consider it our first date, so I find it fitting.”

“Me, too.” He smirked up at him again. “Who knew you were such a romantic, Rosier.”

“Shut up. Kiss me again.”

Barty wrapped his arms around him and complied.

***

Chapter Text

“I wish it could have been different between us, I wish I could have behaved to you with more honour.” – Prince’s Gambit, 304

Regulus

December

Pandora showed James how to manipulate the bunker so he could configure his room to his liking. Regulus realised this was a big mistake when he entered his training room one morning and found James flying around on a broom, throwing a Quaffle through a hoop.

“Reg! Get a broom and fly with me, come on!” James shouted, performing a series of loops in the air.

Regulus conjured a wall out of nowhere and James smacked against it like a fly against a window, banging his head and losing his glasses, before slowly falling to the floor. Regulus smiled.

James grumbled something about him promising to be nicer to him while rubbing his head.

“You’re not bleeding, are you?” Regulus asked in a tone that said, ‘see, I restrained myself.’

James wasn’t very appreciative.

After their conversation in the crypt a few days ago, Regulus had realised two things: He had become too nice to James, and Remus was about to ruin their so-far working dynamic.

James has proven himself a viable asset and talented fighter with as much drive as hard work. It had distracted Regulus from who this person was.

Regulus only liked people who were capable, ambitious, hard-working, and just insane enough to always find a way to accomplish their current goals. The fact that he had three— four, counting Dorcas— friends, meant that he had already found every such person on earth.

Then there was James. As a Gryffindor, he was unlikely to be any, let alone all, of that. Yet, he has shown so many of these qualities that Regulus ended up being amiable towards him— nice, even.

The word made him shudder.

And now, James seemed to expect this kind of nonsensical behaviour. Nice. Ugh.

Granted, Regulus’s version of being nice to James just meant not purposefully hurting him, letting him speak, and giving him free access to most of the bunker. Still, the very idea of James thinking Regulus might like him or be nice to him on purpose was bone-chilling.

He had to remind himself who this man was. He wasn’t just Sirius’s friend who was trying to help bring him back. Not just a good fighter aiming to kill Voldemort. He was James Potter.

He took everything from him.

He took Sirius, stole him piece by piece until there was nothing left for Regulus. He was the greedy only child at the birthday party, stuffing his face with cake, ignorant of the other children’s starvation.

Sirius had been everything to him as a child. He was his first memory, his best moments, witness to his milestones, and protector from all the real and imaginative dangers in the world. He lied to their parents to catch anger meant for him, and slew shadow monsters living under his bed.

Despite his love for Barty, Evan, and Pandora, Sirius was the most important person in his life. He would always be his priority. He taught him about love and loyalty.

And then he left.

And that was the crux of the matter.

Sirius would have never left him out of his own volition. He loved him too much. Regulus knew what he meant to Sirius. Yes, they were barely talking at that point, and yes, they were mostly fighting when they did talk. He admitted it. But they were still them. They still shared that childhood love. Sirius promised never to leave and taught him about the importance of promises.

He couldn’t have just left. He was stolen.

Perhaps the Potters were a family of thieves. Perhaps it was the Marauders. James was part of both, sitting right at the centre of the Venn diagram of Regulus’s demise, with a cocky smirk and a spare room.

Gradually, conversations with Sirius had turned into James-appreciation-monologues. Perhaps that was why they always ended up fighting instead of talking. So, that was James’s fault, too.

And at the end of all this, he and James were working together and he didn’t stab James in his balls every day. Conclusion: James should be kissing his fucking feet.

Instead, he has become used to this non-homicidal behaviour and demanded it from him.

This brought Regulus to the second problem: Remus Lupin.

It doesn’t need a genius to figure out that James’s sudden demand for better treatment and respect for his ‘relationship’ with Sirius stemmed from a conversation with his friend. And Regulus was a genius.

The man probably said something like, ‘You deserve better’ and ‘Why do you let him do that to you?’

Weak-minded wolfling.

Regulus had all he needed from him, so, really, what stopped him from getting rid of Lupin?

One reason was that Sirius would be terribly upset when he came back and found his stupid boyfriend dead at his feet.

Another reason was that Regulus suspected Lupin and James had quickly become a package deal. If he made James bleed again, Lupin would get angry and, as he didn’t seem to be scared of him yet, would complain to Regulus. Regulus would then hurt him out of irritation, which would throw James into protector mode and attack him. And round and round they’d go, never getting anything done ever again and killing each other in the process.

Conclusion One: Lupin was ruining the messy thing of attempted murder, banter, and slight respect between him and James.

Conclusion Two: Regulus had to keep the fatal injuries to a minimum.

Conclusion Three: Walls showing up out of nowhere shortly after James learned how to manipulate the bunker, wasn’t really his fault, didn’t make him bleed, and therefore didn’t count as injuring him.

James retrieved his glasses and dusted himself off. “Would it kill you to have a little fun every once in a while?”

“Not me, personally, but I imagine quite a few of those precious muggles and half-bloods whom you hold so dear to your heart. But by all means, let us fly around and catch snitches while Voldemort keeps executing your friends.”

James tapped his broom against Regulus’s shoulder. “Ah, stop it. I’d be thrilled to know you started caring about them, you know? But you said it yourself, it’s not the reason you’re doing this.”

“And you’re still judging me for that.”

“Nooo, of course not.” He rolled his eyes, smirking at him. “You’re still saving them, and one day, you’ll start caring for them too. I know it.”

“You’re clearly delusional.”

“I prefer the term ‘optimist.’” James made a wide gesture with his hand as if the word would appear in front of him.

“Same thing.” Regulus crossed his arms. “Now, get me my training room back. Maybe I’ll do you a favour and threaten you with a dagger.”

“You’re such a flirt.”

He pulled out his wand and flicked it a few times. The ceiling crashed down and the walls pushed together until the room was returned to its usual dimensions. The floorboards flipped and mirrors and equipment emerged from the ground until they stood in the usual training room.

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yes. Since it was mostly made by me.”

James pouted at him like a child and tossed his broom up where it vanished into thin air. “It’s still cool how quickly I picked this up. Admit it, I’m impressive.”

“Yes of course, James. I am constantly impressed by you,” Regulus said with all the sincerity he could muster.

“Really?”

“Yes. Your childishness, lack of discipline, and success in finding new ways to be an absolute idiot are very impressive.”

James looked like he tried to glare at him, but his mouth betrayed him as it stretched into a grin again. “I ran right into that one, didn’t I?”

“As I said: constantly impressed.”

“Okay, okay. Shall I just lie down so you can put a knife to my throat? Will that cheer you up?”

Maybe. Probably. “You wouldn’t learn anything from that,” Regulus said instead and went to inspect the small collection of weapons off to the side.

James mumbled something under his breath, before joining him.

***

By the time James and Regulus entered the lab, Lupin had sat down with their notes and the ritual. He had that nasty habit of sitting in Regulus’s chair – despite having a whole desk for himself elsewhere and a chair on the opposite side of Regulus’s desk. He also ate in the lab and left his used plates on the tables. Usually, the good thing about being in the bunker opposed to iffy roadside hotel rooms, was that none of the usual slobs spread their food all over his books.

“Finally,” Lupin muttered, tossing his toast back on his plate. Regulus’s eyelid twitched when he noticed the crumbs he had left across his notes. “What took you guys so long?”

“Same as every morning,” James said cheerfully and sat down on his usual chair opposite him. He, too, had another desk to work on. “Work-out, training session, then a good breakfast. And now, we’re ready to deal with evil dark magic again.”

“You’re in my spot, Lupin.”

Lupin barely glanced up at him. He gestured off to the side to Barty’s desk. Barty was at the other side of the lab, conducting one of his mad Horcrux experiments. “Take another chair.”

“Do we have to do this every morning? Do you wish to infuriate me?” This was probably it. Lupin was still upset about the ‘stabbing James’ debacle and seemed willing to goad Regulus into a fight. As he suspected, Lupin was on his best way to ruin the thing between him and James.

“Moony,” James said gently, “Come on, give him his chair. It’s his desk. Let’s not fight. We’re a team, remember?”

Regulus grimaced, but Lupin seemed easily swayed by the word ‘team,’ and gave up his seat. He pulled up a chair from one of the other desks and sat next to James.

For the past few days, they have tried to figure out what the ritual instructions meant. So far, they were certain that “a wing of the cave-dweller for every year the dead has lived” meant bat wings. Sirius died when he was 21, so they needed 21 bat wings. Except that Lupin believed it was 21 pairs of bat wings, which was stupid, of course, as it clearly said “a wing.” Lupin then argued that their translation was, by James’s admission, mostly guesswork, which led to Regulus throwing his lab-throwing-knife into the nearest wall.

If he lowered himself so far as to call Lupin, James, and himself, a ‘team,’ it was safe to say that they weren’t a very good one.

On the topic of the “foot of a messenger of death,” Lupin fell into a rant, summarizing old fairytales about Death’s Messengers. In German fairy tales, they were age, sickness, blindness, pain, and failing strength. All of this led to nothing, of course. James said, he thought it would be another animal, as those, usually, have feet. Regulus watched them fight for a few satisfying minutes until he said, “The most prominent messengers of death are crows and ravens. Also, we quite literally use birds as messengers.”

They agreed on “the blackest stones” being onyx stones relatively quickly.

“So,” Lupin said, “While you two were doing whatever—”

“Preparing to take down Voldemort,” James interjected.

“I found out that there are three kinds of skull-moths.”

Regulus picked up Lupin’s plate and brushed the lost crumbs on it before handing it back.

“They’re really called skull-moths?” James asked.

“Death’s-head hawkmoth. We need three, there are three species.”

“So… one of each?”

“Maybe, except that one of them is found in Europe and Africa, and two are only found in Asia. Also, only the African-European one actually looks like a skull. So, depending on when this ritual was written, it’s possible that they didn’t know about the Asian ones yet.”

James turned to Regulus as if he could pull the answer out of thin air.

“If only one looks like someone would have called it a ‘skull moth’ over a millennia ago, I’d say we get three of those.”

“Okay… From where?”

“Africa?”

“They only come to Europe during the summer,” Lupin said. “It’s December.”

“Africa,” Regulus repeated.

“You want to go to Africa for three moths?” Lupin asked slowly.

“Well, not me personally, I’d outsource it. To you, for example.”

“Or,” James interrupted, “We could check Diagon or Knockturn Alley first? Maybe they’re sold as potion ingredients.”

Regulus nodded. “Fine. I’ll ask Pandora to look for them, next time she goes out shopping for her potions.”

“Can’t do it yourself?” Lupin asked.

“Go to Diagon Alley? Me? A wanted Death Eater defector, dead by Voldemort and incarcerated by the Aurors? What a grand idea, Lupin, really. James, you just got competition.”

“You’re a nasty piece of work.”

“You can leave any time. I have everything I need from you. Maybe I’ll tell Sirius to owl you when he’s back. Maybe I tell him you left.”

“Regulus,” James said in that mildly scolding tone as if he had any kind of authority. “Moony, calm down. Please. What else do we have? ‘Voice of the mother, embrace of the father’?”

Lupin helped himself to Regulus’s notes and pointed at a list. “I agree that ‘embrace’ means we need to take your father’s arms.”

James frowned at his friend.

“And I think the ‘voice’ refers to Walburga’s tongue,” Regulus said.

James’s head swung over to him.

“Sorry, you want to cut out your mother’s tongue?”

“It’s less a ‘want’ and more of a childhood dream, I suppose.”

James looked at him in horror.

“Personally, I wouldn’t oppose you killing the two of them,” Lupin said.

“Whoa, guys, wait a second.” James stood up from his chair, looking from Lupin to Regulus. “We are talking about actively murdering two people.”

Regulus frowned at him. It wasn’t like Regulus had never killed anyone before, James knew this.

“As opposed to… what other activity I engage in?”

“Just because you have killed before, doesn’t mean that was a good thing that should to be repeated! How many people will we have to maim or kill to bring Sirius back? This is some seriously evil magic.”

An old, familiar anger bubbled up in Regulus’s stomach, mixed with a strange note of… disappointment?

That was nonsense. To be disappointed in James, he would have had to believe in him and trust him first.

“Maybe it’s too evil,” James said with finality as if his feeble nature made the decisions now.

“You promised me,” he said, sounding like a petulant child even to his own ears. “You promised to do whatever it takes. Whatever I needed, those were your words. Including human sacrifice and dark magic.”

“I know what I said. And I meant it, but—”

“No but! We’re bringing Sirius back, no matter what your precious morals say!” He was standing now.

“I just wonder whether Sirius would have wanted this, don’t you, Moony? Do you think, he’d want you to maim yourself? And you, do you really think he’d wanted his brother to dive this deeply into the necromantic arts? This is scary. This side of you is scary, Reg.”

“Shut up! Don’t you dare tell me what my brother wanted! Either you’re with me or you’re not, but you’ll end up dead and strung up above his coffin before I let you stop me! You know what Sirius sure as fuck didn’t want? To die! But he did! And you’re one of the reasons why, so don’t you dare lecture me about what he would have wanted!”

“That’s enough,” Lupin tried to intercept.

“Silencio!” Regulus snapped. Lupin opened his mouth to yell at him, but nothing came out. “This is fucking proof that you could never understand, that we are not equal. Despite your fraternal delusions, you don’t understand me, because otherwise you wouldn’t talk like this!”

He took his notebook and the tome and rushed out of the lab, making a point of pushing James aside as he passed him.

***

Sirius lay in his crypt, undeterred by all the fights around him.

Regulus sat next to the coffin, leaning his head against the cool glass. Sirius’s long lashes drew shadows beneath his eyes.

“I knew it,” he mumbled. “You wouldn’t believe it, but I told you telling him was a bad idea. He’s too self-righteous to do what’s necessary to bring you back.”

“I don’t care that ‘normal’ people are hesitant to kill. He doesn’t have to kill anyone. I’ll do it. But now, he’s trying to make me stop.”

He pressed his forehead against the glass. “I’m not gonna stop. I’ll bring you back. And if he really loved you, he’d personally take those body parts we need. He says, you wouldn’t want this, but I know…”

“You’d do the same if it was Remus. You’d do it for James, too. And me… You’d do this for me, too, right?”

He turned his head again to look at his brother. “You would try to bring me back if I died first, right?”

And to his horror, he didn’t receive a definite answer. For Remus, of course. For James, yes. But for him? The sudden realisation that he wasn’t and couldn’t be sure turned his stomach.

He tried to inhale but the air wouldn’t quite reach his lungs. His ribs stayed rigid, unable to expand for breath, but instead stabbing into his lungs.

His brother loved him. Sirius loved him. He knew that. He would try to bring him back. He had to. He wasn’t just some death eater to him. Sirius would do what he had to do to bring him back.

The door to the crypt opened and closed softly. Regulus needn’t look up. Only one man would be bold enough to just walk in here.

James said nothing. He sat down next to Regulus, close enough for every part of him to be hyperaware of his presence, but not enough to touch.

Regulus let the minutes pass like this, both leaning against the glass coffin and listening to each other’s breathing.

“What do you want?” He asked eventually.

“Just checking on you.” James whispered.

Regulus pressed his cheek against the glass for a moment, before sitting up straight. His shoulder brushed against James’s.

“Regulus,” James said quickly, as if he had to rush his words, before the moment to say them was gone. “Why do you think it’s my fault that Sirius was killed?”

Regulus found himself surprised at the question. He assumed that the reasons were clear.

“That you blame me for him leaving your family, I can deal with. But his death? It’s not fair.”

“Fair,” Regulus sneered. What did he know about unfairness in life? “It is your fault.”

“Why?”

Regulus clenched his jaw, glancing at James from the corner of his eye. He was facing him, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit, and he was looking up at him out of warm puppy-dog eyes.

Regulus scoffed and leaned his head back against the cool glass.

They remained like that for a few more minutes.

“Sirius was… perfect.” The words clawed their way out of his throat involuntarily. “He was all I needed. He was the perfect brother… until he met you. My family is… they weren’t great, but we had each other. Until suddenly, he had you instead.”

“It wasn’t ‘instead,’ Regulus. He had us both.”

“Oh, please,” Regulus spat. “He hopped on that train with you and he never returned to me. He became a rebellious Gryffindor, revolting against our parents instead of helping me. They got angrier with him every day and I had to pay that price. They wouldn’t let another son follow the same path. They wouldn’t even chance it. I was advertised to the Dark Lord like a whore, and forced to take the Mark, while Sirius and your friends pledged themselves to Dumbledore and his stupid Order. None of it would have happened if you had just left my brother alone!”

He pulled his knees up to his chest.

James needed to go. Regulus wanted to be alone with his brother.

“I never meant to hurt you,” James said finally, “and neither did Sirius. I didn’t turn him into a rebel, Reg. You are smart enough to realise that he was simply exposed to other people and changed on his own. It had always been inside of him. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been sorted into Gryffindor.”

Regulus lifted his head. “I know that you were with him when he died. You were part of the mission. You were there. He was the better wizard, I know he was. So, why are you here now and he isn’t?”

James slowly licked his lip, searching for his words.

“It’s true. We were part of a small group. It wasn’t supposed to be more dangerous than most of our missions, but suddenly Voldemort appeared. We were… unprepared. Horribly unprepared. Before anyone knew what was happening, Dumbledore was there to save the day but Sirius…”

James trailed off, his eyes betraying him as he looked from Regulus to the man in the coffin.

“Can I tell you a secret?” he asked suddenly. Regulus frowned at him. “You can’t tell Moony.”

Regulus didn’t think that there was anything James would tell him of all people, but keep from Lupin.

“I… I blame myself too.”

Regulus’s throat turned dry as sand as if he were hearing the confirmation of a theory too horrible to be true.

“I was his best friend more than that I was his partner. I— I should’ve flanked him, protected him, saved him! But I couldn’t… We got separated. I wasn’t there.”

 And so Sirius died alone, Regulus thought. His eyes began to burn. He forced them shut.

“This is why I’m insistent on keeping you safe. Do you understand? I don’t think you’re weak, but what I didn’t do for him, I have to do for you, at the very least.”

Regulus let his chin fall onto his chest, hiding his face behind his hair.

“I’m sorry,” James whispered. Tears stole themselves out of Regulus’s eyes, running down his cheeks and chin. “I’m not sorry for giving him a home or for loving him, but I’m sorry that you felt alone and abandoned. We didn’t want that.”

Regulus desperately tried to get his face back under control. There was no reason to cry— much less a reason to cry in front of him.

It was James’s fault, just like he’d always thought. He was supposed to protect Sirius, and he didn’t. He was somewhere else and let Sirius die alone. Had Sirius never left Regulus, none of it would have happened— Sirius wouldn’t have joined the war. He wouldn’t have been on the field that day, and even if he had been, Regulus would have been there to protect him instead!

It was different to hear this from James. James was the one who should fight him on this, who should give him other explanations, and different perspectives on that day.

To hear him agree with Regulus?

Something about it felt wrong, intrinsically and utterly wrong. The feeling spread in his stomach and pushed itself up his throat like vomit. It reminded him of hearing an answer one knew to be true but didn’t want to hear because when it was spoken aloud, it was real and thus, irreversible.

Regulus startled when an arm was put around him. James pulled him against his body, into a hug. Regulus pushed back against him, hitting against his chest and kicking his legs. James didn’t budge. He had both his big arms wrapped around his body, and pressed Regulus’s face against his chest, resting his chin atop his hair.

Regulus fought him a like a cat, until he felt too weak and let it happen.

Something about it felt violently familiar, throwing him back in time to countless identical hugs from his childhood.

He was rarely hugged as a child, except from his brother. He’d hold him the same way when he tried to comfort him or they were hiding from their parents. He’d hold him like this after each nightmare, after chasing the monsters from his closet, and after their mother had yelled at him.

When he got older, Regulus fought them from Sirius just like he fought James. He thought he was getting too old to be comforted like a child and he developed a distaste for touch. It seemed mad to him now. That child was insane to fight against those hugs. Didn’t he know they were finite? Didn’t he know he might never get another? What a stupid, short-sighted, ungrateful child that was, pushing against his brother and throwing him out of his room, while crafting a little sign telling him to stay out.

“I didn’t even get to speak to him again,” Regulus heard himself sob in James’s arms. “Last— Last time I saw him, we fought. I just screamed vile things at him.”

James shifted to curl himself around Regulus. His hand found his hair and gently ran through the curls. He was radiating a comforting heat, like the spring sun. He didn’t say anything but pulled him as close as possible and rubbed soothing circles into his skin.

“I can’t live like this. We fought and yelled, and I—” He cut himself off, choking on his own words and tears. “I can’t live like this. I need to get him back. I need him to come back to me or I have to die myself.”

He was soaking James’s shirt with his tears, which didn’t seem to bother the man. He only brushed back his curls and rested his cheek against his head. Just like Sirius used to do.

“You won’t die,” he promised.

***

Pandora

As the only one of the (regular) bunker residents who didn’t bear the Dark Mark, and a person generally good at not being noticed, Pandora was usually the one to run errands for the group. People who took the time to look at her would find it strange to think she would go “unnoticed” by anyone but that was the thing: Most people didn’t take the time to look.

At Hogwarts, she had been odd, sure, but next to her brother and their scary Slytherin friends she was quickly overlooked and forgotten.

Further, if she abandoned the crazy patterns, glitter, butterflies and mushroom earrings, she was a regular, pretty blond girl. By all accounts, she wasn’t considered a threat. And this was her strength. She could infiltrate Vampire castles, secret societies, spy on shady witches and wizards and then go to Diagon Alley to buy a bunch of moths.

Her parents (unofficially) disowned her for not being willing to join the Death Eaters or at least marry one of them. Officially, Evan had spun it this way, that she was an untalented, dim-witted little girl who was of no use to the Dark Lord, and Evan served him as representative of their family instead.

When Regulus asked her to go out and buy a variety of skull moths and other things for his ritual yesterday evening, she was honestly relieved to have an excuse to leave the bunker.

Remus Lupin was nice, but he did something to upset the dynamic between James and Regulus, which in turn greatly upset Regulus. And an upset Regulus was a very mean and aggressive Regulus, who liked to throw daggers around when someone was chewing popcorn too loudly. (He was forbidden to bring any knives into their little TV room.)

Furthermore, the full moon had just passed and Evan’s vampiric senses were still tuned into the lingering wolf smell— at least that would explain them starting to snarl at each other whenever they were in the same room by accident. Of course, any aggression toward Lupin, angered James, while any aggression toward Evan, made Barty go homicidal.

In short: No one was normal, everyone was aggressive, and Pandora with her pink eyeliner, face gems, and knitted cupcake hat, needed a break from them.

She climbed out of the suitcase into the little shack Dorcas called her home right now. She had no interest in their mission, the loss of her girlfriend still too raw and present, and never came down into the bunker. Pandora invited her for dinner or movie night every once in a while, but she always declined.

Since James had become part of their group, she was even more reluctant to interact with them, as she expected him to try and recruit her for the cause. Pandora and her friends knew to leave her alone. James however… she didn’t trust him not to blast her with “Gryffindor righteousness.”

Considering all of this, it wasn’t a common occurrence anymore for Pandora to climb out of the suitcase and for Dorcas to stick her head into the bedroom and smile at her.

Her braids looked decidedly less neat than usual, the blue and green coloured hair was still woven into them, but all of her usual charms and jewellery were missing, leaving them unfamiliarly bare. She had deep shadows under her eyes and her smile was pushed back by fatigue.

“Hi Dora,” she said. “Going on another mission?”

Pandora shook her head. “Just Diagon Alley, running some errands.”

Dorcas’s posture relaxed slightly. “That’s nice. Would you like some tea?”

“I would love to. Would you like to come with me to London?”

She hesitated for a moment. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

Pandora expected as much. “And what if, I go to Diagon Alley, get what I need to get for Reg, and bring us some biscuits we can have with the tea.”

“That sounds lovely. I’ll tidy up and set the table for us.”

Pandora grinned and nodded, then quickly used Dorcas’s fireplace to get to Diagon Alley.

The streets were empty.

It was December and Diagon Alley was never as packed at this time as it was in the summer, shortly before Hogwarts started up again. Still, the cobblestones were completely void of the echoing click of heels, and not even a giggle reached her ears from inside the shops.

Pandora pulled her scarf tighter and her hat deeper, feeling suddenly colder than in Dorcas’s shack in the woods.

She held herself to the sides of the road. Maybe there was a reason for the lack of people, beyond the general air of fear and uncertainty that these times brought with them. She slipped into every potions shop she could find. The owners were startled sometimes when they heard the bell above the door. They watched her warily but smiled when she turned to them.

“Do you happen to sell skull-moths?” She asked sometimes and would only get confused looks.

“Sounds like something you’d find in Knockturn,” one of the shop owners said eventually, a grumpy old man whose pale eyes never left her. He leaned over the counter to her. “But that’s not a place you should be window-shopping at, Miss.”

“If you say so,” she replied with a smile and left.

Knockturn Alley hadn’t changed much. The buildings stood closer together, making for narrower paths and darker corners. It didn’t seem different at all, and the strange thing was that Diagon Alley had felt a lot like this.

As a curious child with an equally curious and insane brother, and parents interested in the macabre, Pandora had often perused these shops in wonder. She knew whom to ask for cursed objects and she knew whom to visit for unusual potion ingredients.

She walked down the alley until she reached Borgin and Burkes, an antique shop. Regulus loved this place. His room in Grimmauld Place was furnished almost exclusively with pieces from here. Across from the shop was Moribound’s. Moribound was an elderly witch with a pallid face and fondness for all things purple and curious. Of course, if there was a potion ingredient or other curiosity no one in Diagon Alley sold, she would have it.

Pandora looked up and down the narrow street. Two witches stood between Moribound’s and The Spiny Serpent. They had their heads put together in hushed conversation, but doubtlessly kept an eye on the street.

When Pandora and Regulus were still at school, they often sat together and watched people. They made up mad stories about them or tried to uncover their secrets. They became good at that, watching. They developed an awareness of the things around them and trained themselves to perceive those who didn’t want to be perceived. The difference was that Regulus noticed people, while Pandora noticed people.

Regulus might have noticed the two witches much sooner than Pandora, determined their threat level, and acted accordingly.

Pandora recognised them as soon as she saw them. They had altered their appearance, not by poly-juice potion, as their features were still similar to how they were supposed to, but they switched the colour and texture of their hair, dressed in dark, old robes making themselves look much older than twenty, and subtly transfigured the shape of the nose here, and the line of the jaw there. Regulus wouldn’t have recognised them, Pandora supposed, and neither would James or Remus, but here stood Lily Evans and Mary MacDonald.

They used to be dorm mates with Marlene McKinnon, friends of James, Remus, and Sirius, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. Now, they appeared to be spying outside Borgin and Burkes.

Did they know what happened to James? Pandora knew that Dorcas sent them letters on occasion but refused to see them. Did they know about Remus? Maybe they thought every last person who used to be their friend had either died or abandoned them. They’d be right.

Pandora gave them a long look, wondering if they’d recognise her and try to talk to her. She couldn’t tell them about the bunker or their mission. She could give them peace of mind regarding James and Remus, couldn’t she? Well, only so much that they wouldn’t try to find their hide-out.

Lily noticed her eventually. She looked at Pandora for a moment, confused. Then she frowned and did her best impression of a typical Dark-Witch-At-Knockturn-Alley-Sneer, and turned away.

Pandora nodded to herself and turned to Moribound’s, using the thick knocker to announce herself.

The door was unlocked a few seconds later, and Pandora entered the shop. The air was thick and dusty, carrying a hint of decay. Moribound was clad in purple robes, with dark purple lipstick, eyeshadow, and rouge far too stark for her waxy skin. She was nothing short of delighted to see Pandora and ran her long, spider-like fingers over her hair.

She had a whole collection of moths, of course, fresh, dried and powdered. She sold heaps of dried skull moths to Pandora and threw in a pretty moth-shaped hair clip and a set of cursed earrings for free.

Pandora returned to Dorcas’s hut after stopping by a little pastry shop in Diagon Alley, acquiring biscuits and other delightful things for their tea, as well as a little treat she’d give to Regulus later.

Dorcas prepared the tea, setting the small, round table with chipped plates and cups. Pandora arranged the biscuits and seated herself. The room wasn’t much, a small kitchen, a bookcase, a rocking chair, a cabinet, and the table were all Dorcas needed, and probably everything that came with the shack.

“You’re looking good,” Dorcas said with a tired smile as she sat down.  “Got everything you needed from London?”

“Yes. I needed to get some crow claws, beaks, stones, and special moths for Reggie. He needs them for—” She cut herself off. Dorcas didn’t want to know about what they were doing most of the time, just like she didn’t want to hear about the war anymore.

“It’s fine, tell me.”

“A ritual.” Pandora smiled and took up her cup of tea.

Dorcas regarded her for a moment, then glanced back toward the bedroom door. “Will you bring down You-Know-Who with a ritual?”

“No.”

Dorcas kept looking at the door, biting her lip, as if fighting with herself whether or not to ask the questions burning on her tongue.

“Do you want to know?” Pandora offered.

Dorcas hesitated again. “No,” she said finally and took a biscuit. “It’s just that lately… Oh, I don’t know. Don’t listen to me. I’ve turned by back on all of it and I stand by that decision.”

Pandora wouldn’t argue with her. Dorcas has been through a lot and the loss and horrors of war were still fresh in her heart.

Pandora has had dreams lately. She always has dreams, not only when she slept. Recently, she dreamt of Dorcas and Marlene fighting about Dorcas leaving the Order. She had no business in those dreams, a silent bystander, watching a catastrophe unfold, unsure whether it was an event of the past or the present. And then it would change to Dorcas lying in bed, alone, fighting her blanket during a nightmare.

“She loves you, you know,” Pandora said into her tea.

Dorcas didn’t look up.

“She wouldn’t be angry. She’d understand.”

Dorcas took another biscuit. “How are the visions?” She asked as if they were talking about nothing in particular.

“Unchanged, mostly. Regulus is still drowning. There’s the, uhm, dog and the cat basking in the sun. That one’s still nice. I stopped seeing Evan bleeding out, but now he’s, uhm… being pushed into the sun by the shadows. I think it’s strange. Why do they push him into it instead of pulling him out, now that he can’t go into the sun anymore?”

Dorcas shrugged. She stood up, accidentally bumping into the table and ruining Pandora’s prettily arranged biscuit tower. It reminded her of a dream she had a few months ago, before Marlene’s death, of Dorcas smashing a gingerbread house.

“I had a strange dream last night,” she said.

Dorcas returned with a sugar basin and stirred some of it into her tea. “Tell me.”

Pandora slid her hand into her bag until she found the moth hair clip. “It was about Regulus.” Most of the scary dreams were. “He was bathing.”

Dorcas couldn’t help but whistle.

“In blood,” Pandora added. “Surrounded by head-shaped candles that looked like his parents, Dumbledore, Voldemort… some others I didn’t recognise.”

“A victory celebration after killing Voldemort, perhaps?” Dorcas suggested with a forced smile. “Any vision of yours that features him dead is a good one in my book.”

Pandora thumbed the hair clip. “There was Barty, too. Evan. You. James. Remus. Me. Then, hands reached up from the blood, and… took him.”

Dorcas’s smile was gone. She swallowed heavily.

“Took him?”

“The scene got more detailed the more often I dreamt it. …Another person emerges from the blood and pulls him down, as if to drown him. He gets on top. The tub is only big enough for one of them to reach the air. …Regulus is clawing at him, at the tub, but he can’t fight him. Then, I think, the blood person tries to pull him up too, as if he wants Regulus to breathe, but it doesn’t work. There can only be one, you see?”

Dorcas stared into her tea.

“Who wins?” She whispered.

“One or the other, depending on the moon. Sometimes neither… Mostly neither. They try to breathe air into the other’s mouth, but it doesn’t work. They both drown in the blood.”

Dorcas pressed her eyes shut, shaking her head.

“Do you know who the second one is?”

In every dream thus far, it has been a vaguely human-shaped thing, with no discernible features, but in her heart, Pandora knew that it was Sirius Black.

“No,” she said and added more sugar to her tea.

“You must take care of him. I can’t… I can’t. But I can’t lose another one of you either. None of you. So… one of you has to save him, okay? Those heads around him, one of them has to come to life and save him. I can only ensure that no one will ever touch your suitcase or find your bunker as long as you’re keeping it here.”

“Don’t worry. It’s just dreams.”

“Your dreams are never just dreams.”

“Not all of them come true. Some are more abstract than others. We’ll be fine… We’re getting close to finding out how to kill Voldemort.”

“And then it will be over?”

No.

“Yes.” She smiled at her friend.

Dorcas didn’t believe her. She could see it in her face.

Nevertheless, she decided to let it rest.

“How’s James? And did you say Remus? Lupin?”

“Yes, Remus joined us a few days ago. He and Regulus are quarrelling.”

“More than Regulus and James?”

“Well, no. Far less violently, but also far, far less entertaining. They’re just being bitchy to each other. Watching James and Reg was at least fun.”

“Yes, I remember Remus having his moments.” Dorcas shook her head to herself. “Is Reg still trying to stab James?”

“Less often than usual. There has been an incident a few days ago, but they’re back on good terms now, I think.”

“Marvelous. One day, we’ll teach him not to stab people.”

Pandora shook her head. “Lost cause.”

They giggled at each other.

It was nice to see Dorcas laugh. She almost seemed like the girl Pandora used to know at Hogwarts. Dorcas was the strong-willed, no-nonsense Quidditch captain of Slytherin. A half-blood finding herself amidst an increasing number of friends turned Death Eaters. She fell in love with a girl, which cost her some of her friends, and a muggle-born witch, which cost her the rest, except for Regulus, Barty, and Evan, who were always able to make exceptions in their bigotry.

Then, she lost her family. Her friends. Her girlfriend. With them, her drive, her optimism, and, except for these rare occasions, her laughter.

Pandora thought Dorcas was the kind of woman who would find happiness again. She would survive all of this and build a new life for herself in the future. The future seemed distant in this little hut.

Pandora recalled the two witches in Knockturn Alley, disguised and transfigured, but clearly Lily and Mary. They were Dorcas’s friends. Maybe she’d like to hear from them? Perhaps she knew what they were doing around those shops.

“I saw Lily and Mary,” she said, still uncertain whether it would wipe the smile off Dorcas’s face for the rest of the day.

“My Lily and Mary?”

“Yes.”

“Where? Diagon Alley?”

“Not quite, no… Knockturn Alley. I think they were spying on some of the shops.”

She took another one of the biscuits.

“Are you still in contact with them?” Pandora asked.

She hesitated. “They write letters sometimes. I gave them a spot to send the owls to, and I go there to collect every other week. They keep me updated, whether I want it or not… It’s just more people dying, Dumbledore still not having a lead but sending out people to fight Death Eaters. Some Death Eaters have been arrested, but none of the big names Reggie, Barty and Evan gave me. I don’t know how they do it. Salazar, I don’t know how I’ve done it for so long. It looks horrible from the outside. Hiding out here might not be the most heroic, but in the grand total of things, I feel like I’m helping the exact same amount of people; zero.”

Pandora let go of the moth clip and reached out over the table to touch Dorcas’s hand.

The moment, their skin connected, the world tilted. The walls bent out of shape. The roof collapsed. Tar and blood swapped over them like a tsunami. Dorcas screamed. Hers was just one voice out of many. Hands reached up from the ground and pulled the girl down to them. Her mouth and lungs filled with black goo until she couldn’t scream anymore. She reached out to Pandora, who still sat on her chair, the only thing in the room not knocked over by the sudden wave of destruction. Dorcas screamed her name through the muck.

Silence followed.

Pandora blinked and she was back in Dorcas’s hut, holding her hand. She tried to avoid touching people. It was rarely a wholesome experience.

“It’s okay to be tired,” she said. “You fought in the war for years. You helped people. I know you did. But you don’t have to do it, if you feel like you can’t.”

Dorcas curled her fingers around her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “After everything, you’re still my best friend. Don’t let anything happen to you too, okay?”

“Of course.”

“I’m… don’t tell James, please, but I’m beginning to feel restless.”

Pandora frowned at her in confusion.

“I don’t want to be back in the fight, but sitting here, waiting, it’s beginning to eat at me… Should the day come where you go after Voldemort, I think… will you ask me join? I can’t tell if I will, but ask me.”

Pandora smiled gently. “I will.”

***

Chapter Text

“You remind me of him. He was the best man I have ever known. You deserve to know that.” – Prince’s Gamit, 245

Regulus

Regulus let himself fall on one of the couches in the TV room. Regulus hated the name “TV room” as it was clearly more than that, and one muggle invention shouldn’t decide the name. They had a piano, a record player, and board games. The most important thing however was the bar. (Regulus skilfully ignored that most of those items were also muggle inventions.)

He had taken a tall glass and mixed things from the cabinets together until he ended up with something that would get him hammered fast.                                                                                                     

He and James had spent almost the entire day in the training room, practising close combat, with and without magic. James ended up with a dagger to his throat and Regulus on top of him a few too many times. Maybe James’s skills were regressing. Lupin ended up joining them for an hour or two, though “joining” wasn’t the right word. He sat on the ground and watched, which was worse.

When they took breaks, Regulus tried to come up with a plan to break into his parents’ house and relieve them of a few limbs. James sat with him and watched. He didn’t help, but he also didn’t try to stop him.

And now, to top it all off, Pandora insisted on yet another movie night. It was just what he needed. After the embarrassing breakdown in James’s arms two days ago and a day of full-body contact, there was nothing he wanted more than to sit trapped between him and Lupin for two hours. Except, throwing himself into a pit and drowning in shit, maybe. That sounded endlessly more enjoyable.

The door opened and James and Lupin joined him. James was apparently trying to convince Lupin that he’d enjoy movie night. Lupin pointed out, not for the first time, judging by his tone, that he was the one who actually grew up watching telly. James laughed his comment off and, of course, sat down next to Regulus, ignoring all of the other free seats.

Pandora and Evan joined them with snacks. James boasted about Lupin’s superior drink-making skills until the man finally agreed to make some sort of Gryffindor-concoctions for the rest of them.

When Lupin returned to the sofas, Evan’s fangs unsheathed and he hissed at Lupin, who in response, growled low in his throat. They stared at each other for a moment, hissing and growling like two cats due for castration. Evan squatted on the sofa, as if ready to strike should it be necessary.

Regulus fished an ice cube out of his glass and threw it at the werewolf.

“Down, boy.”

Lupin glared at him, which had little effect. James giggled beside him.

“Maybe you and Evan should sit far, far apart, Moony.”

“Right, sorry,” he mumbled, glancing at Evan, and limped over to the other couch. The limping got better and worse sometimes, Regulus noticed. Maybe he should get a cane.

The door opened again and Barty dashed into the room.

“Oi! Reg! Just the bloke I’ve been looking for!” He exclaimed and jumped on the couch. Regulus almost spilled his drink. He glared at his glass, while Barty climbed half on top of James to put his face close to Regulus’s.

“Are you on drugs again?”

“Nope. Better! I have a new hypothesis!”

“I can barely contain my excitement.”

“I can,” James said. “Could you get down?”

“No. It’s not my fault you’re hogging my best mate. Who is the smartest man in the world. And so adventurous, and—”

“Just spill it. What is it you want?”

Barty grinned from ear to ear. “Basilisk venom.”

Regulus looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Okay, listen: I found out that basically nothing can destroy the horcruxes, except substances that completely and utterly destroy things. Do you follow?”

“Not in the slightest. Wait.” He took a big sip from his drink. His fingertips felt perfectly numb and his brain a bit hazy. “Nope, still not making any sense. Go on.”

“Basilisk venom is one of the most corrosive substances known to Wizardkind. It completely destroys everything it comes into contact with and it’s like super mega deadly.”

“Super mega deadly,” Regulus repeated. “That’s very deadly.”

“Yes. I need it. For science, of course.”

James managed to push Barty off, who was now sitting on the ground by Regulus’s feet.

“And where would you get super, mega deadly basilisk venom?” Regulus asked, knowing he would regret it in a moment.

“Well,” Barty said with that grin Regulus had always hated. “That’s where I need you, my very talented and smart friend. You see, there’s this legend. You like legends, remember?”

Regulus gave him a look and nursed his drink.

“According to the legend, Salazar Slytherin himself built a secret chamber underneath Hogwarts and hid a giant snake-like beast in there.”

“Oh!” Pandora exclaimed. “I’ve heard of that story! The beast emerged some years ago and killed a bunch of students! You remember Myrtle, the ghost from the girl’s bathroom? She was one of them.”

James stared from her to Barty. “You think there is a fucking basilisk underneath Hogwarts?!”

“Not underneath, silly,” Pandora giggled. “Inside the pipes, of course.”

Barty poked Regulus’s leg. “I’m also quite sure that they’re holding one in the Department of Mysteries. My dad let something like that slip.”

“Okay. Barty, I want you to listen to me. Listen closely.” Regulus cleared his throat and put his drink on the low table between the couches. “I will not break into any place and fight a living basilisk for you.”

“Not for me, with me. As friends.” He batted his lashes at him.

“If bloody Salazar himself appears out of thin air and sucks your dick, I still won’t do it. Find a way to get that stuff that doesn’t involve fighting one of the most dangerous and deadliest creatures in existence, please.”

Regulus took up his drink again. He was still far too sober for any of this.

Barty sighed loudly and threw himself on his back.

“We could breed a basilisk,” Pandora suggested with far too much excitement. Regulus took a larger sip of his drink. “I’ve always wanted to try that! Imagine, a cute little baby basilisk!”

“It would kill you,” Regulus reminded her.

“And it would take too long!” Barty complained. “I can’t just buy the venom anywhere. No one is crazy enough to harvest it.” He pouted, glancing at Regulus. “And I thought you’d be insane enough to fight one. Or are you saying that you couldn’t?”

Regulus, who was an adult, possibly the only one in this room, didn’t respond to his goading.

James cleared his throat. “Uhm, I have an idea.”

“This drink isn’t strong enough,” Regulus decided.

“Alastor Moody, the Auror, has all sorts of crazy artifacts and trophies in his house. I’m 99% sure that he has a basilisk fang, too. …I tend to wander and touch things in crammed houses. He yelled at me a lot. Anyway, maybe we can harvest the venom from the fang?”

Barty sat up again and pointed at him. “That! That’s not half stupid. Pandora, would that work?”

“I think so, yes.”

Barty jumped up in excitement. “Fantastic! Reggie, Potter, tomorrow, we’re going on a field trip!”

He turned and tackled his boyfriend into a deep kiss.

Regulus considered throwing his drink at James. For science. He was wearing a white shirt, which had nothing to do with the idea.

***

Alastor Moody’s home was a small house in a wizard-dominated village. It was common for wizards to flock to places where they didn’t have to worry about muggles witnessing the occasional spell to maintain the lawn or fix a broken window. James, Evan and Pandora grew up in such neighbourhoods, too. Regulus and Sirius grew up in Islington, a district of London. Their house was protected and hidden by magic, invisible to the muggle eye— and most wizards as well. It didn’t matter. They were rarely allowed to leave the house anyway.

James brought his invisibility cloak so they could stake out the house for a while. Moody was rarely ever home, James said, he was a hard-working Auror and Order member, dedicated to the cause. He had no use for a home when a bed in his office sufficed.

While James and Regulus watched the house, looking for a shadow behind the curtains, Barty dismantled the various protection spells surrounding the property.

They decided that Barty should get them in but stay outside as a lookout. James knew the house and Regulus would lie if he said a successful Auror’s house filled with trophies didn’t make him curious.

“I’ll turn into my Animagus,” Regulus announced when Barty thought he dismantled the last of the spells. “And see if I trigger something. Then Barty gets us through the door.”

“Maybe we should go through a window?” James suggested. “People always remember to triple-lock the doors, but never double-check the windows.”

Spending time with James was quite enjoyable when he applied his brains like this.

“I could turn into my Animagus form instead,” James said then, to which Regulus only rolled his eyes. “You don’t know what might lurk in there. You might need—”

“James, remind me. What is your Animagus again?”

“A stag.”

“And what do you think will arise more suspicion sneaking around a house: A cat, a man, or a fucking stag?”

“I could go with the cloak then.”

“No, my idea is to see if I trigger any detection spells or anti-magic traps that would, for example dispel the Animagus. No one seems to be home and I’m not expecting to fight anything today, so stop fighting me on this.”

“I wasn’t fighting. Just looking out for you.”

Regulus glared at him. He found himself unable to be angry at James for wanting to protect him out of loyalty to Sirius. This didn’t mean that he could just say shit like this in front of Barty.

“Gay,” Barty commented as expected. “If you two homos are done quarrelling, maybe we could get on with the plan?”

“I’d say go suck your boyfriend’s dick but he wouldn’t let you.”

Barty punched his arm. Regulus smirked to himself and shifted into his Animagus.

“He’s so cute like this,” James cooed and reached out to pet him. Regulus ducked away and hissed at him. “Fucking adorable.”

Barty snorted. “You’re such a disaster. How have you survived for this long?”

Regulus considered briefly to bite James’s leg but decided he didn’t have the time. Maybe he’d do it later. He left their little hiding spot and sauntered across the street. No neighbour stuck their nosy heads out of their windows, so Regulus jumped on the little wall which separated the pavement from the front yard. He sat there for a while, watching the house again. Moody’s neighbour had a squirrel in one of their trees, which kept distracting him. He could catch it and bring it back to James— it would make an adequate threat, he supposed.

He jumped down from the wall and made his way to the window by the front door. They hadn’t found a way to approach this place from the back, except trying to apparate there, which they deemed too risky without knowing the details of Moody’s protection of his house.

He could look into a narrow hallway from the windowsill. There was a pebble near his paw. A staircase led upstairs. Every inch of the place seemed to be cluttered. Why were Aurors allowed to be messy? If Regulus was in charge of appointing them to their jobs, he’d outlaw this behaviour. He pushed the pebble into the grass. It bounced. Regulus smiled.

When he was satisfied that no traps reacted to his presence and actions, he looked back toward where James and Barty were hiding, wondering how he could signal to them that everything was clear. Going back, shifting out of this form and then shifting back in to not be noticed would take too much out of him.

He didn’t need to do anything, as it turned out.

“Ready to go in?” James’s voice appeared next to him.

Regulus jumped. His cat form was less trained in controlling his body. James giggled. Regulus would’ve bitten him if he had been able to see him.

“Leave the cloak with me. I’ll break the lock, you use a disillusionment charm until you’re in,” Barty said from somewhere. These charms didn’t hold up for long and failed under the tiniest bit of scrutiny; unsuited for stakeouts, okay for burglary.

Barty broke the last of the locking spells and the window cracked open.

Regulus slipped inside.

The window was pushed open further and empty flower vases and bottles fell over when an invisible James heaved himself through it. He landed on the ground with a thud and a groan.

He dispelled the charm. Regulus jumped on his stomach.

James grunted and straightened his glasses. “Why?” he complained.

Regulus shifted out of his Animagus, smirking. “Because Lupin is watching you like a hawk, so I can only delight in hurting you without leaving a mark.”

“Have you considered delighting in things that don’t hurt me?”

 “No. Not really. Though at this point, I think stabbing Lupin would bring me a great deal of pleasure.”

James shook his head. “There are many things more pleasurable than stabbing or killing people, you know? For a lot of them, you could even keep sitting on me like this, Love.”

Regulus, only now realising his error in transforming while on top of James, quickly stood up. He kicked his side for good measure. He’d like for it to leave a bruise.

“So, where’s this stupid Basilisk tooth?”

“Upstairs.” James pushed himself up and straightened out his clothes. “Be careful he still has a lot of dark detectors. He has one of those sneakoscopes, a foe glass and some other shit.”

Regulus perked up. “Do you think we could steal it? I’ve always wanted a foe glass.”

“Would it even work in your bunker?”

“I don’t know, I’d be excited to find out. Pandora would appreciate it, too.”

James led him upstairs. The moment they moved onto the first step, Regulus heard a high-pitched whistling sound.

James hurried to the top of the stairs and hit the sneakoscope with a freezing charm through the open office door. Usually, those things were small, spinning toy-like things. This one was as big as a vase, spinning erratically on the ground.

The top floor was even more cluttered than the hallway below. The hallway was lined by overflowing shelves. The doors stood open, revealing a bedroom, a bathroom, and the office. Judging by the hallway and what he glimpsed of the office, he didn’t want to know the state of the bathroom.

“It should be in there,” James said, pointing at the office. “I’ll check for traps again.”

Regulus nodded. His attention was on the knick-knacks crammed into the shelves: books, artefacts, charts and notes.

“Hey, out of curiosity, how familiar is Moody with his inventory? Would he notice if he lost some things?”

James gave him a long look.

“What? This is a rare book. I assure you, I need it more than him.”

“There are books you don’t have yet?”

“Yes. This one. Also, I want this.” He pointed at a golden necklace with golden hoops around a tiny hourglass.

“Is that a time turner?” James asked with a frown. “The fuck do you want with a time turner?”

“To have it, obviously.”

“You can only go back up to five hours with those things, Reg. It’s not like you could change what happened…”

“I’m aware. Do you think I’d do this ritual business if I thought my problems could be solved via a time turner? I’d assume they’re a lot easier to steal than the tome.”

“Then what do you want with it?”

“To have it,” he repeated, wondering whether the problem was in James’s ears or his brain. “I don’t have one yet, and I’m not allowed to buy one.”

James sighed. “I’d advise against stealing from Moody. I’ll get you one from the Ministry once I’m Head Auror. The office’s clear.”

“Head Auror?” Regulus asked and followed him into the room.

“Yeah. Once this whole war business is over and Sirius is back, I’ll complete my Auror training, become the best Auror in the world and work myself up to Head Auror.”

“Future plans. I didn’t know people still made those,” Regulus mumbled. As far as plans went, this was a rather lousy one. Head Auror. Becoming an Auror was a little boy's dream— fighting evil, adventuring, becoming a hero. In reality, it was either stupidly dangerous work for lousy pay or bureaucracy. Not every Auror was chasing Death Eaters every day— and if they did, they died during it.  

Moody’s office had a desk, an armchair, several bookcases, and many, many things. The clutter ranged from rubbish to rare artefacts. A set of giant bones was mounted to the ceiling; a troll torso, missing the skull, Regulus realised. Maybe he kept it in the bedroom like one of those sick American serial killers. The walls were covered with news reports; not of Moody’s accomplishments, but of crimes and their perpetrators. He spotted a WANTED poster of one of his cousins grinning at him from behind the desk.

“Barty’s side of the lab looks neat compared to this,” Regulus said and pushed against a pile of books with his boot. It toppled over. Barty’s desks were also cluttered and surrounded by boxes upon boxes of files, notes, and random objects, from muggle toys to dark artefacts.

“His chaos has method,” James said without much conviction. “Allegedly.”

“Alleged by whom? The rats who built their nest in that pile over there?”

Regulus frowned at a stain on the armchair, then turned to the shelves behind it. He found a dictograph a box which could record what was said in front of it and transmit it to another. It would be a more exciting find, had Pandora not recently shown him how to do the same with that muggle phone he was forced to carry around. Regulus pointed his wand at it and broke it, just to be safe.

“Found it!” James called from the other side of the room.

Regulus joined him in front of a glass box shoved between books and other containers. Inside lay a huge, sharp fang, discoloured to a brownish yellow. Next to it was a card with a date and the words “Sweep Black Manor”

The Black Manor wasn’t 12 Grimmauld Place where Regulus grew up, but one of the country estates, where they celebrated elaborate parties and his cousins spent their summers.

“Hm. Looks like it belongs to me anyway. Good news for your conscience, we’re not really stealing.”

James gave him a disapproving look.

“In fact, I bet some of these other things also belong to me. I feel entitled to take to my heart’s desire. I’m finally getting a foe glass and a time turner. Momentous day.”

James sighed. By now, he seemed to know when he was defeated.

Regulus smirked and went to pull the foe glass from the wall. It was a detector device which showed the owner’s enemies. Regulus saw his own reflection in it. He rolled his eyes at himself.

“Hurry up,” James said and picked up the glass box with the Basilisk tooth.

Within seconds after he lifted it from its place, three distinct cracking sounds surged through the room. Regulus looked up and met the eyes of two men and a woman, all of them strangers but their uniforms identified them as Aurors-in-training.

Regulus didn’t have time to curse James or himself before the three yelled in unison, “Incarcerous!”

He deflected the binding spell and glanced at James, who was also unbound, his wand raised toward who might have been his peers had things gone just slightly different in the past years.

“Stop!” James shouted. “Don’t attack us! We mean no harm—”  

“Confringo!” Regulus cut him off. Fire blasted from his wand toward the Aurors, singeing papers and furniture on its way.

“Reg!” James yelled. “Don’t—”  

He was interrupted yet again when the Aurors-in-training retaliated. One of them tried his luck with binding charms, while the others went into the offence. They copied Regulus’s blasting charm, tried to disarm them and hurled objects around the office in their direction.

James shielded them. He ran over to where Regulus was standing, deflecting and holding up shields, while Regulus sent another Confringo toward a shelf, splintering it into a fiery mess that knocked the auror next to it off his feet.

“Regulus, stop blowing things up!” James shouted over the noise, flicking his wand to block a Stupefy aimed for Regulus’s head. “Don’t hurt them!”

Then, “Crucio!”

It was the young woman who sent the curse. Aurors were permitted to use unforgivable curses against Death Eaters. Imperio. Crucio. Even the killing curse.

James’s head snapped around to the auror, too shocked by the word to activate a proper shield. Regulus tensed in anticipation.

Nothing happened.

You had to mean that curse for it to take effect. The tremble in her voice had betrayed her.

They didn’t have time after this to stare at the auror incredulously. Another spell zipped through the air. Regulus raised up a shield. He used a couple of big spells and realised he wouldn’t be able to continue like this.

“You attack, I shield,” he snapped toward James, reached to his thigh and exchanged his wand for a dagger and a throwing knife.

James sent a particularly nasty hex toward the woman, followed by a stunner. Regulus shielded them from the Auror’s retort. He hurled the throwing knife toward another, missing his head by an inch when he jumped out of the way. Unused to attacks with muggle weaponry, he stared at the knife in shock. James took his shot, disarmed and stunned him.

“Don’t kill them!” James hissed toward Regulus. “They’re just doing their job.”

Leave it to James fucking Potter to hold a lecture on morality in the middle of a fight, seconds after an Unforgivable was used against them. What a fucking idiot. Regulus considered taking out his wand again and using one of the forbidden curses as well, just to shock him and show him that this wasn’t the moment for his childish convictions about fair play.

Instead, he accioed his throwing knife, deflected another expeliarmus and apparated behind one of the Aurors-in-training.

He put his arm around him and the dagger against his neck. “Let us go and I’ll let you live,” he hissed.

“Never! You’re coming with us to the Ministry! You’re under arrest!”

Regulus couldn’t help but snort. He sounded like a child playing pretend. He pushed the edge of the blade into the man’s skin, just enough to conjure a trickle of blood.

Something above them snapped and Regulus had to let go and jump out of the way before one of the mounted troll bones crashed down on him. He lost his footing and landed on his back. His dagger lay a few feet away from him.

The auror was still standing. “Stupefy!”

Regulus raised a shield. A quick glance through the room revealed James in a duel with the female auror. She had been able to leave a cut or two on him when he was distracted by the sound of the troll bone hitting the floor.

“Incarcerous!”

Regulus rolled out of the way and jumped to his feet. He apparated in front of the Auror, as close to him as possible. The man startled when they were suddenly face to face. Regulus grabbed his arm and twisted it out until he cried out and dropped the wand.

Regulus smiled at him. Until a fist landed in his face. The man realised the values of non-magical combat, too, it seemed.

Regulus called his dagger back to him and thrusted it into the man’s open hand. He pushed through muscle and nerves until the tip came out on the other side, covered in blood. The man screamed and sank to his knees.

Regulus pulled the blade back out through flesh and sinew. He kicked the man’s chest and put a binding spell on him to him on the ground.

When he was finished with him and looked up to see how James was fairing, he was grabbed by his ankle and pulled. Regulus fell to the ground, something in his wrist snapped when he tried to brace his fall.

His wand rolled in the opposite direction as his body was yanked backwards across the rough floorboards, pieces of troll bone and burnt papers. He felt something sharp slice through his palm.

He flipped on his back seeing the third auror controlling a twisting vine to pull him across the room. He was the one James had stunned previously. He seemed to have recovered, though the shock was still naked on his face.  

Regulus could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him. He was in worse shape than he thought. He reached out his hand to call his wand back to him, but more vines shot out of the ground, binding his arms and pressing him to the ground. Regulus tried to figure out where his knives went when they appeared in front of the Auror. He levitated them, along with other heavy and sharp objects around the room, aimed at Regulus, and “Oppugno!”

Regulus raised a shield through the twisting vines. His dagger collided with it and fell to the ground. Another heavy object landed close to his head. Someone hissed in pain. James.

Regulus looked up.

James stood between him and the auror, the throwing knife stuck in his arm.

“You’ll fucking regret that!” James growled and attacked him.

Heat flashed through Regulus’s body for a moment.

He managed to levitate his dagger and used it to cut his arm loose. Finally able to call his wand to him, he used a severing charm to make quick work of the vines. Not quick enough for his liking.

James had forced the auror away from the scene. He refused to use harmful spells, while the auror tried to burn him and let one of Moody’s possessions explode by his feet.

Regulus pushed himself up, took a deep breath and wrapped his hands tightly around his dagger and his wand.

He apparated behind the auror, threw a quick glance at James, and then thrust the dagger into the man’s shoulder.

The auror cried out and bent backwards, clawing at the wound.

“Stupefy!” James yelled, and the auror sank to the ground unconscious.

Regulus panted heavily. The female auror James had been duelling before also lay unconscious at the other side of the room.

Regulus felt dizzy. He reached out for the shelf next to him and hissed in pain when he put pressure on his left wrist.

“Fuck,” he mumbled. His palms and the inside of his wrist were covered in cuts and splinters, his trousers were ripped from being dragged across the floor, and his face was throbbing where he was hit. Something sharp was pushing against his ribs.

He looked toward James. One side of his glasses was broken, and the pieces had left a mark on his cheek. The throwing knife was still stuck in his arm. A large shard of broken bone stuck in his thigh, the sleeve of his hoodie was singed, suggesting burns on the skin beneath.

“You okay?” James asked, decidedly ignoring the whole blade stuck in his flesh.

Regulus nodded. He holstered his dagger and walked over to him to inspect his arm.

“Oh man, that was one of my favourite hoodies,” he mumbled.

“Really? That is your concern?”

“I only have like three at the bunker.”

“You’re ridiculous. You’re injured!”

James shrugged. “Could you pull that out?”

Regulus bit his lip, unsure how much good his healing magic (which wasn’t great even when he wasn’t exhausted) would do. He reached into his jacket for a healing potion. He usually carried a few of them with him. Instead, he found shards of broken glass, which accounted for the pain at his ribs, and a damp spot, probably a mix of potions and blood. At least he didn’t have any poisons with him today.

“I’ll do my best, but as soon as we’re home you need a proper potion and Pandora’s healing.”

He grabbed the knife and carefully pulled it out. James groaned and cursed. His sleeve was instantly drenched in blood. Regulus pushed the fabric against the wound and mumbled the most powerful healing spell he could manage right now.

“It was stuck in the muscle. You’ll feel that for a couple of weeks. I’d prefer to leave that thing in your leg if you can walk. You’ll bleed out if I try to remove it instead of Pandora.”

James looked down as if he hadn’t noticed the large piece of troll bone.

Regulus turned back to the unconscious auror. Not only had he tried stabbing and beating him with knives, glass, bone and heavy boxes, he had also made James bleed. No one was allowed to do this but him. Especially not with his own knife. Especially not some random, name-less baby-auror.

Regulus raised the knife to throw at the man’s face, but James caught his wrist.

“Let me,” Regulus hissed. “An eye for an arm. Isn’t that the muggle idiom?”

“Your revenge fantasies are very sweet, Love. But they won’t be stunned forever. We need to go.”

“I don’t need long to kill a man. Much less a weasel.”

James gently pulled him back around. Regulus’s eyes caught on the shallow cut on his cheek. “They were doing their jobs. They’re young. You don’t need to kill them. Get the fang and let’s get out of here, okay?”

Why was James under the impression he could tell him what to do? Regulus should push the knife back into his arm just for this.

But James had turned around and walked – or limped – back to the remaining, conscious Auror-in-training, which Regulus had left restrained on the floor.

“I’m really sorry about this,” James said. “We didn’t mean any harm, but we needed that thing. Your colleagues will be fine, I promise. When you report back to Mr Moody, tell him we’re sorry for the mess, okay?”

Regulus scoffed and picked up the glass box with the basilisk fang. The box itself was broken, but the tooth was still intact. Regulus mumbled a simple repair spell and put everything back together.

“Te- tell Moody?” the auror stuttered.

“Yeah, he knows me. Tell him, I’m fine, while you’re at it. Potter, is the name.”

“James!” Regulus hissed. “Are you insane? What are you doing? Would you like to give him our address while you’re at it?”

“He’ll understand we need this for a mission. I promise we’ll return it once we’re done.”

Barty and Pandora would rather give their own hands than return a real basilisk tooth.

The auror stared up at James somewhere between shock, confusion and fear. He must think James was utterly insane.

“So, as you see, there’s no reason to waste resources in trying to come after us. You wouldn’t succeed, and you need to concentrate your manpower elsewhere. Also, tell Moody not to focus on finding you-know-who. You need to destroy his army first. As it is, the Dark Lord is unkillable for you anyway. Your best chance to weaken him and protect muggle- and wizard kind, is to expose and remove high-ranking Death Eaters. Look into Lucius Malfoy. Did you get that?”

The man stared at him for another moment. He nodded slowly as if he couldn’t believe himself that he was listening to and considering what James was saying. He was an incredibly charismatic man, always has been. It was what had made him the perfect poster child for the ‘Strong Gryffindors Joining the Order of the Phoenix and Aurors’ Agenda. It also had a calming and persuasive effect on the auror.

James smiled and, noticing the deep wound in his hand, sent a healing spell his way. “Sorry about that. Stabbing makes him happy.”

“Are you forgetting that he hit me?” Regulus asked. “Are you done then? You just said we need to go.”

James stood up, grimacing as he put pressure on the wrong leg, and followed Regulus out of the office.

“Where did he hit you? I didn’t notice.”

Regulus turned to him, indicating the right side of his face. “Your glasses are broken, you’re half-blind anyway.”

James carefully raised his hand up to his face. Regulus pulled back instinctively.

“We should apparate back to Barty. We can’t crawl through the window.”

“Wait.” Regulus returned to one of the bookcases in the hallway and picked up the time-turner. “I’ve fucking earned this.”

James sighed instead of arguing and Regulus let him touch his shoulder to apparate.

They appeared next to Barty where they had been hiding before. Another incapacitated auror lay half-hidden in some bushes.

“Finally,” Barty said and pushed off the invisibility cloak. “What took you so long? Do you have the fang?”

“James triggered a trap and we had three of those on our hands,” Regulus said, nodding toward the auror. He handed him the box. “Let’s get out of here before more follow.”

***

Back at the bunker, Pandora pushed James into the infirmary. She fixed Regulus’s attempt at healing James’s arm, cleaning the wound and administering multiple healing spells to close the wound. She agreed with Regulus’s assessment that James would feel the consequences of this wound for a while. She searched his body for more injuries, healing the burn on his arm and minor cuts on his face and body. Regulus sat on a chair by the bed, drinking one of her healing potions.

“They really did a number on you,” she muttered.

James lay in front of her, bare-chested, mourning the loss of his hoodie more than the new scar. Regulus glared at the mark. He should have been allowed to kill the auror for this. He, and only he, was allowed to make James bleed, let alone leave permanent marks on his body.

His eyes flitted over his chest. It was covered in small, shallow lines where Regulus had cut him before all of this started. The only larger scar was from Regulus stabbing him the day they brought him into the bunker.

“Take off your trousers,” Pandora said.

James did as told without hesitation as if Regulus wasn’t sitting next to him. “Pants too?” He smirked. Regulus kicked against the bed. Was he trying to provoke even more people into hurting him today? Weren’t two enough?

“Depends. Do you really think there’s anything in there that will impress me?” She asked. “Do you wish for my commentary?”

James kept his pants on. Not that Regulus paid any particular attention, but judging by the visible outline, he might have impressed her if he did take them off.

The bone shard had lodged itself into his thigh, tearing the skin around it. It must be embedded in the muscle, and Regulus wondered how he had been able to stand and walk at all. Pandora enlisted Regulus’s help in removing the fragments and healing the injuries, mending the broken arteries before James could lose any more blood. She placed a numbing spell on the spot first. James fisted the sheets around him, grunting and breathing heavily as they worked. When she was finished, Pandora bandaged his leg and mumbled something about checking for fragments the next day.

He had some more shallow cuts here and there, but Pandora made quick work of them. Regulus noticed the huge burn scars on James’s back, which he had received in the Malfoy library weeks ago when he sat up.  

“Those baby-aurors better know that if I see them again, they won’t get a chance to finish their training.”

“They were just doing their job,” James said. “We did break into the Head Auror’s home and stole from him.”

“Did you miss the part where one of them tried to torture me?”

“What?” Pandora’s head snapped up. 

“It didn’t take. She didn’t mean it. Still, she tried, and I can’t remember identifying myself as a Death Eater to her.”

“Maybe she recognised you,” James suggested. “You’re on a watch list, Regulus. It’s no secret that your family is involved with Voldemort and that you took the mark, even though we haven’t been able to arrest your cousins yet.”

A watch list. Regulus bit his tongue. He hadn’t considered that it was public knowledge that he had the mark. He could ignore it most days. Sometimes, it was like the ceremony and the branding had never happened. The rest of the wizarding world didn’t think so.

“This should be all,” Pandora broke their silence. “You should take a healing potion, a pain-reliever, then eat, and sleep. The same goes for you, Reggie.”

“What, so you’re not going to make him strip?” James asked. He pouted for good measure.

“You’re an idiot,” Regulus said, shaking his head. “Put your clothes back on.”

“I’ll fetch you a change of clothes,” Pandora said. “Regulus, I need to inspect you, too. Take off your shirt, please.”

She left the room. James grinned and focused his full attention on Regulus. He got comfortable on the bed and stared at him intently as if he was about to get a show.

“You wish,” Regulus scoffed. “You’ll get dressed and go to your room before I take anything off.”

“Now, that’s just unfair. In fact, since I’m basically naked, some people might consider this a serious power imbalance.”

“The power is balanced exactly as I want it.” His eyes wandered to his arm again. Regulus guessed from his previous experience with a half-naked James, that if he wrapped his hands around his bicep, his fingers wouldn’t be touching. Now, that bicep was adorned by a fresh, deep mark.

“He hit you hard,” James said after a pause.

Regulus frowned at him confused.

“The auror. Your face. If the potion doesn’t take effect soon, you’ll be bruised for weeks.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A little injury as payback for…” He vaguely gestured toward his scarred body.

“No. I don’t like it when you’re hurt.”

“Ah, because you’re a much better person than I am.”

“That,” he said, nodding. “But also, because it means I didn’t do my job well enough. No one is allowed to hurt you as long as you’re with me. I can’t let them.”

He said it too earnestly. It served as a sharp reminder of their conversation in the crypt. Regulus suppressed a shudder.

“Also, the bruises would cover up your pretty face. We can’t have that,” James added and chuckled to himself. It didn’t ease the tension as much as it was supposed to.

Pandora returned with James’s clothes and Lupin, who waited outside until James was dressed to escort him back to his room.

 “Now you,” Pandora said and inspected his face.

She sighed deeply, closing her eyes for a moment. She slowly crawled into his lap and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

Pandora was a person who loved and needed hugs, but every skin-to-skin contact meant the risk of horrible visions. Regulus hugged her back, careful not to touch any exposed skin.

“Don’t scare me,” she whispered. “Couldn’t you have apparated out of there instead of fighting?”

Regulus wanted to say that it wouldn’t have been possible, but in reality, it simply hadn’t occurred to him. He rarely fled when he was attacked.

“I will next time,” he said.

Pandora pulled back and hit his shoulder. “Don’t lie to me. You know I can tell… Don’t you think I’ve lost enough? Do you want me to lose another brother?”

“No. We didn’t expect a fight.”

“Yeah, maybe you should have. Why wasn’t Barty with you?”

“He was watching the house outside. He got into a duel, too. More or less, apparently he stunned her before she found him.”

She shook her head. “You’re driving me mad. All of you. Evan. Barty. James. Even Dorcas. I wonder what it’s like for people who don’t worry all the time.”

“They make for worse witches and lesser scientists,” he said, which brought a smile back to her lips. “I’ve got something for you.”

He reached into his pocket and dangled the time-turner in front of her. Her eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas Day.

“Is that a time turner? A real time turner?”

“Yes. I found it at Moody’s house.”

He unclasped the chain and put it around her neck.

She hugged him again tightly before standing back up to inspect and heal him.

***

Lupin wanted to bring James’s dinner up to his room. Regulus hated the idea. He wasn’t sure why, but he got into a screaming match with him about it. Pandora told both of them to shut up and sit down, and brought the food to James herself. She then ordered everyone to stay out of his room to let him recover. Lupin complied. Regulus didn’t. He slipped into James’s bedroom when he returned from the kitchen.

The room had changed significantly. He gave himself a nice, reddish wallpaper, a proper bed and the walls were covered in Quidditch memorabilia and photographs.

Regulus blinked at the dozens of Sirius’s waving back at him. Child-Sirius. Adult-Sirius. Sirius, drunk, at a summer party. Sirius in Quidditch gear. Sirius on a motorcycle. Sirius in a skirt. Sirius with James, Peter, the Potters, Remus.

“Regulus?” James asked perplexed.

Regulus tore himself away from the pictures. James was sitting on his bed, reaching for his spare glasses on the nightstand. His empty plates sat on the small wooden table he had kept. Regulus took one of the chairs and dragged it across the floor next to James’s bed.

James watched him surprised.  

When he found his voice again, he decided to say, “You can sit on the bed, if you want.”

Regulus rolled his eyes and sat on the chair.

James was wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants. The sleeves of the shirt didn’t cover the new scar.

“How’s your wrist?” James asked.

“It’s fine. Pandora fixed it.”

“And no more bruises, I see.”

Regulus hummed. His eyes were still trained on the angry, red mark on his arm. It would pale soon.

James smiled at him. “It’s funny when you’re jealous, you know that? You always get so grumpy when someone else hurts me.”

Regulus looked away. “I came to tell you that… you did a good job.”

“Doing what?”

“Protecting me. You said, me being injured means you didn’t do your job well. You did. Although, you were stupid and reckless. You jumped into the pathway of that spell instead of helping me shield. Merlin, what were you thinking?”

“Nothing,” he admitted with a smile. “Wasn’t thinking at all. I just saw what he was doing and acted.”

That was the only logical explanation, of course. Even though, he’d hate to call this behaviour ‘logical.’

“I just knew that I had to stop him from hitting you with all those things. That was the only thing on my mind. I guess, I’m not as quick as you, mentally. But we knew that, didn’t we, Love?”

He’s been calling him Love a lot today. Regulus couldn’t find it within him to be terribly annoyed by the word.

Regulus placed his feet on the edge of the bedframe, and balanced his elbows on his thighs, holding his head in his hands. James looked back at him with an easy smile.

He was a handsome bloke. He knew what that face and that smile could accomplish and used them accordingly. Regulus respected this by principle. He had warm, trustworthy eyes and the wild hair of a rebellious teen everyone wanted to count as their friend.

He was unique in the effect he had on Regulus. He inspired unyielding rage, unforgiving hate, feelings void of all rationality. He also had Regulus’s respect. The time they spent together wasn’t wasted. No, he enjoyed spending time with James— be it training, researching or fighting Aurors. He wanted him to die, but he’d do anything to stop him from getting hurt. He revelled in his pain, except when it made him homicidal to see him injured.

It was confusing, illogical, contradictory to its very core, and, worst of all, it was deeply familiar. The only other person who could inspire such hate and awe at the same time, with the same insistence on morality and values was his brother. The respect he had for James and the love he had for Sirius were miles and miles apart, but they were the only people in his life against which logic failed and contradicting emotions ruled his behaviour.

He hated it.

He had been wondering, how the fight would have gone had it been Sirius instead of James. Would he be as rigid in his principles? Talk to the Aurors as James had? Refuse to properly hurt them? He wasn’t sure.

“I was wondering, what would've had to happen for you to duel them properly? The aurors. They exploded things next to you, stabbed you, hit me, used a torture curse, tried to beat me to death with a troll skeleton, and burned your arm and your hoodie.” The burning had been minor beneath the singed sleeve.

“I did duel them properly. I disarmed and stunned them. Proper duelling doesn’t mean to hurt or kill your opponent, but to end the duel. They were young, not even done with their auror training, but already recruited into the war. I don’t think there would have been anything they could have done for me to use proper destructive spells.”

It was foolish. His principles and righteousness were more important than punishing those idiots for what they did. He’d rather lose a limb than his morals.

“It was good what you did,” Regulus said. He bit his lip and leaned back in the chair. James stared at him in what could only be described as shock. “Not the jumping into the way part, although you saved me. It was stupid. Don’t do it again. …But letting the aurors live with minor injuries and how you talked to the last one. It was a good idea, good instinct. It was the right thing to do, and… Well, frankly, I wouldn’t have been able to do it.”

James blinked at him. Finally, he sank back into his pillows with a warm smile.

“No, you wouldn’t have been,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

The smile was unnerving. It sent a little shockwave through Regulus’s body.

He stood up. He needed to get out of here. He had said too much already, and wasn’t sure why he had said anything at all, or why he had come.

“You need to sleep, or Pandora will have my head. I need to sleep, too.”

“You’re right.”

Regulus nodded sharply and walked to the door.

“I promise, I’ll take better care not to get injured by anyone who isn’t you, next time,” James said before he reached it. “Especially with your own knife.”

The memory made him grimace. He needed to get rid of that particular throwing knife. It was tainted.

“Sweet dreams.”

Regulus didn’t respond. He left the room without looking back and returned to his own.

Chapter Text

“ ‘I felt yesterday how badly you wanted to hit someone.’
Damen found he’d moved without realising it, his fingers lifting to touch the bruised edge of Laurent’s jaw. He said, ‘The man who did this to you.’ “
– Prince’s Gambit, 243 – 244

James needed a week to walk properly and participate in their usual training sessions. Regulus spent that week planning his attack on Grimmauld Place.

There were several things to consider – his parents’ sleeping habits, multiple protection spells, Kreacher. Grimmauld Place was Regulus’s home and his inheritance. The spells weren’t designed to keep him out. Except that he ran away, defected from the Death Eaters and betrayed his family. It might be hidden from him, too. In that case, they were doomed. If his parents reworked the Fidelius charm, Regulus could stand right in front of his home, unable to see it. Should this occur, he was left with two options: Asking Narcissa for help and attempting to contact Kreacher. Both of these were unlikely to succeed.

Should he find the house, it was a matter of either walking in as the door still thought he lived there, or breaking several locking charms. He needed to bring Barty.

Kreacher the house elf was loyal to the Black Family. Regulus and he have always had a soft spot for each other. Hurting him was out of the question. He might try to interfere should he notice Regulus’s attack. He would rather die than stand by as his beloved Master and Mistress were murdered.

Because that was Regulus’s plan. Murder.

There was no alternative to consider. He’d kill them for reasons beyond the ritual.

They have been on his kill list for a long time.

Regulus had spent too many years of his life defending these people. When he was a child, they weren’t too bad. He had no horrible memories of them. He needed years to realise that the reason for this was the general lack of memories including his parents. The childcare was left to the house elf, Sirius and a few cousins. Walburga was in charge of their education in writing, reading, calculus, history, music, dance, and fighting. Meanwhile, Orion took long journeys to acquire cursed objects and then locked himself in his office to study them.

Walburga was strict. Every transgression, every unpermitted noise, meant punishment – from room arrest to cleaning duties. And of course, her education, as well as many dinner conversations, were infested with her hate for muggles, mudbloods, half-breeds, and blood traitors.

No matter how hateful and strict their parents were, they weren’t violent. No matter what punishment they received, Sirius and Regulus had each other to make the time go by. At the time, Regulus never considered it to be a ‘bad childhood.’

The bad part came after Sirius’s sorting.

Sirius was a Gryffindor. Their family had been exclusively Slytherin for as long as Hogwarts had existed. Walburga and Orion were fighting, screaming, throwing things and curses around the house. He accused her of cheating. She accused him of ruining her son.

Regulus had been ten years old at the time. He didn’t understand what was happening, but he ended up in the crossfire. Sirius was ruined, a lost cause, and all attention and effort henceforth had to be focused on Regulus. He needed to be hardened and prepared for his role as the perfect Black heir.

No one spoke of disinheriting Sirius then, but it was clear that he wouldn’t be the proud representative of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.

Sirius returned to Grimmauld Place a different person. He wasn’t the well-behaved boy who dutifully practiced the piano for two hours a day, and only caused occasional mischief to make his brother laugh. He was a stubborn, rebellious, loudmouth kid, determined to tell everyone at the dinner table about his half-blood friends, and muggle-born classmates. He complained about the stupid Slytherins and insisted that Gryffindors were so much cooler and that Slytherins were just jealous of them.

It started around this time. The punishments became more frequent, harder… crueller. What used to be going to bed without dinner became being locked in a bedroom for two days with neither food nor bathroom breaks. Then Walburga slapped Sirius for the first time. He was mouthing off about something or other, and Walburga lost it. One, hard slap across the thirteen-year-old’s face instead of Christmas presents.

Then the curses started.

The practice sessions became longer and harder. Two hours of piano a day turned into four. An hour of fencing turned into genuine sword-fighting for two hours. She kept educating them in literature, history – or her version of it – blood purity, and the dark arts. Orion showed them his collection of cursed objects and let them figure out how to dismantle them while they were bleeding and crying from being attacked by choking robes and biting scissors.

All of this only happened during the holidays, when they returned from Hogwarts. The resentment it built lasted for the rest of the year.

Through all of this, Sirius and Regulus should have still had each other.

They didn’t. Regulus didn’t have him. Sirius had James. Sirius refused to come home for Christmas and went to the Potters instead. During the summer, he would sneak out of the house for three days to spend time at the Potter house, leaving Regulus to take the punishment on his own.

Then Sirius left.

It happened during the Christmas holidays and after his parents were done with Regulus, as there was no one else left to punish, he returned to a completely different family in the summer. His parents got crueller, more impatient than ever before and focused on saving their family’s reputation. Despite being a well-behaved boy and talented Slytherin, Regulus had never been the favourite. Had it been him who acted out as Sirius had done, there wouldn’t have been so many tears, screams and curses. He would have been but a speck on the family tapestry, like cousin Andromeda. Sirius was a giant acid splash on it, tearing holes into the structure and bringing down the family tree.

Regulus was educated in poisons, sword-fighting, dagger-throwing, and the dark Arts, and then he was thrust into Voldemort’s arms to be his perfect little soldier. Regulus often wondered, had Voldemort been a little sicker, would his parents have sold all of his body to him, too? Would they have chained him to his bed for him to use just to get into his good graces and reclaim their imaginary throne among the wizarding elite?

They would have. There was no doubt in his mind that they would have married him off if they had to. Pandora once had a dream about Orion sitting together with the Dark Lord, speaking about the beauty persisting in his family tree, and wondering if any of them would be to the Dark Lord’s tastes.

Whenever Regulus thought his parents could not disgust him any more, they turned around and invented new vile paths just for them to take.

Killing them would be a personal pleasure far surpassing any other act he had ever committed.

Had they been less horrible he might have a brother instead of the mark on his arm. It seemed poetic justice that their death would bring him back. Their useless bodies would serve one last purpose, shrivelled, grey and decaying, they would claw open the veil between this world and the beyond and rebirth their son, mimicking the only good deed they had ever performed.

Kreacher, however, did not deserve the same fate. Should they leave him at the house, unharmed, with the bodies, the Aurors might try to pin the murder on him – an easy fix to a convenient death. No one had time for a proper investigation in the middle of a war, especially if the victims were affiliated with the dark side.

The best option would be to daze Kreacher and take him back to the bunker, where they could tell him a lie or two about his master’s fate.

That concluded his plan so far: get to Grimmauld Place, hope to find the house, get in, daze Kreacher, get to his parents, kill them. Preferably at night, so they’d be asleep and wouldn’t put up a fight.

If it had been anyone else’s plan, Regulus would ridicule it for lack of detail and preparation for contingencies. As it was his own, he settled on mild dissatisfaction.

He sat at his desk, hunched over a crudely drawn floor plan of his home.

A cup of tea was sat down next to him.

Regulus looked up. James smiled and sat in his chair across the table. “How’s it going?”

Regulus shrugged and picked up the cup. The tea was made perfectly to his liking.

“You know, I’ve never been to Grimmauld Place,” James said, picking up the drawing. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like.”

“Have you ever been in the restricted section of the library past midnight and suddenly heard Filch rounding the corner?”

“Yes…”

“It’s like that but with prettier wallpaper.”

James frowned and dropped the floor plan back on the desk.

“I think, tonight is the night to do this. As far as I can ascertain, there should be no social obligations for at least a week or two, so they won’t be missed too quickly.”

“Okay. When are we heading out?”

Regulus looked up at him. “We?” He repeated surprised.

“Can’t let you go alone, Love.” We winked at him like a cocky Quidditch captain would wink at a dumb teenage girl. Regulus contemplated dumping the tea over his head.

“I thought killing and maiming my parents would go against your precious morals.”

“Well, yes. I don’t want anyone to be killed. I don’t want you to kill anyone. But in case something happens, I want to be there with you.”

The door to the lab opened once more and Lupin came limping in. His leg must be acting up. Today, he balanced himself on a cane. Regulus hadn’t seen him with one before. He grumbled a “Morning” in their direction, frowned and dragged himself to a desk nearby.

Regulus watched him with a raised eyebrow, then turned back to James. “I’m taking Barty and Evan. There’s no need. I can handle myself.”

James gave him a look and then started counting on his fingers. “The trap you triggered in Malfoy’s library. Passing out on the floor of the coffin room. Almost getting smashed to bits by a falling troll skeleton. Almost getting stabbed multiple times by flying knives. Should I go on?”

Regulus kicked him under the table. “Look who’s talking! The countless times I’ve broken into your home or room to cut and stab you. Getting abducted by me while surrounded by your Auror friends. Burning your back by jumping into the trap at Malfoy Manor. Getting stabbed by daggers and bone by jumping into a spell I’ve already shielded against. Should I go on?”

“Oh, please do. Tell me all about the times I’ve saved your life.”

“Saved me? When you were sixteen, you climbed on top of the boat house and jumped into the lake, head first. You tried to stand on your broom on one foot to do a victory lab after a Quidditch match, fell on your face and broke your glasses.”

James grinned. “Awe, I didn’t know you were paying that much attention to me, Love.”

“I didn’t pay you attention, you stole it by doing absolutely dumb shit all day long at Hogwarts. How did you not die or get expelled?”

“Simple: I’m a legend.”

Regulus threw a pencil at his head. It didn’t wipe the stupid grin from his face.

“And by your theory, they didn’t expel me because of my handsome face and sunny personality.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re both insufferable,” Lupin piped up. His brow was deeply furrowed and he was looking over at them in a way that reminded Regulus of his grandfather, who had a strong distaste for everything loud and moving.

“Awe, cheer up Moony,” James grinned at him. “He’s just taking the piss. We’re not fighting.”

“Not what I meant,” he muttered.

“Then what did you mean, oh wise one?” Regulus asked. “What made you think I needed your commentary?”

“You know what you really need? For someone to stuff that pretentious mouth of yours. Maybe we should hand you over to the Aurors, they’ll have one look at that mark you’re sporting, and we’ll have peace from you.”

“Moony,” James said calmly, like a warning.

“Why don’t you piss off back into your woods to howl at the moon? Then you’ll be far away from me.”

“I’d love to, just let me collect my boyfriend.”

Regulus narrowed his eyes again. “Over my dead, rotten body.”

Lupin met his eyes, growling, “That can be arranged.”

“Oh, please, you’d fall on your face ten times before you made it over here. I could snap your spine like a twig – maybe that’ll put that leg right again.”

“Regulus,” James said, more firmly this time. He was ignored yet again.

“Did Sirius love this? Well, I guess when your options are limited…”

“Regulus!” James snapped.

“At least, he did love me,” Lupin said. “Unlike you.”

The words shot through him like a stupefy spell.

“It’s quite telling that you can only make him live with you when he’s dead, isn’t it? Once he is back, he’ll take one look at you and that mark and if you’re lucky, he’ll spit in your face before he leaves with me!”

The knife was in his hand before he even knew he’d grabbed it. A flash of silver—then the sharp thud of steel embedding itself in wood.

Lupin hadn’t ducked—he had flinched. A second slower, and the blade would have lodged in his eye.

James was standing now. So was Regulus, arm still outstretched.

“Knock it off!” James yelled and pushed at Regulus's shoulder. “Both of you! Are you fucking insane?”

Lupin stared over at Regulus, breathing heavily, eyes wide in shock as if he hadn’t anticipated that Regulus might actually try to hurt him. His hand moved toward his face as if to ensure it was still intact.

“I’ll kill you,” Regulus hissed at him. “Just you wait. I’ll make you watch as I bring Sirius back and then I’ll slit your throat right in front of him! I’ll obliviate him so he won’t remember you. I’ll make sure he looks at you without recognition before I’ll end your meaningless, fruitless existence!”

“Regulus, stop!” James demanded. He put himself in front of Regulus, blocking Lupin from his view. He grabbed his shoulders. “Stop. Calm down. It’s just the moon, okay? He doesn’t mean it. The moon makes him aggressive.”

“I don’t care,” Regulus spat. His hands were trembling with rage. He had another dagger in a drawer of his desk. He should sink it into Lupin’s throat, make him choke on it and cut his vocal cords so he might never utter another word in his direction again.

James’s grip turned gentle. He slowly moved his hands down Regulus’s arms until he could encircle his wrists. “Please. It’s just the moon, don’t listen to him. He doesn’t mean what he says.”

His voice was low, dripping with warmth and compassion, as if he were talking to an upset child. Regulus wanted to direct his anger at him for the audacity to talk to him this way. He wasn’t a child. James wasn’t his caregiver. He didn’t need his words or his hands on him. He could decide on his own when the time was right to be angry.

Why were James’s hands on him?

Why was Regulus letting them stay?

He wanted to step away, push him away, kick him to the ground and recall the dagger to fling it at him, next.

But it was working. The pressure against his wrists. The low sound of his voice. Regulus looked into James’s eyes, and against all reason, his pulse slowed. His breath steadied. His body betrayed him.

“Okay?” He asked, rubbing the inside of Regulus’s wrists. “Look, when Sirius is back, he’ll want you two to like each other. He’ll want both of you in his life. So, you can’t start hating each other now, okay?”

Regulus thought they would never like each other. They couldn’t as, after Sirius’s return, Regulus would kill James, and even if he could persuade Sirius to love him despite it, Lupin wouldn’t. The thought made Regulus avert his eyes.

“And you,” James said, directed at Lupin this time. “Same goes for you. He’s working to bring Sirius back; a little gratitude would be appropriate, Moony. Maybe you should stay away from each other close to the full. Okay? And don’t ever mention the Mark again.”

Regulus bit his tongue. He felt his left arm twitch. James was still holding his wrists.

Lupin didn’t answer. He stood up and slowly left the lab.

James sighed. He let go of Regulus and grabbed his mug. “Here, drink your tea.”

Regulus worried the mug might shake too much if he took it, so he just looked at it.

“He really did not mean it. You should have heard some of the things he said to me, Peter and Sirius over the years. He once called Lily a ginger slag one day before the full because she didn’t let him copy his homework. He’ll feel terrible about what he said in a week.”

Regulus sat down. James let go of his other hand. Regulus accepted the tea from him, holding it with both hands, so James wouldn’t notice the tremor. He wasn’t sure anymore if it was anger-induced.

“If the moon makes him angry and short-tempered, doesn’t that just mean that he says what he was thinking all along? It’s the impulse control that fails its job.”

James shook his head. “Do you mean everything you say when you’re really angry, or does it cloud your thoughts and reactions? I bet you regretted the occasional insult you threw at a friend.”

Regulus said nothing.

“Monday, Remus and I will leave and stay in the countryside for two days, maybe three. Then the aggression will ebb away after a week or so.”

“So, what, he has two good weeks out of a month?”

“Yes. …He’s learned to control himself better over the years. I haven’t seen such an outburst in a while. …Maybe it’s because Sirius is gone. Anyway, don’t dwell on what he said. You know it’s not true. …And, please, don’t try to kill him. Sirius would be inconsolable, even if you obliviated him.”

Regulus looked up at him. He offered a gentle smile. Regulus’s eyes fell from him on the floorplans.

“Whatever,” he mumbled. “We’ll go tonight. You should take a nap in the afternoon. We’re gathering in the small hallway by 11 pm.”

He pushed himself up and set the tea down on his desk.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Find a few photographs of people and throw daggers at them.” He glanced over at the spot where his lab knife was stuck in a desk. James sighed but didn’t try to stop him from leaving.

***

Regulus, Barty, Evan and James gathered in the small hallway connecting the exit to the rest of the bunker. Regulus was armed with his dagger, wand, healing potions and a few poisons. Barty brought a gun, just because he thought they were cool and he usually wasn’t allowed to use them. James had his wand, and Evan had the foresight to bring two axes to make the dismembering process easier. Pandora and Lupin said their farewells, she with worry across her face, and he with snide remarks about unnecessary risk-taking and maiming the bitch Walburga being the best thing they will have ever done. Regulus accidentally stomped on his foot – the one from the bad leg. James didn’t find it funny.

They climbed out of the bunker. Dorcas was asleep in her bed, stirring ever so slightly when they piled into her bedroom.

They snuck to the living room and from there apparated to London.

Grimmauld Place Number 12 was a grim townhouse among other, nearly identical townhouses, sitting neatly in a row. Light was coming from a few of the neighbouring windows, muggles watching telly or going to bed. Number 12 sat silent and dark in front of them.

But it was in front of them. Regulus could see it, clear as day. He recognised the curtains of the drawing room, the high, blackened fence and the narrow staircase leading to the front door. He didn’t need to worry about finding the house.

Regulus allowed himself a sigh of relief.

Barty and Evan had been to his place a few times and knew of its location, James however has never been here, and it was still magically hidden from his view.

“So… which one is it?” he asked, looking around, squinting at the house numbers. “I don’t see a twelve.”

Regulus, who stood next to him, pointed at his home. “Right there.”

James looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened and his breath caught, as Numbers 11 and 13 trembled and rattled like they meant to shake loose their very foundations. With a sudden lurch, Number 12 forced itself forward, dragged from hiding, unwilling and resentful. Regulus, who was born here and had always been privy to its location has never witnessed this moment, but Barty assured him that it was quite a spectacle.

“Bloody hell,” James whispered. “We should put such a spell on the bunker.”

“We already have,” Regulus said, “And yet, you are there.”

“Should I remind you that you kidnapped me, Love?”

“Don’t start with the flirty shit again,” Barty interrupted. Regulus hit his arm. “I can’t work under these conditions. Let me check the entry for traps and locks, and try to keep it together, yeah?”

“Just to recap,” James whispered while Barty crossed the street and lingered by the stairs to work. The rest of them tried to look like normal lads, taking a quick reprieve from a night well spent in London. “We go in, Evan and Barty secure the ground floor and take care of your house elf.”

“Without harming him,” Regulus added, shooting Evan a look. He rolled his eyes but nodded.

“Meanwhile, you and I go upstairs to your parents bedroom on the third floor, and hope they’re asleep.”

“The windows are dark. They will be asleep.”

“Do we have a plan B in case they aren’t?”

Regulus shrugged. “The goal is to kill them, how and when we get there is secondary. If they’re awake, we fight. Let’s hope they’re not awake and I can simply stab them in their sleep. Did you bring the cloak like I told you?”

James held up the fabric.

“I’m going into their room alone. Only follow me if I call, until then, stay underneath that thing so we have the element of surprise on our side.”

“Whatever you say.” He sighed, looking up at the house. “It’s quite large. Is it only your parents and house elf in there? Are you sure?”

“There are guest rooms for my cousins or when relatives and friends would stay over. It has always been large and empty, even with me and Sirius still living here, but never quiet enough. My parents cherish silence and solitude, I doubt that they invited guests, now that they’re rid of us.”

James looked back at him in confusion, like the thought of parents being glad for the lack of children in their house was an entirely foreign concept to him. Had Sirius never spoken about their family and home? How was any of this surprising?

“That’s the saddest thing I ever heard.”

Regulus turned to him. “You’re an orphan in the middle of a war, most of your friends are dead and you’re living with your would-be-murderer. But my parents liking silence is sad?”

James shrugged and looked back up to the house. “Where’s Sirius’s room? And yours?”

“Top floor. Why?”

James shrugged. “I thought, since we’re already here and breaking in, we could… I don’t know, maybe he’d like to have some things for when he comes back?”

“I’m certain he took everything with him when he left.”

“And what about your stuff? Anything you’d like to take?”

“James, we’re here for a double homicide and organ harvest, not for a trip down memory lane.”

Barty returned to their group. “All clear.”

Regulus took a breath. “I’ll go in first. If they haven’t banned me from the house, the door should open for me and not trigger any missed alarms.”

He walked up to the black door. It was bare aside from the shiny 12 and a silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent. His family has always taken their ties to Slytherin – the house and the person – very seriously. It had taken Regulus a long time to realise how much of his life and his family’s customs weren’t normal by most standards. Once this realisation occurred, it was no mystery why Sirius being a Gryffindor had caused such a scandal.

Regulus pulled out his wand and presented it to the door with a light tab. The dozen heavy locks behind it turned and slotted out of the way until the door could swing inward.

“Lumos,” Barty whispered behind him and the light of his wand crept into the narrow hallway, followed by Regulus, James, Evan and Barty.

Regulus has spent years sneaking through this house, ducking away from prying eyes and making himself soundless. He could traverse this place in total darkness without causing so much as a creak in the staircase. The others couldn’t.

“James, the cloak,” Regulus instructed. “Barty, Evan, Kreacher will be in his den in the kitchen. Make sure to put him to sleep before he can alarm anyone. Search the ground upper floors for surprise guests, just in case.”

James slipped from view as he pulled the hood of the invisibility cloak over his head. Regulus ignited a dim light at the tip of his wand as well, so he could follow him without causing a ruckus.

Barty and Evan snuck past them and toward the kitchen in the basement. Regulus led James down the hallway to the staircase. Regulus knew to sidestep an old floorboard and directed James to do the same. Every now and then the light from his wand revealed a painting breaking up the tight pattern of the wallpaper. He caught a glimpse of his sleeping grandmother in one of them. Walburga sometimes fought with this portrait when she was drunk.

The grand staircase curved its way to the upper floor.

“Miss the second and fifth step,” Regulus whispered to James, unsure whether he could count that far.

The light hit the wall by the staircase, revealing shrunken heads of old house elves who used to serve in the house. James inhaled sharply when he saw them.

Regulus rolled his eyes. He knew that this might seem crude to some, but in their family, it was a sign of good service to cut off an elf’s head and mount it to the wall. Regulus has only ever known one house elf in this house, an old, dedicated elf called-

Regulus stopped in his tracks.

The elves were mounted on the wall in the order they had served. There was one more head than he remembered. Regulus tightened the hand around his wand and raised it up to the elf and the plaque beneath it.

“Kreacher?” Regulus whispered.

It was him, clear as day, the head, dried and slowly shrinking to look like the others, belonged to his house elf, who house-elf raised him ever since he could remember. He had half a mind to reach out and touch him, to ensure that it wasn’t an illusion.

“Reg?” James’s voice appeared next to him. “What is it?”

“Nothing. Be quiet.”

He tore himself away from the elf and crept up the stairs.

On the third floor, Orion had his office next to a guest room and across from the master bedroom, where his parents were sleeping.

Regulus stopped in front of the door. He killed the light of his wand and tucked it away.

The dagger he pulled out instead was silver, with a serpentine handle and an inlay of green stones. The blade was straight with Black family creed toujours pur etched into the metal. It wasn’t made by Evan but an heirloom passed down to him through his uncle Alphard. He found it fitting for the occasion.

“Are you sure you want to go in alone?” James whispered.

Regulus bit his tongue. He had often thought about this day, fantasized about the moment he would free himself from these people, cut the final cord after the life he should have had was so violently ripped away from him. Now, his hand shook, and he wasn’t sure whether it was excitement or anxiety, anticipation or the urge to flee.

There was no going back now. It needed to be done. At the end of the day, this wasn’t about his feelings or his revenge, it was about bringing Sirius back.

“Positive,” he said.

He put his hand on the door handle and slipped into the bedroom.

The curtains were open, allowing the silver light of an almost full moon to penetrate the room and make edges and outlines visible to him. The wardrobe. Walburga’s vanity. An armchair. The bed.

Orion slept closer to the door, so Regulus figured it would be logical to kill him first. His large body created a shadowy heap underneath the blanket.

Regulus repositioned his hand around the serpent hilt of the dagger. His father was snoring softly in his sleep, lying on his back. His chest was rising and falling steadily.

His eyes found the man’s neck, where the shape of the head and the rest of the body connected. He imagined how it would look with sufficient light, where the artery in the neck was located, waiting to be severed so the man could bleed out like a pig, just as he deserved it.

He held the tip of his dagger against that spot, and his hand above the man’s mouth.

He hesitated. His hand was frozen in mid-air.

If he did this, there was no chance of survival for Orion.

Just like there had never been a chance for him or his brother.

Regulus drove the blade deep into his father’s neck. He clamped down the other hand on his mouth, but Orion never got the chance to scream. The dagger tore free, and blood gushed out of the wound, hot and thick, drenching his fingers and the sheets in crimson. Orion’s final breath hit his hand.

Regulus looked past him to his mother’s side of the bed.

A force like a tidal wave slammed into his chest. For a moment, he thought he was underwater, in a cave, pulled down by lifeless limps.

He was pulled back into reality as he was ripped backwards, torn from the bed as if an invisible hand had seized him by the ribs and hurled him like a ragdoll.

The wardrobe rushed toward him too fast - he didn’t have time to brace before he crashed into it, spine-first, head snapping back against the wood with a sickening crack.

His vision blurred. A burst of white-hot agony split through his skull. His fingers went numb, the dagger slipping from his grasp, lost somewhere in the shadows.

In the dark, distracted by his father, he hadn’t noticed that the other side of the bed had been empty.

The lights flickered on.

Regulus blinked past the blur of pain and forced his gaze upwards.

 Walburga stood in front of him in her dark dressing gown, the black hair, hereaked with grey, tied in a loose braid, and hate in her eyes. Her wand was pointed at him.

“It really is you,” she said. Her voice was cold, tinged with the faintest hint of disappointment. “He didn’t believe you’d be capable of this. I knew you were capable. I just thought you were smarter.”

Regulus’s limps felt heavy and unsteady as he tried to push himself up into a sitting position.

“We know that you betrayed us. You betrayed the dark lord. My own flesh and blood, a dirty, common traitor. The rot your brother brought to this house has infected you, too, hasn’t it?”

She came towards him, her steps slow and deliberate, like an animal ready to pounce.

“I tried my hardest to cleanse it, to cut it out of you and him. It seems, I haven’t done enough. Now that you are here, I think it is time to take up your lessons again until you remember where your loyalties lie.”

Regulus’s head was swimming. The words needed long, dragged-out seconds to reach him. The realisation of what was about to happen came with it, the ability to brace himself, didn’t.

“Crucio!”

His bones cracked. From his toe over his legs, every single, separate rip splintered and broke. His spine split in the middle. White, hot pain shot through his body, as it was smashed to pieces. His lungs filled with water. He was drowning again. He was in a cave. The water surrounded him. Grey limbs wrapped themselves around his arms and legs, dragging his broken body deeper into the lake. His lungs burned.

Then it was over.

Regulus fell forward on his hands, gasping for breath. He coughed, half-surprised he spit out neither water nor blood.

“I wonder,” Walburga said slowly. “Why did you come? What did you steal from Malfoy? Did you come to steal from us, too, or did you come for the pure pleasure of killing? You always have been the deranged one, always fascinated by pain and darkness. And yet, despite all your promise, you have turned out to be yet another disappointment, like your treacherous brother. Do not despair, this will fix it. Sooner or later.”

She pointed her wand at him again. Regulus didn’t give her the satisfaction of closing his eyes in anticipation. He stared her down.

She opened her mouth to speak the curse.

Before the words could reach her lips, her chest caved inward with the force of a spell. The impact sent her flying. She crashed against the floor, the breath and curse ripped from her lungs The wand fell from her grasp.

James pulled the cloak down. His wand was still raised in one hand. In the other, he held Regulus’s dagger, gripped so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His face was twisted in a blind rage.

“Leave him alone,” he growled.

Walburga stared at him with wide eyes. Without her wand, she looked like an ordinary, old woman, staring at a harbinger of death. Her fingers scrabbled against the floor, searching blindly for her wand.

James’s boot slammed down on her hand.

Bone crunched.

Walburga screamed.

Regulus stared, stunned, detached, half-convinced this wasn’t real.

“You tortured your own son? Both of them?” James’s voice was hoarse with fury. He pushed down on her crushed fingers. “You did! Didn’t you?”

Walburga panted through her teeth, glaring up at him. “What I do with my children is none of your business, you- Potter, is it? Dirty blood traitor, you-“

James’s wand clattered to the ground.

He struck.

His fist crashed into her jaw, snapping her head sideways.

“Shut your mouth!” James shouted and dropped onto her, knees digging into her ribs. “Shut your fucking mouth, you bitch!”

Regulus couldn’t move. His ears rang with the sound of James’s voice, venomous curses and accusations dropping from his lips.

Then the dagger.

James raised it and drove it deeply into her chest.

Regulus flinched at the wet, thick sound.

The blade tore through muscle, flesh, and organs. The sound was overpowered by James’s voice, screaming:

“You fucking cunt! You bitch! I know what you did to them! How dare you lay a hand on them!”

He thrusted the dagger into Walburga’s body again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Each strike came with a low, guttural grunt, his arms snapping forward with brute force, each thrust of the blade making the air heavier. Regulus couldn’t see but only hear the gurgling of Walburga’s last moments, as her lungs filled with blood, and the never ceasing, sickening wet squelch of metal through flesh until Regulus thought she might only be mangled flesh and blood.

Finally, Jame stilled.

His shoulders rose and fell. The only sound in the room was his ragged, shuddering breath.

The dagger fell from his hand. The sound of it colliding with the floor echoed through the room.

He pushed himself up and turned to Regulus.

Blood.

It was everywhere.

His hand. His arms. His

His shirt was drenched in it. It was splattered across his glasses, his face, his lips, his hair.

Blood. Blood. Blood.

James Potter.
Golden Boy. Gryffindor. Pride of the Order. Face of the Aurors.

The good and kind sunshine boy was drenched in blood.

“Reg?” His voice was hoarse, breathless, filled with worry. Blood was staining his lips. “Are you okay?”

He rushed over and fell to his knees in front of him. His red hands grabbed his shoulders to steady him.

The blood was staining him. It would leave permanent marks on him if it wasn’t cleaned off, wouldn’t it? Like a nice suit now utterly ruined.

James Potter should never look like this.

He wasn’t made to look like this. He was the shiny, handsome boy who lured people into a fight with charm and a cocky smile.

Blood.

It needed to be cleaned off.

It needed to be washed from his face, his lips, his smile.

James’s fingers brushed against his face, his hair.

“You’re bleeding,” he whispered. “You need a healing potion. Hey, Reggie, do you hear me?”

His face was impossibly close. Regulus could not tear his eyes from the blood. It didn’t belong there, on him. Not him.

James was never supposed to kill someone.

Not like this. He wasn’t made for it. He had morals. He was unyielding in his ethics and convictions. He left people alive, sweet-talked and reassured them all was well.

The blood needed to be wiped away. It couldn’t be there. On his lips. He needed to be clean and shiny again.

“Reg.” James sounded worried, distraught even. It must be the blood staining his lips that had him in such a state.

Regulus raised an aching arm. Fingers curled behind James’s neck.

He pulled him in.

Their lips collided.

James froze.

His lips were warm. Wet. Regulus pushed the thought away.

For a moment, there was nothing, just a forceful press of skin.

Then James exhaled against him and with a sudden, violent urgency, kissed him back. His hands cradled Regulus’s injured head.

Heat flared. Regulus’s fingers dug in, pulling him closer.

Regulus’s thoughts slipped away from him. Time and space tilted out of existence and only James remained.

James.

James’s lips against his own. James’s hands holding him like he was something precious about to fall from a cliff. James’s burning, hot skin beneath his fingers.  

The edge of his glasses bit into Regulus’s cheek, but it didn’t matter.

Lips parted. A tongue flicked out and Regulus didn’t taste blood but only him.

Reality crashed back into their consciousness, as the door to the bedroom was slammed open with enough force for it to smash into the wall.

James and Regulus drove apart, staring at the intruders.

Barty and Evan stared back at them, out of breath from running, armed with a wand and an axe.

Regulus’s vision was blurry, his head was throbbing and his face felt hot. He wasn’t sure anymore whether it was all an effect of the head wound.

Barty was the first to regain his ability to speak. “Sorry to interrupt. We thought you were dying.”

James gasped lightly as if he just remembered something important, reached into his jacket and produced a healing potion. He uncapped it and held it to Regulus’s mouth.

Regulus didn’t look at him while he drank.

“Is… everything alright?” Evan asked.

No one answered for a minute. Regulus felt the potion slowly getting to work as the throbbing numbed.

“Yes, everything’s under control,” James said finally. He glanced at the bodies. “They’re, uhm… You know.”

“Dead,” Barty provided helpfully. “We put the house elf to sleep. Not Kreacher, might I add.”

“Reg, are you okay?” Evan asked.

Regulus nodded slowly. “I’m good. She just caught me by surprise. …Let’s do what we’re here for.”

He pushed himself up. James took his arm to help. Regulus shook him off.

He needed to set his mind back to the task.                                                                                                                                                                                                 

The ritual called for the Voice of the Mother and the Embrace of the Father. Regulus’s head was still ringing. He must have been in quite a state, considering the way James was looking at him, eyes filled with concern, still searching for injuries. He really must have been in quite a state considering the way he just kissed him.

There was no time to contemplate this further. They needed to get out of here. He looked at the bodies in front of him. His father had one clean hole in his throat where he had stabbed him in his sleep. His mother’s body was broken and marred almost beyond recognition. The sudden rage that had gripped James had left its mark on her.

Regulus trembled at the thought that James wouldn’t have been capable of this before they started working together.

He thought about kissing again.

“His arms,” he said, shaking off the memory. “Her tongue.”

He returned to the bed. It has been mere minutes since his father’s death. His body was still warm. His skin was ashen as the blood stopped running beneath it. His body was relaxed, leaving him a puppet. It soiled itself in the moment of death when the muscles stopped tensing and released themselves. The room began to smell of urine and faecal matter.

It would be better to get both arms. Normal parents embraced their children with both arms, Regulus assumed. He reached for his dagger. It wasn’t there. Right, James had it.

James appeared next to him and handed him the blade. “Rosier, the axe.”

Regulus pressed the hilt of the dagger down on his father’s shoulder, finding the joint through the fabric, skin and muscle. He sliced off the silk pyjamas. If they were lucky, they’d manage to cut him right at the shoulder joint. That way, they could avoid the humerus, acromion, clavicle and scapula. They’d have to use force to cut through the deltoid muscle covering the joint, and the connective tissue.

He felt his father’s shoulder, finding the muscles and joints, until he found the perfect spot to hack. His skin was still warm. It felt rough beneath his fingertips. He took the dagger and punctured the skin where he thought the others should work. His heart didn’t beat anymore. The wound wasn’t deep. No blood trickled out. Maybe, most of his blood was already lost when he stabbed his neck. He did the same on the other side.

“We should get him off the bed,” James said when he appeared with the axe. “It’s easier to cut him on the ground than on the soft mattress.”

Regulus agreed. He was held back when he moved to help. James grabbed Orion’s arm and his leg. Evan took the other side. James pulled, Evan pushed. It was dead weight in soaked and soiled pants. Evan’s powers exceeded James’s strength. With a push and a pull, Orion slides off the bed, landing on the hardwood floor with a dull thud. A smear of blood and other fluids marked his descent.

Evan pulled him on his back.

“It might still spur some blood,” Regulus said. “Leave your glasses on to protect your eyes. Use all your strength and try to hit the spot I marked.”

James stared down at the body. He should have hated that man for how he had treated Sirius, but his righteous heart was struggling with this, it seemed. Ridiculous, given with how much vigour he has just stabbed Walburga.

“Do you need me to do it? Or Barty?”

“No. I promised I’d do the heavy lifting part,” he said. His smile was unconvincing when he raised the axe. “You’re better at the whole slicing, cutting and stabbing part.” He pointed at Orion’s neck instead of himself.

He swallowed heavily and rested the axe against the puncture wound. He glanced back at Regulus. His face was still smeared with blood where he hadn’t kissed it away. Was he thinking about that too?

“For Sirius,” he said instead. “Right?”

Regulus nodded. He must still be dazed from splitting his head open against the wardrobe to be thinking about kissing right now. Laps in judgment.

James raised the axe and slammed it down on the body. He tore the pale skin and some of the tissue beneath. The fabric of the pyjamas stained red.

James’s muscles bulge when he raised the axe again, straining against his darker, blood-sullied skin.

Evan had the other axe and began the same work on the other side.

Regulus turned away from them and back to his mother. It was strange to think that the throbbing headache and the trace of his blood against her wardrobe would be the last injuries she had ever inflicted on him.

James had tackled her, pinned her to the ground and straddled her when he stabbed her. Regulus squatted down next to her. Barty joined him.

Walburga’s lifeless eyes stared up at the ceiling, they were glassy, looking almost like marbles instead of real eyes. Regulus pried open her jaw. Could one smell someone’s foul breath even if they were not breathing anymore? No, probably not. It might just be the stench of her as a person.

The thick, pink muscle poke out between the teeth. Regulus grimaced and shook his hand before reaching for it. It was still wet and soft. He felt the small papillae beneath his fingertips. He pulled, trying not to get sick. Her head fell toward him so the glassy marble eyes looked at him, …or through him. He took the dagger and pulled out the tongue as far as he could. Barty pushed his hand away and held the tongue instead, so he had an easier time cutting.

Regulus reached to the root of the tongue with his dagger and pressed down. There was more resistance than he anticipated. he tried to cut. The tongue moved with the blade, then the entire head. Barty pried her jaws further apart. Regulus slammed the knife down like an axe and tore through the tissue. Cooling blood sprayed out of the wound and against his hands.

He repeated it. He needed three tries to get through the muscle and sever the tongue from the root. His hands were shaky. It might be from the head wound.

Barty pulled a bag out of his jacket and dropped the tongue in there.

Regulus tore his eyes away from Walburga and turned back to the others.

James’s face had new red drops across it. Regulus licked his lips.

Evan threw a severed arm on the floor. “We’re done. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

He and Barty collected the parts. James approached Regulus again. His lips were full and pouty, gently pulling attention away from the blood and guts around them.

“Are you okay?” James whispered. “You need to see Pandora as soon as we’re home. That wound didn’t look good.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Looks like it cut off part of my brain.”

He removed the thoughts about lips and kissing from his mind and joined Barty and Evan so they could apparate home.

Chapter Text

“I tried to kill you. I can’t seem to go through with it. You keep overturning all my plans.” – Kings Rising, 162

James was naked.

The thought passed through Regulus’s brain like a hurricane. He was lucky to remember how to breathe.

Regulus stood across from him. The room was dark, except for one dim lamp above them.

James stepped closer until he was directly in front of him and could reach out. He raised a tentative hand to Regulus’s cheek to brush away his hair.

When he pulled his hand back, it was streaked with red. Regulus twitched. It was blood. Why was there blood?

James brought his hand to his own face and left a bloody trace across his mouth.

Regulus stared at it.

He was pulled forward by the hand until he was touching James. Their knees, thighs, and chests pressed together. James’s hands were on his hips. Regulus brought his arms up to touch him.

Blood smeared.

He was stained red where Regulus touched him—blood on his legs, his torso, his hands, his shoulders.

Regulus was covered in blood, he realised, and every minuscule touch soiled James’s body.

He was undeterred by it. He didn’t seem to notice the blood at all. Instead, he cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss.

Regulus felt blood running down the side of his face.

James moved his warm lips against him.

The blood drenched his hair.

James ran his fingers through it and parted his lips.

He kissed him, and the rain turned to a downpour, warm, thick, and suffocating. The floor beneath them was slick, his body painted red.

Regulus’s hands slid against James’s shoulders, unable to grip, unable to hold on. But James held him steady, kissing him harder.

The blood flooded Regulus’s mouth.

With one, clumsy motion, they fell to the ground.

Blood splashed around them, spraying up against James.

He didn’t care. He kissed him hard, licked into his mouth as if to taste all of him. He pushed his body between Regulus’s legs.

Maybe the blood didn’t matter. If it didn’t matter to James, why would it matter to Regulus? Why would anything matter if James had his muscled arms around him and kissed him with such abandon? Regulus wrapped himself around the man and met his lips with the same passion.

He arched up toward him, digging his nails into his skin.

James moaned against his lips and gasped his name, shorted to one breathless syllable. “Reg.”

***

Regulus jolted awake.

His eyes were heavy, forcing themselves shut again.

He carefully moved each finger of his hand, then brushed them against the blanket covering his body. Everything was dry, not a drop of blood was on his body.

He tried to open his eyes again.

The room slowly shifted into focus. It wasn’t his bedroom with the dark walls and dark-brown wooden furniture. He was in Pandora’s infirmary.

Pandora, however, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, James was sitting in the chair by the bed, looking at him out of soft, brown eyes.

“Hey,” he whispered. “You’re awake. Pandora freaked out about the wound on your head, but she healed you and set you right with some potions. You’ll be fine.”

Regulus’s eyes fell to James’s lips.

The memory of a kiss rushed back to him and took over his body.

That happened.

Regulus had kissed James Potter, while he was covered in his mother’s blood.

The thought didn’t make sense. The action made even less sense.

“How are you feeling?” James asked.

Regulus explored his body for feelings of pain or discomfort. If there was any, it was sidelined by the constant need to stare at James’s lips and kiss them again.

He needed to get a hold of himself.

This shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have kissed him – James shouldn’t have kissed him back!

Something about it was fundamentally wrong.

Regulus hated this man. He has tried to kill him countless times. This man was his enemy. He took away his brother. He –

He killed his mother.

He saw the torture, heard Walburga’s confession of using it in their youth, and decided to remove her from his earth.

Not just remove. He destroyed her. He turned her into a bloody heap of flesh and gore.

And then they kissed.

And Regulus felt the rushing, violent need to do it again.

“Why are you here?” He asked instead.

James raised his eyebrows. “Because I was worried?”

Regulus closed his eyes and leaned back into the cushions. Maybe he had just dreamt the kiss like he had dreamt just moments before about kissing him in a hurricane of blood, naked and –

“And I thought we could talk when you’re well again,” James interrupted his thoughts. “About what happened.”

Regulus felt a sick feeling rising in his stomach. He decided to play dumb. “What happened?”

James hesitated. “You know what happened.”

“I have a terrible headache. I’m afraid I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You kissed me.”

Regulus bit his tongue.

The silence stretched between them.

“Doesn’t sound like me.”

James scoffed. “Really? You’re going to play the amnesia card? Forget it. We both know what happened. You kissed me.”

Regulus sat up – too quickly, as the room tilted and swam before him. “I should go to my room and sleep.”

“We’ll have to talk about it sooner or later.” James sighed. “Fine, let me take you to your room.”

“I made this place. I can find my way around.”

James wasn’t impressed by this statement, especially when Regulus stood up and had to grab the bedframe so he wouldn’t fall.

James got up from his chair and put an arm around him to steady him.

He was too close.

“Now what? Are you going to carry me again?”

“If I have to, yes. Do you want me to?”

Regulus didn’t want him to. He faced away from him and slowly made his way down the hallway. James remained firmly by his side until they reached the door.

“Well then, good night,” Regulus said quickly and opened his door.

“Just so you know,” James said before he could slip inside and lock him out. “You said my name. Just now when you were asleep. You said my name, and it didn’t sound very angry.”

Regulus had no adequate response to this. He shut the door behind him and threw himself onto his bed with a heavy sigh.

***

Regulus sat at the breakfast table with Barty and Pandora, nibbling on a piece of bread, when James arrived.

Barty has been smirking at him all morning, so much so that Regulus threw his first bread roll at him and had to make a new one.

James evidently came straight from the gym. His skin was slightly damp with sweat, and he was wearing one of those stupid zip-up hoodies that he thought were a legitimate clothing item.

They were not.

But Regulus didn’t have the capacity to judge him for it, as today he left the thing unzipped. His joggers were sitting unnecessarily low, too, revealing a trail of dark, coarse hair up to his navel. Dark skin stretched over his chest and visible abs, and dipped at his hips to draw a V, disappearing into his trousers. Regulus’s eyes trailed over the fine, barely visible scars on his chest, down to the large scar he suffered from the Auror’s spell.

A sharp pain in his shin pulled him back to reality. He glared at Barty, who had kicked him. He smirked at him and then cupped his own cheeks in his hands, sighing dreamily. Regulus kicked him back.

“You’re walking around like a slut, Potter,” Barty said loudly. “Keep up the good work.”

James frowned at him for a moment, then settled into a grin. He must have understood that sometimes, one had to simply accept Barty’s insanities.

Pandora cleared her throat. “So, you and Remus leave tomorrow?”

“Yeah. We’ll spent the full moon out by a bat cave Remus found while he was wandering around and try to collect the bat wings for the ritual. Then, we’ll stay there for a day until Remus has recovered enough to apparate back here. Shouldn’t take longer than a day.”

He came to sit at the table with them.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I missed the full moons.”

Barty frowned. “You missed running around and being almost killed by a werewolf? Careful there, Potter, or I might end up respecting you.” He leaned to Regulus, to whisper, “I get it now.”

Regulus kicked him again.

James, who heard him, had enough sanity not to grin. Instead, he stared down into his breakfast, pursing his lips.

“I do miss it though,” James said after he had recovered. “Sirius, Peter and I became Animagi so Remus wouldn’t have to be alone during the full. We had great fun with it – running around the woods without a care in the world whenever we wanted! Sirius used his Animagus form to run away from home and get to my place during the summer holidays, before he moved in with me.”

An old, familiar ache spread in Regulus’s body. He didn’t hear the rest of James’s reminiscing. The ache reached his stomach, heating it like a flame beneath a pot of water, until it boiled in rage.

Just yesterday, James heard Walburga’s punishment for Sirius’s running away. While they were jumping through fields as stag and dog, Regulus sat at home, alone and in pain.

Regulus’s eyes fell to James’s chest again, not its perfect shape, but the scars on it, and he felt that they weren’t enough. Maybe he needed to be covered in blood like he had been in his dream, but his own, this time.

Regulus pushed himself up from the table and rushed out of the room into the long, curving hallway, not quite sure where he should go to hide.

Before he could reach either his library or the crypt, James’s voice called after him.

“Reg, wait!”

Regulus didn’t wait, but James began to run, and then he was beside him.

“Leave me alone.”

“I thought now that you’re better we could talk about –”

Regulus stopped in his tracks.  

“Talk about what? You and my brother and your wolfish adventures?”

James looked at him confused. His hand went to hold the parts of his hoodie together at his chest. He averted his eyes and bit his lip, and Regulus didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss or cut him.

“Why do you have to be so difficult?”

“I’m not being difficult. I’m keeping it simple: Nothing happened. Ergo, there is nothing to talk about.”

“Simple? Nothing about this – about us – is simple. I just want to talk about it, because I’m fucking confused now.”

“Don’t be. There is no ‘us.’ There is you, and there is me, and there is Sirius. You care about him. I care about him. That is all.”

James looked back at him and let go of his hoodie. “That is all?”

“Yes.”

“Then does that mean you don’t hate me anymore?”

James raised his eyebrows in expectation, but the question had caused Regulus’s brain to give up on the matter entirely. Unable to say anything, he pushed past James and escaped to his library, which he locked behind him.

***

Regulus successfully evaded James for the rest of the day. He would leave the next morning and by the time he got back, his pea-sized brain might have forgotten about the matter entirely, or Regulus might have come up with an explanation.

He looked at himself in his bathroom mirror. While the bedrooms of the bunker’s residents were unique to each person, the bathrooms were largely the same – except for Barty’s, whose bedroom was messy but whose bathroom was a potential health hazard.

Regulus turned off the water in the basin and dried his hands. He opened the door leading to his bedroom. Standing at the door, Regulus’s eyes fell directly on his bed, a large, wooden thing with black pillows and blankets.

On there sat James.

Regulus found himself speechless at the sheer audacity of this man. He could not deny the quick flash of heat coursing through his body at James’s boldness (and skill) to break into his bedroom and nonchalantly lie in his bed, waiting for him.

And he had thought himself unhinged for sleeping with Barty.

“Good evening,” James said after they just looked at each other for a while. His eyes trailed up and down his body. Regulus was wearing a pair of grey silk pyjamas, falling loosely along the lines of his body. There wasn’t much to see. James seemed to disagree.

Regulus rolled his eyes at him and sat down at his vanity to the right to apply the last steps of his routine. Having a good routine for one’s face and hair was a necessity, his mother had always taught him. Regulus watched James through the mirror.

“Is that a picture of me?” James asked.

Regulus bit his tongue and stopped massaging his skin.

“Over there? The one with the knife in it.”

It was true, Regulus had a rather large photograph of James on his wall. It hung on the other side of the bathroom door, in line with an armchair by the fireplace next to the bed.

“I use it for target practice.”

“In your bedroom?”

“You never know when the need for practice may overcome you. Also, I have very pretty bedroom knives that need to be used occasionally.”

“Bedroom knives?” James asked, sounding intrigued more than bewildered.

Regulus vaguely pointed at the far wall by the fireplace and the small collection of daggers and throwing knives.

Regulus massaged lotion into his hands and stood up.

James had claimed one side of the bed for himself, sitting on the blanket and watching him.

“So, what do you want?” Regulus asked.

“To talk.”

Regulus sighed and sat down at the other end of the bed. “Why can’t you just let it rest?”

“Because you kissed me. And don’t say you didn’t. You kissed me. I was there. I remember it very clearly. Barty and Evan remember it, too. They congratulated me.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “So, what do you want from me? Do you want me to apologise?”

“Apologise?”

“For kissing you.”

“Why would you apologise?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t a normal thing to do. And aren’t you straight?”

Now, James looked bewildered. “Even if I had been, I wouldn’t be anymore. And you don’t have to apologise.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have apologised. I don’t do that sort of thing. I just thought it’s what you wanted to hear.”

“Of course. My mistake.” James smiled.

He just looked at Regulus for a moment, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes. He must be tired.

“Why did you kiss me?”

He wondered that too. There was no satisfying answer, no matter how hard he tried to think of one.

“I hit my head,” he said. “Hard. I was bleeding. And I was tortured. I wasn’t in control of my actions. It doesn’t change anything between us.”

“Not anything?”

“Not even a little bit.”

James hummed thoughtfully. “Does that mean you still want to kill me?”

“Yes.”

“Who else is on your kill list?”

“With Orion and Walburga dead, it’s just you, Voldemort, and Dumbledore.”

He nodded slowly. “And, just for the record, which one of them would you also kiss after a head injury?”

And he almost kissed him for asking such a stupid, bold, audacious question. Were the knives not out of reach, he might have stabbed him, too. The desire to do one or both overcame him so violently, he had to clutch the blanket in his fists to do neither.

James evidently didn’t expect an answer. He climbed out of Regulus’s bed and said good night as he left.

***

James and Remus apparated near the cave where Remus had found the bats while on the run.

“I found this when I was looking for a place to sleep in these woods. I swear, they tried to scratch my eyes out one night. Could probably smell what I am, bloody beats,” Remus snarled. “I said I’d rip their wings out. Feels good to fulfil a promise.”

Remus was, at his core, a calm and gentle nerd, who was perfectly happy with a book, a cup of tea and a piece of chocolate, sitting in silence by a fireplace, preferably with his hand in Sirius’s hair. Due to circumstance, he was hot-headed, easy to anger, and the closer they were to the moon, the quicker he was to take something to heart and lash out. The wolf was relentlessly scratching beneath his skin, forcing his way out, layer for layer, and with it scraping away at his self-control.

James and his friends learned to live with it, to keep him calm during these times and not to take anything he said to heart. Back at school, Sirius had been the one who could anger him the fastest, but also the one who could calm him when no one else could. He loved him through each and every one of those moods in a way the others, no matter how hard they tried, never could. That love was too different. Only Sirius could give it.

In recent years, Remus had rediscovered the joy in life. Even with the constant changes within him, he had been in control and calm most of the time. He was himself, the version he would have been without the werewolf curse, and he stayed himself most of the time. Then the war began to chip away at his progress and with Sirius’s death it all came undone.

James’s mind flitted to Regulus, and he told himself it was the wrong brother and to get his shit together.

He returned his attention to Remus. He stood at the entrance to the cave. The woods around them were covered in a thin layer of snow. “So, you want to sleep in there? Wait, I think Pandora said something about a tent when she gave me this bag.”

He sat down the large duffle bag Pandora had handed him before they left and found it filled with food, potions, blankets and a small square of fabric, which James pulled out and, following a hunch, threw on the ground. It exploded into winding fabrics and ropes until a small tent was erected in front of him.

Remus laughed, a singular, unamused sound. “What? Got too squeamish to sleep on the ground? I thought your auror missions would have punched out that spoiled-rich-kid syndrome of yours.”

James rummaged in the bag, inspecting the other things Pandora had given them until he found a note.

Going on a three-day trip without losing a single thought on food or remedies is peak Gryffindor Stupidity. We’re very disappointed. Be safe. – Pandora and the boys who would rather die than sign their name lest you think they care <3

James smiled and tucked the note into his jacket. He would have remembered to take water and food with him before they left, of course. Pandora was just faster when she handed him the bag an hour before they were scheduled to leave.

James thought that ‘peak Gryffindor stupidity’ didn’t sound like Pandora at all, and Barty and Evan would be the last people to think about provisions before him, so he indulged the thought of Regulus dictating the note and making sure they had a tent and sandwiches for their trip.

“Sorry, was I mean again?” Remus asked. James looked up confused. “I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve got worse in the past couple of months. I’m pissed off at the smallest sound.”

“No, it’s fine. My head was just somewhere else. But look, we have a tent and blankets and food. We won’t freeze to death and if you want to vent, you can do that.”

He took the bag and entered the tent. Like most wizard’s tents it was bigger on the inside, with enough room for two beds and blankets and pillows on the floor. In the middle of the space stood a high, thin hourglass, filled with a blue fluid, which wandered from top to bottom almost like a lava lamp. James held out his hand and realised that the blue thing was a flame. A small fire spell, trapped in a glass to create a kind of space-heater.

James grinned. “This is kind of cool, right, Moony? Do you think Regulus and his friends ever slept in here during their missions?”

“They have a portable bunker,” Remus reminded him and pressed his hands to the glass to warm up.

“Maybe for times they couldn’t get back to it?”

James spread the contents of the bag across the floor, making neat little piles of blankets, food, and potions. He also found a few containers for the bats they intended to catch.

They ventured into the bat cave an hour later and made quick work of the animals. James was hesitant at first. The poor things sat in their home, sleeping and tending to their young and they came in with their magic to kill them. Remus, who only had Sirius in mind, singled out a group of them and with a few spells they lay dead on the ground. They only needed eleven for 21 bat wings, and James managed to stop Remus from going after the rest, too.

In the evening, they sat by the blue lava lamp. They had taken off the bat wings and James had buried the rest of the bodies beneath a tree outside. Remus had rolled his eyes and then apologised.

James ate his sandwich and wondered, whether Regulus had made it for him, or at least watched as Pandora prepared the food. He found a small box of his favourite sweets, and when he came to the conclusion that Pandora did not know his preferences, but Regulus did, he smiled.

“What got you smiling like that?” Remus asked from his bed. For his preferences, there was alcohol – a dark mixture labelled “For when he talks too much.”

“Nothing, just… nothing.”

Remus frowned at him. “You’ve been distracted all day. I think you’ve only heard about half of the things I’ve said to you since we came here.”

“That’s not true. I’m listening.”

Remus hummed, unconvinced. “So, what’s on your mind? Worried about the full moon? Homesick? The war? …Merlin’s bloody beard, there’s a lot of shit to be distracted by, huh?”

And the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about Regulus in all this mess, was simply ridiculous.

“I’ve been thinking about Sirius,” Remus said, sipping on the mixed drink. He grimaced, frowned at it, then took another sip. “About what will happen when he’s back. The plan is for Voldemort to be dead before, so will we just return to our life? The flat’s rented to someone else. The furniture is who knows where –”

“We put it into a storage unit when you left.”

“Oh… thanks. Still. Then there’s Regulus. Will he be a fixture in my life forever?”

“I think, if you stopped fighting each other, you’d be good friends. You have a lot of things in common.”

Remus scoffed. “Like what?”

“Love for books, silence, tea, history, and random niche knowledge that no one needs. You also can be nasty hotheads when you’re upset.”

Remus rolled his eyes at him.

“And the rest of him reminds me of Sirius. Sure, there are some insanities and habits that scream Slytherin and Black family madness, but if you let him, he can be a calmer, rational version of Sirius with a dagger.”

“Rational?”

“Well, methodical at the very least.”

Remus shook his head. “The bloke tried to kill you. He stabbed you right in front of me. We will never be friends, and I doubt Sirius will forgive him for it.”

“He’ll have to. And you will have to deal with it, too. Regulus and Sirius need each other. They’ve always needed each other, and they deserve to have each other.”

“You think Sirius will just look past him trying to kill you? Especially if he continues his attempts after you stopped working together? Or do you think Sirius will be able to stop him?”

“Maybe he won’t try to kill me anymore by the time we’re done.”

Remus scoffed again. James waited until he put the bottle to his mouth to drink.

“Regulus kissed me.”

Remus spat and coughed, almost choking on the liquor. James couldn’t help the grin on his face.

Remus wiped his mouth and put the bottle down. “Sorry, what?”

“He kissed me. When we were at Grimmauld Place. His mother attacked him and… said horrible things about him and Sirius and their childhood. So, I came in to help. I…” He bit his tongue. His hand closed around an invisible dagger, and he could feel the strain in his arm from repeatedly thrusting the blade into the woman’s body. His lungs were suddenly void of air and he had to concentrate on breathing before he could continue. “After she was gone, I tried to help Regulus, and he just… kissed me.”

Remus stared at him for a long moment.

“And now, he acts like it didn’t happen and it didn’t mean anything, but like, it must mean something, right? You don’t just kiss someone you allegedly hate because you hit your head. Right?”

Remus blinked at him.

“And now, he’s avoiding me. I just want to know what it means, you know? Why did he kiss me? Does he like me? Was it just because of what I did or how I looked? Does he have a crush? Or maybe it’s just a ploy to break my mind and inflict psychological torture. What do you think?”

“I think I need a drink.” He took up the bottle again and took a genuine swig of the stuff. For his sake, James hoped that it wasn’t mixed by Barty. He’d be dead by the time the thing was empty. “So, again: He kissed you. Lips to lips. On purpose. Are you sure it wasn’t you, who hit his head?”

“His hands were in my hair, Moony. Against my skin. His tongue was inside my mouth. And then, when he was passed out in the bunker, he whispered my name and moaned.”

Remus took another swig. “I almost don’t want to ask but did you like it?”

James sighed at the memory. Like seemed a weak word for such a life-altering sensation. “His skin is so soft… and warm. His hair is like silk and sometimes he smiles and it’s the most mind-blowing thing I’ve ever seen. I thought he was hurt, and I panicked. But kissing him… Merlin, I’ve never wanted to repeat something so badly. I’ve never been kissed like that.”

“You’re overexaggerating. Calm down.”

James shook his head and scooted closer to him, so he might see the sincerity in his face. “I’m not. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. I’ve had nice kisses before, amazing ones, passionate snogging. This one was none of that. It – it felt like years worth of stress and tension just fell away and there was only him. It wasn’t gentle or loving, it was something so… raw and gutting, and I didn’t know I wanted it until it was happening, and then I never wanted it to stop.”

Remus looked at him concerned. “We need to get you out of that bunker.”

“No. We need to make Regulus kiss me again.”

Remus closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Well, okay. Maybe, if you kiss again, you’ll see that what you’re describing was just the adrenaline. You were there to kill two people, that’s probably why you’re acting this way. Or you’ve gone insane. Or are you saying that you have a crush on Regulus Black? Who tried to murder you, and stabbed you and sliced you open multiple times, in case you forgot.”

James bit his lip. “Maybe I have a crush on Reg. ...Reg, who was there. Who is loyal and devoted to his brother and his friends. Who risks everything to take down Voldemort and resurrect his brother. Who – who gives up a portion of his magic and strength every second of every day, to preserve Sirius for the ritual. Who is strong, and smart, and teaches me to fight, and – and smiles like he is full of love no matter how much he tries not to be. What if I have a crush on him? Why would that be bad?”

“Because he’s the same bloke who tried to kill you.”

“And that bloke is fucking hot. Yeah, I said it. Sometimes, I left windows unbarred and made it easy for him to find me because I was lonely and knew he’d come, and when he sat on top of me with a knife to my throat, and we both knew he wouldn’t go through with it because then it’d be over, which neither of us could’ve handled, he was fucking hot.”

Remus looked like he wanted to strangle him. “You’re impossible! What is wrong with you? The guy hates you.”

“Does he? He never really tried to kill me. It was a game. If he had genuinely wanted me dead, I’d be long dead. He’s skilled enough to do it, but he didn’t. Instead, he kissed me.”

“It was probably a hate kiss.”

“Now, you’re the one who sounds insane, Moony. I really think he likes me, could even have a crush on me. Just think what this could mean for us! He wouldn’t try to kill or hurt me anymore, and we could all be friends when Sirius comes back.”

Remus frowned at him. “So, you want to be the boyfriend of the guy who hurt you, so he won’t kill you? Are you hearing yourself?”

James reached for the drink in Remus's hand. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know what’s going on with him or me or us. I just know that… I like him. I enjoyed our kiss. I want to kiss him again. I just wish he’d fucking talk to me about it… I want him to like me back.”

“What you want is to not live in danger for your life anymore and talk freely about your friendship with Sirius without getting stabbed. It’s not the same thing. Regulus kissed you, okay. Maybe he did it because he hit his head and was confused. Maybe he did it to confuse you. Maybe he did it because he’s a deranged little fuck who gets turned on by death. Either way, you did not have a crush on him before that kiss, and now you’re just caught up in fantasies about who he could be and how your life could be without him as a threat.”

James took a swig from the drink. Regulus mixed that one, he was certain. He had a thing for that one Italian lime liquor he put into everything.

Remus was wrong. He has liked Regulus for some time now. He saw the person he could have been, the person he had the potential to become when this war was over and Sirius was back. He liked that person. Also, Regulus was doubtlessly attractive. He was hot, no matter what he did, and when he was all dressed up, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

Their kiss meant something.

Fuck what Regulus was claiming and what Remus was theorizing. It was a real kiss. It happened out of desire, not anger, not hate, not adrenaline.

Remus wasn’t the right person to talk to about this. He didn’t understand. He also couldn’t talk to Barty and Evan about it, they didn’t like him very much and would only make fun of him, so that left Pandora. Maybe she could help him get some insight into Regulus’s feelings. He must have feelings for him. James knew he was lying when he said it just happened because of the head wound.

***

James was gone for two days now. The full moon had been out for a few hours, as it was winter, and night came quickly. The bunker wasn’t quiet without him, as Barty was chaotic enough to keep three bunkers on its toes, but it was different.

Every time a door opened, he expected James to enter to annoy him with some nonsense.

He sat in the TV room with Barty and Evan, playing a card game as they let the day come to an end.

“Sooo,” Barty drawled. “What d’ya think Potter is doing?”

“Getting chased around by a grown werewolf, I assume.”

“Well, let’s hope he returns unharmed,” Evan said. “Would be a shame if he lost his face. There’d be nothing left for you to snog.”

Regulus rolled his eyes at him. “Shut up, Evan.”

“What’s he like?” Barty asked. “I bet he tasted of bravery and righteousness.”

“Those aren’t flavours.”

“What’d he taste like then?”

Regulus looked up. Barty smirked at him. Rotten Bastard. The memory of the kiss tried to dig its way back into his consciousness after he had locked it away.

“Did you enjoy it?” Barty asked, still smirking. “Sure looked like you did.”

“Fuck off. You don’t know what you saw.”

“We saw you shoving your tongue down Potter’s throat,” Evan laughed. “And since then, you haven’t been able to look at the guy straight.”

Barty gasped and clutched his chest. “Reggie’s first proper crush! How cute!”

“Fuck off. I’m not cute and I don’t have a crush. I hate him.”

“Hm, sure, keep telling yourself that.”

“I tried to kill him, remember?”

The two shared a look and Regulus considered smashing their heads together until their diminished brain cells fused into one functioning brain.

“Come now, Reggie,” Evan said, hitting his arm lightly. He misjudged his strength and might as well have punched him. He’d get a bruise there. “We both know you love the chase too much to actually kill him. If you had wanted to, you could have killed him long ago.”

Barty nodded. “You enjoy that he puts up a fight. He’s just deranged enough to flirt with you while you try to kill him. He’s loyal, skilled, and he’s got that muscle and smirk thing going on that you dig. He is basically your dream man.”

“What would you know about my dream man?”

“We dated, remember?”

“And broke up, remember?”

“Yeah. He’s me if I hadn’t had a fucked up family and could be fucked to work out.”

Regulus grimaced. James wasn’t like Barty at all. Barty was deranged but funny. He would blow up Hogwarts out of boredom and science excited him. He was intelligent but seemed like an absolute idiot. He joined the Death Eaters and then left them. James was clearly miles away from any of these traits. He would never join the Death Eaters, for example. That was enough of an excuse not to think about the other differences.

“First of all, you’re wrong. Second, what the fuck are you even arguing for? Do you want me to be into him?”

“We don’t want shit. We’re just saying that you are,” Barty said.

“Which is hilarious,” Evan added.

“I mean, we do feel a little bit sorry for you. Potter’s really not the best choice. Like, he doesn’t look like he fucks, you know? He looks like he is always so respectful and gentle, he would be scandalised if you asked him to spank you a little.”

Evan nodded. “What was it like to kiss him? He was probably all sweet and sugary, putting cute little pre-school kisses on you, huh?”

Regulus kicked Barty under the table. It wouldn’t have much effect on Evan, so he just glared at him.

“Hey, don’t be mad at us because you fell in love with the fairy tale prince.”

Regulus grimaced. “I’m not in love with him. I don’t have a crush either. I hit my head, and it just happened. Now, shut up, both of you.”

The two shared another look, which clearly spelt how much they did not buy this story.

“At any rate, at least your corruption plans have worked, eh?” Barty winked at him. “Got him away from the Order all the way to his knees in front of you with his mouth wide open.”

Regulus’s body froze.

“Oh, was that why you kissed him?” Evan asked. “To further secure his loyalty to our side? Or so Wolf-boy wouldn’t make him leave? Kissing him is questionable, but as a tactic it’s brilliant. Bravo.”

His stomach turned at the suggestion.

No. No, that was not the reason. He was a manipulative, scheming bastard, and he was proud of that – but the thought of the kiss being a mere manipulation tactic made him angry.

He stayed calm, swallowed it down.

It was the most sane explanation. He opened his mouth to agree with them. He should laugh about James’s stupidity to fall for his vile little tricks. The words died in his throat. It wasn’t true and his body betrayed his effort to lie.

“Fuck you,” he muttered, stood up and threw down the playing cards. “I’ll go looking for Pandora. You suck at this game anyway.”

Barty protested but Regulus didn’t argue.

“She’s in the forge,” Evan called after him as he slammed the door.

Pandora was indeed in Evan’s forge, the oversized goggles on her face, cooling metals in potions.

“Your brother is the worst!” Regulus exclaimed when he stormed in. “And his boyfriend, too.”

Pandora didn’t look up from her worksheet, where she jotted down the results of her experiment. “I know. I blame myself. I stole all the brain cells in the womb. What have they done this time?”

“They think I have a crush on James.”

Pandora pulled down the goggles and frowned at him. “Well, you do.”

Regulus scoffed.   

“Oh, come on. You’ve been wanting that man inside you for ages.”

“That’s vile. I’d never.”

“Don’t take me for a fool. I’m a seer.”

“And what did you see? James and I having a little barn wedding and living the cottage lifestyle with four kids jumping around?”

“Don’t make me laugh. You’ll get married in a castle and you’ll live in the busiest, loudest city in the world just to feel alive – with or without James remains to be seen, but you still have a crush on him.”

“Maybe you forgot all the brain cells in the womb.”

Pandora just smiled at him and turned back to her work. “I’ve said it before: James is nice, attentive and capable. He is loyal to you and Sirius, supports you despite his moral objections and he impresses you all the time, which is not an easy feat. Also, he’s just mischievous and reckless enough to keep you on your toes. He’s basically your dream man.”

“Did someone put an amnesia spell on this bunker? I hate him. I tried to kill him.”

“You didn’t try very hard, otherwise he’d be dead.” She pulled the goggles down again and turned away from her project to give him her full attention. “Look, people change. Emotions change. And if a part of you genuinely likes him, that is a good thing, Reg. Revenge has been the only thing on your mind for years – not just since Sirius died but since he left home. Imagine how much happier you’d be if all that rage had to make room for something softer.”

Regulus bit his tongue, averting his face. His throat felt dry.

“Sirius is the only person who matters. Not James. Sirius is the only one I love. I don’t need romance or kisses if I can have him back. …I value our friendship, you, Barty and Evan, and I consider myself lucky to have you three – four, if Dorcas still counts – as my friends. I don’t need or want more.”

“I think you do. You definitely want more. Whether or not that is anything romantic is a different question, but it would be good for you to build something not rooted in anger, best of all with someone like James.”

“I hate James.”

“You –”

“No,” Regulus interrupted her. “I hate James Potter. I do. Even if he’s hot. Even if he protected me during fights and saved me from my mother. Even if he is calm and kind and caring and… loveable. I can’t help the burning anger this man inspires in me. He can make me laugh but then he mentions my brother and I –” He broke off, gritting his teeth. “What am I supposed to build on that?”

Pandora looked at him with a dash of pity. Regulus walked away from the desk until he stood before the cooling furnace.

“I’m not made for it.” His voice was flat, final.

“For what?”

 “Romance. I’m not built to be tender, to lie in bed all day, cuddling and running my hand through someone’s hair while whispering sweet nothings and sharing a thousand little inside jokes. I’m not the person who buys a bunch of flowers, and takes a man on normal, romantic dates. I’ve never been, and I never will be. I’m a good lay. I’m a good kisser. I can turn people on by being equal parts insane and hot while threatening someone with a knife. I’m not someone you build something with.”

There was a small pause between them.

Pandora stood up and, when she was beside him, put her head on his shoulder. “You could be.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t. I genuinely don’t think I’m capable of it, especially not with someone like him.”

“Like him? ‘Him’ who is kind, caring and lovable, or ‘him’ who angers you?”

Regulus hesitated for a moment. The answer was clear to him, but he found it hard to swallow and say the word: “Both. …Potter, who stole my brother and is responsible for his death and all the horrible things I can’t convince myself aren’t his fault. I could never like him. I would rather poison myself than kiss him. I could never be gentle with him. …And James, who is brave and attractive, cute even… That man, I don’t deserve.”

He pressed his lips together.

“If I ignore that he is also the man I hate, then he’s just…”

He found himself unable to find the word. There was no word in the English Language to describe him. The word had not been invented yet because until now, no one had experienced James and had to come up with a word for it all. So, he was just James.

Regulus did not deserve that James, did he? He tried to kill that James, scarred him many times – not just Potter. They were the same person.

Were they the same?

The man he hated.
The man he kissed.
The man he—

His stomach twisted violently.

It didn’t matter, because James had Potter’s memories and his scars. He wouldn’t want him. It wasn’t even a question of deserving. Why would James want him? Why would he want him to kiss him?

Well, if it were just about the kissing… If the distinction between James and Potter, and the emotions they evoked didn’t matter, if it was just about bedding Regulus, it would make sense. Maybe that was it. Maybe by insisting on a “conversation” James meant to take him from behind in the training room, pressed up against a mirror, with the threat of a dagger somewhere in the mix. No tenderness, no gentle caresses, hands in hair, cuddles in bed, dates, whispers and messed-up steel roses. James knew he wasn’t made for it.

Regulus shook his head to himself.

“Okay, be honest with me – and yourself. Why did you kiss James?”

He’s been asking himself the same question over and over again and the only answer he had was that he wanted to. The need to kiss him had overpowered him and had been stronger than all the anger and hate he harboured against Potter. But where that sudden desire had come from and for how long it existed, he didn’t know.

“I don’t know.”

“You do. It’s because you like him. You have feelings for him – romantic, tender feelings. You’re so worried when he’s injured, I can’t keep you out of my infirmary. You’re always around him, you let him be a steady part of your routine, you let him sit next to you without pushing him off, and you knew that he wouldn’t plan ahead for his trip and made him his favourite sandwich. Merlin’s sake, I’ve seen you laugh since he got here. You became so obsessed with blaming him for everything, you get irrationally angry at him, but that is something you can overcome if you truly like him.”

Regulus didn’t see how anything could change. He thought back to the crypt, where he woke up after James carried him to the divan. He demanded that Regulus let him talk about and grieve Sirius without punishing him for it.

“I don’t have romantic feelings for him. Being kind to him would come easier if I did, wouldn’t it?”

Pandora sighed deeply and pulled her head away from him. “Then what did you feel when you kissed him?”

Regulus lowered his eyes to the furnace, thinking back to the bedroom at Grimmauld Place, with his parents’ bodies at his feet.

“My mother’s blood on his lips.”

Chapter Text

After James and Lupin’s return, Regulus didn’t see much of them. Lupin stayed in his room, slowly recovering from his transformation, and James kept him company. They brought a collection of dead bats home and presented them like precious gifts for a king.

Christmas rolled around.

The air in the bunker became heavy.

Last Christmas, Regulus, Pandora, Evan and Barty had been at one of the large Black family manors for the Christmas celebrations. Evan and Pandora were distant cousins, and Barty, thrown out by his father, lived with the Rosiers. It was a bore, but the food was excellent. Later, they and their shared cousins, Bellatrix and Narcissa, sat in one of the drawing rooms, laughing and gossiping among themselves. Narcissa and Bella had soon been whisked away by their respective husbands, and Regulus, Pandora, Evan and Barty proceeded to whisper and gossip about them instead. They shared wine and played stupid drinking games from their Hogwarts years until it felt like sitting in the Slytherin common room once again. The marks on their arms had been heavy and the absence of Sirius and Dorcas had been palpable. They hadn’t been happy in the grand scheme of things, but for a few days of celebrations, dances and late-night games, their world had been a little less horrible.

Now, Pandora had decorated the TV room, conjured a Christmas tree and fed the boys hot cocoa. None of them liked their families, so it was irrational to miss them or those horrid Christmases they sought to escape in their youth. Yet, the aura of exile to this bunker had never been heavier.

Regulus despised his parents. Merlin, he murdered them – his father at least, then kissed the man who murdered his mother. He didn’t miss them or want to spend Christmas with them. Still, he found himself thinking about the celebrations at home over and over again. Sirius used to wake him up before dawn and make hot chocolate in the kitchen. Kreacher would light the drawing room fireplace, and they’d lay in front of the tree, counting their presents and trying to guess their contents. The pile was under a spell, so they could not touch anything, or the present would disappear.

There was no time for Christmas shopping here, so the tree looked quite sad with a few boxes of cookies and a singular steel rose with a bow beneath it. No one dared to say anything against it, as Pandora had at least made an effort, so in return, they decided not to bring down her mood.

Lupin wasn’t as considerate. He was scowling the entire time, and James excused it by saying, “Last Christmas, he wanted to be with Sirius but couldn’t because it was around the full and he was sent to his undercover mission. They promised to be together this year.” – Regulus would’ve preferred Sirius to be here, too, and he still wasn’t trying to ruin the day for Pandora.

Regulus remembered that it was also James’s first Christmas without his family, but he put on his typical grin and didn’t mention any of it.

Dorcas was supposed to join them for Christmas but ultimately decided against it, as she did not want to see James and Lupin, worried they might try to recruit her back into the war.

On Christmas morning, they had cookies and hot chocolate and opened their sparse presents. Then, Pandora made them sit through muggle Christmas movies, and Regulus joked that it was almost as horrible as Christmas with their families. His friends laughed; James didn’t.

They cooked dinner together. Lupin, Evan and Barty were sidelined to the dinner table, where Evan and Lupin tried not to get into the fight Barty was goading them into. James, Regulus and Pandora prepared the meal, and James kept standing in the way, so Regulus accidentally touched his hand or bumped into him several times. By the end of it, he wanted to poison the whole dinner just to be rid of the witnesses.

They agreed to have a drink to end the day in the TV room after Evan, Barty, and Lupin did the dishes. They used a spell, which Regulus thought was unfair.

He was the last one to return to the TV room. James was standing by the door, smiling at him. It had a touch of mischief to it, which had Regulus slow down. He grew up with Sirius; he knew that smile and what it meant.

“Well, come on. We’re waiting for you. Barty and Moony made drinks.”

As soon as Regulus was through the door, Pandora gasped and exclaimed, “Ha! Mistletoe!”

Regulus looked up to the piece of mistletoe above his head. It floated in the air and moved along as Regulus turned his head.

“So?” He asked.

“It’s a muggle tradition. When two people stand beneath the mistletoe, they have to kiss. Barty and Evan did it, too.”

Regulus glanced at James, who was standing beside him, batting his lashes and smiling widely. He hadn’t tried to talk about the kiss again, and that had given Regulus a false sense of security, as it seemed.

He turned to look back at James with a neutral expression while reaching for the wand in his pocket. The plant above them went up in flames and disappeared in a small puff of ash. “What mistletoe?”

He left him standing and took his place on one of the couches.

“Killjoy,” Pandora said and handed him a drink.

James stayed by the door for a moment, looking up at the charred remains of the plant with - disappointment? Regulus looked away.

Lupin let out a deep sigh. “This was, weirdly enough, not my worst Christmas.”

The others looked at him surprised.

“Oh, now I feel almost sorry for you,” Barty said.

“Last Christmas I spent undercover with a Death Eater adjacent werewolf pack.”

“How long were you under cover?” Pandora asked. She was sharing a blanket with Barty, who had himself draped across his boyfriend and placed one arm around the girl.

Lupin pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling. “Three or four years? I joined them for the first moon after my graduation.”

“So you really were recruited straight out of Hogwarts.”

He shook his head. Nah, we joined the Order while we were still in school, right, Prongs? Just ‘unofficially.’ I almost failed my exams because I was busy preparing for the mission.”

James joined them, sitting down on the same couch as Regulus with a good amount of space between them. “Well, our friends were already dying. Their families were killed regardless of whether we had already graduated, so why wouldn’t we join the resistance before graduation?”

“Because you were not even adults and it wasn’t your fight,” Regulus muttered.

“And how old were you when you took the mark?”

“Sixteen. Thank you for corroborating my point.”

James looked like he wanted to argue further but closed his mouth again and looked away.

“I don’t get it though,” Barty said. “Why you of all people? Didn’t they have an older werewolf to infiltrate the pack? I mean, they even had to wait until you graduated. Had they taken another one, they could have started that operation sooner. We were put to work before being allowed to take the mark.”

Werewolves were rare. Dumbledore was lucky to have found one among his students. Regulus frowned. Luck. What a dumb thing to rely on…

“Wait. Allowed?” Lupin repeated. “I thought your defence would be that you were forced or imperioed to take it.”

Barty shook his head. “My dad was an arse. I was angry. Their families,” he pointed from the Rosiers to Regulus, “Were already a part of it and wanted them to join. Voldemort promised safety, power, and, for lack of a better word, community.”

“None of Voldemort’s ideas were original,” Evan added. “It was what we usually had as dinner conversations but with action behind it. We grew up being told that mudbloods or muggleborns or however you want to call them shouldn’t be allowed at Hogwarts, are below us and in an ideal world wouldn’t even exist.”

“They taint the bloodlines, salt the earth and sour the crops,” Regulus said, rolling his eyes. “Show me a bad thing, I’ll show you a muggleborn to blame. However, the same applies to ‘halfbreeds’ and ‘monsters’ like werewolves or vampires. He only works with them now because people are afraid of them and he can easily manipulate them by promising more recognition in his new Wizard’s England.”

Lupin craned his neck to look at James with concern.

“But you don’t think like that anymore,” James said quickly. “Right?”

Regulus, Evan and Barty shrugged.

“Have I still not cured you of that fantasy of us being good people?” Regulus asked, and James ground his jaw.

“Of course, we don’t think like that anymore,” Pandora interjected. “They’re just playing around. They were smart enough to see through all those lies some time ago. They’re engaging with muggle media, even.”

Regulus shrugged again. “Well, I don’t think muggleborns necessarily deserve death upon birth anymore. That counts, right?”

“I don’t understand. If you’re agreeing with Voldemort’s views for the most part, why are you fighting against him?” Lupin asked.

“I don’t know you if you noticed, but people are dying, Lupin,” Barty said. “Not just on your side. We were supposed to kill people. And hey, we may not be good people in your book, but we didn’t want that. The war must end, Voldemort must die.”

“So, you still think I’m subhuman, you just don’t think I should be killed for it. How reassuring.”

Pandora shook her head. “They’re getting better. I also needed a few years to let go of that mindset and realise that our family was wrong, but I was young when I was exposed to other people as people. It is never to late to change and that is what they’re actively doing.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“It didn’t take Sirius very long,” Lupin said. Regulus bit his tongue.

“Probably took him longer than you think,” Pandora said, “or want to admit to yourself. In truth, he would not have let go of it or joined the Order, if he had been sorted into Slytherin. It’s as easy as that. He was forced to confront his education and prejudice at a young age. It was simpler for him because he was roomed with you and Pettigrew, and he already disliked his mother. Had he been locked in an echo-chamber, with the likes of Mulciber, Malfoy and Avery, he would have taken the mark and fought on the other side.”

“That’s a theory. Where’s your proof?”

She pointed at Regulus. “Right there. Same DNA, same upbringing, Merlin, even same sexuality, but different exposure. It’s nature vs nurture. Muggles wrote books about it. Or take me and Evan. We’re twins. I had a muggle-born dormmate and we became friends. My house supported intellectual curiosity and learning. In Slytherin you’re ostracised for questioning certain views. In Ravenclaw, questioning the world is the essence of being.”

Lupin shook his head. “I know Sirius. He never bought into his family’s ideology. That’s why he was sorted into Gryffindor and the rest of them was Slytherin.”

“Salazar, you’re even more naïve than James,” Regulus groaned. “I don’t want to get back into the debate of the fucking hat being rigged, but people from your house aren’t automatically good and morally superior because of a hat thinking an eleven-year-old is brave. You think Sirius never believed in the only truth he was told from his birth onwards because he was sorted into Gryffindor? Wasn’t Pettigrew sorted into that house, too?”

The mention of their friend made James return to the conversation. “Regulus, stop.”

 Regulus turned to him. “And what about Dumbledore? He was a Gryffindor. Never mind that old fart recruiting students into his Order and sending a barely-of-age bloke to spy on a whole werewolf camp, from what I’ve just heard, I want to bet that he’s the reason Lupin is a werewolf in the first place.”

“What?” James and Lupin asked at the same time.

“Do you think it was luck to have a werewolf student at his hands just when he needed him? When were you turned, Lupin?”

“When I was four. It had nothing to do with Dumbledore. My father had problems with Fenrir Greyback and he bit me to take revenge. It was a decade before anyone could know that Voldemort would use werewolves for his war.”

“He could have guessed it,” Regulus shrugged. “Werewolves have been demanding more rights and recognition. Voldemort promises them all they’ve ever wanted while using them as a scapegoat and for fear-mongering tactics. They may hear what Voldemort actually has to say about them, how he calls them half breeds, and uses the animosity towards them for his gain, but they buy into the promises of a better life, so they endure and support him. It was, at the very least, guessable. So, either, Dumbledore sicced that Werewolf on you, or by the time you were eleven, he knew this would happen and allowed you – as the only werewolf ever – to attend Hogwarts because it would make you indebted to him, so he could use you as a spy just a few years later.”

Lupin stared at him, speechlessly. Regulus looked right back at him, watching as something he thought to understand about the world collapsed. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as when he watched it happen to James, as Lupin didn’t hold the Order and Dumbledore in as high regard as he had.

“It’s not true,” James insisted. “You’re guessing, Regulus. Stop selling it as fact. Dumbledore gave Moony the opportunity to go to school and did everything to protect him there and make sure his secret was safe.”

“You forget that I worked with Voldemort. I was his student. It was part of my education to understand how to use the dissatisfaction of certain groups to my advantage. Have you forgotten everything you know about me or are you under the delusion I’ve changed?”

James held his stare as they were glaring back and forth. They’ve had ideological arguments like this before. Regulus found himself relieved to hear James was still a bit naïve, a bit blind about the whole thing. He still believed in the Order and goodness. It was ridiculous, but it was good that those convictions hadn’t changed despite what had happened at Grimmauld Place. Regulus didn’t ruin him too much.

“Okay,” Pandora said softly. “Calm down, all of you. It’s Christmas.”

“Another Christmas I’m spending brother-less, because your group of friends fell for Dumbledore’s promises like we fell for Voldemort’s.”

James shook his head. “I can’t have this argument with you again. Dumbledore and Voldemort, and the Order and the Death Eaters aren’t the same kind of evil. I know that you know that. Yes, both recruited Teenagers, but one calls for the extermination of people, and the other doesn’t. It’s not comparable. Sirius is dead because Voldemort killed him, not because he was fighting in the war Voldemort started.”

Regulus drank in every righteous, committed word. Stupid, naïve, optimistic James was still there underneath all the blood and dark magic. He let the words flood him, too enraptured by his resurface to fight him.

“Maybe Dumbledore recruiting us into the Order wasn’t his best action, but we went willingly! Sirius went willingly!”

“It wasn’t his fight.”

“It was. The man he loved was targeted. His friends were targeted. It was his fight, my fight. He did it because it was the right thing. He didn’t doubt for a second.”

James had gotten closer, leaning to him, pointing aggressively while his voice became gradually louder. His cheeks were flushed in agitation. Anger rose, as it always did when James spoke to him about Sirius as if he knew him so much better. Regulus’s fingers were trembling, but not because of anger. He could watch James go on and on about this for hours until he was sure he wasn’t bathed in blood and corruption anymore.

Pandora stood up. “I’m going to bed. You’re being too loud.”

James deflated at once. “I- Sorry, Pandora-“

She didn’t listen. She freed herself from the blanket and left. Evan and Barty followed suit. The door was thrown shut, and James, Lupin and Regulus sat in silence for a few minutes.

“He did doubt,” Lupin said finally, and the other two turned to him. “Sirius spoke about taking all of our friends and just… running. He joined the Order because we were young and he thought we could save the world within a year. He stayed in the Order because he wanted a future for us.”

“What?” James whispered. “What are you saying? He would have talked to me.”

Lupin shook his head apologetically. “You were so convinced of the Order and your role in the war, he didn’t want to disappoint you. We talked about leaving it all behind. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he even mentioned trying to get through to Regulus and make you come with us.”

Regulus averted his eyes. He remembered their last conversation. Sirius had been out of school already and sought him out in Hogsmeade on a weekend. He asked him to come with him, join him. Regulus thought he meant join the Order. Either way, he wouldn’t have done it. He had been too scared.

“Dumbledore promised him that if we fight, we’d win and survive. And then, because of my contribution, I could work at Hogwarts or work anywhere, live anywhere, and no would bother me about being a werewolf.” His voice was trembling. He slowly put his glass on the coffee table. “I should go to bed, too. Apologise to Pandora for me in the morning, please.”

James stood up as if he wanted to reach out and stop him, but Lupin shook his head at him and left quietly.

James collapsed back into his seat.

He slowly turned to Regulus. “Can you do me a favour? Don’t gloat.”

“I’m not gloating.”

James nodded slowly. He leaned back into the couch and closed his eyes.

Maybe Regulus should go, too. He had avoided being alone with James until now. It was late, they had had an argument, and he should just go.

He didn’t. He sat there, next to James, with too much space between them, and watched him breathe.

“Be honest with me,” James whispered. “Haven’t you change? Do you still believe in the things you were taught?”

Regulus hesitated. He pushed the question around in his head, looking for a satisfying answer. He could just say ‘yes’ and with it throw away the kiss and everything that had led up to it and could have followed. He could lie and promise he was the most muggle-loving man on earth, and maybe it would make James want him – something he wasn’t sure he wanted at all.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, because it was true, and James asked for truth. “I don’t know if I can change. I don’t have time to fight with myself about ideology. …I don’t think they deserve to be killed, muggle-borns, half-bloods. I don’t mind that they’re at Hogwarts. I might forever retain a feeling of superiority. I don’t think I can let go of that, it is too engrained in me. I once told you, you can’t expect me too change. I don’t have it in me to do it again.”

James sat with this for a moment.

Then he asked, “If you had the choice now, would you take the mark again?”

“I wouldn’t have taken the mark then, if I had thought I had a choice.”  

James let his head roll toward him, looking at him over the glasses, which had slid down his nose. “If I weren’t pureblooded, but muggle-born, would you like me more or less than you do now?”

Regulus tore himself away from his eyes and reached for his drink. “Why are we talking hypotheticals?”

“Indulge me,” he said softly.

Regulus sighed and closed his eyes. “If you were muggle-born, you’d have had less of a choice when it came to fighting the war, as you were its target. Your function within the Order wouldn’t have been the same. You wouldn’t be the symbol of kids standing up to protect their friends even if the war was less about them - you’re a blood traitor, of course, but that has never been a topic of public discussion, has it? You’d still have been Sirius’s friend, who he liked more than me and left me for. He would have still joined the war because of you. Your personality wouldn’t be different, so you’d still annoy me with your morals. …So, now, there wouldn’t be a difference in how much I dislike or like you.”

James hummed. “For the record: I think you have changed. Quite a lot.”

Regulus wanted to say, ‘you’re a moron.’ Instead, he whispered, “For the better?”

“Yeah.” James smiled at him.

There was a pause, and they were just looking at each other. Regulus felt James’s eyes wander over his face, flitting down to his lips ever so often.

“We should probably go to bed. It’s late,” Regulus said.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

They didn’t move.

“So, what did Dumbledore promise you?”

James looked back at his eyes.

“What did he promise you, so you’d join and stay in the Order?”

“I wasn’t promised anything. I wanted to fight to protect my friends.”

“Didn’t you have dreams for your future? A real job, a house, a wife… I remember you chasing that Evans girl for a couple of years. She was muggleborn, right?”

“Yes. We dated in our seventh year, broke up during the war. She has a girlfriend, though I don’t know whether they’re still together now… or alive. I would have joined the Order regardless. She wasn’t my only muggle-born friend. I guess if I ever had a dream it was to live life with my friends. I wanted it to be an adventure with them by my side. No plans, just… seeing where the wind would take us. I can’t say I like where it has taken me so far.”

Regulus let his eyes drift from James’s face to the purple wallpaper and paintings made by Pandora.

“What about you?” James asked, and Regulus didn’t know what he meant. “Did you ever have dreams about the future?”

He almost laughed because of what a ludicrous question that was. No one has ever asked him this.

“I do. I have unobtainable, completely absurd and crazy dreams for my future.”

James smiled, the small and genuine kind. He scooted closer as if they were two children whispering secrets to each other. “Tell me.”

And for a reason he did not quite understand, Regulus said, “I want two cats who sit with me on the couch in the evening, a husband who loves me even when I’m mean and crazy, and brunch with my friends and brother on Sundays. I want to live in either a small house or large flat in the city. I grew up in London but was never allowed to leave the house. I want to leave my house whenever I want and just be in the middle of somewhere.”

“Do you want kids, too?”

He shrugged lightly. “I never saw myself as someone who would be a good dad but in my absurd little fantasy my perfect husband would be the perfect dad, too. With such a man by my side I’d trust myself to be a decent one.”

James’s eyes were warm, and his smile was only for him. They might as well have been the only people in the world. “It’s a nice future.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“It’s not as impossible as you think.”

Regulus scoffed lightly, shaking his head. “James, I am literally a murderer.”

“Of Death Eaters and evil Vampire Lords. I believe that you, at heart, are a good person, who just needs to be given a chance to be good. And I believe that you can lead a very good, very soft and gentle life.”

Regulus looked at him for a moment. His eyes were genuine and filled with hope. He pulled his bottom lip in with his teeth and looked at Regulus’s lips as if he were fighting himself not to lean in and kiss him. Regulus couldn’t take it.

“I killed your friend.” He said it matter-of-factly.

James looked away.

“Pettigrew. I killed him.”

“Don’t.”

“No, listen. I stuck a knife into his gut and twisted until I had his confession. Then I pulled it out and let him bleed out in an alley like a pig while carving a word into his arm. I did that, James.” He felt his own voice giving out as if his body fought his effort to confess.

James said nothing for a long time. Regulus thought he might simply get up and leave. He didn’t do that either.

“I know.”

“You don’t think that’ll stand in the way of my little husband-fantasy?”

He watched James’s body as he breathed in and out, slowly, deliberately.

“Was it true?” He asked finally.

“Was what true?”

“Was he a traitor?” He swallowed and looked up at him again, the hopefulness had turned into desperation. “If you hurt him while he confessed, maybe it wasn’t true.”

He considered lying. Maybe he needed a lie. Maybe he needed the truth. “It was true. I didn’t need his confession. I already knew. I had first-hand accounts of what he did, and I saw him. I wanted him to confess it to himself.”

His body deflated; he closed his eyes and lowered his head like someone who received the news of a loved one’s death for the first time. “I don’t know what I’d prefer. You killing my innocent friend, or my friend being a traitor.”

Maybe Regulus should apologise. It wasn’t in his nature, and it wouldn’t be genuine, but it was what James deserved to hear, wasn’t it?

Before the word could leave his mouth, James asked, “Can you promise me something?”

“Yes.”

“One day, not now, but one day I will ask you what you knew and what he did , and you will be honest with me.”

“I promise.”

James nodded, then a curious smile came back to him. “The Peter I knew would have wanted good and gentle lives for all of us. When you kill Voldemort, they’ll have to be a bit more tolerant of your other killings, hm?”

Regulus didn’t smile back. “Not when I kill Dumbledore, too.”

“Maybe you don’t have to kill Dumbledore.”

“After everything I’ve heard today, Dumbledore just slotted upwards on my kill list.”

James frowned. “Why? It wasn’t anything you didn’t already know, was it? And the thing with Remus is just your theory.”

Regulus looked at him, took in his brown eyes, his wild hair, the soft lines of his face, down to his lips, wet from his drink.

“What Dumbledore said to Sirius, is what I’ve blamed you for.”

Regulus watched his reaction carefully.

There was a spark in his eyes, and his face slowly morphed from confused to determined. He moved closer, licking his lips. Regulus felt himself react to it, too. He leaned in, hesitantly. It wasn’t right. Not after a fight like earlier. Not after speaking about his dead friend. Not now. Not ever. Not him.

He pulled back and stood. “It is late. I should go to bed.” He grabbed his drink from the table and left the room.

***

New Years Eve

Pandora tried to make them celebrate New Year's Eve as well. They behaved better this time, as Lupin avoided the group in its entirety.

After midnight, Regulus finally saw himself released from his friend-duty and slipped out of the TV room. They had been drinking all night, playing stupid games and sharing nonsense memories while James and Lupin sat on the sideline, watching and reminiscing among themselves.

Regulus did not go to bed. He walked unsteadily past his room and into the crypt. There, he sat on the divan with his drink and stared at Sirius’s coffin. By this time, he had forgotten why he had come here in the first place.

He should be spending New Year’s Eve with his brother. That had been his last thought as he left the party. James had been watching him and asked, “Where are you going?” And Regulus had been too drunk to concentrate on the words while looking at the man.

 He leaned his head back until he could glimpse the portrait above him.

How dared he?

How dared he fill his head with James when his brother still lay dead before him?

He ended up sitting next to the coffin, the warm, fuzzy feeling of intoxication still spread through his body. Sirius lay still and perfect before him. He truly was the brightest star in the sky.

“Hi, Sirius. I know it’s been a while since I talked to you. I’m sorry. I had a lot going on.”

Sirius didn’t hold it against him.

“Happy New Year. It’s been shit, won’t miss it. I don’t have high hopes for this one.”

“Yes, Lupin’s fine. The moon was rough, but he recovered. James is… fine.”

He hesitated. They both had the typical Black genes: fair skin, black hair, high cheekbones. Their parents had the same – both of them as they were cousins twice removed. Yes, they looked very much like their parents, their mother especially. Maybe there would have been more visible similarities to their father if Orion hadn’t had his beard.

“Mother and father are dead.”

He could almost hear Sirius rejoicing.

“I’m pleased to tell you that it was quite bloody. We got the limbs we need for the ritual. …That’s not what I meant to talk about.”

“It’s complicated… you won’t understand. I don’t understand myself.”

“I… kissed James. On the lips. He killed mother. Yes, he killed her. She caught me off guard. It was a stupid mistake on my part, I should have checked whether she was in bed. I made a mistake, she…” He bit his tongue. “Then James was there and he knocked her down and stabbed her. And stabbed her. And stabbed her. I barely recognised her afterwards. …Then I kissed him.”

His brain was pleasantly hazy. He let go of the tension that kept him sharp and alert with others. He didn’t need to hide his words or feelings from his brother. It didn’t matter if he sounded insane.

“I don’t know why. I really don’t. I’ve been asking myself why for days now. …A crush? Everybody says so… I tell them no, but… I can’t deny he intrigues me. My head is full of him. I’m always aware of him as soon as he’s in the room. He’s with me and the rest of the population ceases to exist. Is that a crush? Is it being in love? …It’s similar to hating him.”

“I know that it makes no sense. I can’t explain it. He’s just…” He leaned his head against the cool glass of the coffin. “He is light. He was your light, and you were mine. You were my light. And when you left, my life was plunged in darkness, but yours was still bright because you had him. And he wasn’t just a candle in the dark, he was the sun. He was warm and… bright. Bright enough to chase away the darkness, bright enough to blind you and forget about me. And I hated him for it – I still do, I can’t help it. I can’t help it, Sirius! I know, rationally, that he didn’t steal you, but I can’t help it. I look at him and think of you, and it makes me angry. Logic doesn’t hold up against that anger.”

“But slowly, now that he’s here and we’re working together and he talks about protecting me, while helping me with the ritual… I’ve seen it: The light. His light.”

“He’s not like you, but he is light in my darkness. He’s warm. He’s safe. He has all those morals and conviction – they’re very annoying – and that self-righteous streak I despise, except when those things are helpful. And because he’s kind and charismatic, he gets things done differently than I – can do things differently than I can, and that is good.”

“He is… good.” He whispered.

He swallowed heavily, looking at Sirius through the glass.

“I want him to be that sun, that light. He does it so well… but I fear that my darkness is too much for him. You should have seen him at Grimmauld Place. He wasn’t himself. He was something else. …And I liked that, somehow. I liked that good righteous Potter, who took everything from me, would fall into the darkness and join me here, lose himself to madness like I did.”

“But at the same time it was the most horrible thing I’ve ever seen. He should not be like that. He should not be darkness. He can’t be swallowed up by it. He’s supposed to chase it away. He’s supposed to keep it at bay for you… and for me? Instead… it turned him, drenched him in blood.”

“I wanted to clean it up. I wanted to fix it. I can’t fix it. I can never fix it, no matter what I do. I happened and it stained him. It is my fault. …Kissing him did not cleanse him. I think it made it worse.”

“Why did I kiss him? Because I had to. Because he was… everything in that moment. He killed her for us. Not to bring you back, but for revenge, for what she did to us, for what she did to me in that moment. And… I- I can take care of myself. I can protect myself, but when he does it, it’s different and it hits something in me. Somehow it all, all of this, the light, the darkness, the protection, the desire, and everything it- it just clashed!”

“It clashed and my brain gave out. It was too much. It was everything all at once and I felt like I was dying. I had to kiss him.”

He felt himself smiling.                                                                       

“And Merlin, what a kiss that was. I can’t stop thinking about it. Have you ever felt like this with Lupin? You couldn’t have. It’s not the same. You did not corrupt him. You did not ruin him. He’s not like James, to begin with.”

The smile died again. He shook his head.

“I’m truly evil for doing this to him, aren’t I? I should stay away - but I want to be with him. I want to be close to him all the time. I want to kiss him, and spend every second just touching him.”

“But I don’t want him to be as dark as the rest of us. He has to remain… shiny.”

He blinked and groaned. He leaned back against the coffin. “I’m speaking nonsense. Listen to me: I’ve gone mad. Madder than before. There are so many more important things to do. I need to kill Voldemort. I need to find a way to get to Dumbledore. I need to bring you back. Instead I’m lamenting about kissing a… guy.”

He began to pick at his sleeve. “You’ll hate me for this, won’t you? You’ll hate me when you come back and see what I’ve done to him. …And then I’ll kill him and you’ll really hate me.”

“No, I might still kill him.”

“I know it makes no sense, but Potter – Potter needs to die for stealing you from me. Potter needs to die for everything he’s done to me.”

“But James… the light. I can’t kill it, can I?”

“When I have you back, we can be each others lights again. I’m no sun. I’m only a candle, but I can still be a light. I promise. I’ll be a good one, this time. …And you won’t miss James that much, and I’ll stop thinking about him eventually, I think.”

“I won’t. You’re right. I can’t stop thinking about him now, and there are so many things to do. I’ll concentrate on them again, I promise. But until we have a way to kill Voldemort, I can’t attempt your ritual. I’ll try to kill Dumbledore in the meantime. He has promised you things he could have never fulfilled, just to keep you in the Order and stop you from walking away with your friends. If you had walked away, the situation with Voldemort would not be different, but you’d still be alive. You were right. It wasn’t James’s fault. Not just his. He had his part to play. Rationally, I always knew that it wasn’t just him, of course. But he was easy to blame. I needed someone to blame. Now… now I don’t think that I want to blame him anymore. Or kill him. …But Dumbledore, he has to die.”

And Sirius agreed.

Chapter Text

“Nothing mattered but a promise. ‘I’m going to kill you. The moment you laid your hands on him, you were dead. I will be the last thing that you see. You will go to the ground with my blade in your flesh.’ “ – Kings Rising, 288

Barty sat at the desk across from Regulus’s, turning a Horcrux between his fingers while taking notes with a quill. His hand was unsteady, and ink blots began to obscure the written text.

Regulus watched him. They were at a sort of impasse, as the ritual couldn’t continue without Voldemort’s death, and Voldemort couldn’t die until Barty made progress. Regulus had offered to help, but Barty hissed at him to stay away.

The door to the lab opened, and James waltzed in with an effortless smile and two cups of tea. He placed one in front of Lupin, who had forced all his long limbs on one chair and read while holding his head and book at weird angles. The other cup was for Regulus.

James sat down across from him at his desk, blocking his view of Barty. His hair was still damp from his post-workout shower, and his deep brown eyes were resting on Regulus’s hands around the tea.

The attraction hasn’t passed yet. He had accepted it for what it was and stopped panicking. Of course, he was attracted to James. He was an objectively handsome man. Anyone would be attracted to him, which is why he was so popular back at school. Additionally, Regulus has been cut off from society for a year. It was natural, nay, inevitable, that Regulus was attracted to the only eligible man around.

It was thus a passing thing.

Nothing to worry about.

In conclusion, it was easy to push aside, ignore and concentrate on Sirius’s resurrection instead. As soon as this was accomplished and he’d leave the bunker to be among other, more attractive, less annoying men, this „crush“ situation would pass, and he’d laugh about his panicked midnight confessions to his brother.

What may have been deemed ‘romantic feelings’ by the uninformed romantics was also simply natural, physical attraction blown out of proportion by a kind of loneliness, misplaced solidarity and artificial intimacy brought on by forced proximity and isolation.

And since it was a temporary lapse in judgment with no long-term consequences for his future, it would not ruin James either. Whatever shadow Regulus may cast over this man’s morals would fade, and he’d remain shiny and light.

They’d part ways at the end of all this, whether dead or alive remained to be seen, and soon the kiss and all the complicated feelings that came with it would be a former trick of the brain he and his friends would laugh about, but no further thought would be wasted on James.

James and his warm eyes. James and his untidy hair and infectious smile....

Regulus looked away. He sipped the tea. It was perfect, prepared with great care for Regulus’s whims and preferences.

He was anxious for that „it has passed“ moment to set in.

“So, what are we doing today?” James asked. “Haven’t broken the law in a while. I’m experiencing withdrawal.”

“You’re conversing with official Death Eaters and supporting them in their evil murder and necromancy plots,” Regulus said nonchalantly. “That should keep you satisfied for a while.”

Engaging in any conversation with the man was a mistake. Regulus was quickly reminded of this when James smirked and leaned over the table to say without lowering his voice, “I’m sure this Death Eater in particular has some other tricks up his sleeve to keep me satisfied.”

Regulus met his eyes. “No tricks. Just knives.”

“I love it when you say dirty things.”

Regulus took one of the books from his desk and hit him without averting his eyes. He put no force behind it, just a tap to keep him in place. James only grinned wider.

“You’re disgusting, keep that shit to yourself,” Barty hissed, hypocritically, from the other side of the room.

“You’re one to talk,” Regulus said, looking past James at his friend. “If I tried to avoid all the spots in this place you and Evan fucked on, I’d have to constantly hover.”

“You’re reeking of jealousy, Black, so keep your mouth shut.”

“Jealous? Of which of you, because been there, done that, no thank you.”

James frowned in mild disgust.

“Are you sure? Sorry, it wasn’t exactly memorable, so forgive me if I can’t quite remember. Salazar, can someone please take one for the team and finally put a dick up your arse? It might just loosen the stick you’ve got shoved up there.”

Regulus was about to taunt him with his boyfriend being too scared to touch him when the door creaked open again, and Pandora entered.

“The dark Lord couldn’t reach me, so he surrounded me with men,” she rolled her eyes. “Are you two done? Shall I get the ruler, so you can settle this debate? Don’t worry, I have an extra small one.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but shut up. Barty scoffed and turned back to his notes.

Pandora knew that this snappy tone from her was the only thing that could keep them in check. Now, she put on her usual smile and handed a letter to Regulus before sitting down at her desk.

The letter was from Dorcas. It was more of a note, attached to a sketch outlining the ground floor of a building.

“Lily & Mary let it slip that there will be a secret gathering – Ministry officials, important members of the international wizarding society, etc., and Dumbledore. I researched as much as I could without drawing suspicion. See the attached sketch for the address and backrooms. Drop my name and you’re dead – D”

Regulus stopped breathing for a moment.

Dumbledore.

Outside.

In Public.

Security? Probably tight and prepared for a Death Eater attack. Yet…

And yet, it could be done.

He has accomplished considerably harder things than breaking and entering and infiltrating a secret gathering. He cast the note aside and studied the floor plan – where might he encounter Dumbledore alone? Windows, doors, other points of entry. Cat. Invisibility potion. Dagger.

His brain was in overdrive as a million plans formed and were discarded within seconds.

In the meantime, James got hold of the note.

“Dumbledore?” He asked. Regulus snapped out of a ridiculous plan involving several of Barty’s bombs. “You’re not going to try to go after him there, are you?”

“What do you think?” Regulus snatched the note back. “I will go and I will kill him.”

Barty scoffed from the other side of the room, a sharp, mocking sound that might have been an attempt at a condescending laugh.

“Got a problem, Crouch?”

“Nah. Of course, you’re going after him. And of course you’re going to casually kill one of England’s most powerful wizards on a random Tuesday Afternoon between tea and supper.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “I’m kind of tired of the whole ‘most powerful wizard’ bit. How did that rumour get started? He’s a headmaster – and not a very good one.”

James frowned. “Don’t underestimate him. It’d be foolish. You’re not foolish.”

“Oh, please, he’s foolishness personified.”

James turned to Barty. “What the fuck is your problem, mate?”

“Oh, hm, I don’t know, maybe it’s that while I’m trying to destroy these stupid ass horcruxes to kill that cunt of a Dark Lord, you’re busy with some petty revenge fantasy and making out.”

“We only ki-“

“I offered to help with the horcruxes,” Regulus interrupted, before James could pull focus to the kiss.

“You’re so fucking obsessed with your own shit, you couldn’t be bothered to work on this for more than two seconds.”

“Sorry, have we fallen into an alternate dimension? Wasn’t it I who found out about the Horcruxes and almost fucking died getting the first one?”

“You what?” James piped up. Regulus and Barty ignored him.

“And if we didn’t bust our asses, you’d have made no progress with them! You only care about yourself. ‘Oh, I’m Regulus, I have complicated feelings about my brother, let me start a thousand revenge quests and never accomplish anything!’”

“Yes, you’re right. I only care about me and Sirius. Nothing matters more than revenge and bringing him back. Of course your arse can’t understand this. You’ve got no personal stakes here. You joined the fucking Death Eaters because you were mad at your daddy and you’re working against them because you noticed too late that this shit isn’t play-pretend!”

Barty jumped from his chair, wand aimed at Regulus.

Regulus scoffed. “Go on then. You don’t have the guts to do anything real anyway – you never had.”

Barty’s face was twisted in anger. He opened his mouth to scream a curse, when Pandora appeared next to him and pushed down his arm.

“Stop!” She demanded. “Stop it. Both of you.”

Barty pushed her back. “Fuck off.”

James jumped to her defence. “Leave her alone.”

No one acknowledged him.

Pandora reached for Barty’s other hand and snatched the Horcrux from him. He had been rubbing the thing the entire time.

“Give that back!”

“No. You’ve been exposed to it for too long. Look at yourself. What are you going to do? Curse all of us? Crucio us? You’re done for today.” She dropped the ring into its box, closed it and returned it to their Horcrux cabinet. “Go to bed, sleep it off.”

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my bloody mum.”

“And I thank Merlin every day. Go. I’ll send Evan your way.”

Barty glared at her, then at Regulus and James.

“Fuck it,” he muttered. “Fuck all of you.”

He stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Pandora sighed. Then, she turned to Regulus. “And you. Don’t provoke him. You’re both doing important work. …James, word of advice, I know it’s not your strong suit, but be more like Lupin and stay out of these things.

Lupin had been watching the fight in silence, and now, when he noticed people looking at him, turned back to his book and sipped his tea.

Regulus picked up the letter and plans from his desk and left the lab. He didn’t kill his mother for Pandora to take on her role. Fuck that.

He was already halfway down the corridor to his library when he heard James running after him.

“Regulus, wait!”

 “Shut it. I don’t want to hear it. I’m going to take this chance and kill Dumbledore. You cannot stop me.”

“Trust me, I’m quite aware of that. I think I should come with you.”

Regulus stopped and turned to him, which caused James to almost run him over.

He looked at him for a long moment. Was this another attempt to talk about the kiss? No, they buried that topic, right? He couldn’t have this kind of distraction around when killing someone.

He missed the days when James inspired nothing but the desire to kill in him. It was so much easier to deal with.

“I don’t need you. I’m capable of doing this on my own. Just because you took that one kill from me-“

“I know you could do it on your own,” James interrupted him. “Just like I know that I cannot change your mind. The only thing I can do is come with you and make sure you’re safe.”

Fuck Barty and his stupid idea to declare James his ‘bodyguard.’

“Listen, Potter, I don’t need your protection, either. I’ve done quite well without it for the past year.”

James crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I know you think I’m stupid, but I distinctly remember Barty saying that you almost died when you were looking for a Horcrux, and I’ve seen you get injured a lot since I joined you. I’m coming with you, end of discussion.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow at him. “’ End of discussion?” He repeated. “What’s this? Assertive and dominant Potter?”

“Yes. Now, stop playing and tell me about your plan.”

And so Regulus, albeit begrudgingly, led him to his library and ran his plans by him. The most important thing wasn’t James’s cloak he offered to take with them, but a dagger.

“Yet another dagger?” James asked. “You’ve got a hoarding problem, Love.”

“It is no ordinary dagger,” Regulus said. He went to the ever-burning fireplace in the centre of the library. He reached into the fire pit, ignoring James’s onset protest, and slid his fingers along the inner stone wall until something gave and shifted. On the side of the fireplace, one of the stones clicked and slowly rolled aside, revealing a little compartment.

A similar thing could have been accomplished with a simple illusion spell, but Regulus has always had a flair for the dramatic (it was hereditary).

After a beat of silence, James said: “Damn, you always find new ways to seduce me, don’t you? Do you have more secret mechanisms in this place? Wait, don’t tell me, I will find them on my own.”

Regulus wasn’t going to tell him anyway. “Don’t touch anything.”

He reached into the compartment and pulled out a slender box of dark mahogany and placed it on his desk.

“In a stroke of genius and fury, Evan made what he called the Dagger of the Mage Slayer,” Regulus explained and opened the box. In it, cushioned in green velvet, lay one of the most intricate daggers he had ever seen. The blade was of a transparent, bluish stone, cut and ground to a sharp edge, and shaped like a flame. It was unsuitable for normal stabbing and slashing, but those weren’t its purposes. The hilt was of a dark grey metal, lacking any embellishment or detail, which was unusual for Evan’s work. Instead, dark runes were etched into it, a jagged script of forbidden and otherwise forgotten knowledge, forced into the hot material in a grief-fogged moment of rage.

“These runes suppress all forms of magic,” Regulus said. His voice was low, as if he shared a secret. “And anyone whose skin touches the blade is unable to use theirs.”

James reached out a tentative hand. When Regulus didn’t stop him, he placed his fingers on the blue stone. His head snapped up to look at Regulus, and all colour drained from his face. Regulus watched him with unabashed intrigue.

He didn’t need to ask for James to describe it with a  single, plain word, “Empty.”

 Regulus nodded and leaned toward him. He closed his hand around James’s wrist and removed it from the blade. He didn’t let go of him as he watched James sigh a breath of relief, and his cheeks filled with colour once more.

“As powerful as Dumbledore may be, without his magic, he is just a twig to be snapped in half by us.”

***

The gathering was to take place in a highly secured mansion.

It stood veiled in a shroud of enchantments, nestled in a grove where the trees curved inward like sentries, and the paths changed beneath unwelcome feet. James and Regulus stood at the forest’s edge. They weren’t able to apparate any closer.

“I still say we should have used Polyjuice,” James muttered, tugging the Invisibility Cloak tighter around his shoulders. “Or just myself. I’m still James Potter, member of the Order and auror.”

Regulus, crouched beside him in feline form, flicked his tail in disapproval. One idea was more stupid than the next. Everyone in there knew that he was, at least partially, even if under duress, working with Regulus – and by extension, the Death Eaters. As for Polyjuice, Regulus wasn’t altogether confident that his Animagus form would hold up against the anti-enchantment and security charms, but he knew that the effects of the Polyjuice would simply be washed away.

James sighed. “Yes, yes, I remember what you said. No Polyjuice. But for the record, if we get vaporised, it’s your fault.”

The cat gave a disdainful blink and slinked forward, disappearing into the woods with the kind of silence only something born to shadows could manage. James followed under the cloak, each step slow, calculated, knowing that any crack of a twig could alarm someone.

They skirted the boundary wards first. Magic crackled in the air. James knew the spells and wards his people used; they didn’t need Barty, Regulus’s favourite lock pick, for this. He crouched on the floor and drew a couple of symbols into the earth. James frowned in concentration as he continued his precise work. Regulus wouldn’t believe him capable of it if he didn’t sit beside him, watching with big, grey cat eyes.

 The ward pulsed, flickered and opened like a curtain, just far enough to let them pass, before slamming shut behind them.

A back path twisted around the east wing of the mansion, lined with statues that were probably more than ornamental. One of them—a robed woman with a cracked face—turned her head an inch as the cat passed.

No one said a word until they reached the kitchen entrance. Old houses like this always had a servants' entry, and modern wizards thought that after securing the perimeter and blocking the way to the house, they didn’t have to use extra safeguards for the backdoor.

James, despite his seemingly uncaring nature and commentary, did pay attention when Regulus reminded him of the importance of non-magical lock-picking skills when they first started working together. With a few, skilled twists of his hands and tools, the door opened. Regulus pushed it just far enough for the cat to slink inside.

He took a good, slow look around. The kitchen was almost deserted, safe for a lonely house-elf, dressed in an old potato sack, and busy making little sandwiches and other foods for the guests upstairs. What should have been a war conference looked more like a fancy party from here.

The elf looked toward the door and blinked at the cat.

Regulus gave the most pitiful “meow” he could muster and went up to the kitchen counters, begging for a slice of meat.

The elf visibly relaxed, smiled and fed him a piece of ham from his fingers.

“Where did you come from, little kitty?” the elf asked. “The door?”

He frowned at the door. Went to it and opened it wide enough for a James-sized man to slip through. He looked outside, and when he decided that he was safe and no one was lurking in the shadows, he closed the door and locked it.

Regulus used the elf’s distraction to slip out of the kitchen.

In the shadows of a deserted staircase, Regulus shifted back into his human self. He felt James’s warmth close to him and smiled.

He pulled Dorcas’s sketch out of his pocket and, after a few seconds of rotating it, found where they were and where they had to go.

“What now?” James asked. “Do you want to come under the cloak with me?”

Regulus rolled his eyes at him. This wasn’t the time for his games.

“That’s how we always got away with pranks at Hogwarts. In first year, all four of us fit underneath this thing. There’s still plenty of room for the two of us.”

“Hard to believe considering your impractical size.”

James smirked. “You’re such a flirt. If you want to abandon your foolish plan and discuss size with me, we can do that.”

Regulus jammed his elbow in his direction, which earned him a satisfying grunt of pain.

“Be glad I don’t want your stupid blood to leave a trace, or I’d stab you again.”

“Promises, promises,” James sighed.

Regulus should have pulled the cloak down and slapped him for it – but then realised maybe that was the plan. Was James trying to divert his attention from Dumbledore and his plans? What a bastard. The worst part was James genuinely thinking his mere presence would be enough to distract him from his goal.

He crossed his arms in defiance. “Well? Let me under the cloak then.”

James lifted it and shifted awkwardly, shuffling closer, until they were both covered by the cloth.

Regulus’s back was pressed against his front – probably more than strictly necessary. James placed his hands around Regulus’s waist. He tensed. The hands found his shoulders instead, then went back to his waist. His fingers moved gently upwards, beneath Regulus’s jacket.

“Do you think that’s a smart choice, James?” Regulus whispered.

“No.” James’s breath grazed his neck. His hairs stood up and he tensed his body, trying to suppress the shudder that wanted to go all the way down his spine. “But it’s the one I decided to stick by, Love.”

Regulus glared at nothing in front of him and kicked against James’s shin.

“Of course, if it’s uncomfortable, we could always turn around and go back.”

Regulus turned around, spinning in James’s arm and coming to a halt nose to nose with him. In the dim light of the corridor, James’s eyes were black and his face almost unreadable.

“If you want to go back, go back,” Regulus hissed. “I did not ask you to come. I will do what I came here to do – what I must do. You said you knew that you can’t stop me and wouldn’t try. You claim to understand me, help me, and then you try to stop me. You got it into your head that I need you – worse, that I want you – and that whatever you’re doing right now is going to change my mind and fix me. Let me be clear about this, Potter: You’re wrong.”

James let go of his waist. His skin there felt instantly cold, despite the layers of clothing.

Good.

Maybe he should not wait to let these feelings pass. Maybe he should clean them up so they wouldn’t distract him any further.

“Go home, James. Or go up there. Join your people. Return to being good and righteous.”

‘See where it leads you and how they repay your loyalty,’ he didn’t say.

James swallowed heavily. He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t.

“I will do it on my own. You aren’t meant for this.”

Without giving him any further room to argue, Regulus shifted back into his cat form. He emerged from under the cloak and left James behind to follow the path he had memorised, leading to offices and private rooms for people to withdraw.

He stayed in the shadows, sneaking past the main hall where dozens of robed figures chattered nonsensically, champagne flutes in hand, smiling while talking about strategies and allyship. There would be speeches, discussions, and probably a dinner. The guests consisted of important people: aurors, ministry officials, diplomats and the foreign equivalents of the Minister of Magic. They all mixed and warped into one giant mess of noise and colour. They weren’t important. They could talk about war all they wanted, but they wouldn’t end it. They couldn’t end it.

And yes, killing Dumbledore was even less useful regarding that goal. Killing Dumbledore was simply about revenge. It had nothing to do with the war. This was about Sirius.

And of course, a more rational person might say that Dumbledore wasn’t the one who killed Sirius – but a teacher who recruited his students into a war was, at the end of all things, responsible. Just like Voldemort was responsible for all the wizards and witches killed within his ranks.

Regulus’s eyes caught red curls and a young, freckled face. Lily Evans.

The witch emerged from the faceless mass and hurried down a corridor. Regulus followed her. She didn’t go far, just around a corner and down a wide hallway, until she stopped at a door, knocked, and said, “Professor Dumbledore, Sir, it is time for your speech. They are waiting for you.”

The door swung open, and Dumbledore stepped out. His long, white beard was tied together with a string of pearls at the end, and he wore a pointy blue hat and a matching set of robes. He adjusted his glasses and left the room to follow Lily back to the main hall. He pulled the door shut behind him but did not lock it. He felt safe here.

Regulus did not follow him back. He pressed his little feline form into a dark corner behind a vase and waited for them to pass.

When he was confident that the hallway and the room Dumbledore had come out of were deserted, he slinked forward and, in front of the door, shifted back into his human form.

He almost opened the door, but then pulled out his wand and let it hover over the handle, checking for alarms and other charms. He found nothing, so he opened it and slipped inside.

The room seemed to be an out-of-use office. The desk was clean, but a few notes lay scattered on a round table in the middle of the room. A set of used tea cups and cold tea still stood in front of a crooked chair.

Sooner or later, Dumbledore would return to this room. Regulus would be waiting.

He reached into his jacket to reassure himself of the dagger’s presence.

He felt the satin inlay of his jacket on the left. The dagger was wrapped in cloth, so it wouldn’t touch him and steal his magic by accident. His fingers did not catch on the handle.

He opened the right side of his jacket, feeling around for the familiar weight of a blade.

Nothing.

It was gone.

He pulled the jacket from his body and checked it. No holes or other flaws. His poisons and potions were still held in place, but the dagger was gone.

It wasn’t in his boot. He didn’t even bring his thigh holster.

He felt panic flooding his brain when a memory rushed over him like a tidal wave.

James had placed his hands on his waist and travelled upwards under his jacket. It had been terribly distracting, and Regulus had to focus not to react.

James hadn’t acted out of affection or desire – he stole the dagger he needed to kill Dumbledore. He used Regulus reaction to touch – to him – to his advantage.

Bile rose in his throat, and his chest violently pulled itself together.

How could he do this to him?

No. No, he had to concentrate on the real issue. Not how James could betray him and take advantage of him, but how could he let himself be so distracted that he didn’t notice James removing the dagger from his body?

That’s what he got for trusting him, Regulus supposed. Trusting James Potter – why would he ever do such a thing? How did a mediocre man like that take such hold of him that he forgot all the reasons to hate him, and let him in on his secrets and plans?

For all he knew now, James might have joined the gathering in the main hall, presented the dagger to Dumbledore and told him of his plans.

It couldn’t be helped now.

Regulus was here for a reason, and he wouldn’t leave until he at least attempted to get rid of Dumbledore. Would he die trying? Maybe. But what did it matter? James would then bring all of his Order friends to the bunker – because, of course, by now, they didn’t hide its location from him anymore – take charge of the ritual and killing Voldemort, and would come out of it as the hero. Barty, Evan, Pandora and Regulus? They’d die as Death Eaters, and no one would question it. No one would mourn them.

Regulus thought back to the crypt, leaning against Sirius’s coffin and telling him all about his stupid crush on James and how he might not kill him after all.

Should he ever lay eyes on him again, he would kill him. That much was certain.

Regulus took a steadying breath.

Then another, and another.

He opened his eyes again and took inventory of the room and the vials in his jacket.

A tea set and poison. Not as dramatic as a magic-stealing dagger, but instead elegant. Simple.

He dumped one of the poison vials into the cold tea and sat down in the chair across from the door. Then he waited.

He wanted to look him in the eye when he died. He needed to know why.

Was he putting himself in danger with this? Yes, of course. But at the thought of returning to the bunker and meeting James with the dagger–or worse, realising that James was gone – seemed like a worse fate at the moment.

So he waited.

Minutes turned into an hour, then two, but his eyes never left the door.

Then, footsteps in the hallway. They came to a stop in front of the office, and the door opened.

Dumbledore stopped at the door, looking at Regulus. He seemed taken aback for a moment, then he relaxed, stepped inside, closed the door and sat down at the table with him.

“Mr Black,” Dumbledore said. “It’s a pleasure.”

“No, it is not.”

“Perhaps.” Dumbledore smiled through his beard. He threw a quick glance around the room behind Regulus. “I would offer my condolences on the loss of your parents, but am I correct to assume that you had a hand in the matter?”

He asked it neutrally, like any other man would ask about his opinion on a book or a Quidditch match.

“Yes,” Regulus said, coldly.

“I see. And yet, here you are. Have you come to speak of new allegiances, perhaps? There is still room at our table — even for difficult seats. You are, after all, a gifted young man. We could use someone like you on our side”

“Use me, how fitting. No, I’m not here to join your Order.”

“No, I didn’t think you did,” Dumbledore agreed and smiled again. “But hope, after all, is a stubborn thing. How is young Mr Potter? I heard he was seen at Mr Moody’s house, fighting Aurors with you? I know that he was at Hogwarts with young Miss Rosier a few months ago.”

“He is dead. He served his purpose, so I killed him. To be frank, I am disappointed that neither Order nor Auror members cared enough about him to look for him.”

Dumbledore sighed, leaned back in his chair and regarded the cup of tea, which was fuller than he had left it..

Dumbledore let out a long, tired sigh. He leaned back in his chair and looked not at Regulus, but at the now full teacup. “War, Mr Black, is never kind nor patient. Focus and time were needed elsewhere. Mr Potter was a capable young man; we believed he could rescue himself, while we kept fighting. I’m saddened to hear it was not so. Collateral Damage.”

Regulus leaned forward, folding his hands on the table and fixing Dumbledore’s blue eyes. “And how much ‘collateral damage’ are we talking about? Emmeline Vance? Frank Longbottom. Benji Fenwick. Gideon and Fabian Prewett. Marlene McKinnon. Emma Vanity. Peter Pettigrew. Felix Rosier. James Potter. Sirius Black. Do you know what they have in common? They are all collateral damage, and they were all your students. Which begs the question: Why are you still alive?”

Dumbledore leaned forward as well, speaking with a soft, empathetic voice of a teacher, as he said: “Your brother’s death was a tragedy. I understand that you are angry. You have every right to be. I lost a sister. I know your pain.”

“You don’t know shit,” Regulus said, mimicking the soft tone.

“You are a hurt, young man. But pain does not make you wise. Nor does rage make you right. You understand neither war nor politics. You are too young for such things.”

“But not too young to die for your war and politics.”

“It isn’t my war. My colleagues and I are fighting dark forces and Death Eaters. It is your family who fights with them. It is you who took the mark. You, Mr Black, are on the side of those who killed all those people you listed, including your brother and your friend’s brother. If you are looking for someone to blame, perhaps you should look within.”

The Headmaster slowly pushed the cup with the poisoned tea across the table until the saucer hit Regulus’s knuckles.

“I have made many choices, Mr Black. Some were wiser than others. But I do not believe I have ever raised a hand to kill. Can you say the same? Have you not just confessed to killing an Order member? You speak of vengeance so easily. What would Sirius say, I wonder, if he saw you now and knew of all the friends you’ve killed?”

Regulus’s eyes flicked to the poisoned cup and back at the wizard.

“Are you asking me to kill myself?” There was no disbelief or surprise in his voice. He hadn’t expected it, but it did not shock him.

Dumbledore sighed again, softly shaking his head. “Mr Black, of course, I’d prefer it if you fought with us. But to be frank, I don’t feel strongly for either option.”

A flash of blue sliced the air.

Sharp stone pressed against Dumbledore’s neck, polished, transparent and shaped like a flame.

The hilt was clutched by a brown hand, attached to an invisible body.

“I do,” James growled. With his other hand, he pulled down his cloak. He stood behind Dumbledore, pressing the magic-suppressing blade into his skin.

Dumbledore’s voice was steady when he spoke, but his eyes filled with panic as he realised his magic had vanished. “Ah, Mr Potter. Alive and… perhaps, more changed than I had hoped.”

Changed was the right word. James’s face was twisted in rage, something beyond rage even, something deeply hurt and suppressed. He had not gone home, not told on him. He must have slipped into the room when Regulus had or when Dumbledore returned. Regulus hadn’t noticed him, but here he stood.

“You grieve Sirius, as do I. And pain makes strange companions of justice and vengeance. But if you kill me now, James… you do not end the war. It will only bring you a life sentence in Azkaban. Nothing else.”

James leaned down to his ear, growling, “It brings me the satisfaction of seeing you bleed to death and never having to hear another word from you. So, there’s that.”

Regulus felt heat wash over his whole body. He swallowed dryly.

“It’s not worth it. You can have a life after the war, but not if you kill me.”

James laughed humourlessly. “Whatever. I don’t have plans anyway. But Regulus deserves to have the life he wants after the war. So, he shouldn’t be the one to kill you. It should be me.”

In the spot where his chest had pulled itself together a few hours ago when he realised the dagger was missing, his heart now went into overdrive. He remembered how he told James about his outrageously insane wishes for the future, and how James had smiled at him with so much undeserved warmth.

‘It’s a nice future.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
‘It’s not as impossible as you think.’
‘James, I am literally a murderer.’
‘Of Death Eaters and evil Vampire Lords. I believe that you, at heart, are a good person who just needs to be given a chance to be good. And I believe that you can lead a very good, very soft and gentle life.’

‘When you kill Voldemort, they’ll have to be a bit more tolerant of your other killings, hm?’
‘Not when I kill Dumbledore, too.’
‘Maybe you don’t have to kill Dumbledore.’

“So, I get the gratification of silencing you, you fucking dick, and he gets a shot as his future. Win-win.”

Dumbledore was not a man who would beg for his life. So, he didn’t. He tried reason. He tried emotions, but James just shook his head and said,

“Professor Dumbledore, Sir, you must understand: Collateral Damage is a part of war. Maybe you’re too old to understand what that really means. So, allow me to demonstrate.”

Without lifting the blade from his skin, James pushed Dumbledore’s head down and pushed the jagged edge into his neck. He pulled it out. Blood gushed out of the wound. He jammed it in again, pushing through organs, muscle and sinew until the blue tip split the skin on the other side.

Regulus watched as the life fled the wizard’s blue eyes. But it did not even matter in the moment. His thoughts were consumed by James.

Did he take the dagger earlier, knowing he would do this? Did he come with him to take this death upon himself? Why? Was he simply driven to it when he heard Dumbledore’s words? Why was his heart beating so loudly in his chest? Why had his cheeks warmed when James talked about the ridiculous future he once envisioned for himself?

James was panting heavily. His broad shoulders rose and fell, and his hand and face were splattered with blood. It wasn’t as disturbing as the first time at Grimmauld Place. He didn’t need to be cleaned up this time. He was simply, undeniably, hot.

Regulus’s throat was dry.

James pulled the dagger out of Dumbledore’s neck. His hand was trembling.

Regulus stood up and slowly walked around the table until he came to stand beside him.

Whatever this was between them, whatever Regulus felt for him, it was no passing thing. It was not mere attraction caused by forced proximity. Regulus felt in his bones that he would never be able to rid himself of these soft feelings for James; worse, he did not want to.

Instead, he wanted to touch him. He wanted to make sure he was okay. He wanted to take him away from this scene and assure him that he was still a good person.

He carefully removed the dagger from James’s shaking fingers. He wrapped his hand around his and rubbed soothing circles into his skin. With the other, he reached out for Dumbledore, checked for his pulse and breath, and pulled his wand out of his robe.

“James,” Regulus whispered close to his ear. “Are you okay?”

James was still breathing heavily.

He ripped himself away from the dead wizard and almost frantically grabbed Regulus’s face to pull him into a deep kiss.

It was just as desperate as the first one – maybe even more so. This time, Regulus was at the receiving end of all that force and desperation. James’s lips were hot, he pulled him closer, and pressed their bodies together.

Regulus made a low sound in the back of his throat and let his body relax in James’s tight grip. His teeth scraped along James’s bottom lip and were soothed with a lick of tongue right after.

James grabbed his waist and pushed Regulus against the table, pressing against him, residual rage fuelling desire. Something had to give, and Regulus slit up so he was sitting on the table, to be pushed down by the force of James’s body. James’s lips left his for a moment, and he placed aimless, hot and open-mouthed kisses on his cheek, his jaw, then his neck. Regulus made another one of those embarrassing noises, and perhaps it sounded like a breathless “James.”

Sweat formed where James’s body touched his. James breathed against his neck, kissing there, and finally pulling a bit of skin into his mouth and sucking there. Regulus wrapped his leg around James’s, and pulled his head up to him so he could kiss his lips again.

James snapped his hips, rocking the table underneath them.

The teacup slid over the polished wood, liquid spilt, and porcelain burst into tiny pieces on the ground.

James and Regulus startled, drove apart and stared at where the poisoned tea had slipped over the edge of the table.

Regulus looked back at James first. He was panting, his wild hair was even more out of place than usual, and his glasses were crooked. His body rose and fell with every breath. His lips were red and swollen. His cheek was smeared with blood.

He has never been hotter. Regulus has never wanted to kiss someone so badly.

And no, it wasn’t good. Yes, it might ruin James. Yes, it might be his fault that James murdered his former mentor. But Merlin and Salazar, maybe all of it was worth it for this sight.

“We-uhm-“ James bit his lip, looked back at Regulus and seemed to get lost in thought for several seconds.

“We should go back before someone comes looking for him.” Regulus finished his sentence.

“Yeah.” James slowly removed himself from Regulus. His eyes fell on Dumbledore again. So did Regulus’s.

‘Collateral damage,’ he had said in response to hearing about James’s death. In the moment he said it, Regulus didn’t care. He thought James had betrayed him. Now, after what James just did for him, it unleashed unbridled rage in him.

It was done. He was dead. Regulus had half a mind to resurrect him just to kill him in a particularly gruesome way again.

He grabbed James’s chin and turned his face to him.

“You wouldn’t be just collateral damage if you died. You were their best asset. Now you’re - ours.” He almost said ‘mine’ but had enough brain capacity left not to. He pressed another kiss on his lips. James looked at him, surprised. “I won’t forget that one.”

He hadn’t forgotten the first one either, and James knew this. What he meant was, ‘I won’t pretend this didn’t happen.’ And James knew that, too.

Regulus picked up his dagger, wrapped it in a piece of cloth, and they slipped under the invisibility cloak together and left the premises before anyone could find the dead headmaster.

Chapter Text

“Use me however you will.” – Captive Prince 231

They had returned late that evening and found the common rooms of the bunker deserted. They had leftovers in the kitchen, eating in silence, because, really, what are you supposed to say after you murdered one of the most powerful wizards in the world and then kissed next to his corpse? Twice.

But it was a good silence. Nothing needed to be said.

James had cleaned up in the bathroom while Regulus handled the food. When he returned, he seemed paler than before. What did he see when he looked in the mirror? His mentor’s blood on his face, smudged by the palms and lips of a man who had tried to kill him many times before? Which part had drained all colour from his face? Regulus hadn’t asked.

Then, they went to their rooms, lingering by the doors, looking at each other.

James was a bold man, but not bold enough to steal a good-night kiss before Regulus slipped into his room. It was for the better, he supposed.

It was morning now, and Regulus sat at the breakfast table with his friends. Barty seemed calmer than yesterday, but his eyes refused to focus on anything in particular. Evan sat next to him, staring at Regulus with a strange look on his face.

“Can I help you?” Regulus asked finally.

“Nope.” Evan pursed his lips. “Had fun last night?”

James’s lips on his. His tongue in his mouth. His hot breath ghosting over his skin.

“That’s a strange question.”

“You’re a strange man,” Evan countered. He smirked. “And you’ve got a hickey.”

James pressing him down on the table. His lips on his neck, sucking on him. His hands on his body. Rutting against the table. The teacup falling.

Regulus made the conscious decision not to pull on his collar. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I see it peeking out from under your shirt. I think it’s winking at me.”

“You’re seeing things. Maybe you’ve spent too much time with your insane boyfriend.”

One of the doors to the kitchen opened, and Regulus looked up, too quickly perhaps, as Evan started giggling. He giggled even more when he realised it wasn’t James but Pandora who came in. Regulus kicked him under the table.

“Good morning.” Pandora eyed the boys strangely. Something was bothering her, and it wasn’t her silly twin. Her eyes fell on Regulus, and she pressed her lips together. Was that stupid hickey that obvious? Regulus then noticed the newspaper she held in her hands. “Dorcas gave me this.”

She carefully placed the Daily Prophet in front of Regulus.

Albus Dumbledore Killed!

“Very accurate title,” Regulus said.

“Oh shit,” Evan exclaimed and pulled the paper to him. “You actually did it?”

“Sorry, am I usually known for failing missions?”

“You’re usually known for being an up-tight, pretentious twat, and yet, here you sit with a hickey on your neck.”

“A what?” Pandora exclaimed and reached for his face, pulling it up to inspect his neck.

“Has anyone seen my kitchen dagger?” Regulus asked and wound himself out of her grip. He was largely ignored, as Pandora was squealing when she discovered the mouth-shaped bruise on him, Evan was reading the Prophet, and Barty was… hopefully still on their plane of existence?

“Merlin, Salazar and fucking Morgana,” Evan mumbled, “You killed Dumbledore. I know we’re against Voldemort now, but I think he might try to give you a medal regardless.”

“Doubt it. I think he’d liked to have that kill for himself.”

“Slit his throat, hm? Classy. This sounds like it was gruesome. Blood everywhere, his body lying in it – anyone else getting hungry? - Wait, shit, did you use my mage slaying dagger? Did it work?”

James’s hand on the dagger, his anger-twisted face, his rage-filled eyes, his venom-stricken voice.

They didn’t need to know about that.

“Yes, it worked splendidly. It was hilarious how confused he was.”

Evan laughed and flung the paper back on the table. “I knew it would! Man, I wish I could have seen that.”

The door opened again, and James and Lupin stepped in.

All eyes were on James in an instant. He didn’t seem to notice. Lupin did and frowned in suspicion.

Evan was the first to speak up. “Mornin’. You came home late yesterday, didn’t’ya?”

Regulus kicked him under the table.

“Well, we left late,” James said thoughtfully. “And it’s advised to take your time when you’re trying to get into a secret gathering of powerful wizards and witches.”

“Was that the only thing you were trying to get into?”

Regulus kicked him again. Where was his kitchen dagger? Barty probably used it to smear his bread, again.

James’s face reddened ever so slightly, but he plastered a smile on his face and prepared his breakfast. Lupin was still standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring. He probably wanted that kitchen dagger, too.

Did James tell him about the second kiss? Judging by the increasing expression of absolute terror on his face, probably not. Did he know of the first one? James definitely was the sort of man to tell his mates about these things, and since he wasn’t in the habit of talking to Sirius’s coffin, he must have mentioned it to Lupin.

James joined the table, and his eyes fell on the paper. He read the headline. His face became ashen.

Regulus pulled the paper away and folded it up.

Of course, there were much more important things to discuss than a bloody kiss.

James killed last night.

This time, it wasn’t the abusive mother of his dead best friend; no, this time it was his teacher and mentor, a man he had admired for over a decade. Of course, if James had discussed any of these events with Lupin, it wouldn’t have been some stupid, unimportant kiss. Nor the second, smaller, sweeter kiss.

Regulus closed his eyes. Focus, Black, Focus.

So many things were at stake, so many things had to be done, and he was sitting here thinking about kissing a boy, like some mediocre teenage girl.

Dumbledore was dead. Good. One more person off the list.

That left Voldemort.

First, the Horcruxes. They found five – diadem, necklace, ring, diary, cup. There might be one more: the Snake, Nagini. Then Voldemort himself. Powerful wizard, even without the Horcruxes.

Then, Sirius. The ritual needed to proceed. They just needed the eye of the murderer. Then water charged under a full moon. Runes, ritual circles, spells.

And then, with a dash of luck and a lot of skill, Sirius would return.

Then, he could think about kissing again, Regulus decided.

“Barty, do you want help with the Horcruxes today?” Regulus asked.

Barty didn’t react. Evan gently tapped his shoulder.

“Huh?” Barty looked at the group of people, evidently very confused to see that Pandora, James, and Lupin had spontaneously spawned into existence. “What?”

“The Horcruxes. Help?”

“Right… yeah, no I don’t think so. I’m concluding my experiments today.”

Pandora walked around the table until she stood behind him. She placed a hand on his forehead and pulled his head back. “Are you okay, Barty?”

“Yeah, fine. I was just thinking about a possible – excuse me, I have to try something. I’ll be in my boom room.” He stood up and left for the door.

“Broom room?” James asked.

“Boom room,” Regulus corrected. “A temporary room he makes now and again to conduct his explosive experiments.”

“Cool.”

Cool, of course, James would think that. 

Why, oh, why, did he like that one? So many men to kiss, and he ended up with this exceptionally stupid specimen.

Regulus looked at Evan, who probably thought the exact same thing about his boyfriend.

“I’m going to check what he’s doing,” Evan announced, following Barty.

Lupin sat down with them and took the Daily Prophet. He read it in silence, his face barely moving.

“Well,” he said with finality and tossed the paper back on the table. “You really did it.”

Regulus needed a moment to realise that Lupin was addressing him, not James.

James was pushing his breakfast around on his plate, firmly keeping his eyes on it.#

“Yes,” Regulus said. “I killed him. You should have heard what he said about Sirius, even you would have done the same.”

Lupin pursed his lips. “I don’t think I would have needed the extra incentive.”

“But if you did, his words would have pushed you over the edge. It would have pushed anyone.”

“Would it?” Pandora asked. “What can a man say that is so horrible that it could have goaded just anyone into killing? Do you believe that there is not a single person walking the earth who is inherently incapable of such a deed?”

“This earth?” Regulus glanced at James. “No.”

Pandora followed his gaze to James and tilted her head.

“I brought you a present,” Regulus said quickly.

Pandora eyed him suspiciously. “Brought?” she repeated. “From where?”

“A corpse, as I do with all your favourite presents.”

Lupin looked at them like they were insane – as if he himself didn’t just admit to needing no further reason to kill Dumbledore.

Regulus took the long, flat box next to him and handed it to her.

Pandora took her time investigating the case before opening it. She gasped and looked up at Regulus, then back to her present. Her fingers trembled lightly as she lifted Dumbledore’s wand from its case.

“Oh, it is beautiful,” she whispered.

“It belonged to Dumbledore, so I’m certain it is special in some way or another. Will you tell me your findings?”

“Of course!” She gave Regulus a quick hug and then dashed out of the room.

Lupin shook his head and got up to make himself a cup of tea.

“Are you going to eat that?” Regulus asked softly, pointing at the untouched breakfast.

James frowned. “I’m not hungry anymore. I think I’ll go to the gym in a minute...” He sighed and rubbed his face.

Regulus slowly stood up and walked around him, letting his fingers brush against James’s arm, up to his shoulder, where he squeezed lightly.

He glanced back at Lupin, who seemed busy enough.

“You’re okay,” Regulus whispered to James. “You did nothing wrong.”

James laughed humourlessly.

Regulus leaned down to his ear. “You’re still a good person, James. Far better than any of us.”

And for a reason no one needed to know or think about, he kissed his temple before pulling back and leaving the kitchen with the Daily Prophet.

***

Pandora often found the desks in the lab too small. That was probably why she sat on the floor, surrounded by books and tools for experiments, with Dumbledore's wand hovering in the air.

She had her long hair pinned back with a flower clip and was positively buzzing with excitement. Regulus sat down across from her.

The door to the laboratory opened. James walked in and out on the other side, without acknowledging them.

“He’s just going to the training room,” Regulus assumed.

“Who?” Pandora hadn’t even looked up.

“James.”

She didn’t react, too engrossed in a small procedure she used to determine the core of the wand. “Thestral hair, oh, goody.” She grinned and made a note of it.

At least she liked her present, Regulus thought.

Regulus shook his head and grabbed a random book from her pile. It was, confusingly, a children’s book. Sirius used to read to him from this.

“What do you need this for?”

She glanced up at him, then turned back to her notes. “Reggie, I don’t want to get your hopes up. But if this thing is what I think it is, killing Voldemort will be child's play for you.”

Regulus looked at the wand again. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, quite ordinary. Masterfully crafted, but that was to be expected. He didn’t see how someone else’s wand could give him any noteworthy advantage.

"Hopes are still adequately low. What’s so special about this thing?”

Pandora looked at him, pursing her lips as she often did when she was about to spill a secret. “Okay. Fine, I’ll tell you my theory.” She scooted closer, took the children’s book and opened it on a specific page, pointing at an illustration of a man with a wand.

“I think, this might be the Elder wand,” she whispered.

Regulus frowned. “The what?”

“Elder Wand. Most powerful wand in the world. Unbeatable. Made by Death himself. You know this story, right? The Deathly Hallows.”

Regulus looked at the book again. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. The Tale of the Three Brothers. “Three brothers receive gifts from Death and die because of them. A wand, a stone and a cloak.”

“Exactly. Legend has it that whoever has all three of them will be the Master of Death.”

Regulus had long ago learned that debating the truth behind legends and theories with Pandora was unwise. “Sounds good. However, I just want to kill Voldemort.”

“And resurrect your brother. Seems quite Master-of-Death-esque to me.”

“But the resurrection stone didn’t work in the story. Our ritual has nothing to do with that.”

Pandora regarded him thoughtfully. “I need to inspect James’s invisibility cloak…”

“Sure. So, you think this wand, belonging to our Headmaster, was made by Death himself and gives its owner unimaginable power?”

“Correct. Think about it, Dumbledore was considered the most powerful wizard alive, and the only one Voldemort feared.”

“And yet, he bled and died like an ordinary man.”

She sighed, exasperated. “Why are you being difficult? Can’t you be at least a little bit positive? If this is the Elder Wand, you, after killing Dumbledore, are its new Master. You’ll be strong enough to beat Voldemort!”

The answer was as simple as it was difficult.
“Because I did not kill Dumbledore.”

“What? But the paper said- “

“He’s dead, yes. But I didn’t do it. James did.”

The wand dropped to the ground between them. Pandora stared at him wide-eyed.

“Don’t tell anyone. James… he took the dagger from me. I thought he had gone home, more specifically, I thought he betrayed us, and was leading his old friends to my capture. Instead, he snuck into the room, listened while Dumbledore and I were talking, got angry and…”

“James slit his throat? Killed him? Dumbledore? The man he always defended when you were criticising him. …Merlin and Morgana, what did he say?”

“Nothing extremely surprising. However, the point is that James killed him, so James is the new master of the wand. If anyone, he would have the power to kill Voldemort. But that’s my kill.”

“Your kill,” Pandora repeated. “You really want to make this an ego thing?”

“You don’t understand, James is too righteous. He would not use an unforgivable curse. Not even against Voldemort.”

“Oh, but he would slit Dumbledore’s throat?”

Regulus pressed his lips together. James wouldn’t use the curse on Voldemort because he just killed someone. But how could he explain this to Pandora?

“It’s not his job to kill anyone. That’s not who he is. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with me.”

Pandora shook her head lightly. “What did Dumbledore say?”

Regulus thought back to last night.

James’s hot lips against his. His tongue in his mouth. His strong hands on his body, pulling him close and pushing him against the table.

He swallowed the memory down and instead remembered what came before.

“I told him James was dead, and he called it collateral damage. Then he told me to blame myself for Sirius’s death and kill myself.”

Pandora stared at him blankly.

“Then James revealed himself and killed him.”

Pandora slowly closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath.

“Then we kissed again.”

“What?!”

“Twice.”

She stared at him like he had just told her he planned to kill Voldemort with a wooden spoon and the power of friendship.

“You kissed again?”

“Yes. Though it’s probably not the most important part of the story.”

“Uhm, yes, it is. It definitely is. It’s the only thing that makes it make sense.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“Well, how is he dealing with all of it? Having killed Dumbledore for you- “

“Not for me.” He really did not need any more reason to blame himself for James’s step towards the darkness.

“It must be weighing on him. He’s not like you. It’s not just another Tuesday for him.”

“I know. …I bet the next thing out of your mouth is to go ‘talk’ to him and ‘be open about my feelings’ or some shit like that?”

“Absolutely. Go talk to him. He needs your support. He obviously has feelings for you, so he’ll want you to reassure him and comfort him.”

“Ugh, does he have to be such a girl about it?”

Pandora took one of the books and hit him with it. He probably deserved it.

“Go,” she said, pointing towards the door. “And be nice. You hear me? Nice.”

Regulus went to the training room. James didn’t notice him. He was standing in the middle of the room, wand in hand, across from a dummy. It was a contraption born from the people with the stupidest ideas and most concerning lack of self-preservation in the world: Drunk Regulus, Horny Evan, and Barty. They called it R.E.B.

R.E.B. was made of metal, armed with a wand and a silent Muggle gun. He had multiple slots throughout his body shooting daggers and arrows, and they locked a bogart into the hatch in the middle of his torso.

They rarely used R.E.B. He was dangerous and armed in a way no wizard opponent would ever be. James, however, must have found him a while ago. He was quickly parrying spells hurled against him, reflecting bullets from the gun and evading each dagger and arrow.

Regulus stood at the door. James’s footwork was excellent – he even perfectly executed the manoeuvres Regulus had taught him. His shields were well timed, the attacks effective. This wasn't just James the Marauder; this was Mr Potter, Auror.

Regulus wondered briefly what James’s bogart might look like. A year ago, Regulus would have assumed it to be his best friends and family being dead.

But how could he smile every day if his biggest fear was his reality?

When Regulus had last encountered the boggart, it had turned into Sirius’s corpse, decayed and forever gone.

Maybe James’s was the same now.

“Fuck!” James yelled. Regulus looked up, his eyes automatically searching for signs of injury and pain.

He found none. But his hands were empty, and his wand lay on the ground. R.E.B. had disarmed him. 

It wasn’t a failure. Not yet. James could still shield wandlessly while he retrieved his wand. He didn’t. He deactivated R.E.B. and muttered a few curses to himself while dragging his hands through his hair.

He turned, finally noticing Regulus, and froze. He stared at him, as if caught doing something illicit.

“I see you found R.E.B,” Regulus said after a while.

James frowned, confused, then glanced back at the dummy. “It has a name?”

“Yes. R.E.B, return to the armoury.”

The dummy grew another two inches and wheeled itself out of the training room.

“You did well.” Regulus closed the door.

“No. I didn’t catch the spell in time, too focused on reflecting the bullets.”

“Better than the other way around.”

James shrugged.

Shrugged? Something about the gesture made Regulus uneasy.

He walked further into the room. “James, about yesterday.”

James turned away from him and grabbed a water bottle.

Be nice, Regulus. You like this man; show some sympathy.

“I know it was... different than what happened with my parents. It affects you differently. That’s normal. And I know you saw Dumbledore as a hero, a mentor-“

“He wasn’t my mentor,” James said without any inflexion. “We weren’t as close as you seem to believe. I looked up to him, as we all did.”

“I see. ...Well, what I mean to say is, you’re not a bad person for what you did. You’re still you.” He tried to hide how uncomfortable his own words made him. He has probably never sounded more stupid in his life.

James stared at him blankly.

How were people ‘nice’ all the damn time? Three sentences, and Regulus wanted to take a hot shower.

Then, James started laughing.

Regulus flinched.  

“Fuck, man. I’m still me. Nothing’s changed. Right. Do you know how I know that I really fucked up? That I did something I can’t come back from?”

He didn’t answer.

“You being nice to me. You trying to reassure and comfort me. You.” He shook his head.

Regulus bit his lip. He must admit, it sounded insane. Regulus has never been a source of comfort to anyone. And apparently, he wouldn’t start today.

“I guess I should be grateful. You wouldn’t do this for just anyone, right?”

“No, I wouldn’t. Anyone else would, though. It’s what normal people do.”

“Oh, absolutely. But since when am I spending time with you for your normalcy? So, don’t do this. Don’t tell me that what I did was okay or that it doesn’t change anything. I murdered someone. Not in an emergency situation, not to save someone else, not to protect. And I told myself, when I took your dagger, that I’d rather it be me than you, because at least you have some sort of dream to live for. But I did it out of anger. I was angry – I am angry! And I didn’t realise how angry until I was in the same room as that man and heard him talk about me and my friends.”

His voice rose in volume, and his breath was heavy.

“I wasn’t justified. So, please don’t tell me that I was. Don’t try to be nice to me – because all it does is make me feel worse about it.”

Regulus stared at him for a long minute, taking in his desperate tone and the way his hands shook.

Regulus had his first kill at 16. It was more or less accidental. He was studying with Voldemort as one of three protege students groomed to become his trusted seconds-in-command. Their task was to curse objects and study the effects. None of their results were harmless, but when Voldemort’s test subject – a lowly Death Eater who had just messed up a mission – touched Regulus’s object, the curse took hold. The dark magic spread through his veins, poisoning him from within, until it seized his heart, and the man fell dead.

There had been silence.

Then, applause.

Regulus had never been the same. Something in him died that day, too.

James once asked him how many people he had killed up close and personal with his daggers. Seventeen – eighteen since his father. The first test subject wasn’t counted, as he didn’t really mean for it to happen. Voldemort didn’t tell them they’d study the results on people.

His first real kill was another Death Eater. Regulus had, out of curiosity more than rebellion, broken into Voldemort’s personal library, the section that was forbidden even to him. Here, he found out his final clues toward the Horcruxes. He was caught by one of Voldemort’s soldiers, trusted enough to be tasked with patrolling this area. Regulus had grabbed the closest weapon he could find, which happened to be a serpentine dagger, and stabbed the man. His hands had shaken, he had to throw up, and many nights thereafter was plagued by nightmares. But at least he was able to convince the Dark Lord that it had been the dead man who had broken into the library, and Regulus who had caught and punished him.

And after that, killing had been much, much easier. No one else ever appeared in his dreams. He began to practice fighting with the daggers almost as much as with his wand.

His parents were proud, oh, so proud of him. More than Regulus had thought them capable. People were praising him left and right, telling him how his actions were marvellous, loyal and right.

His cousin Narcissa, on the other hand, had touched his face and promised that this didn’t have to define him. His friends, especially Pandora, tried to convince him that this didn’t change anything about him. He had to do it. He didn’t know better. He was still the same person as before.

He wasn’t. They knew he wasn’t. And no one had had the decency to tell him. No one looked him in the eye and said, “You took a life. It changed you. You will never be the same. Your reasons don’t matter, the deed wasn’t noble, and you won’t be able to convince yourself for long that they were.”

When James killed Walburga, he likely had no issue justifying it to himself – the woman had abused his best friend and was actively attacking Regulus at the time. James had only protected him.

This was different. This was someone he knew, someone he trusted, someone he defended to the point of picking fights – fights he knew he had to pay for in blood and pain. Dumbledore wasn’t physically hurting someone, and they didn’t need him for the ritual.

 “Why don’t you taunt me and give me your gleeful satisfaction about his death? Come on, it’s a win for you! Why is there no evil smugness on your face and a knife to my throat? Have I disappointed you? Am I fragile now? At the very fucking least, be honest about it!”

James spread his arms out, as if offering himself as a target. His crazed eyes were fixed on him.

“Fine then,” Regulus said. Maybe he couldn’t be nice, but who else could understand what James was going through the way he did? He stretched out his palm toward the far side of the training room and said, “Accio dagger.” It came flying right into his hand.

“Pick up your wand.”

James picked it up. When he looked up again, Regulus was gone. He reappeared behind him.

In the moment of James’s initial confusion, he pressed the tip of the dagger into James’s back.

“Taking your eyes off your rival like an amateur.” He whispered to him.

A moment later, he was knocked back by a wave of energy, and James turned around to him.

“Oh, fighting dirty? Like you did when you killed Dumbledore? I must say, I was almost impressed. Hiding and pulling a weapon on him out of nowhere? Where’s Mister Morality now?”

James sent a few spells in his direction. Regulus deflected them with no effort.

“Do you think he died scared?” He called out. “When you pulled that blade on him and he felt all his magic draining away?”

James’s lips were a tight line. “Stupefy!”

Regulus shielded. “Do you think he was terrified in his last moment?” He disapperated as James sent another spell his way. The red energy hit the wall as Regulus reappeared right in front of him, knife to his shoulder. “I like to think he was.”

“Of course you do. You’re sick like that.”

“Yes. And yet, it was you who instilled that fear in him. Not me.”

James’s eye twitched. But wasn’t this what he had asked of him? To stop being nice? But when he wasn’t “nice,” he was honest, and when he was honest, he was mean.

James shielded and fought him off with his free hand and close-combat spells. Regulus attacked with precise strokes designed to cause serious injury. Except that he stopped whenever he was just about to cut his skin.

James seemed clumsy, unfocused. He didn’t evade Regulus as quickly and precisely as he could. His body appeared to move away from the blade, but then didn’t. He hadn’t been like this when he fought the dummy a few minutes ago.

 It was on purpose, he realised. If Regulus put a bit more aggression behind his action or didn’t stop the blade in time, he would injure James.

Why? Because of Dumbledore? Because of that maggot of a wizard? For him, he would stop fighting and let himself be injured?

“Well, Jamie, you wanted me to be honest, didn’t you?” Regulus looked him in the eyes, smirked, and drawled, “I am so fucking glad he is dead.”

He watched James swallow heavily. His eyes flicked down to Regulus’s lips.

Regulus used his distraction, tripping James and throwing him to the ground.

“He was a bastard,” Regulus pressed his foot into James’s chest. “An old man, who led the children in his care into a war. He promised Sirius the world, and when he died, what did he say? Collateral damage.”

He lowered himself, forced James’s arms down on the floor, and kept him in place with his knees, straddling him.

“All the friends you insisted died for something – collateral damage. You – collateral damage. None of you mattered to him beyond your willingness to fight and die.”

He put his dagger against James’s cheek and slowly drew it down, along his neck to his collarbone. There was no force behind it; it left no mark and drew no blood. He didn’t want to hurt him, but maybe this would calm him down, if nothing else.  

“And you know what? The world isn’t worse after his death. Your Order isn’t at a new disadvantage. Voldemort isn’t more powerful or more likely to win. And yet, here you are, letting it have an effect on you.”

James pushed against him, trying to get him off, and raised his chest toward him, pushing against the tip of the dagger.

“I suppose that if it affects you, it means you’re still sane. You should hold on to that. You took a life. You say, you weren’t justified. You will never be the same. But you don’t need to let it ruin you.”

“Let it?” James asked. His arms went limp. He looked up at him with honest eyes. “How could I not? I remember what I did and what it felt like. I dreamt about it. What am I supposed to do about that? I will never be the same. I can’t call myself a good person anymore.”

“You said, you think that I’m a good person at heart. You’re wrong, of course. But why wouldn’t you believe it about yourself, too?” He leaned further down to him until their noses almost touched, spreading his legs further to get there. “As for the thoughts and dreams, they will fade. Until then, think of me.”

“You?” James whispered.

Regulus licked his lips. He let his breath ghost over James’s face when he said, “You once said you liked having pretty boys on top of you, or don’t I count?”

“Count? You’re the fucking blueprint.”

“Good. Then think of this: I have never seen anything more satisfying than Dumbledore dying with fear in his eyes. It was glorious, Jamie. Not good, not moral; justified in my eyes, not yours, but altogether deserved. I’ve been aching to see it. And you. Were. So. Hot.”

James let out a shuddering breath.

Regulus closed the distance between them and kissed him. He wasn’t gentle or romantic; it was a raw, hard kiss. He pulled James’s bottom lip between his teeth, sucked, then bit. He kissed and bit until he tasted blood. James sucked in a breath and made a soft sound into his mouth, somewhere between pain and pleasure.

Regulus pulled back. He traced the tip of the dagger along the line of his lip, collecting the bead of blood spilling from the broken skin.

“Did that make you feel better?” He asked. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice you acting less competent than usual?”

James didn’t look him in the eye. His brain seemed to have shut down somewhere between Regulus straddling and kissing him.

Regulus pulled his dagger back and jammed it into the mattress above James's head. It startled him enough to look up at him.

“I decide when and if I want to hurt you. Don’t use me to hurt yourself. It won’t make you feel better.”

He let James free his arms. “And here I was thinking you’d appreciate the opportunity, or don’t you want to hurt me anymore? Is that my reward for turning into a killer?”

Regulus didn’t want it to be framed like that. But what was he supposed to say? ‘No, I don’t want to hurt you anymore because I hold affection for you?’ – Not in this lifetime and not with James like this.

Regulus reached up and brushed James’s sweat-damp hair back. “Yes. When I killed someone for the first time, my reward was an ugly branding. Your rewards are revenge, kissing me, and...” He sighed and shook his head lightly, “becoming the most powerful wizard in the world. Are you disappointed?”

James frowned at him, confused. He dropped his hands to Regulus’s waist. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re the new master of Dumbledore’s wand. Pandora believes it to be a powerful relic, one of the Deathly Hallows, same with your cloak, which makes you two-thirds of the Master of Death – which, given our personalities, I think is frankly unfair.”

A thousand emotions crossed over James’s face, but finally left him empty and numb. His eyes were cold, and his voice reduced to a whisper, void of emotion, when he said, “I don’t want that.”

“I know, Jamie. I know. I’m sorry.”

James stared into nothingness, his hands limp against Regulus’s body, who was still sitting on him. Regulus carded his fingers through James’s hair, unsure what else to do. James killed people, betrayed his morals, murdered someone he used to believe in, and what did he get in exchange for his sanity? Kisses from his would-be murderer, who thinks he might not want to hurt him anymore. That was something, right?

James’s eyes focused on him again. He frowned. “What are you apologising for?”

Pulling him to the dark side, perhaps. Making him a murderer, making him lose his faith in his people and good prevailing. It was what he had wanted to do, back when they first brought James to the bunker. Now, with James lying here, looking like a shell of himself, after Regulus came to like the morally sound, sane, capable auror, he could only feel regret.

“You don’t apologise,” James stated. “Ever. I’m not sure you even believe in apologies.”

“Well, congratulations. You are the first one to ever receive the honour of getting an apology from me while still alive.”

“Comforting, kindness, apologies…” James mumbled. Regulus knew what he was thinking. ‘Has this messed me up so much that he feels he needs to treat me this way now?’

“Maybe you have influenced me just like I have influenced you. It’s not an attack on your character. I …I want you to be okay.” He grimaced at himself. He wasn’t one to apologise, and he was even less someone who talked about his feelings. “I won’t tell you that it did not change you, because you know it did. Maybe you’re not the same as you were, but you are worlds away from being as bad as me. So, don’t lose yourself to this feeling. Dumbledore wasn’t worth it. Now, we’re going to kill Voldemort and bring back Sirius. That’s all that counts. No one will ever have to know it was you.”

James looked up into his eyes. Then he cupped Regulus’s face again and pulled him down to kiss him.

Before their lips could meet again, gentler this time, the door was pushed open.

“Barty wants you to- what the fuck?”

Regulus had his back to the door. He sighed when he recognised Lupin’s voice. James stared past him, brown eyes wide and panicked at his friend. “Moony. Can’t you knock?”

“Sorry, I was under the impression that the sickest thing I’d walk in on would be you two trying to kill each other. I was wrong. That’s on me.”

“Get out, Lupin.”

“Barty wants you both in the lab. He said he’s ready to present his findings. I’ll wait in front of the door so you can sort yourselves out.”

Regulus sighed and slowly pushed himself up from James. Barty’s work was more important than kissing James a second time, he supposed. At any rate, if they didn’t come willingly, Barty would barge through the door next.

Chapter Text

“There was laughter too, and something akin to happiness that hurt as it pushed at the inside of his chest.” – Prince’s Gambit, 347

The lab looked different when they returned.

Barty had pushed all the desks against the walls, except for one in the centre of the room. The Horcruxes were displayed in a neat row: The locket Regulus stole from the cave, the cup he retrieved from his cousin’s vault, the diadem they found at Hogwarts, the diary he took from Malfoy’s library, and the ring Pandora and Barty recovered from the Gaunt shack.

The cup, once gold, was blackened, dented and slightly melted in places. The locket lay open, both sides of the inside were covered in holes and acid burns.

They all gathered around the table.

“Today,” Barty began, “I have concluded my experiments. Is there another way to destroy these things? Maybe. But time is of the essence, and frankly, I’m starting to be bored as well as annoyed, and you know how I despise boredom. I found two ways to destroy them and that should be enough.”

Regulus tried not to sigh out loud. Barty worked hard on this. He deserved to make a little, dramatic speech about it. Regulus pulled a face at his own thoughts. Has he gotten soft? If so, James was to blame. He needed to start threatening people again before his reputation was ruined by a single, brown-eyed man.

“Here’s the run-down: Any kind of acids, poisons, corrosive substances had no effect. It just slid right off. Non-magical fire? Nothing. I tried to burn this shit at temperatures that would immediately melt flesh off bones. I threw the cup into Ev’s forge, nothing happened.”

“But I made a bloody cool dagger in that fire while the cup was in there,” Evan said, pointing at Regulus. “I actually think it picked up some of the dark magic. I’ve been doing some experiments, and it has interesting corrosive and poisoning effects when it’s in contact with human skin.”

Regulus made a mental note of this. He must see that dagger and its effects. – A blade forged in a fire corrupted by a Horcrux? The possibilities regarding its abilities were endless.

James raised his hand. “Uhm, sorry to interrupt. How exactly do you know how it affects human skin?”

“I tested it, obviously.”

“On…?”

“Human skin. Are you slower than usual? Reg, did you hit his head against a wall again?”

“On the floor, yes, but this is just his normal range of ability.” And unfortunately, Regulus wanted to kiss him again.

James shot him his version of a dirty look, which translated as dirty in a very different way. Was he really attracted to a man who couldn’t even glare properly? Then, Regulus remembered that he had watched him kill two people in a fit of rage and was instantly less disappointed in his taste in men.

“Oi, this is my bloody moment, can you two be stupid and horny another day?” Barty asked and shook his head. “Where was I? Ah yes, fire. Dismantling also does not work; I tried to just pick the locket apart or smash it – not a chance. So, here is what did work: The basilisk fang we stole from that bloke with the limp had enough venom for me to extract. Then I used it to stab the locket a bunch of times with a bit of venom still in there.”

Regulus stepped closer and picked up the locket. It once belonged to Salazar Slytherin. It was the first Horcrux Regulus had found. Voldemort had used his house elf, Kreacher, to hide it in a cave, surrounded by inferi-infested waters and only accessible by drinking a potion inflicting illusions and pain akin to a cruciatus curse. Regulus didn’t remember much from that day. It had been after Sirius’s death. Time had been non-existent, and he had been so sleep-deprived that most things never reached his brain, let alone stayed in his memory. He remembered the burning pain. He remembered the water. He remembered being dragged under the surface, his lungs burning, screaming for air, and bony corpses pushing and pulling him down, down, down.

He woke up in the bunker, wet, cold, with the locket next to him, surrounded by his worried and pale friends. He didn’t want to remember more of it.

Now, the locket was just that – an old, silver trinket, destroyed and pierced, burned by acid-like poison.

“How did it react to being destroyed?” Regulus asked thoughtfully. “Did something happen? Did you see the part of his soul or something like that?”

There was a pause, and when Regulus looked up, he saw Barty staring at the locket, and Evan staring at Barty.

“It tried to stop us from destroying it, yes. …The, uhm, the part of the soul inside can manifest itself, speak, create illusions… that sort of stuff.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. The cunt’s dead.”

Regulus just nodded and quickly pointed at the Hufflepuff cup. It clearly was neither stabbed nor drenched in basilisk poison.

“Right. It’s what I was just doing. We have just enough basilisk venom to maybe coat two daggers with it. Regarding the fang, I’m not sure if it can lose its venomous quality but I basically cleaned it out to get that poison. Anyway, I wasn’t ready to give up on the fire. Non-magical fire did nothing, magical fire is influenced by the Horcrux but has no real effect on it either. Bombs? Nothing, which was very disappointing. Finally, I cast Fiendfyre in my boom room.”

This time, it was Lupin who reacted as if he had never been around these people before.

“You did what? Fiendfyre is dark magic and extremely hard to control.”

“For you,” Barty added with a smirk. “Though I have to admit it is still in the boom room as I have not been able to extinguish it yet.”

Remus let out a deep, noisy breath.

“Well, we still need it to destroy these. And then I’ll just make the room disappear and the curse will disappear, too. I think.”

Regulus rubbed his eyebrow. He has always known that there was a 40 % chance he’d die because of Barty’s or Pandora’s experiments one day.

“Anyway,” Barty continued, “We have Fiendfyre and the rest of the basilisk tooth to destroy these. Also, I’m quite sure that the killing curse should work on Voldemort and the snake.”

“Quite?” Regulus asked.

“83%. It does not work on these Horcruxes, as the piece of soul is contained in the object and the object needs to be fully destroyed. Since we theorize that the snake is a Horcrux and it’s a living thing, the killing curse should be enough to thoroughly kill it and destroy the Horcrux. Which I assume is easier to manage than the Fiendfyre.”

Regulus looked at the Horcruxes.

Could it be? Were they at the end of this chapter? Were they about to destroy five Horcruxes at once, leaving Voldemort weakened and vulnerable to their attack? Had they been working towards this for more than six months now?

It felt oddly rushed.

One day, he was getting the diary from Malfoy’s library and suddenly, without any significant help from him, they were ready to take on Voldemort himself. He thought he’d feel satisfaction when this day finally came – excitement even. He didn’t. It wasn’t his accomplishment. No, to him, this was just one step in his plan. He hasn’t reached the end yet.

For the others, this was a huge achievement. They were about to do the impossible and end the war. Pandora, Evan and Barty could return to a normal life - far away, where the aurors couldn’t imprison them for taking the marks.

“We should throw all of these into the fire,” Regulus said. “The venom is too rare; we need to keep it for the fight.”

“Yes, that’s what we figured, too,” Barty said, “You can put the rest of the venom into phials with the rest of your poison collection. I don’t know if you’ll get close enough to Voldemort to use a blade on him, but for the snake it will be useful.”

Barty picked up the Gaunt family ring and handed it to Evan. “I already destroyed two. You should take this one. Pandora, I’m sorry, but I don’t think you’ll be able to keep the diadem afterwards,” he said while picking up the Ravenclaw artefact and placing it in her hands. The diary, he gave to Regulus.

No one spoke a word until they stood in the corridor, in front of a room filled with Fiendfyre. Regulus could feel the dark magic seeping out beneath the door. The fire was contained within, its power ate through the walls in the desperate need to make itself known.

The Horcruxes had a similar aura. The dark magic within sought to corrupt. In the vicinity of the fire, the diary in Regulus’s hands began to vibrate. It knew the end was near. It tried to latch onto a weak mind to save itself.

It found none.

Barty opened the door. Roaring heat swept out. The flames were held at bay, building and breaking against an invisible door like ocean water.

Regulus thought back to the first Horcrux. The water around him. It had no natural waves, only those created by his desperate thrashing and the movements of the corpses who tried to pull him below, further and further, until he'd become one of them.

Regulus’s nails dug into the leather of the book.

Evan stepped forward. He looked at Barty, then at the Gaunt ring.

“Well, good riddance.” He threw it into the roaring flames.

The fire moved with it, lapped it up, and drowned it within. Pandora gave the diadem to the fire waves, gently, almost reluctantly, letting it be carried away like a message in a bottle.

James stood next to Regulus, watching the scene intently. He had spent years fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters – far longer and for far better reasons than Regulus. He had lost his friends, family and youth to this war. And was it worth it? How much did it truly accomplish?

Collateral Damage.

Maybe it truly was nothing more than that. James deserved more. He deserved to feel like it all meant something, all led to the destruction of the enemy.

Regulus held out the book in front of him. James’s confused eyes darted between it and Regulus. He just nodded, looking at him intently, until James gingerly picked up the diary and stepped toward the room. The flames reflected in his glasses and lit up his face like a spotlight.

He dug his fingertips into the black leather, drew back his hand, and, much like the talented Quidditch player Regulus had known in his youth, threw it into the fire. 

***

Barty

They sat at a large, round table covered in paper in the middle of the lab. Pandora had her blond hair pinned up and was leaning over the paper with a ruler and a pencil, sketching the second floor of the Riddle mansion, as Barty, Evan and Regulus remembered it.

“There was another door over here,” Regulus said, making a mark on the paper. Evan sat on the other end of the plan, sketching out the perimeter, as he had seen it from the Gaunt shack a few weeks ago.

“This is where you received the dark mark?” Lupin asked.

Barty pointed at the large drawing room on the first floor. “In there, yes. Then we had dinner over here in the dining room. Through this door, the servants would come from the kitchen to wait on the family in better days."

“What was it like?” Lupin asked.

“The dinner? Edible.”

“The marking. Was it like a ceremony? Were you all together? Did you have to kill someone?”

Stained chandeliers. Walls of robed and masked men. Black. Bone-white. Red. Blood on the floor. A black snake winding itself on pale skin as if it were alive.

“Have you ever been to a little girl’s birthday party? All glitter and unicorns and shit? We threw confetti and got a cute little tattoo. What did you think?”

“You don’t receive the dark mark without proving your loyalty first,” Regulus said without looking up from his side of the plan.

James cleared his throat and shook his head at Lupin.

Evan sighed. “No matter where we come from, they will see us. I highly doubt that we can apparate straight into the manor. That’s never been the case when we were brought there. Or was it for you, Reg?”

Regulus shook his head. “Voldemort once told me that he put an anti-apparition spell on the perimeter of his headquarters, which only he could defy. He put the same on the cave where he hid the locket.”

“He will know we are coming,” Pandora said. “He likely felt that we destroyed the Horcruxes, and even with the best invisibility potions and the cloak, he will know when we enter his domain. There is no value in planning an ambush.”

“What if we send in two teams?” James suggested. “One to keep the Death Eaters busy, and one to look for him.”

“A distraction,” Regulus summarised, tapping his pen against his cheek. “It is a normal manor, not a magical or sentient place like ours, so it is possible that he isn’t able to feel everything that is going on.”

James and Lupin looked at him in bewilderment.

“Did you just suggest this place is sentient?” Lupin asked and then slowly let his eyes wander along the walls with badly concealed horror on his face.

“It is made from our magic. It isn’t a real building, not a real structure. It only exists because and as long as we do. If someone were to enter, we'd know how many and where they were at all times.”

“Okay. …Just the other day I was wondering if I could feel even more paranoid than I do. Thank you for clearing that up.”

“This isn’t about you,” Evan said. “Do you have something productive to say?”

“I support James’s plan.”

“So, no?”

“We cannot split up,” Regulus said. “It’s questionable whether Lupin will be in any condition to fight as the full moon is near, which leaves the five of us. Even though Voldemort will know that we are coming, we can still use invisibility and Evan’s speed to our advantage against the Death Eaters. We need to get past them to get to Voldemort – literally cut off the head of the snake. Nothing else matters.”

“Nothing?” Pandora asked. “Might I suggest this little thing called surviving?”

Regulus shrugged.

Barty looked at the floorplan sketches, counted the entries they knew about (and the ones they guessed existed), and pulled a couple of coins from his pockets.

“What if we bomb the place?” he suggested and placed the coins along the doors and into the hallways. “Boom. Boom. Boom. Ka-boom. Minimise the threat before we even enter the manor.”

It wasn’t new for Barty to suggest mass-destruction weapons for a mission. Usually, it was met with immediate pushback from the group, but now even Regulus regarded the coins like he genuinely considered them.

James leaned forward and pushed a couple of the coins away from the front of the manor. “Not everywhere. If we use the bombs on one side, they will confuse, distract and eliminate the death eaters, giving us the chance of an advantage when we attack from the other side. In the back, you only know of the backdoor leading to the kitchen – the paths are too small. You want to go in from the front. The windows are preferable.”

“What kind of bombs are we talking about?” Lupin asked. “In the back you can use deadly ones. But if you want to enter here, you could use smoke, light or – always a classic – dung bombs to give yourself a way in.”

Barty never thought he would receive bomb-advice from Gryffindor Order members – let alone advice that included dung bombs. Worst of all, their plans weren’t stupid. If the Death Eaters behaved like normal wizards would during explosions, it might even work.

Barty looked to Regulus to gauge how acceptable he found this plan. He quickly realised that he hadn’t followed their conversation to the end. There was not a single thought inside that head as he was staring at James with unbridled lust.

“Don’t look so surprised,” James smirked at Barty. “We are the Marauders. Pranksters extraordinaire. If there is something we know, it’s how to successfully dung-bomb a corridor.”

Another look at Regulus. Still lust. Ew.

If James suggested one more slightly useful strategy, Regulus might begin to strip right here and blow him under the table.

“But I agree, we need more people. We should contact Lily and Mary. They will help us. Maybe some Aurors or Order members. What about Dorcas?”

This, luckily, snapped Regulus out of his adoration.

“Not a chance. The moment you call the Aurors, they will arrest us. If they’re not completely stupid, they might wait until we did all the dirty work, but I wouldn’t hold my breath for that.”

“What about the Order? They’re not Aurors. Their only goal is to fight Death Eaters and Voldemort.”

“No. The more people we are, the more moving variables are on the plan, and the less predictable the group becomes. Especially if they’re people I don’t know.”

James frowned at him. “What do you think they’ll do? Suddenly open friendly fire?”

“That or be too loud, too hasty, too dumb. Since a lot of them are Gryffindors, I’d put my money on too reckless. That kind of behaviour will only lead to casualties and chaos.”

“I promised Dorcas that we would tell her when we start our attack. She might join us,” Pandora said.

Regulus nodded.

“So, what, Dorcas can join but no one else?” James asked. “Splitting into one large group to fight the Death Eaters, and one smaller group to advance to Voldemort directly is the best strategy. We need more people for the first one.”

“Splitting up is never the best strategy,” Evan said. “Last time we did that shit, I kinda, sorta died.”

Barty’s heart clenched at his words.

Everything was fine. Evan was here. Alive. Everything was fine. Evan was fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.

Barty mustn’t let himself become distracted.

But it was true. During their last big group mission, one of them died – even if just briefly. Now, they faced a far more dangerous opponent.

“I agree with Evan,” Regulus said. “We will secure the ground floor together. Go upstairs together. Find Voldemort together. He won’t be alone. The path to him will not be void of obstacles. We need everyone to get to him. Evan, Pandora, Dorcas, Barty, You and me – we have bombs, poisons, a magic-stealing dagger, and possibly two deathly hallows. If we can’t win against him, nothing and no one can.”

James looked at the floor plans, chewing on his bottom lip, and mentally mapping out different strategies, as his eyes flitted over the paper.

“What about Lily and Mary? We have to ask them. Two more talented and intelligent witches will increase our chances. They are dependable and trustworthy.”

“And auror-adjacent. They are probably as self-righteous as you were when you first came here. They will argue about politics before going anywhere with us. We can’t trust them – and we can’t have untrustworthy people with us for this.”

“You can trust them. They’re our friends. They want the war to end and Voldemort to die more than anything.”

“A lot of people want that. Do I have to invite them all?”

“No, but-“James exhaled in frustration. “Their support will increase our chances to survive this. …And they deserve to be part of it. Think about how much they lost. We were a large group of friends when we joined the Order, and now only the two of them are left – not to mention Dumbledore just died.”

“Yes and now you want us to trust them in battle when we ask them to fight on the side of Dumbledore’s killer.”

James flinched at his words. He pressed his lips together and averted his gaze. Regulus stared him down with cool, grey eyes.

James knew that Regulus killed Dumbledore, of course. He was probably there. Was that guilt on James’s face? Would he have rather kept Dumbledore alive and seen Regulus in Azkaban or dead?

“They don’t know who killed him, but they might have a guess,” Regulus said.

James closed his eyes for a moment. He cleared his throat and fully turned to Regulus, as if the decision was only his to make.

“We need them. We can trust them. Moony and I will convince them that you are the good guys now. We cannot leave them out of this. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Rightness doesn’t matter to me,” Regulus countered, but his body was fully turned to James, hands unclenched and features soft. Rightness didn’t matter to him, but Merlin, James did.

“Look at it from a pragmatical point. You said yourself that Lily was very talented. She graduated top of our year. She defied countless Death Eaters and faced Voldemort himself. You need her on your team. Mary is smart, quick, and resilient. She specialises in distraction and support – anything to do with shields and quick reflexes. Both of them have nothing to lose and their rage might be at an all-time high after Dumbledore’s death. If they’re willing, it would be completely illogical to not use them to your advantage.”

And with that, he had him. Regulus grumbled, mumbled and cursed some more for good measure, but – with the support of the rest of them – agreed.

Pandora and Lupin left the table to talk with Dorcas and contact Lily Evans and Mary MacDonald.

***

They spent the day strategising and planning. In the evening, they sat together in the TV room, and it was finally just them again: Regulus, Pandora, Evan and Barty. Potter and Lupin had left them alone after dinner.

Barty sat in the corner of one of the couches with his legs over Evan's lap. He lit a cigarette for himself. Regulus and Pandora disliked it when he smoked inside, but so close to a battle, not even they wanted to argue. If there was a time to be indulgent, it was now, they supposed.

“Tomorrow, Lily and Mary will either show up or not,” Regulus said. “And decide to help us or not. We’ll explain the plan. Then we should sleep again, attack at night. “

“I checked the Invisibility potions supply,” Pandora said. “Everything is in order.”

Barty blew out the smoke. “So that’s it then. This time tomorrow we’re going to attack the darkest wizard of all time. Fun.”

“Look at the bright side, thanks to James’s insistence, there is now a good chance we will be arrested by his Order friends before butting ourselves in mortal danger.”

Barty laughed and pointed his cigarette at Regulus. “Says the one who folded as soon as James put his little teddy bear eyes on him.”

“I didn’t fold.”

“No, no, he’s right,” Evan said. “He didn’t fold, but he was so close to spreading his legs and arching his back.”

Regulus shook his head.

“You are so far gone from him, it’s not even funny anymore.”

“No, it’s still very funny,” Barty disagreed. “I have never seen you this desperate for cock.”

“Nice self-own.” Regulus sat up properly and reached for his drink. “I’m not desperate for anything. I think getting him under me would be quite enjoyable. But the missions are the important thing. He is capable, so he deserves a bit of trust when he has a strategy, which he can support with factual arguments. That has nothing to do with our usual…” He made a face. “Relationship – in the pure sense of who he is in relation to me.”

“Which is what? Future husband? Object of desire? Man of your dreams? Wank fodder?”

Regulus pulled the glass straw out of his drink, tapped it on the rim, and then threw it at Barty’s head, who ducked away.

“The friend of my brother, you moron.”

“You do know that we saw you kiss, right?” Evan asked.

“So? It’s none of your business. Take care of your own relationship. I won’t defend myself for being attracted to a capable, handsome man, while the two of you are each dating that.” He made a broad gesture in their direction.

Barty grinned and sat up to wrap his arms around Evan’s head. “How dare you insult my sweet blood sucker? My darling mosquito?” He pressed a kiss to the side of Evan’s head.

Evan looked at Regulus. “I see your point.”

Regulus nodded in self-satisfaction. “I think I’ll go to bed. Don’t stay up too long. I find Gryffindors far more irritating without proper sleep.”

They said their good nights. Pandora spread herself out on the couch and took over Regulus’s drink. The glass straw flew back into the drink, and a little cocktail umbrella appeared next to it.

“After we kill Voldemort,” she said, “I want to go to the beach.”

“What beach?” Evan asked.

“No matter. Spain would be nice, or France.”

“France? Isn’t experiencing one hell enough for the year?”

Pandora just rolled her eyes. “I think it would be nice. I think we should travel. I cannot see this bunker anymore. I want to see Rome and Athens, visit Brazil and Mexico, eat in Japan and watch the giant spiders in Australia.”

“Spiders?” Evan frowned.

“Whatever. I just want to go there. The world has so many interesting magical communities, artifacts and beasts. I can’t imagine staying in one community or country forever. Can you?”

“Absolutely,” Barty said, flicking ash off his cigarette. “I could even stay in this bunker forever. Though, now that you mention it, muggles got all those cool guns and bombs, I must see what other heinous shit they came up with. When you don’t have spells, you have to be more creative in your methods of destruction.”

Pandora nodded excitedly. “And then we can combine their inventions with our magic!”

“I thought you wanted to found a magical telly studio?” Evan reminded her. “Why can’t we stay in one place? Not to sound like a sentimental wimp but having a home for a change would be nice.”

Barty considered the bunker their home. It was theirs, big, changed according to their whims, and gave him enough opportunity to test his experiments and inventions. But he imagined it being their home – just him and Evan.  They could pretend to be one of those annoying couples who always touch each other and talk about interior design with that condescending little laugh whenever they got visitors! They could install fun little traps. The voices of reason could not veto any of his ideas!

“We could keep a pet boggart in the attic,” he whispered with glee. “And get a house ghost. I’ve always wanted a house ghost. That’s it, Evan, we’re buying a haunted house.”

“With what money?” Pandora asked. “We’re all disowned.”

“Evan, we’re robbing a bank.”

Evan sighed and interlocked his fingers with Barty’s. “Before any of that, we have to survive tomorrow. Panda, if you happen to have had a nice vision of us all surviving and going to the beach, now would be a good moment to share it.”

She averted her eyes. “Still not how that works.”

Pandora had visions all the time. She rarely talked about them anymore. She used to share them the moment they happened. It was all in good fun. Many of those visions were about death one way or another, but since they all lived, they decided that the visions didn’t have much merit.

It was all fun and games until it wasn’t. If they had taken that one vision seriously…

“But you did see something about tomorrow.” Evan didn’t need to ask. 

Smoke curled from Barty’s cigarette. Pandora watched it until it dissipated and spun the glass straw between her fingers.

“I see a lot of things. I don’t want to worry any of you. If we think we’ll die, we will die.”

“If we are meant to die, we die, regardless of whether you tell us.”

Barty’s hand cramped around the cigarette. Evan’s hand was ice cold against his own.

“Then there is no point in telling you anyway. My visions may be nonsense again.”

“Or they might save us if we avoid what you’re seeing,” Barty said quietly and flicked the cigarette before taking a deep drag.

Pandora clenched her jaw.

Barty shouldn’t have said it.

They all knew what he meant.

Some time ago, not a lot of time, no, but it seemed decades past, Pandora and Evan’s younger brother, Felix, were to accompany their family to a mission. It was before they took their marks. Barty’s attitude toward the whole “new world order” and cult thing was still carefree, and Evan had no personal stakes in the matter.

Before one could receive the Dark Mark, they had to prove themselves in missions and errands. The Rosiers learned of a Muggle-wizard wedding and, after asking the Dark lord for guidance, decided to attack the festivities and kill the couple. Barty and Regulus joined them willingly. Pandora had begun to rebel against her parents and wanted to stay home.

Felix was just a child, six years younger than the twins.

Yet, his parents thought, he should be there. It was good for a young boy’s character to watch his parents and siblings stand up for their rights and his future.

‘I had a vision of Felix dying. He should stay home with me,’ Pandora had said the night before.
‘You have visions all the time. They don’t mean anything,’ Evan had replied.

At the wedding, the wizard’s family defended themselves and their guests. Spells were thrown. Energy soared through the air, and in the end, the bride and groom were dead. But so was Felix.

A stray spell must have hit him. They didn’t notice until the battle was over, and Evan meant to grab his brother’s hand to apparate with their parents. Felix didn’t stand there anymore. Evan’s hand only touched air.

After this, Pandora turned her back on her family and their ambitions for good. Evan now had personal stakes and soon after stood in front of Voldemort to have his arm branded with his mark.

Pandora took a long sip from Regulus’s drink. She pushed it around in her mouth as if it would reveal the right words to her.

“Just… look out for each other,” she said finally and put the glass down. “Do not separate.”

Evan and Barty looked at each other. A silent understanding passed between them.

“And, Evan, you need to wear this.” Pandora sat up and pulled something out of her skirt pocket.

She switched to their couch and presented a shiny, black ring with golden symbols carved into the metal. Barty sat up to see it properly.

“You know that I have been working on sun-protection magic for you. It is not perfect yet, but you should use it.”

Evan hesitated, staring at the ring. “We attack at night.”

“Still. What if they use a sunlight spell? Or the fight takes longer than we anticipate? I want you to stay out of the light but wear it just in case.”

Evan swallowed visibly.

“And you think it really…”

“Yes. To a certain degree for a certain amount of time. I would have preferred to test it more, but...” The reason remained unspoken, as it was obvious to them all. “Take it.”

Evan squeezed Barty’s hand in his and with the other, reached for the ring. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

Pandora smiled and kissed the side of his head. “I should go to bed. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

The boys nodded and wished her good night.

Evan sat in silence, staring at the ring in his palm.

“Put it on,” Barty said softly. “If this works, and you two keep working on it, you might be able to walk in the sun again soon.”

Evan gently moved the ring around in his palm. “Would you like that? In the bunker, it doesn’t matter, but if we do get out of here, of course you’d be out of the house some days, and I guess I could come with you then…”

Barty squeezed his hand. “Evan. I would move into a dark cave ten feet beneath the ground to be with you. Now, put it on.”

The corner of Evan’s mouth lifted to what could almost be called a smile. He freed his other hand from Barty’s grip to put on the ring.

He held out his hand, flipping it in the light, like a grand dame showing off her heirloom diamonds.

The smile faded slowly until his brows had tightened in a frown again.

“Hey, Ev,” Barty said and kicked his leg. “What’s with the face? Are you okay?”

Evan turned to him and tried himself on a smile again. It wasn’t very convincing. He took Barty’s hand again, interlacing their fingers.

“Come on, miss me with that shit,” Barty said with no bite in his voice, instead an encouraging smirk. “Don’t placate me. Tell me what’s going on in that overdriven head of yours?”

Evan sighed deeply, rubbing his thumb over Barty’s hand. “I’m just worried. …Ever since my transformation, my memory is clearer too, which is… the closer we got to destroying the Horcruxes and fighting Voldemort the more I had to think about Felix. …We are going to fight the darkest, most powerful wizard of our time – of all time, probably. I can’t lose Pandora, Reg or you too.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that. We don’t know what will happen. It is very, very likely that we will die. You know that as well as I do. The fact that we haven’t died yet was 90% luck – well, one of us did anyway…”

“You’re not dead.”

“I literally am. There’s no point in talking around it. I died. The three of you let me turn into a Vampire to bring me back. And… I get it. In some moments I’m even grateful that I’m still here.”

“Some moments?”

“Sitting here with you is quite enjoyable.”

Barty rearranged himself to lean into his side and kissed his shoulder.

“I don’t think I would do it.” Evan said suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Turn the three of you into Vampires to bring you back. I could. I could bite you before the battle, make sure you rise as an undead in case you died but… it wouldn’t be right. Sometimes, what is dead should stay dead. If you are convinced otherwise, it will consume you. There is no moving on if you decide for yourself that resurrection is an option – one that you’re willing to take, no matter how much you must sacrifice and how many people you must kill for it. I don’t want to end up like that. …People who go down that road, they become a shadow of their former self. Unrecognisable. …As much as I don’t want to lose you, or Panda and Reg, I don’t want to lose myself either, not again.”

Barty bit his lip.

It was true, Regulus had lost himself and become unrecognisable in his pursuit of resurrection. He had cared about nothing else – sleep, food, hygiene. He had locked himself into a makeshift bunker – which was really just a room – sleeping next to his brother’s corpse on the floor and reading until his fingers were bloodied from paper cuts. Even after they found him, expanded the bunker, turned it into a home and aided him, he wasn’t their Regulus anymore. He had no room in his life for anything but Sirius. He gave up a part of his magic every day to preserve him and took every risk for just the chance of getting closer to his goal. Barty would never admit it, but in truth, Regulus had not seemed human until James joined his cause.

He tried to imagine Evan like that: ashen skin, sunken eyes, living among death with one singular thing dominating him in such a way that all care, morality and principle were forgotten.

He did not want that for him.

“Do you wish we would have let you die instead of letting you turn?” Barty asked quietly.

Evan was silent for a moment, looking down at their hands and squeezing lightly.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted finally. “I’m coming to terms with it all. I cherish every minute I get to spend with you, Panda and Reg. But at the same time, I can’t help but compare it to how my life used to be, how I experienced things, how carefree I was. I could just kiss you and take you whenever I wanted without fearing I might accidentally crush you.”

“You wouldn’t. You’ve come a long way in handling your new abilities. You won’t hurt me. And if you did, I’d forgive you.”

Evan laughed humourlessly and shook his head. “That is not as comforting as you think it is.”

“I for one, am glad that you’re still here. Even though you were a nasty piece of shit for a few weeks.” Barty kissed his cheek. “I don’t want to live without you, Evan. I couldn’t let you die.”

Evan looked at him. He placed his hand against Barty’s cheek, carefully pushed his green-tipped hair out of his face, and smiled. “I know. If it comes down to it, I’m not sure that, in a moment of grief, I wouldn’t try to bring you back, too. …I love you too much to handle your loss.”

Barty’s body tensed.

Did he mishear?

Was it a trick of the imagination?

Or did Evan just say-

“I love you,” he said again.

“I love you, too.” The words rushed out of Barty’s mouth without any of the gravity he had always planned to add to his voice, but with all the impatience of a phrase that was held back for months.

He looked up into his eyes. Evan smiled again, a real smile this time.

“I want to kiss you now,” Evan whispered.

Barty understood. Evan was still hesitant to take charge, physically. So, Barty swung himself on top of him, straddling his lap, grabbed his face and kissed him deeply.

Evan dug his fingers into the couch. He allowed himself to respond to the kiss. Barty slid his hands into his hair. He pushed him further into the couch, moving against his rigid body.

A deep, soft sound rose from Evan’s throat and pushed against Barty’s lips.

He smirked and, seizing the moment, parted his lips to lick into Evan’s mouth, drawing another one of those sounds out of him.

Barty was so intimately familiar with the man, he knew every moan, sigh and catch of breath by heart and what they meant. As much as Evan had changed, he was still the man he knew inside and out. He still responded to all of Barty’s tricks in the same way as before.

He rubbed their jeans together, grinding down on Evan’s crotch and catching his breathy response in his mouth.

He ran his hands down the back of his neck and along his shoulders, grabbing his bicep with one hand, and feeling the tension in the muscle.

He remembered the feeling of Evan’s fingers digging into his flesh, bruising the white skin, then moving down to his ass, where he slapped him playfully, pulled his cheeks apart and used his artisan fingers to make him see stars.

Now, the couch got that treatment, as if a little pressure would fracture Barty’s hips – and if it did, Barty would probably get off on it.

He pinched Evan’s bicep, grabbed blindly for his arm and moved it so his hand was on his waist, where it fucking belonged.

Evan placed his other hand there on his own, and Barty put his heart back into the kiss.

Barty moved against him, chasing every bit of friction while Evan held him, but did not dare to assert enough control to direct his movements. They had taken it slow – cute kisses, hugs, cuddles, all soft and patient while Evan came to terms with his new strengths. Barty was pent up. He was shaking with need and desire. Evan could get him hot and heavy with his mere presence, and they haven’t touched properly, made out and let alone fucked in months.

How was a man with a hot, monogamous boyfriend supposed to survive in these conditions?

Barty dug his fingers into Evan’s shoulders. He dragged his hands over his shirt, reminding himself of every curve of muscle, the taut skin pulled over delicious abs. Evan was a well-built man. He spent most of his free time in a forge, for Merlin’s sake! - with hot flames lapping at his hands like demon tongues desperate for a taste, sweat running down his perfect body, dampening his hair and making his skin glisten in the firelight. Barty could almost taste the saltiness again.

How has he survived this long without all of this? Months of using his own hand and pretending it was Evan. He hadn’t dared to push him, make his desperation known, worried it might pressure Evan and turn him away. But now, with an imminent battle and a love declaration in the room, he felt like he might die if he didn’t touch his boyfriend.

Barty ran his hands down Evan’s muscled body, pulled on his shirt and slipped his fingers underneath to feel the cool skin. He used to be burning hot like his forge. Barty didn’t mind the change in body temperature. He could endure any change as long as he still had Evan in the end.

Evan’s tongue slipped into his mouth, and Barty moaned into the kiss. He pulled on the button of Evan’s jeans, revealing his white-green chequered pants and the obvious bulge of his hard cock.

Evan pulled back and grabbed Barty’s shoulders.
“Wait.”

Barty took his hands off him. As needy as he was, this would only be fun if Evan was as enthusiastic about it as him.

Evan was breathing heavily.

“You okay?”

He nodded sharply. “Just… wait a moment.”

Barty slowly placed his hands atop Evan’s.

“Ev, please, let me make you feel good. It’s been so long; you must be as pent-up as me.”

Evan laughed dryly. “Trust me, more than you.”

“Then what’s the problem? You’re hard. Let me help, hm?” He lifted Evan’s hand from his shoulder and guided it to his lips.

Evan’s eyelids fluttered. “I’m just worried. I don’t want to lose control.”

“What do you think will happen? That you fuck a new hole into me? That’s hot.”

“What if I lose control and go too hard, too fast or touch you with too much force?”

“Hot.”

“Barty. What if I bite you?”

Barty looked at his mouth, where his new, sharp fangs were hidden. His boyfriend being supernaturally strong and able to manhandle him was in itself a huge turn on. Yes, even the secret fantasy of Evan injuring him during it had made him come one night or another. But the biting thing? A new way for Evan to penetrate him? A new way for them to share each other’s bodies? A part of him to enter Evan’s body and become his? Becoming a source of life for his lover?

The thought alone made him hard.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” Evan said, confused. Then something shifted in his expression. “Are you turned on by that?” He said it with neither disgust nor alarm but interest.

Barty wrapped his arms around Evan’s shoulders and pressed their bodies together until Evan could feel his hardness.

“I want to be with you in every way, Evan. I’d take every risk. I wouldn’t hold anything against you. Even if you did lose control, I wouldn’t hold it against you. I’d still want to be with you, and I’d still love you.”

Barty leaned in to kiss him again.

“And what about the fact that you’d be sleeping with a corpse?”

“Always wanted to try that.”

Evan laughed against his lips, then wrapped his arms around him and kissed him again.

“Maybe we can take it slow?” He whispered. Barty had dropped his hands to Evan’s pants again. “Like we kissed. You are in control for now if your masochistic little perv brain can comprehend that.”

“Anything you want.”

Evan kissed him passionately with the same heat as he had before all this happened.

Barty’s brain was flooded with ideas and desires, trying not to let the little fantasies about enticing pain and hot blood to win him over. Not yet. He wanted to get Evan off, but with it reassure him that this was safe.

Barty grinned and pulled back from the kiss. Evan’s eyes followed him as Barty scooted back and slid from the couch, so he sat at Evan’s feet. He tugged on his jeans, then his pants and his hard cock sprang free.

Barty wrapped his hand around his length. It was warmer than the rest of him, pulsing with foreign blood. Evan’s sharp gaze was on him; lips parted in anticipation. Barty licked his lips and smirked up at his boyfriend.

He kissed Evan’s thigh, hot and open-mouthed, working his way up. He gently bit into the cool skin, sucked and kissed the marks he left. Evan dug his fingers into the couch again, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Barty gently squeezed Evan’s cock, kissing the spot where hip met thigh.

“Don’t be such a tease,” Evan whispered and bucked up his hips.

Barty smirked.

What was sex without a little begging?

He licked his lips again, darted his tongue out and flicked it against the tip of Evan’s cock. He moaned loudly.

Barty remembered Evan describing how intense everything had felt since his transformation.

Excitement rushed through Barty’s body along with the lust.

He let saliva drool on the head of his cock, using it as lube to slide his hand up and down his length. He moved in agonizingly slow strokes, watching his lover’s chest rise and fall with forceful, unnecessary breaths.

He pressed his tongue against the head, earning a deep groan. He licked his length down to the base and back up to the tip, where he wrapped his lips around him and sucked.

Evan cursed and moaned. A hand found its way into Barty’s hair, pushing down. He quickly stopped applying pressure on Barty’s head and instead played with his hair. Barty didn’t mind the pushing. Quite the contrary. He felt hazy at the thought of Evan taking him and using him for his pleasure.

They had never been careful with each other when it came to sex. Watching Evan practising restraint was almost funny.

Barty complied with the unuttered command and slid Evan’s cock further into his mouth. He moved his head up and down his cock, sucking around him and flicking his tongue against the tip when he was at the top again.

Evan moaned loudly above him, cursing and gasping.

“Fuck, Barty, just like that.”

He pulled on his hair, tugging on his scalp. The dull pain only encouraged him.

He swirled his tongue around the head. Drool ran down his length and over Barty’s hand. He took him down his throat again.

“Oh, Merlin, fuck, yes!”

Barty came back up when Evan let out a deep moan. He bucked up his hips and came inside his mouth. Somewhere between Evan’s noises, the tugging on his hair and the pulsing cock and warm cum in his mouth, Barty almost came inside his pants.

He swallowed obediently and gently sucked on the tip a few times more before letting Evan’s cock slip out.

Evan sank back into the couch. He wrapped his arms around his own head and groaned.

“Sorry.”

Barty frowned. He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt and climbed back onto Evan’s lap.

“That to the alleged stamina of Vampires, huh? Coming after three minutes like a damn fourteen-year-old.”

Barty grinned and forced Evan’s arms away so he could look at him. “I’ll take it as a compliment to my skills.”

Evan nodded weakly. “You have no idea. Every touch is so intense… a single stroke felt like you’ve been edging me for an hour.”

“Really?” He could hear the mischief in his own voice. “If that’s the case I see a lot of potential for some new… experiments.”

“It’s embarrassing. I don’t want to be some sort of two-pump-chump.”

“All I’m hearing is that we need to have a lot of sex to get you used to these feelings again.”

Barty leaned in to kiss him playfully. He moved against him, making the presence of his still hard cock known.

Evan put his hands on Barty’s thighs, hesitantly sliding one up to his hip. He kissed his lips, then his cheek, jaw and down to his neck. Barty liked being kissed there and loved getting hickeys sucked into his skin. Maybe he had a thing for seeing bruises on his skin, so what?

He felt Evan breathe in against his neck.

“Fuck, you smell good,” he muttered and kissed him again.

Barty ground down on him, chasing the friction Evan denied him by keeping his hand firmly on his hip.

“I’m getting hard again if you keep that up.”

Barty peeked down at Evan’s cock, which began to stiffen again. He chuckled. “Ah, that to the topic of vampiric stamina. If you recover this quickly and come that hard form now on, I must develop a cum or breeding kink.”

Evan laughed against his skin. He looked up at him out of green eyes, almost entirely void of worry. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Barty kissed him again. “Now, get your arse to my room, get the lube and then we’ll see how many times I can make you come tonight.”

Evan didn’t hesitate, stood up, with Barty’s legs around his hips, abandoned his trousers, and carried him through the bunker to their room.

Chapter Text

“You are really courting danger tonight,” – Captive Prince, 127

Barty and Evan were the last ones to arrive in the lab – Evan slurping blood through a loopy straw and Barty with his friends’ leftovers piled on a plate. They had to cross through the room to get to the kitchen before, but couldn’t be bothered to take inventory of its current occupants.

Now, Barty realised that there were three more people than usual in his beloved laboratory.

One was Dorcas. She was rarely down here, even when they left the suitcase with her. Her braids were grown out, lacking the usual charms and embellishments. She wasn’t wearing any make-up or jewellery, and her clothes weren’t the tight-fitting tops she usually wore to show off her well-toned body.

The other two women must be Potter’s Order friends. The redhead was Lily Evans. Head-girl during Barty’s sixth year. He recalled that Potter used to chase her like a love-sick puppy, but he mainly knew her because their old housemate, Snape, had been obsessed with her back in the day. The half-blood went from calling her his “friend” and “love of his life” to “mudblood” in the span of a few years. She probably didn’t appreciate it. Now, they were fighting on opposite sides of this war.

The third girl had dark skin, a couple of shades lighter than Dorcas, and her curly hair was pulled into two buns. She had taken the time to accessorise with glittery make-up, gold bangles and a few rings. That had to be Mary.

“Hey Cas,” Barty grinned. “Want some breakfast?”

She eyed his plate with concern. “No, thanks.”

Lily spoke up. “Are you going to tell us what’s going on any time soon? Remus, where were you? And what happened to your finger? Were you attacked? And you, James? Have you been working with them? First, you were kidnapped. Then a note appears in your house stating that you’re alive and will explain at some point. Well, go on! Why are you standing here with a bunch of Death Eaters?”

“They’re not Death Eaters anymore,” James said.

Barty glanced at his forearm. He has never been big on sleeves, and in the comfort of his home, surrounded by people who understood, it felt silly to hide the mark. Regulus was different. His sleeves were always down.

Speaking of, Regulus was leaning against his desk, putting distance between himself and the girls. He was wearing a black, tight long-sleeved turtleneck, which he often wore for his training sessions with Potter. It was no coincidence that it showed off his slutty little waist, well-formed muscles and pulled focus to that pretty face with the giant grey eyes, all the while hiding the Dark Mark. It did wonders for him and was doubtlessly what any clever bloke would wear in front of his crush. To double down, he was playing with a dagger – as if Potter’s weak mind needed any more distraction.

“Regulus, Barty and Evan defected from the Death Eaters a year ago, Pandora doesn’t have a mark, and they’ve been working on You-Know-Who’s destruction all this time.”

Lily and Mary frowned at the group.

“It’s true," Dorcas said. “Why do you think I let them hide with me?”

“That’s another thing.” Mary turned to her. “You knew? You talked to them and not us? Dorcas, James, Remus – we were worried. Merlin, we thought you were dead half the time.”

“It wasn’t my information to share,” Dorcas said. “And frankly, I didn’t think you’d understand.”

“Understand what? That James and Remus left the Order to work with the enemy?”

“They’re not the enemy,” James insisted.

“They are Death Eaters. They took the mark. They fought for You-Know-Who. Have you lost your mind? How can you be on their side? Approve of their methods and character?”

“They’re-“

“He doesn’t approve of them,” Regulus cut in. He sounded bored, idly letting the dagger spin on its own axis between his hands. “He has simply accepted that morality is not effective when you try to kill someone profoundly immoral.”

Lily pulled a face. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“That your self-righteous attitude won’t get you anywhere. James had to learn that the hard way. We are going to kill Voldemort tonight. James thinks I should let you join us. That’s why you’re here.”

Mary flinched. Lily didn’t.

“Kill You-Know-Who. You.” Lily looked him up and down, then threw a dismissive glance at Barty and Evan.

“Yes. Me.”

“And why should we believe this? Why would you suddenly care about the fate of muggles and muggleborn wizards and witches?”

Regulus shrugged. “I don’t.”

James ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not- Look, Lily, Mary, they are trying to unlearn all the hateful things they grew up with. They’re putting in the effort. Like, they’re engaging with muggle media – they’re watching muggle telly shows.”

“Watching muggle telly shows? Oh, of course, that changes everything! The Death Eaters, who joined a cult whose goal it is to eradicate us and enslave muggle-kind is watching the fucking Great British Bake-off in their free-time! Forgive me for not prostrating myself in the eye of your activism!”

“Who would have thought: We found a thing to agree on,” Regulus said.

Privately, Barty thought that their group – yes, even Regulus – made good progress in their efforts to unlearn the pureblood mindset. Granted, Barty had to unlearn less than his friends, but one way or another, they arrived at a ‘muggleborns are not less worthy of life than us’ sort of look at the whole thing. He’d appreciate a bit of recognition for his efforts. Even Regulus, who, all things considered, really did not care about anything that didn’t directly affect him, thought they didn’t deserve to be slaughtered just for existing. (And he thought a great many people should be slaughtered just for breathing too loudly in his vicinity.)

Okay, none of them (except maybe Pandora) would risk their lives just to save the muggleborn witches and wizards of England, but they wouldn’t risk their lives to save anyone except their own friends. They were more of a revenge-driven sort of group, unlike the Order, which was fuelled by moral convictions.

And, well, the results spoke for themselves.

James turned around and took some steps toward Regulus. “Reg, could you let me handle this, please? We want them as allies.”

“You want them as allies,” Regulus corrected. “And if they don’t want to fill that role that’s their decision but I don’t need more people who confuse who is good and who is bad in this place.”

Regulus pushed himself up and sat on the top of his desk. In the decade that Barty has known him, he has never seen him sit on a desk. Was he spreading his legs a little bit?

“If you went to that battle exclusively with people who want to fight to save the world, you’d stand alone.”

“He wouldn’t stand alone,” Mary interjected. “We’d stand with him.”

“And not stand a chance.” Regulus dismissed her, then shifted his focus back on James. His eyes were fixed on him, his exquisite body put on display and turned to him, and his legs spread in an, for him, obscene manner. Barty doubted that the girls – or even James – even noticed what he was doing, but when he turned to Evan, he saw him mouthing ‘whore’ in his direction, and grinned.

“You’re the good one, we are the bad ones. Saying something else is foolish. It is simply that we are more effective.”

There was honestly no point in turning this into the next ideological argument. Barty thought they had gotten past this. Yet, Regulus felt the need to sort them into good and bad – while only wanting to make that point to James, it seemed.

Strangely, it seemed to affect him. Something must have happened between them, because James just looked away and crossed his arms.

Then, his face softened, and he looked back at Regulus. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he said quietly. “But that’s not what this is about.”

 “Then keep it to the point. Tell them why you want them here. You won’t be able to convince your Order friends to agree with our methods, just with our goal.” And as if James needed to fold any faster, Regulus lazily pointed his dagger at him while he spoke.

Lily strutted over to the pair and turned James around to her. “James. There’s one thing you need to know. …Dumbledore is dead.”

Barty pressed his lips together to avoid laughing out loud. Oh, this might be fun…

“I know,” James said without meeting her eyes.

“He was assassinated by Death Eaters. People like them.”

So close, yet so far, Barty thought.

James took a breath. He freed his arm from Lily’s grip and looked into her eyes. “They are not Death Eaters. They have worked hard and risked their lives to destroy You-Know-Who. They found a way to make him mortal. They know where he is. They can kill him. But we need your help.”

“We? James, are you listening to yourself? It sounds like a trap. What did they do to you that you’re on their side?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true,” Regulus said. “And it is a valid question. What did we – to be precise, I – evil, dark-magic-wielding Death Eater do to our righteous, good-guy, Auror, Order-member Jamie that he joined me in my cause? The answer is quite simple: I found a way to kill Voldemort. And, despite what you might think, James didn’t change all that much or abandon his convictions. He is still filled to the brim with all those moral ideas about the ‘right way’ to do things and weirder concepts like honesty or leaving people alive. It’s sickening and, quite frankly, annoying, but that’s Potter for you. So, are you going to stand there and whine and cry about a little branding here and a bit of bloodshed there, or are you going to follow your friend into a battle that will lead to certain death? That death might be Voldemort’s. Or ours, so, really, you win either way.”

While the mocking tone and the sneer seemed to have deafened everyone else in the room, Barty, Evan, and Pandora stared at Regulus in absolute shock. They have never heard him sing such praises about anyone. He wouldn’t even compliment his brother this much, and he was not even here to hear it.

Not just a whore, a love-sick whore.
And so, Barty found the perfect Engraving for Regulus’s tombstone.

Mary spoke up. “What is the big secret you found out? Why do you think the four of you can kill him?”

“He won’t tell you unless you agree to join us,” James said. “Or how could we be sure that you don’t take that knowledge, arrest them, and try to go after You-Know-Who yourselves?”

“Maybe we pull back out after agreeing,” Lily said.

“You wouldn’t. You don’t break promises. Unless you have changed more than I.”

Now, it was Lily who looked away. She returned to Dorcas and Mary.

The three girls formed a circle at the other side of the room and began to whisper to each other. James watched the scene with concern. Regulus watched James with the same expression. Barty raised an eyebrow toward Lupin, who just shrugged and shook his head.

“Okay,” Lily said finally. “We’re in. But not for any of you. For our friends who were killed by the Death Eaters. For Marlene, and Fabian and Gideon, Frank and Peter, and Sirius.”

Regulus’s knife hand twitched. But no blade soared directly to Lily’s throat for daring to say Sirius’s name, because James had moved first. He had his hand clasped around Regulus’s wrist and carefully took the dagger from him.

“Sirius isn’t yours to fight for,” Regulus said tightly.

James’s hand was still around his wrist, and he did nothing to remove it.

“He was our friend.”

“Lily.” To Barty’s surprise, it was Lupin who spoke up. He had been stoically silent so far. Barty had almost forgotten he was even here. “That is no argument you want to have with him. He’s right. Sirius isn’t yours to fight or take revenge for. He’s mine. I will join, too.”

“You can barely walk for three weeks a month,” Regulus spat.

Lupin met his gaze unfazed. “I can do it.”

“Moony, are you sure?” Potter asked. “It’s only a few days until...”

“I can do it,” he repeated.

***

Regulus

Regulus sat in the crypt by Sirius’s coffin. Everyone had gone to bed. Lily, Mary and Dorcas got a make-shift room in the bunker. They slept now and would wake up at dusk to begin their final mission.

There were so many things he should tell his brother. He hadn’t come often enough in the past few months, ever since James joined them down in the bunker. Which was odd, considering he had so much more to say since then.

But how was he supposed to explain to his brother that he was kissing his best friend? Multiple times. And that he wanted to kiss him all the time? Worst of all, how was he supposed to explain feelings he himself didn’t understand? And then of course, there was Dumbledore. And how was he supposed to explain that James killed Dumbledore? James wouldn’t want him to know about it. And why was he considering James’s wishes when it came to what he wanted to tell his own brother?

Oh, right, because he had complicated feelings for James, which he didn’t really want to understand.

And tonight, they would face Voldemort.

Which meant that Regulus might not return and never speak to him again.

And Sirius, cut off from Regulus’s magic, would begin to rot and die all over again.

Regulus shuddered. He leaned his head back against the coffin and glanced at his brother through the glass.

A soft sound came from beyond the room. The door beyond the actual chamber, leading to the hallway, was opened and closed. The wall to his right gently shifted out of the way, revealing the archway.

Regulus looked up. Not many people, just one actually, dared to come in here, especially when Regulus was here. But it wasn’t James standing in the archway. It was Lupin.

He stopped in his tracks and looked at him, surprised.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were… I just…”

“Are you coming here often?” Regulus asked. “I did not permit you.”

“Well, ah… often is… I don’t have many other things to do. One day, I just came here and the wall opened up for me. I interpreted that as permission.”

Regulus hummed. It was the permission given by the room, not him, which meant that it was, in a way, permission given by Sirius. Regulus could hardly override that.

They looked at each other for a while, Regulus sitting next to the coffin, Lupin standing in the doorway. Neither of them said a word.

The full moon was coming closer. Lupin was beginning to be in a worse mood than usual. He and Evan snapped at each other every once in a while. And his physical health seemed to decline. Regulus didn't understand why. It made sense to him that after the moon, his body would be wrecked, freshly injured, in pain from the transformations. The moon affecting his mood before the transformation was also comprehensible. But all body aches seemed to act up just before the full moon came into fruition. So now he was wobbling along on a cane once again.

Regulus doubted that he’d be able to fight Death Eaters in this state.

He thought back to the training room when he said to James that maybe he had shown him sympathy because he changed Regulus, not because James himself had changed. And maybe that was true because Regulus felt… not bad, but not good at seeing Lupin balancing himself on his cane.

“Do you want to come in?” He asked.

Lupin hesitated. They didn't like each other. They barely talked. He probably saw him as the weird guy who routinely stabbed and slashed the only friend he had left, and then made out with him. Regulus could see how that might be confusing to a rational person, and Lupin has always been the rational one of the bunch. Which, considering that the bunch was Pettigrew, Potter, Lupin and his brother, didn't mean much.

“Yes,” Lupin said finally. He limped inside, stopped by the coffin and sat down next to Regulus. He put his hand on the glass and looked at Sirius with dreamy eyes.

“It’ll be soon, right?” He whispered. “I know killing Voldemort is part of a greater goal. Peace. Ending the slaughter. But for the ritual, it's the last thing we need, right?”

“Yes,” Regulus said. And yes, killing Voldemort was part of a larger goal, but Regulus, like Lupin, apparently, did not care for that goal all too much.

“Not to sound weird - or weirder than you might think I am - but sometimes I… I talk to him.”

“That's weird,” Regulus agreed.

“Yeah… I even imagine he answers sometimes. I know he doesn't. I know that he... Sometimes I like to pretend and I tell him about what is going on and what is happening with me and you know, everything.”

Regulus pressed his lips together.

“I miss him,” Lupin continued hesitantly. “I just... I was sad. Angry. Distraught. Destroyed. Hopeless. In pain... Suicidal. Depressed. …But now I just sit here and I just miss him. I feel like I didn't do that before. I grieved him. I begged him to return and… I rarely just sat down and remembered the good parts.”

Regulus wasn't sure what to say to that. Lupin had been part of Sirius's friend group, his gang, his Marauders. And as such, had been a similar recipient of Regulus’s anger and jealousy as James. Except that Sirius had never talked about Lupin the way he had about James. He had never called Lupin his brother. He talked about him, but it was different. Even as a child, Regulus knew it was different. Lupin had not been his rival for Sirius’s fraternal affection.

He disliked Lupin because, at the end of the day, he was still one of them, still someone who took Sirius away. But he was not the one. He was not James.

In another life, maybe they could have been friends. In a life where Sirius and he were still brothers, and Lupin would have just been his brother-in-law. As it was, they were nothing. Acquaintances who didn't like each other because Regulus was who he was, and thus by default Lupin's enemy.

Then Regulus hunted one of his best friends for sport, and killed the other one, whether Lupin knew it or not, and of course, he didn't like that.

Regulus supposed they would have to learn to be something, provided that he'd survive the following day and they'd be able to carry out the ritual. Sirius would return and still love Lupin. They would be together again. Maybe they would get married. Sirius would still love James; he would still be his best friend. And the three of them would be the Marauders. Minus one.

And Regulus?

When he first devised the plan of bringing Sirius back, in his mind, James would have been dead at that point. Lupin hadn’t even crossed his mind. He had been gone. He did not know where he was, whether he was still alive. He did not matter. Sirius mattered. Only Sirius. And when he brought him back, Sirius would love him. He wouldn't have a choice.

He wouldn't have anyone else to choose over him.

By now, Regulus had brought other people into this, and maybe Sirius wouldn’t have to choose between him and James anymore. But if he had to choose between him and Lupin, he wasn’t sure who he’d pick. Maybe he was sure. And maybe that was why he disliked Lupin so much.

So, it seemed that Regulus had no other choice but to decrease the aggression between them.

The thought made him a little ill. He shouldn’t have to bend and change. He already changed enough because of James – not to say for James.

“I talk to him, too,” Regulus said. They had that in common: They were both weird.

“Yeah, I thought so. It’s compelling.”

Regulus hummed in agreement.

“What did he say about you and James?”

“Do not push your luck.”

Lupin smiled. “I told him about you when James told me about the first time you kissed. After your parents… you know. …He didn’t hate the thought, in case you care. I truly think he would like it, you know? Because… he loves you. He really… he really did love you. And he loves James. So, the two of you not hurting each other anymore, he’d be thrilled.” He smiled to himself as if there was a joke only he and Sirius understood.

Regulus looked at his brother’s still face. “When I told him about it, he called me insane.”

Lupin laughed. “Yeah, that, too. But you must admit, it is quite insane. You and him.”

“No. It’s only insane form his side, that he lets it happen.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, then again, James is… well, let’s say, he has always been responding positively to mean behaviour, insults and a moderate amount of degradation.”

Regulus took this information in and neatly filed it away in his brain for later. “You mean to say that James lets me kiss him because he has a degradation kink?”

“Oh yes. You didn’t know that?”

Regulus thought back to the training room. Maybe he guessed it…

Lupin smiled at him and sighed. “We will bring Sirius back and he will learn about this for real. I think he will have a bit of a freak-out. Probably a small heart-attack. And then he’ll be glad and we can live happily ever after. Because when Sirius is back, nothing bad will ever happen again. Right?”

Regulus looked at him, then glanced at Sirius, and averted his eyes.

“If you want optimism, talk to James.”

“You’re right… I wanted to ask Sirius whether he thinks I should go to that battle tonight. I know I’m not in the best physical condition right now, but I’ve been able to manage with potions before. …I thought I didn’t have a place in that war anymore. I don’t want to fight …and die away from him. I have to reassure him that the two of you will come back, or he’ll be worried and all alone.”

In a weird way, Regulus understood this. “I think he’d want you to stay. He wouldn’t want you to risk your life, especially in this condition.” He nodded toward the cane. “Did you know he once visited me in Hogsmeade? It was the first year he’s been out of school, I was finishing up my education. He proposed we’d run away together. You, him, a few of his friends, and… me.”

Lupin bit his lip. “Did you know that he talked about marriage and he wanted you to be at the wedding?”

“No.”

“He loved you. I didn’t always understand it – never, actually. I understood it even less since I came here.”

“Thanks.”

“But he loved you despite everything. And he will love you when we bring him back.”

Regulus didn’t answer. There was no point in arguing, but he also didn’t want to agree with Lupin. There was no definite proof either way.

“I should probably leave you alone,” Lupin said after a while. “I can’t make decisions right now. I’ll see how well I can walk later tonight when you leave.”

He took his cane and pushed himself up.

“No one would hold it against it if you stayed,” Regulus felt compelled to say. “Maybe Evans or MacDonald, but none of us. I’m the last person to tell people to fight in a war if they don’t want to.”

Lupin nodded slowly. “Good night,” he said. Regulus didn’t answer; he knew that he hadn’t said it to him.

Regulus wasn’t left in peace for long.

He had switched to the divan beneath the portrait of him and Sirius as children. He hadn’t made the wall shift back into place, so when the outer door opened, James stepped into the crypt.

His face lit up with a smile when he spotted Regulus. “I knew I’d find you here.”

“I wasn’t aware you were searching for me. I imagined you had a lot to catch up on with the girls.”

James shook his head and crossed the room to let himself fall on the divan next to him. He swung his legs over Regulus’s and sighed contentedly.

“When have you stopped being afraid of me?” Regulus asked and pushed his legs down again.

“I’ve never been afraid of you to begin with.”

“Right, sure. Lupin said you had a degradation kink.”

James widened his eyes comically. “What? No. That’s crazy.”

Regulus leaned over to him until they were almost nose to nose. “You’re a self-righteous idiot with the grace and dimensions of a half-brained gorilla.”

“I want to have your babies,” James whispered breathlessly. Then he laughed and leaned up to kiss him. Regulus pulled back. He wasn’t done teasing him yet. He couldn’t start giving out kisses every time James was moderately handsome or funny. He’d never get to do anything else.

“Aw, come on. One kiss.” James pouted at him.

Regulus shook his head and sat up. “Why were you looking for me?”

“Do I need to explain in great detail why I want to spend time with you? Have you looked at yourself today?”

Of course he has. James going through a moral crisis, and Lily Evans in the bunker? Regulus had spent more time than he was willing to admit to make himself look presentable this morning.

James sat up as well. “Well, it might be our last day on earth. Traditionally, you spend the eve of a great battle shagging your brains out.”

Regulus chuckled, shaking his head.

“I like it when you smile, but I love it when I can make you laugh.”

“Well, you’re a silly man, so…”

“Oh, don’t talk like it’s an easy feat. I’ve been working very hard for every little crease on your face from frown to smile lines.”

Regulus smiled again, purely for his benefit. “You’re in a better mood than yesterday.”

James shifted in his spot, turning his body to him. “I don’t want to change too much. I might not be who I was before, but I don’t want to be bitter. It would only make me worse. …And you still believe I’m a good person, right?”

“Yes. You’re an annoying little goody-two-shoes who is still too focused on questions of morality and not focused enough on power and effectiveness. Have you practised with Dumbledore’s wand today, like I told you?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t want me to join because…?”

James averted his eyes. “I didn’t like myself with it. I’d prefer it if you thought of me as a good, happy, silly person.”

Regulus smiled at him and whispered. “You could be a mass murderer and I’d still think of you that way. In comparison to me, that is.”

“If I killed more people than you?”

“You couldn’t. I’d make it a competition. I’m the murderer in this… situation.”

James looked back up at him, smiling at his word choice. “Are you worried about tomorrow? I’m kind of worried.”

“We have the best possible odds for our mission. Which still aren’t great odds in the grand scheme of things, but we either win tonight or never.”

“I know. We must win. For the little things like, I don’t know, the fate of the world, the lives of muggles and muggleborn witches and wizards, and such things. …And the big, important things like Sirius’s resurrection and your future.”

“I don’t expect to have much of a future as I’m likely to end up in Azkaban either way. If not for all the killing and taking the mark, then for the Dark Arts I will employ for the ritual.”

“If you end up there, so will I. I killed Dumbledore after all. Hey, maybe we can share a cell.”

“There are no shared cells in Azkaban. And no daggers.”

“Well, that settles it, we will have to run away together. Italy or Spain? Maybe further like South Africa or Australia. What do you think?

“I think you’re insane, but that’s not new.”

“I’ve heard the cities in Italy are quite busy, just how you like it. We’ll get a house with Sirius and Remus and adopt a couple of cats.”

“Sirius is allergic.”

“So? What’s he gonna do? Die on us again?”

Regulus stared at him. He wanted to glare, but somehow his face betrayed him, and it turned into a disbelieving chuckle. “You are horrible.”

James laughed and leaned closer to him, resting his head not quite on his shoulder, but next to it.

“And you wouldn’t be worried?” Regulus asked.

“About what?”

“About me sneaking up on you in the middle of the night with a knife?”

James’s eyes drifted off. He slowly licked his lips and said, “Worried isn’t quite the word I’d use, Love. Besides, do I seem so sane that I would turn down a life of excitement just because I might die during it?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“There you have it. Besides, you kiss about as gently as you stab me, so why make a big deal about the difference between the two?”

“Would you prefer to be kissed gently? Because then why are you here and not a few doors down with the Evans girl?”

James smirked at him. “Ah, I thought that was jealousy I saw in your eyes this morning. Interesting.”

Regulus kicked him.

“Ow. For the record. I would be happy if I got any kiss from you, no matter how rough.”

“That’s unfortunate, because I was about to prove to you that I can be gentle.”

James shot up, bringing their faces to the same height.

Regulus smirked. “Say please.”

“Please.” No hesitation. And how could Regulus deny him now?

He carefully cupped his cheeks. James’s eyes fluttered shut. Regulus leaned in, slowly, gently putting their lips together. There was no urgency behind it, no joke or need to make it anything else but the most innocent symbol of pure affection. Putting his feelings into words couldn’t have sounded half as sweet as this felt.

James’s arm came up around him and pulled him closer as he tilted his face and deepened the kiss ever so slightly.

Regulus let himself melt into James, giving up all control over the kiss and their position to him. James wasn’t corrupted enough to break their moment and turn this into the sloppy shag he had allegedly come for.

James pressed his hand into his back, pushing them closer together so Regulus had to shift and lift his leg over James’s thigh. He sighed into the kiss.

They pulled back after what might have been hours; time stood still in this room, like it did within Sirius’s coffin.

“Hey Jamie,” Regulus whispered.

James hummed, eyes still closed, resting his head against Regulus’s chest.

“Say that we will survive tomorrow and Voldemort will die.”

“We will survive tomorrow, and you will kill Voldemort.”

“You promise to leave the kill shot to me this time?”

“If you keep calling me Jamie. Of course, I promise. I know it would make you happy.”

“And you want me to be happy?”

James lifted his head and looked up at him, eyes dark and lips reddened and glistening. “I think, my only plan for the future is to make you happy. I can’t think of a better way to spend my life. Is that crazy?”

“It’s completely mental. You are mad, Jamie.”

“That’s okay for me.”

He cast a long look at James, his wild hair, glasses framing warm, brown eyes, pouty lips bent into a tired smile. He was beautiful.

Regulus could see him in his mind’s eye, lying underneath him, moaning and gasping in pain, his naked skin smeared with blood. He used to like it that way. Seeing him writhing in pain used to give him more pleasure than any kiss could.

When had this changed?

“Are you okay?” James asked, smiling. “You’re kinda looking at me like you always did when you were about to stab me.”

He didn’t sound afraid.

“Why do you let me do this?” Regulus asked quietly.

“What?”

“Kiss you.”

James looked at him confused. “What do you mean ‘why’? Look at you.”

“I know. I look good.”

“Good?”

“I’m hot. I’m aware of that. …Still, why have our… interactions changed so much?”

“Are you asking me for an explanation for your behaviour?”

“Give me a sane reason. …Because I don’t know how I’m supposed to continue this if it doesn’t make sense.”

“Can’t let that happen.” James grinned and pushed a quick kiss to his lips. “I let you kiss me because I like you. I’ve always liked you.”

“I tried to kill you.”

“Yeah.” He carded his fingers through Regulus’s hair. “Yeah… As for your reasons, I think it’s simply that you held all that resentment and blame and then you… got to know me. I think you like me – I hope you do, at least. Maybe you’ve even changed your mind about my role in Sirius’s… what happened to Sirius.”

Did he?

James still took Sirius away. Nothing could change the past. Not his current feelings. Nor his desire to kiss him and see him unharmed.

Sirius turned away from him and turned to James.

He ran away from him and ran to James.

He didn’t talk to him, but talked to James.

He wasn’t a brother to him, but he was to James.

Through that friendship – “brotherhood” – he got new friends, a new family, new morals, and ideas. Those friends have expectations for him. So he joined the war, joined the Order and-

He also joined the Order because he was in love with Lupin. That wasn’t necessarily James’s fault, though he probably pushed them together when he realised they liked each other.

Then, Dumbledore made all those promises. That had also been a reason he fought in the war, Lupin had said.

And then Sirius turned from them, ran to Hogsmeade and talked to Regulus, asking him to run away with him. He came to him, spoke to him and asked him to join him.

Regulus was the one who left and remained with the Death Eaters.

And suddenly, time had passed, and Sirius was dead.

Regulus glanced at Sirius’s coffin.

James’s fault.

Remus’s fault.

Dumbledore’s fault.

Regulus’s fault?

Voldemort was the one who killed him. He started the war, spoke the curse and killed him.

He could never forget James’ role in it, but maybe it was time to stop blaming all of it on him.

Maybe he had already stopped doing that.

It was easy to blame him because it was easy to go to him, hurt and punish him.

He didn’t want to do this anymore. He wanted to kiss him and listen to his nonsensical and hasty plans for the future he made just because Regulus once admitted to the simple fantasies he had when he had been a depressed 14-year-old yearning for normalcy.

And why? Because he got to know James?

Yes, maybe it was that simple.

James was, for all intents and purposes, exactly how Regulus thought he was: Self-righteously standing on the moral high ground while waxing on about his and his Order’s importance. But he was also mischievous. He was smart, talented, protective, and loyal. He threw himself into danger to keep Regulus safe. He got injured at Malfoy’s library and Moody’s house for doing so. He killed Dumbledore, so Regulus didn’t have to do it, because in James’s stupid, idealistic mind, it meant Regulus could avoid severe punishment and thus not lose that frivolous future he had long given up on.

So why not kiss him?

Why not embrace the change?

Maybe it wasn’t too illogical after all.

“What are you thinking?” James whispered.

Regulus hesitated and thought about another time they sat together in this room, in this spot. Regulus had connected Lupin’s finger to the ritual and passed out, so James carried him over to the divan, covered him with his hoodie and sat with him until he woke up.

“I once told you not expect me to change because I had already changed too much, too often, and I didn’t think I could do it again.”

“I remember.”

“Do you think I’ve changed?”

James smiled softly. “I think you got a bit of yourself back, from before you had changed so drastically. You, as you sit here with me, are how Sirius had always described you when we were kids. Driven. Stubborn. Passionate. Loyal. Wickedly smart. Pretty – that one’s mine. …And if this change – or this reversion – is because of me, then I’m the happiest man alive.”

“You’re insane.”

“I know. I’ve always been. You just didn’t believe it because you were caught up in that idea of me being the morally sound, self-righteous and therefore by-the-book kind of guy, and sane.”

Regulus smiled at the ceiling, shaking his head.

“At the threat of losing my reputation,” he said, “when you talk about us living somewhere with Sirius and my friends, I don’t hate that.”

“I’m glad.”

“It’s insane to say that about someone who tried to kill you a couple of months ago.”

“Couple of weeks ago,” James corrected him.

“I did not try to kill you a couple of weeks ago. How do you define ‘a couple’?”

“Less than two months. You stabbed me a couple of weeks ago in this very room.”

“Yes.” Regulus leaned over and slowly dragged his tongue over his bottom lip while placing his hand on James’s leg where he had stabbed him. “But you liked it.”

James bit his lip. “No comment.”

“You don’t need to comment. I know it. It hurt, and you liked that, too. Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”

James said nothing. He just smiled, gazing at him with a dreamy, hazy look in his eyes.

This was good.

It was almost too much in its emotional honesty. It was almost too raw, too open, just dancing on the line of what Regulus could bear.

The night of a big battle wasn’t the best moment to get emotional, he thought. It would only be distracting.

He glanced back at Sirius. He still needed to talk to him.

If he didn’t return tomorrow, he had to die knowing he had talked to him one last time.

“You should go to bed,” Regulus said.

“So should you.”

“I will. I just need to… stay with him for a little bit longer.”

James looked back at Sirius’s coffin, too, and nodded in understanding.

“I’m going to be daring and take another kiss,” he said.

“It’s not just daring, it’s audacious.”

“And you like that,” James whispered and kissed him. “Good night, Love.”

He stood up. When he passed Sirius’s coffin, he put a hand on the glass, mumbled something, and left the room.

Regulus watched him go.

He sat there for a while, staring at the wall that came back into place when James passed through.

Finally, he stood up and walked over to Sirius.

“I don’t want to worry you. So, I will not talk about the possibility of dying. Our chances are as good as they might get. Voldemort is either vulnerable already or he has indeed a last Horcrux. If he does, it might, probably, be the snake. So, we will kill her just to be sure. And then I will kill him. That should be it. …James has two artifacts that might or might not be Deathly Hallows and he wields the most powerful wand in existence. We have a plan. We have a strategy. And… if not now, not us, no one will ever bring him down.”

He took a steadying breath.

“And then, when we’re victorious, I will cut off the Monster’s head and bring it to your alter. I’ll do the ritual… with my blood. …And you’ll come back to me, and I will be the best brother you have ever had. I promise.”

“Remus will be here, too. You can be together again, and I will not harm James again. …He can be your brother, too. I promise. I will be okay with that.”

“I’ll like having him around for the rest of our lives. Or until I’m caught and tossed into Azkaban. If that happens, he’ll take good care of you. That might be enough, knowing that you’re out there. It would be… I’d appreciate it if in return you could take care of my friends. They helped me a lot in killing Voldemort and bringing you back.”

Regulus shook his head to himself.

“It doesn’t matter. It’s not what I wanted to talk about. …You see… when you wake up, we might have to explain this all again and you might be angry with me for what I did to James. …I promise I won’t do it again. I will do anything in my power to keep him from getting hurt ever again. Because… I really like him. I might even have deep, …deep romantic feelings for him. And when he talks his nonsense – he talks nonsense you wouldn’t believe – but when he does, it makes me feel warm. That’s crazy, I know, but Merlin, I like it.”

“I think you will be pleased with it, how we like each other. Maybe you’ll even find it funny. That’s what I hope, at least.”

“I should go to bed. I’m rambling, sorry. …I will come to you as soon as we return, I promise. I won’t let you wait.”

He put his hand against the lid, above Sirius’s face, leaned down and kissed the glass.

***

Regulus stepped out of his bathroom and grabbed his pyjamas from their dedicated chair. The room was gloomy, with dim star-shaped lights scattered on the ceiling in lieu of a lamp. Pandora thought she was funny.

The fireplace by his bed ignited, offering a warm brightness. His collection of bedroom knives hung on the wall next to it, the metals gleaming and glistening. Across from those knives, next to the bathroom door, Regulus had hung a picture of James.

‘Is that a picture of me? The one with the knife in it.’ James had asked while boldly sitting on his bed. Even Regulus had to admit that having a picture of a guy in his bedroom for “target practice” with “bedroom knives” was slightly unusual.

He turned to look at the photograph, as if he didn’t know every inch of his face by heart. It didn’t do him justice. It was an old photograph he had stolen from Sirius’s room some years ago, so James was only fifteen or sixteen in it: A stupid, spoiled Gryffindor who thought everyone found him irresistible and wanted to date him, while spending his entire time planning and poorly executing childish pranks.

What had changed since then? He got hotter. He wasn’t making as many jokes anymore, not smiling as brightly anymore… instead, he was driven and capable.

James had a good smile.

No, that was a lie.

James had a heart-stopping smile.

It could not be traded in for skill. Through all the blood and death around them, James’s light had dimmed, like the constellations were dim next to the sun, and the stars on the ceiling next to the fire. When they talked, they could both pretend it wasn’t so. ‘I don’t want to change too much. I might not be who I was before, but I don’t want to be bitter.’ – but changed he had. And Regulus disliked it.

They might die tonight – but if not, then James had a life to lead, and he should do so brightly and happily, with a dumb joke about to drop from his perfect lips.

Regulus did not want him torn by his knives and bleeding anymore. He wanted him to be happy.

Happy.

It was strange how that realisation hit him like a sucker punch. It was so mundane. At the same time, it might be the hardest thing to accomplish.

By Merlin, how was he supposed to make anyone – let alone James – happy?

Bringing back Sirius might do a lot. But all the other people he had lost? His parents, friends and mentor? They were gone. His belief in the good and righteousness of his people? Wonky at best.

‘I think, my only plan for the future is to make you happy. I can’t think of a better way to spend my life,’ James had said.

Was that it? James talked about bringing Sirius back and spending his life with his friends and Regulus. He always seemed happier when he could kiss him.

Maybe that was what he needed. Maybe the solution to making James Potter happy was for Regulus to put his complicated feelings and stubbornness aside and give himself to him. Maybe he could never put into words or summarise in a single feeling how he felt about him. Maybe his resentment for Potter and affection for James would always be at war – but he didn’t have to subject James to it. 

James wanted to give Regulus everything he had always wanted – in turn, Regulus wanted him to be as happy as they were capable of making each other. Perhaps it would feed his optimism enough to get that ego back to its true, larger-than-life form and return the brightness of the sun to him.

Regulus had, for all intents and purposes, never put his own feelings, problems and desires on the back burner for someone else’s benefit. If he dwelled on it, he might end up feeling guilty, as this honour should be Pandora’s, Barty’s or Sirius’s. But it was James. He didn’t need to be subjected to his issues. If it made him happy to have Regulus, kiss him whenever he liked, and – at the threat of Regulus’s reputation – call him boyfriend if strictly necessary, then so be it.

He pulled the slashed photograph of James from the wall and threw it into the fireplace.

On the one hand, he could still die tonight and never have to change or put any work into this newfound goal. But Regulus had never been big on hoping. However, he wanted James to live. And someone once told him that non-suicidal people had a bigger chance of survival in dangerous situations. It was probably Pandora, as Barty or Evan would never say such nonsense.

So, Regulus should start his new mission of James’s happiness right now, before they go to battle.

He extinguished the fireplace and left the room.

Across the hall, he didn’t knock. He slipped into James’s dark bedroom and soundlessly closed the door behind him.

The lamp on James’s bedside table ignited with a wordless spell, shedding a soft light on the bed.

James was already asleep. The room was warm, and his blanket was pushed to his hips.  

Back when Regulus snuck in his room to attack him, he had always woken up and jumped to his feet before Regulus could reach the bed. Now, James was sound asleep despite the lamp, the closing door, and the steps Regulus had taken to his bed.

The warm light split his body into golden skin and shadow. If Regulus looked too long, he could see all the little scars and marks he had left on him. It wasn’t what he wanted to see. He wanted to admire the naked skin and well-toned muscles in their undisturbed glory.

How any person has had the willpower to withstand this man for long was beyond him. Had he been naked more often, he might have worn Regulus down even sooner.

Regulus leaned over the man and pressed his hand against James’s mouth.

His eyes flew open with a start, and he stared up at Regulus in confused recognition.

Regulus slowly removed his hand.

“Reg?” James mumbled, blinking against the light. “What are you doing? Have you come to kill me after all?”

“Something like that,” Regulus whispered, and kissed him.

James made a surprised sound into his mouth, which quickly turned into a sound of pleasure, as Regulus climbed on the bed and straddled his hips.

Tongues slipped past opened lips between hungry kisses. James cursed as his hands greedily touched, squeezed and groped at every part of Regulus he could reach. His pyjama top was still open, and James lost no time to questions of propriety and reached past the fabric to explore the naked skin.

James ended it as abruptly as Regulus had started it.

He moved his hands to Regulus’s face instead and gently pushed him away.

“Wait,” he said, breathlessly, “wait, just- what is happening right now? What is this?”

Regulus wondered whether he’d have been able to see a blush on the man’s cheeks with the proper lighting.

“It’s whatever you want,” Regulus whispered. He sat up on him, deliberately grinding down on James’s hardening cock he felt through the blanket. He slowly pulled off the pyjama top, fully exposing his body to his hungry eyes. “What do you want, Jamie?”

James’s hips twitched as Regulus used the nickname.

“You.”

He pulled Regulus back down to him, kissing him while his hands travelled back down over his chest, to his hips, where he pushed him down on his cock.

The blanket separating them was impatiently tossed aside, and the last bits of clothing were pulled off and thrown away.

It has been a while since the last time, probably for both of them, and James’s body was much more exciting to explore than he remembered Teenaged-Barty’s to be. Yet, his brain was blissfully silent, as the voice of the over-thinker was held down and drowned in lust and need.

He wrapped his hand around James’s cock. It was hard and thick in his palm. James snapped his hips in small, needy thrusts, while his hands had found their way to Regulus’s ass, roughly kneading and pulling on his flesh.

He only let go of him to blindly reach for his bedside table and pull out a bottle of lube. Regulus laughed into the man’s mouth. Of course, when he changed this room to his liking, he did not forget the essentials.

Regulus kissed down his neck, taking sweet revenge for the hickeys James had left on him.

“Fuck, Reggie,” James moaned, reaching around him to smear the lube across his fingers.

It was cold against his skin when James teasingly rubbed his finger over Regulus’s hole. Regulus moaned against him.

James pushed a finger into him, and Regulus bit down on his shoulder.

James opened him up impatiently, soon adding a second finger. Yet, he was still almost too gentle with him – what about Regulus suggested he needed to be handled with care? –  but, damn, it felt good!

Regulus kissed down James’s neck, back up to his lips, leaving subtle marks on his skin. His cock pulsed heavily in his hand.

James’s tongue slipped back into his mouth while thrusting his fingers into him, stretching him. Regulus moaned into the kiss, digging his knees into James’s sides. He wanted him badly. He needed him. And it was almost palpable how much James wanted him, too. Having James here, naked and hot beneath him, craving him, was almost too much for Regulus. If he didn’t get his cock soon, he might lose his mind entirely.

“Fuck, James, enough of that,” he ordered, then softer and silky smooth, “I need you inside of me, now.”

James made a low sound and pulled his fingers out of him, grabbing his waist instead. Regulus reached for the lube. He held his gaze as he moved his hand up and down his length, coating it in a thick layer of lube. James watched him, lips parted, eyes dark, breathing hard. He cursed and said his name like a prayer.

Regulus rearranged himself on top of James, straddling him so that James’s cock slid against his ass. He looked down at him.

“Say it again, Jamie,” Regulus murmured. “That you want me.”

“Say my name like that again and I swear I’ll come undone before I’m even inside you.” James wrapped his hands around Regulus’s wrists. His hips jerked up helplessly. “Tell me to beg and I’ll fall to my knees. I want you so much I can’t think.”

Regulus’s heart crashed against his ribs. He kissed him without abandon, wild and messy. James ran his hands through Regulus’s hair, moaning into the kiss, begging him.

Regulus reached behind him and wrapped his hand around James’s cock again, guiding it to where it was demanded. The head nudged against Regulus’s hole. He bit James’s lip, which elicited a needy moan from the man.

Regulus sank down on his cock. He was warm and thick, reaching deep inside of him. He had to break the kiss, as a deep moan fought its way from the pits of his stomach. James dug his fingers into his hips, calling on all his self-restraint to not slam him down on his cock – Regulus half wished he did.

He paused when James was fully buried inside of him. By Merlin, they should have done this much earlier. He didn’t remember it ever having felt this good.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” James murmured in his ear and kissed the side of his face.

Regulus kissed his shoulder and began to move his hips, sliding up and down his cock.

James cursed. He said his name like a plea and a prayer, grabbing his hips and guiding him along. They found a rhythm, quick and desperate.

Regulus could get addicted to the sound of James. How he whispered his name. Regulus – one quick breath. Sometimes, he only got to Reg before being cut off by another moan. His hands on his body were possessive, as if he could bruise his name onto Regulus’s skin and mark him as his.

“Fuck, James, harder,” Regulus demanded. “Fucking look at me when you fuck me. That’s right. You feel so good, Jamie.”

James made a breathless sound, and Regulus kissed him again.

He sat up on him, never slowing down, so he could watch James coming undone beneath him. Sweat pearled from his forehead. His eyes rolled back in pleasure as he tried to keep them open and trained on Regulus.

He thrusted up into him, strong, large hands possessively curled around his body. He looked so fucking hot like this.

He slid one hand from Regulus’s hip down to his hard cock, stroking him in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Yes – yes – fuck – don’t you dare slow down-“

Regulus rode him relentlessly, bouncing on his cock and hitting all the right spots inside. James was a mess beneath him, shiny with sweat, unable to form anything more of a sentence than, “Fuck, Reg, just like that – you feel so good!” 

Surges of pleasure rushed through Regulus with James’s hard cock inside him and his hand around his cock. Every thrust sent shivers down his body.

“Jamie, fuck, just like that-“ he begged. “Yes, just like – fuck, I’m coming-“

James was still reactive to the nickname, making a needy sound and rubbing his thumb over the head of his dick.

Regulus comes between their bodies, spilling himself over James’s hand and stomach, moaning his name.

He panted heavily and leaned down to kiss him, tangling his hands in James’s wild hair. James moaned into his mouth. Regulus kissed his cheek, down his neck, gently scraping his teeth over his skin, coaxing the most delicious moans from him.

“Fuck, Jamie, you’re so hot,” he murmured to him. He hadn’t slowed down, taking him and riding him just as needy as before to get James off. “You feel so good. You fuck me so well. I want you to come so deep inside of me, I can feel it for days.”

James moaned desperately. He pressed Regulus down on himself as he came, shooting his load deep inside of him. Regulus cursed and hummed, clenching around James's twitching cock. He thrusted up into him a few more times, riding out his orgasm.

His body finally went slack. A large grin found its way to his mouth, as his chest rose and fell in heavy breaths.

James slowly opened his eyes. He pushed back Regulus’s hair, gazing into his eyes with post-orgasmic bliss. Regulus liked that look on him. James pulled him into a messy, lazy kiss.

Regulus whimpered when James’s cock slipped out of him.

“Fuck, that was good,” James mumbled when they broke away from the kiss. Regulus was still straddling his hips, peppering kisses across James’s face.

“I should go to bed,” he said finally.

The bliss vanished from his face as James stared up at him confused. “What?”

“Long battle ahead. Remember?”

He grimaced. “I don’t wanna remember. And I’m not letting you go.”

Regulus just smiled and got down from James, he barely got a chance to leave the bed, before James had grabbed his wrist.

“Absolutely not. You stay here for the night.”

“James-“

“Please.” – Regulus had just recently found out that James says ‘please’ was his weakness, and he was already using it against him. Regulus wanted to go for a second round.

“I need to shower.”

“You can do that later when we need to get up,” James insisted and yanked him back to his side.

Regulus complied. He let himself be pulled into James’s arms and tucked in.

“At least give me your wand for a cleaning spell,” Regulus whispered. “Then I’ll stay.”

“The whole night?”

“Until we need to get up.”

James smiled and went for another kiss. Regulus gave it gladly.

After a quick cleansing spell, Regulus let James arrange them until he was satisfied and able to kiss him, still. The light on the bedside table dimmed slowly until it went out.

“Hey, Reggie,” James whispered, his voice low as he slowly drifted off to sleep. “T'is means you want me, too?”

Regulus smiled gently and brushed his fingers along his cheek. “I want you to be happy.”

A sleep-drunk smile formed on James’s lips. “Right now, I am.”