Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James Potter’s heart is gone.

He carved it out himself years ago. Looked at it from up close and wondered: how does something so small, so soft, so insignificant, cause so much damage? How does it destroy so thoroughly?

James didn’t have the heart to squish it to pieces then. There was a simple reason.

This heart, his heart, had loved. So fiercely. It had burned for someone until it had simply burned, fiery and painful.

This silly little organ that bore memories of love, gathered emotions and experiences like a snowball.

James could not bear it.

The heartbreak.

What can one do in the face of complete and utter destruction?

So James had carved it out.

No heart, no heartbreak.

At least, that was the idea.

James’s heart is buried in a chest, alongside gifts that belonged to them. The chest is buried in the sand. The sand belongs on an island James no longer visits. And for years, James moves on.

Until a boy with wolf-grey eyes washes up on his shore, half dead.

There is something familiar about him. Something that used to ache. A song that whispers the boy’s story between the notes. It unsettles him. But then again, everything does these days.

This is the story of a boy who loved and lost. And the story of a boy who lost, then loved.

This isn’t a happy story.

It’s a heartless one.

🌊REGULUS 🌊

The problem with love is, it’s not about love at all. If it was, there would be no problem.

The problem is that love doesn’t always suit other people. Other people like his family. People like his family, who aren’t interested in seeing him thrive. Who would rather see him dead than see him happy.

And Regulus belonged to someone, once.

Made a promise to someone.

“I will come back to you”, he had vowed, and lied.

Because Regulus couldn’t come back to them.

And Regulus tried to hold on.

But there are a few things that cannot be held on to. One of these things is life.

So Regulus was pulled under.

He wasn’t ready to die. Death wasn’t ready to take him.

🌊THE BOY WITH NO NAME 🌊

The boy wakes up with no memories of his past. He’s a boy who went to sleep, thinking he would die. Perhaps he did die. The boy doesn’t know.

All he knows is he’s alive.

He’s alive.

He is alive and someone is hovering over him, with eyes as stormy as the ocean that spit him back out.

The boy is alive, that’s all he knows.

He takes the extended hand. The skin is warm and calloused. The hold is strong, steadying.

Familiar.

He looks up. There is another boy, with eyes as dead as he should be. The boy looks ethereal, but his voice sounds odd when he speaks. Sunny and dead all at the same time, like an eclypse. There are echoes of happiness, but they’re shattered.

“Here you are.”

The tanned skin crinkles in the corner of the other boy’s eyes, and his breath catches, and his heart picks up speed.

He’s alive, and the other boy’s voice sounds like heartbreak.

The boy doesn’t know who he is, but he smiles anyway.

He feels a little less lost.

Chapter Text

🌊 JAMES 🌊

Euphemia Potter comes home at 6pm every night. James knows this, because the sun starts to go down, and James isn’t allowed outside after dark. There are things that happen after dark, and James doesn’t know what they are. All he knows is that he doesn’t want “they” to happen to him. James has heard the legends, and doesn’t plan on becoming one, thank you very much. His mother would never forgive him.

Tonight though, Effy is late. James is turning blue with stress.

She is never late.

At 8pm, the door opens.

But James is a lucky boy. Unlike some, his mother does come home.

She’s two hours late and arms filled with boys. Two of them, bloody and beaten and missing shoes, holding on to his mother like she is the only thing anchoring them to the Earth. She’s holding them both, one boy on each arm. Their arms are wrapped around her neck in a deathly grip.

James can sympathise. When he is scared he, too, likes to be comforted by his mother. He doesn’t mind that the boys with the sad eyes steal her for a moment. They obviously need her more than him, right now. Their faces are hardly recognizable. James doesn’t think he knows them, from school. They’re hiding their faces in her mother’s neck, anyway.

Euphemia is a good mother. She has always told James that the heart is small, and soft, and insignificant, yet can hold an infinite amount of love. If that theory is true, then James doesn’t see why he would need to worry. His mother won’t love him any less for loving others. She is great at loving people, his mother. This isn’t the first time she has brought unmoored souls back to their house. Never in such a state, but that doesn’t matter to James.

They enter his house, and James knows what he needs to do.

He pours water in the big pot and puts it over the fire to warm up. Next, he takes a footstool and drags it to the bathroom, where he stands up on it — his mother tells him he will soon be tall enough to grab things off the shelf without it, and James cannot wait — to grab a handful of cloths and the basin. He carefully climbs down. By the time he is back in the living room, the boys have been sat down by the fire, and Effy is taking inventory of the injuries. She offers James a grateful smile as he pushes the basin and cloths next to the fire. James nods, gently, and takes a seat on the footstool, next to the smallest boy.

They’re beautiful in their misery, he thinks. Both have the most beautiful hair he has ever seen, as well as the saddest eyes. They speak to inimaginable pain, and James wants to make it go away. He wants to help. He isn’t sure how. At seven years old, these are not situations that you are ever prepared for. But James is resourceful, and wants the pain to be dulled — perhaps even replaced — by something nicer. Joy. Happiness. Peace.

He hops off the footstool and rushes to his bedroom, where he goes to gather the most precious things he owns. A dilapidated teddy bear named Mr Shu, and a poetry book his mother gifted him with. Poetry she wrote for him. He grabs both and makes his way back to the living room, where his mother is now cleaning wounds with warm water, gently scraping mud away from their faces, one after the other.

James approaches the tallest one, first, and silently hands him Mr Shu. There is something in his gaze that doesn’t scream poetry to James. Mr Shu will likely be more appreciated. He hands it over, and the other boy tentatively takes a hold of it. James takes it as a win, and says, “This is Mr Shu. He’s mine, but you can have him for a while, if you want. He helps heal bruises.” James doesn’t know why he said this. It’s a lie. A lie that felt right. His mother doesn’t like it when James lies, and yet she doesn’t interfere. In fact, there is a twinkle in her eyes, something gentle that only mothers who witness their children doing something extraordinarily selfless can do. James doesn’t notice, of course. 

He is busy.

He turns to the smallest boy and kindly holds out the poetry book. The boy’s eyes are full of something that James has never seen in a child before. They’re despondent. Stoic. There is something in his gaze that James interprets as poetic. He doesn’t know what it is, exactly, but the book is promptly stolen from his grasp and pulled to the boy’s chest. James smiles with all of his teeth — minus the one he recently lost — because this is the kind of enthusiasm that his mother’s poetry deserves. Her words are beautiful, though confined on paper. James thinks, maybe, if people could hear what she can write into existence, the power of her words, then perhaps their lives would be different. But people don’t, and here they are, and the boy is staring at the worn leather cover like this is the first gift he’s ever received.

Once they’re cleaned up, and the blood has been wiped from their soles, Effy sits them down at the dining room table. James’s stomach is growling. They never eat this late, usually. But they also aren’t four at the table, usually. James finds that he doesn’t mind eating late if he gets to see two boys with hair in front of their eyes wolf down food like they’ve never eaten a meal in their lives.

James’s smile is big, and the table is quiet but it’s the good kind of quiet, like when James goes to the shore and sits on the pebbled beach and listens to the ocean make symphonies. His little legs are dangling from the footstool, feet a few inches from the floor, and he busies himself with his meal, eyes wandering from one boy to another with an inquisitive curiosity. He likes this.

It feels better yet when his eye catches his mother’s, and the smile she gives him makes his heart soar. He knows what she’s about to say, somehow, before she says it.

“These boys are going to stay with us now, okay?”

“Like brothers?”

“Exactly like that, James.”

James has always wanted siblings, and this is news he can get behind on, so he turns to the boys, whose eyes are trained on the interaction. “Do you want to live here with us?” he asks them, because it’s not just about him and what he wants. They have to want it, too.

The smallest boy reaches out and holds on to the tallest boy’s hand. James can see the white of his knuckles when he squeezes. The older boy nods, opens his mouth, and changes James’s life trajectory forever.

”He doesn’t speak much, but we like it here.” He looks at Effy. “We’ll stay, if you’ll have us.”

James thinks he’s the luckiest boy in the world.

And for years, it is true.

🌊 

At 7 years old, James collects two siblings. Two brothers. He loves them both equally. Sirius is a wild spirit, like James. Regulus is a quiet boy with broken eyes. James loves them both differently.

Going from one to three is an experience. James is thrown into a new world, where the dinners are animated not just by himself and his mother, but by Sirius, as well.

Sirius takes almost no time at all to fit himself into the family dynamic. Once healed and unburdened by whatever hell Euphemia rescued him from, Sirius blooms . All he is, is smiles and jokes and good humour. Together with James, they ruin Euphemia’s life in the best possible way. Sirius is a bottomless pit, where food enters through his mouth and just keeps disappearing from the table. James has never seen anyone eat this much in his entire life.

Sirius loves to scare Euphemia, and he’ll do so… often. James is glad that his mother’s heart is strongly attached, from the way she jumps back and clutches at her chest every time Sirius decides to jump out at her. Sirius brings life into their family. He’s not the only one, but he’s the first.

Regulus is a different story altogether. It’s fine. James doesn’t care to read the same book twice, anyway. Where Sirius speaks all the time, monopolising the attention with his antics, Regulus buries himself in the quiet and in Effy’s poetry book. The corners are worn out in no time. Effy asks him, once, if he likes it, and Regulus nods so quickly, so thoroughly, that James almost fears he’ll detach his head from his shoulders.

Regulus is silent, yes, but it doesn’t stop him from being opinionated. He gestures a lot to express himself. He’ll sign really quickly, and James gets immensely frustrated for a while, before he starts to pick up sign language.

It must be a record, how fast James learns. Sirius gets bored of teaching him, sometimes, but Regulus never tires of teaching him. They’ll sit on the beach, or in the house, and James will repeat and repeat and repeat until he gets the gestures just right. Until it starts flowing, just like it does when Sirius and Regulus sign.

The brothers have a special language, and James wants in. He spares no effort.

It takes James a month to be fluent. The moment James gets it — most of the words, most of the functionality of this entire language spoken with fingers and gestures — Regulus, too, becomes insatiable. He tells James stories, both made up and that he’s heard out in the village. He’ll sign at an incredible pace, like he’s been freed, like he’s finally able to express himself at a speed that is convenient for his thoughts.

Effy watches them, sometimes. Regulus and James, or James and Sirius, or the three of them, and a lovely smile will grace her lips. When James catches it, his heartbeat increases. It’s happiness, painted on his mother’s lips. It’s lovely to see. It’s because of his brothers. He’s so grateful.

🌊 

At 8, James wonders if perhaps he was wrong about the “brothers” thing.

Regulus doesn’t speak much, or at all, really. James knows that Regulus can speak. He hears Sirius whisper to him sometimes, and the soft replying voice of someone whose trust he hasn’t earned yet replies.

James does not mind. Trust takes time, and James has patience for things that matter.

Regulus does matter, and so James waits.

It takes a full year for Regulus to speak his first sentence to James. At this point, James was expecting something extraordinary. A sentence to make all the waiting and the questions and the will I ever be good enough for him? Worth it.

It isn’t a paradigm-shifting sentence, but it might as well have been, for the way it unhinges James and throws him into a new universe.

"Will you hold my hand?" the boy who typically avoids physical contact mumbles, his voice barely above a whisper. James reaches out, his warm hand enveloping Regulus’s cold one, and everything seems to suddenly make a lot more sense in his chest. It’s a feeling that settles, like a tranquil sea. The waves subside, and— James had not realised he was fighting a storm.

Tumult becomes peace.

That’s how he knows that Sirius and Regulus aren’t the same to him. Sirius agitates the water, Regulus quiets it down.

🌊 

At 9, James decides that being right or wrong about the “brothers” thing does not matter.

There are three people in his life. One mother, one brother, and someone else. He cannot place what the else is, yet. He is young.

He will learn.

It is marked in the stars, if James would just look up.

But James looks down, down at the ocean and deeper still.

Water fascinates him, more than silly unattainable stars ever would.

James can dive into the ocean, he cannot dive into a star-filled sky. For a child, this makes a world of difference.

He will learn.

He is young, and James delves into the deep blue, dragging Sirius and Regulus in his undertow.

They become explorators.

“Marauders,” Sirius suggests once, and the name sticks. They are Marauders, the three of them. So different from one another, yet together it’s like magic.

For 8 years, James learns about what it means to love other people, without regard for their blood and whether or not they are related to him. He finds out that the meaning of home can be echoed in people as well as places.

At 14, the city they live in becomes too small, and Sirius makes a promise.

They are lying in James’s bed, throwing a ball across the space back and forth. Regulus has his own room, a place where he can control his world in a way that soothes him. He needs it more than they do. They are happy to share, anyway.

“Tell me again what it looks like,” James whispers, so Sirius talks of mermaids and sea wyverns and things that make absolutely no sense, but James’s eyes sparkle and he wants to know more, so Sirius tells him.

“Tell me you’ll take me to see it all,” he says, and Sirius lifts his pinky.

“I swear.”

🌊 

At 15, Sirius rushes home, arms waving about and overly excited.

“We’re going on a boat,” he tells James as soon as he opens the door to the house, and Effy lets a laugh escape. It’s a laugh that says, no one is going on a boat .

As if that would have made a difference.

They have the most explosive argument they ever have over dinner.

It’s the most explosive argument they will ever have.

Regulus isn’t present. He’s listening from his bedroom. After all, their whispers stopped being whispers a while ago.

“You boys are fifteen. Fifteen! You aren't gallivanting on a boat at fifteen!”

“Mom—”

“Sirius,” Euphemia cuts, “Lord knows I love you like a son. And that is why I am dead serious when I say you aren’t going.”

“Effy, they are all leaving! Our friends, they’re getting jobs out at sea. If we don’t go now, we’ll never learn. Then what is it we’ll do? Neither of us know how to do anything but fix things. We’ll be useful on ships. We’ll send you money, we’ll—”

“It’s not about the money, honey. It’s dangerous, the sea! Don’t you hear all the tales of sailors who drown? Ships that wreck? What will you do, if James—”

“James will be with me—”

“Then think of your brother! “

“Regulus—”

“Will be devastated if you leave.”

“He can’t come, Effy. He’s a child—”

“You are one year older.”

“Mom—” James tries.

“When you’re eighteen”, his mother pleads. “At eighteen you can go.”

“Effy”, Sirius says gently, “the boat leaves at dawn.”

It’s a defeated, terrified whisper, when Euphemia forces out her words. “There will be others.”

“Effy, how many boats accept two underage deckhands at once?”

It’s said softly, but it’s the sentence that transforms Euphemia. It is true. James and Sirius are fifteen. Crews rarely ask for more than one deckhand at a time. Mouths to feed, ropes to learn and all that. But this boat has. And Effy knows what this means. James and Sirius are never leaving one another behind.

“What about Regulus”, she murmurs, and James’s face twists into something quiet and sad. His eyebrows furrow and release, his lips pinching like he might cry or laugh. It’s a look that James doesn’t wear often, distress.

He doesn’t feel good about leaving Regulus. He truly doesn’t. But Regulus isn’t built like Sirius and James. Regulus isn’t meant for the sea. He cannot come with them. And James wouldn’t have considered leaving, if not for his mother. Sirius wouldn’t have, either. But Regulus has Effy, and a mountain of notebooks filled with the words he doesn’t say out loud. Regulus is a quiet hurricane that hasn’t hit the shore. His emotions are an ocean held back by a fragile dam, waves of unsaid words and unexpressed feelings crashing against the walls of his mind, threatening to break through and flood everything in their path.

But as long as Regulus keeps quiet, what will a crew do with a boy who does not speak?

“He has you, Mom. How much safer could he be?”

She shakes her head. “He’ll never forgive you for this.”

“He will. He will understand. He’s so smart”, Sirius says.

There isn’t an argument to be had, anymore. Effy can spot her defeat. If she stops them, they’ll run away anyway.

They go to bed, and not long after, the door opens and Regulus tiptoes in.

The lights are out, but the moon shines enough for James and Sirius to make out his slender silhouette, his moon-lit curls.

He walks forward to stare at James, like he’s memorising his contours. James looks back. There are words conveyed in the silence, and James isn't sure what they are, but he isn’t sure Regulus knows, either. Regulus’s face isn’t blank, but it’s not open, either. It’s contemplative, which is a strange look on a fourteen year old boy. Then again, Regulus is no ordinary boy.

Then, Regulus turns to Sirius and crawls into bed with him, under the covers. Both their heads disappear under the cover. James turns his body, facing the wall, ignoring the soft whispers of brothers trying to make sense of what happens to the other, when one leaves.

This, he doesn’t get to be a part of. This is theirs.

He closes his eyes and hopes.

🌊 EUPHEMIA 🌊

In the morning, they are gone.

On the table, there are letters. Twenty-four, to be precise.

Half are Sirius’s, half are James’s. All are addressed to Regulus. They’re numbered, and there is a note.

We’ll be back in two years.

We will write when we can, but just in case, start with number one.

Mom will take care of you.

S&J

Regulus hasn’t cried in years. Not since he was a child.

And if anyone asks Effy, Regulus doesn’t cry again. He doesn’t cry in her arms in the kitchen. He doesn’t cry for hours.

It’s allergies. They’re bad in winter.

Regulus doesn’t speak again.

Chapter Text

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius already has a brother, but in James he finds something else. A soulmate. A confidant. Someone different. More like him. He loves it, this connection.

Together they do everything.

James is as careless as Sirius is, and it takes almost no convincing for them both to take on dangerous adventures. It would have been different, with Regulus.

Born from the same womb but cut from different cloths.

Regulus is careful. His steps are tiptoes and he counts his breaths like they’re measured and will come to an end sooner than he would like.

Regulus is reserved and attentive in a way that might make him seem aloof. It’s a façade. Regulus is far from detached. He is so involved in everything, it terrifies Sirius, how close to his sleeve his brother wears his heart. One day, Sirius fears, someone unworthy will steal it from him. Or worse, Regulus will give it to them knowingly.

What would happen then?

The truth of it is, no one prepares you for a younger sibling. You are born into a dysfunctional family, and you wish this on no one else, but someone else comes along, and you love them fiercely, and you try to protect them at all cost.

But your brother is soft corners where you are hard angles, and communication is not as simple as you hoped. You learn sign language for him, because it’s quiet. Because it’s easier for him. Because you would do anything — anything — to lessen the burden that life has deposited on your brother’s shoulder.

And at night you lift the corner of your blanket and he comes crawling in, in, protected from the world because you are here and you can protect him here. It is the only place you can protect him.

Sometimes you look at him as he sleeps and think, how can I protect you forever and live my life at the same time?

And then, you meet Euphemia Potter.

Euphemia is the mother that his brother should have had to thrive. It is good enough, Sirius thinks, that she does arrive. That it isn’t too late. And oh, would you look at that. Another brother.

It is another experience, being James’s brother. Easier in all the ways that you could think.

James does not need to be taken care of.

James is someone who spreads love like a disease. It’s a pandemic: everyone gets a slice of James’s love. It would be terrifying, too, except it isn’t. Because James is strong.

He is the best of Sirius and Regulus combined. Hard angles and a heart on his sleeve. It makes it all so much simpler. Unproblematic.

Sirius is not scared for James the way he is scared for Regulus.

That is why they go together, leaving Regulus under the soft care of Euphemia Potter. She will protect him.

The world isn’t an oyster. It is boundless. The ocean is infinite and Sirius belongs there. It is a universal truth.

So for two years, Sirius and James set sail.

🌊THE OCEAN🌊

There is a concept in chaos theory called the butterfly effect.

Come close, let me speak it into existence.

There is a fragility in our world. A fault in the system, if you will. In the way with which small, seemingly insignificant events can have disastrous consequences.

The world is a tapestry, where every thread is woven together to create a larger picture. But pull on thread, alter one, and watch as the entire fabric is changed.

Be warned.

The world doesn’t like disruption. It will remember. It will exact its revenge.

Sirius has never heard of it. He does not know. To be fair to Sirius, chaos theory is not something one thinks of too much.

It exists in the pauses between one decision and the next, in the moments where one path diverges from another.

If Sirius and James had not made the fateful choice to go to that pub that night, everything might have turned out differently. If. If. If.

As it stands, Timeturners do not exist, and things are as they are.

And so, this is what happens.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

They are sipping their ale, quietly listening to the nearby groups. It’s an interesting way to gather information, that. Perhaps Regulus had been on to something, Sirius thinks. Quietly listening instead of taking over all the attention.

Quiet lets words be carried over, and drunk sailors aren’t particularly quiet.

“He’s cursed, I tell ya.”

“Should be dead already, monster like him.”

“I don’t want him on my ship, I say.”

"People are saying he's got some kind of dark magic at his fingertips.”

"Aye, I've seen it with me own eyes. Ships sinking in rough waters, crops withering, and all manner of strange happenings.”

"I heard he's got a mark on his skin, a symbol of the curse. Some say it's a sign of a demon possessing him.”

"But what if the curse is real? What if he's too powerful for us to handle?"

"Nonsense. We've faced down storms and sea monsters before. We can handle one cursed boy. It's worth the risk for the reward."

Interesting, that.

Sirius and James have become quite the vigilantes. It’s unsurprising, of course. And so, they do what they do best.

Sirius throws a look at James before lifting his legs and spinning on the bench, now facing the sailors. James stands up and goes to the bar to order a round.

“Aye, what is that I’m hearing about a cursed monster?” Sirius asks, and the rowdy sailors immediately quiet down, staring him down in distrust.

“Get lost, ya boy.”

Sirius doesn’t plan on going anywhere.

“Ah, but I heard that tale, too,” he lies easily. “You’ve missed out on some crucial information.”

Step one in ruining anything: spread doubt. Doubt is a weed. No need to water it, it’ll spread and spread and spread . The dumber the sailor, the easier the prey.

“What have ya heard, then?” one sailor asks, exchanging looks with his colleagues, and it’s perfect timing, because James appears with drinks for everyone, spreading them around.

“Cheer and I’ll tell.”

They do.

It takes nary a few minutes for the effect to start showing. James is cozying up to a sailor, gathering some information, and Sirius is lying like a professional, spinning all kinds of tales about this cursed boy who he’s seen transform into a giant squid.

When the effect of the drinks is well and truly in effect, Sirius and James make their exit.

“It’s Le Soleil Royal“.

And off to the ship they go.

Sneaking on ships isn’t difficult for smart people. They’re up and inside in a minute, silently walking through the deck and into the hull.

It’s so quiet, Sirius gets the creeps, skin raising in goosebumps.

They make their ways to the dungeons, and isn’t that the wonder of it? Here is the boy, quietly sat in a corner of a cell. The only sound surrounding them is the drip drip drip of the water escaping from the old wood.

Sirius doesn’t know what to make of the way his heart leaps into his chest before dropping to the bottom of his shoes. The boy looks up with dead eyes, resigned eyes, and Sirius’s blood boils, because that is a look he knows. He’s seen it one too many times in Regulus before Effy came to rescue them.

Right then, he vows to erase that look from the boy’s eyes. Turn it into sunshine.

“Hey”, he says gently.

The boy doesn’t really react, but Sirius doesn’t expect him to. So he continues. “We’re rescuing you”. At that, the boy’s eyes do widen, and aren’t they just beautiful? They are, they are , his heart sings. It’s a siren’s song, these eyes.

Cells have always been James’s strong suit. He knows how to unhinge a door. Don’t ask why, it’s part of the secrets Sirius and James will die with.

Physics, what a wonderful science. They should teach it in school.

The door is open and James, bless him and his heart, starts to walk in. Sirius stops him with a hand on his chest and a pointed look. Sirius knows nothing of the boy, and yet. Instinct takes over. In the space of an instant, Sirius knows everything there is to know about him. And so, neither James nor him enter the cell.

He’s met that kind of person before. He basically raised one. Sirius crouches down, so he’s at eye level with the boy in the corner.

“Would you like to come with us?”

Sirius doesn’t really know what he expects from his question. It certainly isn’t the broken “Why?” that escapes the boy’s lips. There are thunderstorms hiding behind that word, full of desperate questions. Sirius finds he would not mind spending the rest of his life answering them.

Why are you here?

Why would you come to my rescue?

Why me?

Sirius gives the boy an unguarded smile. “Because you’re part of us, now. The Three Marauders”.

The boy looks behind Sirius and James, like the third Marauder will jump out, and James will

Put the hinges

Back on the door

And

The boy will be left

Alone

To rot once more.

So Sirius extends his hand and the boy, slowly, so slowly,

He

Takes

The

Hand.

Sirius’s life rearranges around that new reality. He doesn’t mind. The previous one was boring anyway.

The hand is warm. Sirius knows he is never letting go.

The three of them leave the town behind, along with a reality where they might have never met Remus Lupin.

Chapter Text

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Remus’s life has been nothing but jagged edges and spoken evil, until very recently.

Until a few hours ago.

Until he stepped foot outside of a cell for the first time in— well, time is a complicated concept when you do not see the outside world. He struggles to remember how long days are supposed to be.

He’s going to learn, today.

Because he has walked out. He’s taken the offered hand. Proverbial and physical.

Remus is not entirely sure it was the right call. But there was a cell, and the offer of a new life, and Remus took it.

He has never taken anything before.

He has never had the opportunity to.

It’s never been offered to him.

Until now.

🌊

Remus is smuggled onto their ship. For two boys able to crawl on top of a ship that they do not know, break into a cell and sneak someone out, it’s interesting how fast they get discovered, once on their own ship.

Like they can’t be bothered to hide.

Like it’s not really necessary.

Remus cannot relate. If he was able to claw apart his own skin and hide in it, he would.

Remus has had a lot of time to think about ifs.

The captain didn’t seem too bothered, though he did gauge Remus’s scars like they were cursed.

It wouldn’t have been a wrong assessment.

“Let’s set sail,” had been his only real reply. Another look at him. At the two boys next to him. “And hurry up.”

Sirius had given the man a grateful smile. He’d squeezed Remus’s hand, and Remus had squeezed back, gently. This wasn’t a hand with ill-intent.

It’s easy for Remus to spot the difference. Anything new, different, strange, must be good.

He is pretty positive he has gone through all the worst things a person can go through, at this point.

He’s led towards the hull of the ship, and for a second, he thinks of following them, thinks of heading

D

O

W

N

In the end he doesn’t have to do anything at all.

Maybe it’s the way he stiffens that gives him away.

The boy holding his hand turns to him. “Do you want to— maybe stay here? I mean— maybe— the sun will rise in a few hours, and obviously you can go to sleep if you prefer, I can sleep with James here and—”  the boy stops, horrified, like something has just occurred to him, something important, before the words come out again, faster this time. “Oh for God’s— I’m Sirius,” he says sheepishly, extending his hand.

This, Remus knows. His father taught him. Remus takes the boy — Sirius’s — hand, and bends a little to kiss the top of his hand. He feels more than sees how wrong he is— how inadequate, almost immediately. He looks up, and the boy — Sirius, the boy’s name is Sirius — is looking at him like he’s something sad. His eyes are full of pity.

Remus knows the feeling well. It’s been directed at him many times.

They look at each other for an eternity. He is still holding Sirius’s hand, delicately, still bent down in respect.

He doesn’t understand the look in Sirius’s eyes, that seems to flicker from pity to horror to disbelief to something else, something different, something protective—

A universe passes between them. Neither willing to move.

The other boy – James – finally interrupts. It’s clunky, but it works.

“Erm, right, so.”

“I— yes. Um.” Sirius’s features seem to awaken. He pulls his hand from Remus’s. It’s too gentle, like he’s made of porcelain. Of thin air. He looks at Remus like he is about to shatter. “What’s your name?”

Remus hasn’t spoken in a long time.

No one has addressed him.

It takes him several tries to find his vocal cords and use them. He’s embarrassed, he’s blushing, he’s confused. He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong.

When his voice comes out, it’s all kinds of scratchy.

“Remus.”

“James,” James says, moving forward, and gently taking Remus’s hand, shaking it once before releasing it. “Lovely to meet you, Remus.”

Remus gives him a smile. It’s unpractised. Feels a bit tender, to lift his lips up, like training a new muscle.

James seems to realise that Remus, perhaps, needs some time alone. To adjust.

“I’m going down, have a nap before we dock. The…” he gestures vaguely to the open deck. “No one will bother you, if you wish to stay. See you, Remus,” James says before disappearing through the door.

It’s just them.

Sirius and Remus. And Remus is looking everywhere, everywhere except at Sirius, because he’s stupid, he’s wrong, he’s everything everyone has ever told him he was, and they’re right of course, he’ll never make it out alive on his own, he’s going to failfailfail  he’s going to

kill

isn’t he, and he’s done it all wrong, hasn’t he? He fucked up, he shouldn’t have left the cell, he knew, he knew and did it anyway, the call for freedom was— but he’s here and he’s an abomination, and why would he ever deserve—

“When you meet someone new, you can shake their hand,” Sirius says, and the voices in his head quiet down, like entering the eye of a hurricane. Sirius’s eyes are sincere, they’re intense, they’re looking at him like Remus needs to understand something really important, but Remus doesn’t know social clues, he’s never been in social situations, he’s—

“You grab their hands with yours,” Sirius continues, voice trembling, like he’s desperately trying to contain something, “and you shake. Then, you let go.” Slowly, like Remus might do something terrifying, like exactly what he is — a monster —, Sirius reaches down to take a hold of Remus’s hand. “It’s erhm— I think it originated as a way to show that you weren’t carrying any weapons.”

And Remus, Remus almost wants to laugh.

He’s horrified— horrified, when he does.

One moment he’s standing there, looking at a boy who’s looking back with something indescribable in his eyes, talking about weapons when he’s talking to him, a literal weapon, and the next he’s laughing. It sounds wrong, but perhaps it’s because he’s never heard it before. Has Remus ever laughed? He must have— he must have. He’s— he’s an adult, right? He must have laughed at some point, but the thing is. The thing is.

The thing

is.

He doesn’t think so.

And it’s problematic, because now that he’s started, he doesn’t think he can stop. Sirius’s hand is still in his, and he’s still holding on, and Remus is still laughing but it doesn’t sound joyful. It sounds desperate. Erratic. Panicked.

Because Remus is out, and he doesn’t know how to behave like a human being.

He’s laughing until he’s not, until there are tears, and this, this he knows well, this he’s acquainted with, the gaping hole in his chest and the destruction and the minefields and the devastation. This he knows how to handle.

He rips his hand out of Sirius’s hold and it slips out easily. Remus looks up, because there are sobs racking through his body and he needs to hold on to something, his knees, his heart, something soft, anything, and Sirius is looking at him like he doesn’t know what to do.

Like he wants to do something.

No one has ever wanted to do anything before.

“Please don’t touch me,” he pleads, because the look in Sirius’s eyes, they’re asking the question, his entire body is, really. He’s tense and his hands are poised, like they could reach out and touch Remus’s shoulder, and Remus doesn’t think that it should happen.

It’s too much. It’s too much. The sky is too wide. The world is too big.

Remus looks around, wildly, looking for something— something— there.

Remus takes off, heaving breaths in like the next one isn’t guaranteed, and he drops to his knees, crawling into the wooden crate. He gathers himself.

It’s better, here. Safer.

His breathing settles, somewhat, but he tries, tries to make himself small, smaller, the smallest. The least dangerous. He buries his face in his knees, and thinks that, perhaps.

He shouldn’t have left his cell at all.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius is feeling all kind of tight in his skin. Like maybe he should slip it off, and offer it to the boy — Remus.

He’s crawled into an empty shipping crate. Asked Sirius not to touch him. And Remus looks so small, knees against his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, face buried in his shins. It almost feels like an optical illusion, when Remus is like this, trying to bury inside himself like he’s the only safe haven he’s ever known.

Remus is tall, Sirius knows. Taller than him.

When they exited the cell, it was all Sirius could think about. How unkind nature could be, to burden someone wanting to remain so small into a person so large. But perhaps Remus is only large in Sirius’s eyes, because James hasn’t had the same reaction. It’s all Sirius’s, the somersaulting waves inside his chest, eager to push Remus closer, closer, closer to his shore . Sirius isn’t entirely sure what is happening inside of him.

All he knows is— there’s no way he’s going anywhere else. Sirius has a bit of a hero complex, he knows. He likes to save things. He tries not to think too hard about why. Tries not to think too hard about Regulus.

Very gently, he moves to the crate, and takes a seat against it. The crate is open on one of its sides, so Sirius rests his back on another one. He doesn’t look at Remus. Doesn’t sit right next to him. Just rests his back against the crate and listens as Remus tries to get himself under control. Sirius doesn’t attempt anything, for a long time. He just leaves his hand in full view of the open side. So Remus knows. That he’s here. That he’s close. That Remus is not alone.

This feels like the most important thing to Sirius right now.

“I wasn’t meant for this life,” Remus says, wetly, and Sirius’s answer surprises them both.

“You were,” he says vehemently. “You were.”

“How do you figure?”

“We’re here together now, aren’t we?”

Sirius hears more than sees Remus open his mouth and close it, seeming to catch himself before the words can make landfall. But then. What comes out is, perhaps, the worst thing he’s ever heard. He’s heard awful things. He has lived with Walburga. But this— it dethrones everything else. The words are like a violent hand swiping all previous ones to the floor.

“You should have let me rot in that cell. I’m cursed.” His tone is not resigned. It is not doomed.

It is condemned.

Sirius has the urge to fight against it. He’ll upturn Remus’s thoughts, will pull the rotten roots out and plant something new.

“Never. Never. This is the best decision we’ve ever made.”

A wet laugh.

“You don’t know what I am,” Remus whispers, voice barely audible from wherever his face is buried.

Sirius lets his head rest against the crate. “Who.”

“What?”

Sirius inhales. He’s not good at this. He’ll try. “Remus… whoever referred to you as a what before, they— they are wrong. You’re a person.”

And it takes so long for Remus to reply.

“Am I?”

It’s so gentle, so gentle, like a feather on the skin, when Sirius speaks. “What else would you be?”

Patience isn’t Sirius’s forte. But for this, he’ll wait. There are sniffles, and breaths, and then— a hand. Close to his. Landing in the vibrating space between them. Sirius reaches out, so slowly, like the hand is sentient, like it’ll get scared and disappear back into the crate if he moves too quickly.

“I haven’t been a person in a very long time,” Remus murmurs, words mumbled against the fabric of his pants.

“I—” Sirius starts, startling when his voice gets caught in his throat. “I can— you can learn.”

Sirius’s pinkie touches Remus, and maybe the boy isn’t cursed. Maybe he is blessed.

Because it is peace like Sirius has never known.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius’s heart is racing with anticipation as they walk the familiar path to James’s house. Well, his house as well, now. Euphemia might as well be his mother. 

Remus is with them.

Remus’s name feels different inside Sirius’s chest. Like starting an important chapter. Like meeting the main character. It’s irrelevant, the reason why he feels this way. He has time to figure it out. People always seem to rush into things. They never sit still anymore, they’re always digging. Sirius doesn’t want to dig. He wants to entangle his fingers with the boy whose skin is a map of scars, and watch the world go by. He doesn’t, of course. Remus has been with them for what, three days? 

“We are going to see my brother,” he says softly.

It takes an extraordinarily long time for Remus to reply.

“Tell me about him.”

So Sirius does. He likes his voice when he speaks about Regulus. There is fondness. Kindness. Like a big brother’s voice should sound.

“Regulus and I were made by different celestial architects, I think. He is soft and gentle and quiet and observant. He doesn’t speak much. I learned sign language for him. It’s easier for him to communicate, like this. Words, they’re sometimes too much. He likes to read though. He’s much smarter than I am.”

“You seem pretty smart already.”

“Then imagine my brother.”

Remus offers him a smile. It’s unguarded. It’s undisguised. It’s softer than the rising sun. Sirius’s soul tries to make a run for it, but he catches it back before it can float away and bury itself in Remus.

They’re going home.

But Sirius thinks of Remus, and wonders.

Maybe home can be two places at once.

He has missed Regulus. He has missed Euphemia. He is excited to see them both. He can almost taste it in the air. Home.

He has been cataloguing the past two years into snippets of adventures. He knows Regulus will want to know if they met any legends, saw any monsters. Effy will want to know if they were safe.

It’s both. 

James wrote them a letter, telling them they were on their way back. After all, they did promise Regulus they would be back for him. Sirius isn’t much of a writer, but he did contribute by signing his name. 

Effy will likely have prepared their favourite meal, and Regulus would have— he’s not sure. Sirius never knows what to expect from Regulus.They love each other. They do. But they struggle to understand one another. Sirius doesn’t think Regulus will be mad about them leaving, not really. He isn’t entirely sure that he’ll be forgiving, either.

It’s a toss-up, but it’s his brother. Sirius will adapt. He always has. 

It’s been two years. 

They’re going home.

🌊

Sirius has seen James in all kinds of states. That is, he’s known James for ten years. There are a lot of things one learns about another person in the span of ten years.

So Sirius knows that James doesn’t lose his cool.

James is a calm spirit. He’s full of enthusiasm, but he is also pretty chill about most things. He’ll go with the flow.

So Sirius is unprepared.

For the way James loses it.

They are walking towards James’s house. Toward Sirius’s house.

Their home.

They are one day late.

Because they saved someone.

Because they saved Remus.

And shouldn’t that mean something to the universe? Should it not matter? Does it not weigh in the fabric of the universe?

It’s only one day. In the scheme of things, what is a day?

One minute, they are heading home.

The next, it’s ashes and dust, and James is running towards the remains. Like it isn’t burning, still. Like there is something to salvage.

“Mom? Mom!”

Sirius isn’t running. He’s staring at the burning, cracking stone. Because Regulus was in there, as well. Because it smells like fire. Because Regulus was in there. Because where is the house? Because Regulus was in there. Because Regulus was in there. Because it’s gone.

James is yelling again, voice cracking. Sirius has just lost his.

“James!”

James isn’t listening.

Sirius isn’t the one yelling. He thinks his legs give out. Because Regulus—

“Mom— Mom! Regulus! Reg!” James is screaming, over and over and over. In all directions. Like the embers will reply.

They are only one day late.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

Today, James learns that one day is enough for one’s life to tip over. To change forever.

They are one day late.

But the house is burned wood and hot embers.

James remembers the day he thought he was the luckiest boy in the world.

He remembers it ending that day.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Remus has been free for less than three days.

And he wonders.

If perhaps, captivity wasn’t better.

Alone in a cell, there is little to do. Little to tear apart but oneself. Remus hadn’t realised. That these two boys would make him want to care about someone other than himself. That he would discover what it is like, to have people he wants to call friends. To see them both crumble like paper in front of a burned down house.

And yet.

This is exactly what happens to Remus.

It takes a while.

To pull James out of the rubble. By the time he’s able to, James’s hands are severely burned. The skin is peeling off. There are huge blisters. James doesn’t really seem to  notice. Because he’s found his mother. Underneath.

Remus is unprepared. He’s never really had to witness anyone else's grief but his own. It hurts just as much, as he comes to find out. Because James is crying and holding his mother and the sounds that are coming out of his mouth aren’t really sobs. They’re indescribable. They’re hideous. They’re so painful to hear.

Sirius is quiet. He hasn’t approached. He just— kneels down in front of the remains. He isn’t crying, either. He’s just… staring blankly. He’s speaking under his breath, but Remus doesn’t catch what is said. He isn’t sure he’s supposed to, either.

So.

Remus has been free for less than three days. Already, he knows that freedom comes with a heavy price. A price he’s not sure he’s equipped to pay.

He finds himself taking care of two heartbroken boys.

It takes a while, to pull James’s mother out.

They don’t find the other boy. Regulus. Which is good, because it means he likely didn’t die in the fire. It’s also bad, because Regulus is not here.

Remus is out of his depth. He doesn’t know what to do with a dead body. He doesn’t know what to do with these two boys. He doesn’t know what to do about the house. He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know.

He’s useless.

Well, almost. There is one thing Remus is good at. Healing. You get good, eventually, at the things you must. It's a survival thing. Remus has never actively wanted to die. He just— didn’t want to live the life he had been given. It’s an important distinction for Remus. He could have just— let his wounds get infected. But, well. One, it wouldn’t happen, because he doesn’t— he heals fast. Quickly. Instantaneously, almost. And even when it’s too deep, and painful, it doesn’t last more than a few days. Two, because when it does happen, he’s figured out a way to heal faster. It involves, well.

Chromatophores.

Remus knows what these ugly burns on James’s skin feel like. He knows how to help. He just needs to be… inconspicuous about it.

He tells them he’s going to get cloths and water. He does get cloths. Doesn’t need water. He lets his hands do the magic, soaking the cloth.

So, James’s hands get wrapped in cloth and what everyone assumes is water. And the look in his eyes doesn’t diminish. No relief. Perhaps because the pain isn’t felt outward as much as inward. Perhaps because the loss of someone important makes any kind of physical pain completely irrelevant. Remus would know.

🌊

Burials are a quick affair.

The dead are dead and the living must carry on.

This isn’t a world for the soft.

Remus watches in silence as they lay Euphemia to rest. The three of them have decided to give her a burial at sea.

They stand on the deck of a small boat, Euphemia's body wrapped in a white sheet, tied to a heavy weight. The waves are choppy, and Remus can feel the salty spray hitting his face. He's never been a fan of the ocean. Funny how he’s spent more time on it than on dry land.

The weight is lifted, and Euphemia's body slips silently into the ocean.

The three boys stand in silence.

Et la mer avale la mère.

🌊 

The evening finds them in a dimly lit tavern in town. They’re sat next to one another, hardly speaking. James stares blankly at the wall opposite him, lost in a haze. Sirius can't seem to bring himself to look up from the surface of the table. And Remus… Remus has been out of his cell for three days.

The silence between them is deafening, punctuated only by the soft murmur of voices and the clink of glasses in the background. Remus can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him, suffocating him.

He has no idea what to do. So he just… sits.

He’s never felt more helpless.

But then.

Then.

He remembers Sirius’s hand holding his, the other night. He remembers feeling restless, and loud, and static. He remembers it all quieting down. 

Remus remembers, and acts. His hand reaches out, out, out, finding its way to Sirius's hand, and then to James's.

Their hands are crushing his. That’s when Remus realises.

For the first time in his life, he's the one who's providing the anchor. He's the raft they cling on to, steady and unyielding.

They’re just three boys in a tavern.

Holding hands until their knuckles turn white.

Anchoring themselves to one another in the midst of the rising storm.

🌊 JAMES 🌊  

The ocean has always felt more like home than the steady ground.

He is spending a lot of time in the quiet of the ocean, these days, the days after he finds his mother’s body, when the chaos becomes too much.

People go to church to pray after someone dies. James goes to the ocean. There, he is allowed to spill out secrets in a way that doesn’t feel allowed in church. His secrets remain buried in the ocean, and so do his tears. Salt against salt, what does it matter?

The ocean is home. It’s the cold, the pressure of the water on your chest, the waterlogged feeling of your skin, the long wails of the whales rippling across the ocean bed. It’s how quiet it all becomes.

He belongs in the water the same way that Sirius belongs on top of it. The same way that Regulus— that Regulus doesn’t belong on water at all. He is the water, James sometimes thinks. The quiet rage, the mystery, the unfathomable depths. The untamed quality of his gaze, grey like a winter storm.

And Euphemia… Euphemia belongs to the ocean now, too, in a different way.

James is eighteen and an orphan.

Well.

That would have been true. But Effy brought two boys into his life, years ago. His family.

And James makes the decision, right then, that he’ll stop at nothing for his family. He will rip and tear and destroy the world to find Regulus.

Chapter Text

🌊REGULUS 🌊

Regulus has always been a quiet boy, his voice never quite matching the boisterousness of the world around him. As he grew, his bones spoke to him like whispered echoes.

You're too loud for this world, my dear, stay quiet, and let us grow.

Regulus learns to be still, to listen to the sound of his own growing pains. Learns to find solace in the quiet, to let silence be his shield against the chaos.

A song of survival.

He doesn’t think most children have the kind of life that he and Sirius have had. He thinks, he hopes, that childhood is simpler for most. It’s love and bruises and kisses and growing up.

Not for them. Well, there are bruises, and there is growing up, but he can taste how bitter it feels for them.

During his childhood, there are a lot of people that come and go out of his home. One of these people is Bellatrix Lestrange. That woman is a disease, and Regulus is sick. Her words are venom and hatchets and bleeding hearts. He wonders how. How do you reach that point? How do you become evil?

It’s an interesting concept, that. Good vs Evil. Regulus spends a lot of time pondering how the switch happens. Are you born one side and indoctrinated? Are you condemned to one side no matter what you really think?

There is something else that happens during his childhood.

See, Regulus and Sirius are born French. Walburga preens at this, because the French are strong. They have Kings. Their language is poised.

But Regulus and Sirius have a secret. They hate the French. The French are stuck-up. The French are assholes. Even their language stutters with impossibilities.

Did you know, French only has one way of saying I love you? I like you? I like it?

J’aime.

J’aime everything.

J’aime le pain. J’aime ton manteau. J’aime ce bateau.

J’aime qu’on m’obéisse. J’aimerais bien ne pas avoir à me répéter. J’aimerais que tu te taises.

Regulus hates this word. It has no range, no contrast. It’s used to death.

The French like to say that they place a greater emphasis on the concept of love, yet j’aime is more commonly used than any other word, when it should be held on to, treasured. Taken out when it actually matters. English knows that. It’s difficult, to get an I love you.

French trivialise the concept of love. They have other words, Regulus guesses. Tu me manques. Though this one, he has never heard from his mother.

It’s despicable, how the French communicate. Because Orion tells them je t’aime . He does. But Regulus doesn’t think Orion means it the way he wishes. He doesn’t think Orion means I love you. If he had… wouldn’t he have gotten them out?

There’s j’adore, but it’s not the same. Adoring something and loving it is not the same.

Regulus knows, because Walburga adores her sons, for a while. She adores them into submission. She adores them like one adores something that can be reshaped. She chips at them until they look the way she likes. Only then does she love.

Her viens-là, mon amour aren’t words of love at all.

They’re words of control.

🌊 

Regulus stops speaking at age four.

It creates a lot of tension in the house. But Regulus, at four years old, has already learned a valuable lesson. Words are forever.

It’s not quite as anxiety inducing, to keep quiet.

Walburga takes him to the doctor, and the doctor doesn’t have anything helpful to say. In fact, it’s the opposite.

Your boy can speak, but you can’t force him to.

These are words that his mother interprets like a challenge.

It becomes really hard to be Regulus, from then on.

The more Walburga tries to force it, the more he pulls back in his quiet. When he does have to speak, because the pain becomes too much, because it becomes more stressful to not speak than to just give in , Regulus wants to throw up. It feels like a violation. Like desecration. Like crossing boundaries and digging into old wood with sharpened nails.

Walburga uses discipline the way others use punishment. Ruling is Walburga’s favourite, because it doesn’t just inflict pain at that moment in time. It stays with you. For weeks. Pulling shards out for days.

Montre-moi tes mains. Paumes ouvertes. Compte.

Un.

Deux.

Trois.

It’s just wood, with little holes drilled in. So Regulus struggles to understand how it manages to drill holes into his soul, as well.

🌊 

Sirius is stronger than Regulus. Regulus knows this, it’s obvious. And Sirius’s heart is better guarded. Somehow, the ribs around his heart protect him in a way that Regulus’s don’t.. His ribs poke holes through his heart. People slither in, through the cracks. He bleeds out.

Sirius doesn’t bleed out. He’s more resistant to their attacks.

But Sirius loves Regulus, and Regulus knows that, because Sirius crawls into bed with him one night with a massive smile on his face. They’re under the covers, with a lamp that really shouldn’t fall, because if it does it’ll set the entire house on fire, and maybe that would be better, but Regulus tries not to think so negatively all the time. Death calls to him, but Regulus doesn’t really know how interested he is in meeting Her. As long as there’s doubt, best not to make irrational decisions.

Sirius smiles with all his teeth.

“I found something,” he says, which Regulus interprets as I stole something . There is surprise on his face when Sirius pulls out a book. There are pictures, in the book. Of hands. Gestures.

Signs.

Sirius’s smile is unending.

“This is sign language.”

Regulus looks up, words gathering in his throat, unable to escape.

“We’re going to learn.”

🌊  

Like everything else, practice makes perfect. Sirius and Regulus learn sign language in secret. It’s not discussed. It doesn’t have to be. Whatever it is they’re doing, their family cannot learn about it. It would make it worse. Everything.

Sign language isn’t just another language. It’s in direct opposition with Walburga’s teachings.

Walburga wants him to speak.

Sirius is teaching him a way to achieve this without actually opening his mouth.

In Walburga’s mind, it might as well be defiance. A raised sword.

They practise at night, mostly.

Regulus practices in his mind a lot. He’s memorised the gestures on paper and practises the gestures in his head. It helps.

He’s better than Sirius in no time, but that’s not surprising. Sirius has other problems to deal with.

Regulus is still young, so besides piano lessons, languages, literature, and science, he’s pretty much free to roam around the house, as long as he’s quiet. Undisturbing.

Sirius is one year older. His curriculum is more advanced. Sirius has history, geography and mathematics, as well.

One look at Sirius should be enough to realise that Sirius could care less about any of this stuff. One look should be enough to realise that Sirius isn’t meant to take over the family business and settle in a mansion. One look should suffice to realise what Regulus knows. Sirius’s eyes are already far away. They’re eyes that speak of adventures. Sirius is a wild spirit. Lock him up in a mansion and he’ll die, wither up. The problem is, no one looks at Sirius. No one looks at Regulus, either. They’re not important yet. They’re nothing. Private tutors teach. Nannies feed. Parents— parents educate. They never see . They always look right through them.

Still Regulus remains quiet.

He writes, instead. He signs.

These, he is good at. It’s simple, really.

Speaking demands so much, from Regulus. It’s intonation, rhythm, and facial expressions. It’s not like this, with writing. Writing has to be thought through. Regulus can scratch it out. He can form the sentence in his mind a thousand times before it becomes a sentence, erasing it, scratching the ink until it becomes unrecognisable. Until the words, which he hadn’t meant to write, disappear under the pressure. With written words, Regulus can try again.

Again and again and again, he can try.

Sign language is frustrating, sometimes, because it’s not like words. The words aren’t conveyed the same way, the senses are all jumbled, and sometimes he just wants to let it loose, that cannonball clawing at his throat, but he’ll push it down. He’ll push it down. He doesn’t want to know what’s been accumulating there. He’s scared of realising that the words aren’t words anymore, that perhaps they’re just an amalgam of feelings that have no name, just power. That it’ll come out and explode and hurt everyone around him.

🌊 

There is a cat, in Regulus’s house. He takes care of it, mostly. It likes him, he thinks. He named it Kreacher. It’s a street cat, and Walburga wanted to get rid of it at first. Well, that’s not entirely true. She wanted him to do it.

Débarasses-t’en.

Get rid of it, like it wasn’t something of value to Regulus. Something alive. Something that could bring Regulus a sense of calm. Perhaps it’s just that a cat is easier to get rid of than a son. Perhaps he should have read the subtext.

He’s seen it happen before. Sometimes the Cook will bring in a live rabbit, and that’s what they’ll have for dinner.

Sometimes between the moment Regulus wakes up and the moment dinner is served, there will be a death in the house. It’s gruesome, too. He’s heard it happen. The sickening thump of a mass against the staircase.

His mother— wanted him to do this to the kitten.

Regulus threw up. His mother was désappointée, Regulus. She looked at her son with pity in her gaze, like she couldn’t believe this was the son she’d managed to birth. Like perhaps, she should try again. A sickening thump of a mass against a staircase, try again for another son.

Sometimes, Regulus thinks it might not be so bad. Let Walburga try again. Let him become a death in the house.

But Orion interrupted, this once. Laisse-le s’en occuper, ca lui apprendra la responsabilité.

The kitten got to live.

Kreacher sleeps curled up with him on his bed.

Regulus is vegetarian. In his mind, anyway. Whatever meat appears on his plate, he’ll avoid it like the plague. Will eat it if he must. Will imagine it’s something else. Anything else. A leaf. A breath. Another life.

Regulus starts throwing up a lot more. It’s not always because he’s sick. It’s not always an accident. It feels better, sometimes, to let it out. Like clearing the airways. Like the words are something concrete he can expel.

It’s not something he does all the time. It’s something that happens when it becomes too much. When his hands tremble and he breaks out in sweats and he tries to escape his own skin.

Regulus would kill to be someone else. Someone worthy.

He would die for it, too.

🌊 

Regulus's heart pounds. 

Their mother's voice cuts through the air, her words like daggers. "Sirius. Si tu passes cette porte, c’est terminé." Regulus's eyes widen in horror as he watches his brother take the ultimatum in stride.

How did they get here?

How did they get here?

Can I turn back time?

How did they get here?

Can I make it better?

How did they get here?

The words are looping over and over in his mind. He’s so scared. Their mother– she means what she says, always. She’ll let Sirius leave. She’ll let Sirius die.

Regulus knows Sirius. He won’t back down, either.

And Regulus is six years old, watching his mother and his brother lock horns, voices rising in a fierce crescendo. It’s been bad before. Never like this. Sirius has always been a little reckless, but this is different. It’s not just defiance. It’s opposition.

Regulus searches and searches for a way out of the chaos, but every avenue is blocked. He’s a mouse caught in a trap. All he can do is watch.

He wants to cover his ears, to shut out the sound of their anger, to protect his small fragile heart, but he can't bring himself to look away.

It's like watching a shipwreck in slow motion.

Oh. Oh look, here lies the memory of the destruction of Regulus’s childhood. This was the day. This was the place. Look around, there might be shrapnel. A few leftover trigger bombs scattered throughout the wreckage. Be careful walking around the rubble, folks, this is a nasty place. Cover your noses, the air is thick with the acrid smell of burning bridges, shattered dreams, and lost innocence. Walk carefully, for this is a place where the wounds of the past still fester.

Sirius is seven years old. Their mother cannot let him leave. Right?

“Je préfère mourir dehors que vivre enfermé ici,” Sirius says, and Regulus knows that’s the end. That’s the crack that splits the rock.

“Alors pars.”

Sirius’s eyes are wet with tears, but his eyes are strong. They are holding a lot in there. Defiance. Rebellion. Sirius turns towards the door. But then, to Regulus’s surprise, Sirius turns to him with a cocky grin. "Well then, little brother, are you coming or not?"

And that’s. That’s a surprise. A scary surprise. Because Regulus doesn’t like to be put on the spot. There’s panic welling up inside him.

Are you 

Coming

Or not?

He wants to say of course, of course I’ll come , but he's frozen in place. This is– his family, and Regulus is only

Six

Years 

Old.

The thought of losing his brother feels unbearable, a weight crushing down on his chest. The thought of losing everything else– is it worse? Regulus tries to imagine it– a life without Sirius. He thinks of the familiar walls that have always surrounded him. He thinks of his parents, with their expectations and their rules. Leaving isn’t just about going elsewhere. It’s not just– material possessions. It’s everything else . It’s his identity. A sense of belonging. It’s everything that has defined him up until now. Regulus is only

Six

Years 

Old.

He takes a step forward and Regulus, slowly, so slowly,

He 

Takes 

The 

Hand.

Their mother's final words ring in his ears as they step out into the cold night air. "Then you can die in the streets."

Sirius doesn't seem to care. Not like Regulus does.

For days they walk, their stomachs growling with hunger and their feet blistered and sore. They sleep in alleys and under bridges, huddling together for warmth as the nights grow colder. Regulus starts to wonder if, maybe, their mother was 

Right

And they were

Wrong?  

Maybe they will die in the streets. 

But then, they meet Euphemia.

Chapter Text

🌊 REGULUS 🌊

Regulus has a thing with his soul. A standing engagement, as it were.

It trembles too often. He tries to teach it strength. Poise. How to be stronger.

But he thinks, maybe, he was born with a defective one. A soul full of cracks. Or perhaps this isn’t his first go at life, perhaps he’s been here already. Perhaps he was awful. A disgrace. Perhaps he wasn’t born with a defective soul. Perhaps God gave him one on purpose.

And God, how he suffers.

🌊

Regulus doesn’t like who he is with his family. He doesn’t like the tension in his chest and the way his eyes drop like he can’t watchcan’tbetherecan’tlookup for fear of having the small tendrils of growth he’s attempting to nurture stepped on.

Regulus, however, likes who he could become in the presence of Sirius. Like his quirks and his faults aren’t a mess. Like they’re endearing. Like Regulus isn’t a walking natural disaster. Like he could be loved just as he is.

Sirius was the only one who ever acted like sacrificing his voice to the quiet was something that did not need to be worrisome.

“You’ll speak when you’re ready,” he’d shrugged once.

It isn’t Sirius’s fault. But Sirius is so vastly different from Regulus. They speak three languages. They should find ways to understand each other, and they try. They try. They try.

Everyday they try.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

It should be effortless, communicating with a sibling. It should not require three languages. It shouldn’t require any language at all. Regulus’s very blood and bones scream for Sirius’s. Love me, they say, and Sirius’s bones respond in kind. Understand me, they plead, and Sirius’s bones do not understand.

Because Sirius takes up space.

Regulus wants to disappear in it.

And then, Regulus meets James.

James is an open field where Regulus can take his time. With James, Regulus likes who he is, not who he has the potential to be someday. He becomes someone who deserves the space to be. Someone who is allowed to take his time. Someone who might never be ready.

Regulus and James barely speak, at first. They don’t need to.

It digs the space further between Sirius and Regulus.

If Sirius and Regulus didn’t speak, they wouldn’t understand one another at all.

For a while, Regulus thought that was normal.

Until James.

Regulus likes being with James because James is a man of actions, where Regulus is simply a man of words. He has so many words, all the time, crowding his throat, trying to escape. They don’t spill out. They just accumulate, endlessly, in his throat, and the more they accumulate, the less Regulus knows how to speak. He’s afraid of what will happen, if he lets them get out. If he opens his mouth. If he caves in. If he released all this tension settling in his bones and anchoring him to solid ground.

Maybe he should go to a field, go to the ocean, open his mouth and detonate. See what’s inside. What comes out, what else might settle in after the explosion.

Regulus isn’t sure.

As long as he isn’t, he doesn’t dare open his mouth. He’s afraid of the monster inside.

🌊

But Life is a lovely mistress, and she gives them time. So much time. Years. Regulus settles. He learns to take life one breath at a time.

Regulus is six when he enters the Potter’s home, all noxious fog and claustrophobic waves.

By seven, Regulus is having dinner with everyone without feeling like the room is shrinking. He can look at Effy and not feel scared that this is a mask, that Effy will take it off, that it’ll all be a scam, that he’s been dreaming, that this isn’t a life Regulus is allowed to live. The love and warmth of the Potter family gradually seeps into Regulus' heart. The noxious fog begins to dissipate, making way for light. He learns to trust.

Well, that isn’t entirely true. Regulus would have been content to trust no one at all, until the rest of time.

If not for James.

But James is relentless. Always there, another constant presence in Regulus's life. James never judges or criticises Regulus. Doesn’t try to bring Regulus into his mould. All he does is look. Assess. Evaluate. It takes a while for Regulus to understand that what James is doing, is understanding.

How Regulus functions. What makes him tick. What makes him smile.

How to best dig in.

Like James is digging for buried treasure, and Regulus is the treasure he seeks.

James is gentle and patient. Inexorable. He coaxes Regulus out of his shell little by little until he begins to recognize himself in the reflection of James's eyes. 

James is a wonderful observer. He gives quiet attention. Nothing is asked out of Regulus. James simply looks his fill, and when he is done, he turns his attention elsewhere, and Regulus dies a little inside, a flower wilting when the sun disappears behind a cloud. It’s fine.

He sees James and Sirius together a lot, and it doesn’t bother him. It doesn’t. Sirius deserves something beautiful. Not like him. Regulus isn’t something beautiful. He doesn’t think he should get to have nice things. Not like Sirius does.

But then.

One day, they're sitting together at the table. James and Regulus. Sirius is in their room, doing God knows what. Regulus’s nose is in Effy’s poetry book, knees to his chest, nose in between his knees. He tries to concentrate, tries to let the words melt into his skin like butter, but James is beside him, shifting around as though possessed, shuffling his feet and twitching like a leaf in a breeze. He isn’t doing anything, just— moving. His arms, his legs, his shoulders. Regulus tries to ignore it, but it’s impossible. He can never ignore James. Not for long, anyway. Regulus’s entire being screams for him to look at James, always. The sun, the sun, the sun! Look at him, Regulus! Look at the sun!

Regulus closes the book. Turns to James, an eyebrow raised in question. And James. James upturns Regulus’s life forever.

Hi. My name is James, he signs. It’s a little clunky, but it works.

Regulus’s eyes widen in surprise. Then, delight.

There is warmth, pressing on his chest, settling in and radiating outwards. 

That day, Regulus opens his palms and accepts it. The trust. A gossamer strand held in his hands.

And he, too, blooms.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James is lying on Reg’s bed, feet up on the wall.

He’s listening to Regulus’s voice.

“Her smile is fallen snow on the first day of winter.

She is home, a warm cup of tea in the middle of a blizzard.

She comforts you and her hugs are different, they

Lift

You

Up

But you look down and your feet are still touching the floor.

She is the one you call, when the snowflakes are begging

‘Dress us up like a snowman,

My sisters and I want

To wear a smile, just for a little while.’

You remind her to put on gloves; she wraps her scarf around you

Several times over,

So you will never be cold.

You forget to say that her presence is like home, a storm lantern in the apocalypse.

You smile.”

Regulus is reading him his mother’s poetry. It’s beautiful at the best of times, but coming from Reg’s mouth… it is so much more special. It’s clear, from the way Regulus enunciates, that he and Sirius come from money. He isn’t entirely sure what kind, or how they ended up on the street, or— anything really, up until Euphemia brought them home. Sirius’s mouth is shut on the subject, and Regulus… well, James knows better than to prod.

James is looking up at the ceiling, staring at his feet, all the way up on the wall. Reg’s back is against the wall, knees up close to this chest, notebook resting on his shins. James can feel Regulus’s body heat infiltrating his bones.

“There is nothing else you can do.

She smells like home, and home is a bouquet of roses.

Never has a perfume been so heady— what is it?”

James’s eyes drop from his feet to Regulus’s face. “What is what?”

Regulus raises an eyebrow. How a thirteen year old is capable of conveying so much disdain with one gesture, James will never know.

James flinches, slightly. Sighs. “Sirius is gone.”

“Hm.” It’s noncommittal. They both know what it means, when Sirius goes and leaves James behind. Or rather, asks to be left alone. It’s— difficult, for James, to be rejected by Sirius. To know that Sirius doesn’t always want James to help with his feelings. That Sirius is not always fine. And that when he isn’t, James isn’t the one Sirius goes running towards. That he runs away, instead. 

James fidgets with his hands. He knows that Sirius has been through a lot. But it's hard to watch from the sidelines, not knowing how to help. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to centre himself. "I just wish there was something I could do," he says quietly. He shakes himself out. “It’s fine. Hey, read me something of yours,” he says, and Regulus recoils, head immediately shaking in the negative. “I don’t even speak French, I wouldn’t understand a word.”

Regulus shakes his head again. No.

“Please?” James asks quietly. Earnestly.

And the thing is, Regulus has never been a wordsmith— that is, when the words aren’t on paper. On paper, Regulus speaks more than anyone James has ever met. But no one reads what Regulus has to say. He doesn’t want them to. But James– James wants to.

It’s unfair, James knows. Regulus struggles with saying no to James. James is aware of that. But— but it’s hard to feel bad when Regulus is shaking his head and pulling a worn notebook from the crack between the bed and the wall.

It’s going to be terrible, Regulus signs.

James smiles. I somehow doubt that.

Then you’re an idiot.

Regulus opens the book, looking for something, cheeks pink.

“I’ll take anything,” James says again. “My French is abysmal. It’s not like I’ll understand.”

Regulus doesn’t reply, just keeps flipping through the pages, obviously looking for the least embarrassing one he can get away with. And James— he’d pushed too hard, hadn’t he?

“It’s okay, Reg. We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to push—”

But Regulus takes a breath.

“Il y a la douleur d'avant et la douleur d'après.

Il y a le bonheur d'être avec toi, et le vide auquel on n'échappe pas.

Une peine invisible, braise sous un feu éteint,

Qui n'a besoin que d'un souffle, pour enflammer le mal.”

James doesn’t speak for a while after Regulus is done. It’s just that poetry isn’t always understood. But that doesn’t mean it can’t be felt.

James looks at Regulus, who has closed his eyes. “Hey,” he prods, and Regulus opens his eyes. “Will you read me another one?”

So Regulus does.

James understands some snippets, but it’s mostly just gibberish. Like crashing water against the hull of a boat. It’s technically just noise. But it’s also something else.

Something beautiful.

🌊

“Where are you taking me?”

Regulus turns to him, You’ll see.

And James knows that, of course, but he is impatient.

This is the first time that Regulus has allowed him to go a little further in.

He’s the tougher brother, an immovable stone that resists all attempts to crack it. Which is interesting, because James could swear all he sees when he looks at Regulus are cracks. Like his entire self is a bleeding wound that Regulus leaves alone.

It’s different, with Sirius. Sirius heals himself. Sirius moves on. Sirius has moments, and in these moments, James will know to leave him, or to hold him, to be there while he fills in the gaps.

It’s not the same for Regulus.

Regulus doesn’t try to fill in the gaps. He doesn’t try to act like the gaps aren’t there. He acts like they are evidence. Like Regulus is made of cracks and he’ll be made of cracks always. There are no attempts to heal. The wound is bone deep.

James tries to understand, but he's never had a sibling of his own before. He doesn't know much about the first seven years of Sirius’s life. The first six years of Regulus’s. Perhaps siblings truly are engineered differently.

They’re climbing, and James should really work out more, because he thought he was fit— but Regulus is putting him to shame. He’s smaller, and thinner, but goat-like on a hike. He’ll climb over rocks like they barely exist. James is— not quite as smooth.

By the time they make it up, Regulus is breathing in deep, accomplished. James is breathing like perhaps half a lung got lost along the way.

They’re on a cliff. Overseeing the ocean. There is grass, and an abrupt end to the road. One step and you’re gone.

It’s dangerous. Exhilarating. James loves it.

He looks up at Regulus, and the breath he’d managed to gather back leaves him at once.

There are these moments in James’s life. Where he gets his heart and his head confused. Where he isn’t entirely sure what’s going on inside.

This is one of them.

Beautiful, eh?  Regulus signs, and James nods.

Regulus turns back to the view, and he looks— strong. Sure.

His hands are fitted on his hips. His hair is tousled this and that way by the wind. He looks at peace. In control. This isn’t a state that Regulus finds himself in often.

And he’s just shown James this. The breath leaves his lungs again.

Regulus turns to him, and there must be something in his gaze— fear, because Regulus gives him a small smile before taking a deep breath and signing the words James had been dreading. Starting the conversation James knew they had to have eventually. The conversation James couldn't bring himself to start.

I know you’re going to leave, Regulus signs.

And James wants to deny it, because no, of course not, he would never leave Regulus, why would he ever go— but in the same breath, he finds that he cannot deny it.

Sirius has been talking about it more these days and James… James cannot leave Sirius behind. Because they’re— brothers. James looks at Regulus and it’s— not brothers.

James’s chest never caves like this when Sirius looks at him.

Looking at Sirius fills his lungs with air. Looking at Regulus punches the breath out.

I need to take care of Sirius.

Regulus looks back out to the view, signing to the air. I know.

"I'll come back, you know," James blurts out, his voice breaking the heavy silence that has settled between them. But Regulus doesn't even bother to look back, his body tensing up as if the words are nothing but empty promises, lies that James doesn't intend to keep. James takes a step forward. And then another, until he's standing right in front of the younger boy, their eyes locked. James can feel the weight of Regulus's gaze on him, and for a moment, James can't find the words to speak. He just stands there, his eyes boring into Regulus's, searching for some kind of acceptance, some kind of understanding. And then he speaks again, his voice low and earnest. “I will come back.” Regulus’s face twists, once, before blanking out again. “I prom—” he starts saying, but Regulus’s hand is on his mouth. He’s shaking his head.

Don’t.

James reaches out, slowly dragging Regulus’s hand from his mouth. The words seem to come so easily, yet they hurt on the way out. Maybe that’s the painful truth. “I do promise, Reg. I do. I will come back for you.”

Regulus looks away first. Sirius doesn’t want to come back.

“Sirius is only one part of this equation.”

You— you don’t want to come back either. There’s — his hands stutter — nothing for you here.

And James is looking at Regulus like something soft. He lifts an eyebrow. A question.

Isn’t there?

There’s colour blooming on Regulus’s cheeks, and isn’t that interesting, how James’s breath is gone from his lungs again.

“I’m not worth coming back to”, he finally whispers, and that’s— that’s a lie if James has ever heard one. If there is one thing worth coming back to, it’s this kid.

🌊 REGULUS 🌊

Regulus is perceptive. He doesn’t speak much, which gives him time to observe. He’s acutely aware of Sirius’s far away eyes, extending further and further away every day. He sees them reflected in James.

This is temporary.

They’ll leave, and when they do, he’ll be left behind. The fear gnaws at his heart. Regulus isn’t sure he’ll be any good at it. Being left behind. He’s not good at much.

And so, every happy moment is painful, double-edged. It’s warm and it fills him with unease.

His happiness is like an expiration date on a tin. Its end is coming. Doesn’t matter that Regulus isn’t ready. That he’ll never be.

Regulus desperately needs someone in his corner.

But when James and Sirius leave, he’s alone.

There is Euphemia, sure. And to be honest, Regulus has always thought that the woman could fill an ocean with her love. But Regulus is full of cracks, and water seeps out. He’s always half-empty. Euphemia alone cannot fill these cracks, try as she might.

And when Euphemia is gone, and the notebooks are full, and the house is emptyempty empty, Regulus goes out. Up. He climbs. It gives him something to do. Somewhere to go. A task to accomplish.

That’s how he finds himself going back to the cliffs he once showed James.

🌊

Regulus has a complicated relationship with himself. He finds himself hard to love.

So it takes him a while to realise why he comes here so often.  To understand that going to the cliffs makes him feel better. Feel something like peace.

He doesn’t know if the cliffs have a name. He calls them the cliffs. He doesn’t think they mind.

They rise 350 feet over the ocean, and they stretch out for a few miles, with chalky white faces gleaming in the sun. At the base of the cliffs, the water crashes against the rocks with a resounding roar, sending sprays of saltwater high into the air. The cliff’s face is jagged and rocky, dotted with hidden caves and crevices where seabirds nest and roost, their cries filling the air.

When Regulus stands at the very edge, gazing out over the vast expanse of the ocean, he always feels better. There’s a lot of wind on the cliffs. It’s difficult sometimes, to keep one’s balance. Regulus likes that, too. That it’s dangerous. That the cliffs are rocky. That—

A sickening thump of a mass against the bottom of the cliff, try again.

When he comes in the late afternoon — he comes back before 6 o’clock, he always does — and the sky catches on fire, with orange and gold and pink, the cliffs almost glow, the chalk taking on a spectral quality.

They call to him, but Regulus doesn’t really want to answer. At least, not yet.

🌊

Regulus is hiding out on the high cliffs, looking at the ocean, thinking about rocks, and Severus just— sits, one day. Next to him. Silently.

“I don’t think you should jump,” is the first sentence Severus speaks to him. Regulus figures that, if that’s the opening line, there’s hardly any reason for him to pretend that this is anything else.

“I never know,” he starts quietly, “if I want to fall or if I want to fly.”

There is a look that passes between them. Something that says, oh hello. Hello there. We are the same, aren’t we?

Severus is incredibly honest, for a boy he’s never even met before. “Don’t you?”

Regulus shrugs. “Depends on the day, no?”

Severus looks at the sky. Takes a seat next to him. “Yeah. Yeah, it depends on the day.”

There’s a boy that Regulus likes. His name is Severus.

He’s hiding out like Regulus does, on the high cliffs.

🌊

Severus isn’t Regulus’s friend. Not really. Not exactly. Well, sometimes. When they meet, that is.

Which isn’t often. Because Regulus doesn’t do friends. He doesn’t like friends. He doesn’t like people. Except for Sirius. And Euphemia. And James. That makes three, and that’s enough people. Enough people to care about. More would be… too complex to handle. It’s hard to care for people when you can’t even care for yourself. When you’re trying to staunch the bleeding all the time. It’s hard to let people in, because what if they oops— there they go, here they spill, out through the cracks, forever gone.

Severus is another weakness waiting to happen.

But Regulus is already weak, and his soul is full of cracks.

Severus slithers in through the cracks, and embeds himself into his soul.

🌊

Severus never learns to speak sign language. But he learns how to understand it, which, in Regulus’s book, is enough. It’s not like they speak much, anyway.

They’re content, most of the time, to keep quiet. They don’t need to talk. Regulus thinks he’s Severus’s lifeboat, as much as Severus is his. They cling to each other.

It’s friendship.

In Severus, he finds solace, for the first time since Sirius and James’s departure. He is a constant presence in his life, a refuge from the chaos of the world.

For Regulus, this friendship is a precious gift, one that is entirely under his control. It is something that cannot be taken away, something that is uniquely his.

It’s important. It’s something that isn’t Sirius’s. Or James’s. So it’s not something they can leave behind.

He has control over this.

🌊

“There’s this girl,” Severus says, and Regulus has never heard Sev speak about… anyone. Ever. So he doesn’t say anything. But he listens. “She’s… she’s beautiful, Reg. She’s like eternal autumn. Her hair is fiery, it’s red, it’s— it looks soft,” he finishes, much more quietly than he’d started. Like waking up from a dream, and realising it’s too far to reach.

Does she know that?

“That what?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, emphasising his hand movements. Eternal autumn? he signs, eyes sparkling.

Severus is such a poetic soul, which is extraordinarily sad, because he’s also incredibly mean to— well, everything. Like a sad cactus. Wants to be touched but will naturally fight off anyone who tries to get close. Save for Regulus. Regulus doesn’t need to be fought off. Cactuses can’t hurt one another.

🌊

Regulus and Euphemia, they— get along fine.

He can tell the silence is harder for her to accept.

Because, well, James is her son. James, who is the most obnoxious human on this planet.

Regulus is nothing like James.

He thinks Effy struggles with it. The quiet. It doesn’t speak to her the way it does Regulus.

She always finds ways to fill it with empty words. She’s lovely, Euphemia. But he isn’t James, and his absence is palpable in the house. It’s like James’s ghost wanders the halls constantly, and Euphemia wants to— have conversations with Regulus. About the weather. About the town gossip. About what Regulus writes in his many notebooks.

It is hard for Effy to accept the fact she has shared her writing but he won’t share his.

She loves him, Regulus does not doubt it. He doesn’t.

But Regulus is not James.

So Regulus spends a lot of time on the cliffs with Severus. Escaping ghosts.

They are lying on the grass, staring up at the clouds. Severus’s eyes are on Regulus’s hands, lifted up in the sky. The sun is warm on their skin and a gentle breeze ruffles through their hair.

“I told you about Lily,” Severus says, the subtext evident in his voice. So tell me about yours, whoever they are, because you sigh an awful lot for someone who doesn’t have a heavy heart.

I don’t have anyone to tell you about.

Severus fixes him with an unimpressed glare, signing a single word: Bullshit. Regulus can't help but smile at the contradiction that is his best friend. Funny how Severus stubbornly refuses to sign anything useful, but won't hesitate to sign if it means he can tell Regulus to fuck off.

Regulus appreciates the layers that make up Severus. He is a paradoxical being, filled with complexities.

His best friend.

“Tell me, or I’ll imagine the worst.”

Regulus snorts. What’s the worst?

“Barty Crouch.”

Regulus recoils. Barty is not who I sigh about.

Severus rises up on his elbows, eyes sparkling. “Ah! So you do sigh about someone!”

Regulus opens his mouth. Closes it.

Not Barty. He admits.

“Then who?” Severus asks, his curiosity piqued.

You’ve never met him.

“No?”

He left before I met you.

“An idiot, then.”

No, we weren’t— it wasn’t like that.

“It was something though.”

I— maybe.

“Maybe definitely.”

Regulus sighs. Maybe definitely.

“Well then. Tell me what he’s like at least.” Severus says, his tone softening.

Why do you care?

“Must I have a reason to care about my best friend’s crush?”

And oh. Oh this is lovely. It’s a hummingbird in his chest. It’s rising through the air. It’s expanding its wings and taking off.

Because Regulus knew that Severus was his best friend.

He just didn’t know that he was Severus’s.

🌊

Regulus mostly forgot the entirety of what happened between the moment he took Sirius’s hand, and the moment Euphemia found them, walking aimlessly down the streets, bruised up and bloodied, all these years ago. No shoes, no food in their systems for days, nothing but Sirius’s hand anchoring him to reality. He knows that they took a few turns and just walked. Walked until Regulus couldn’t, until Sirius picked him up to carry him on his back, because the more distance between us and them, the better.

And that was that.

Or rather, that should have been that. But it wasn’t. 

Sirius took Regulus from Walburga. Regulus took Sirius’s hand. They left. Abandoned the House of Black. They committed treason, and Walburga isn’t a kind woman. Regulus just didn’t expect that Walburga would be revengeful.

He had forgotten that Walburga wasn’t the only one making decisions. That in his family, Walburga wasn’t the only one who would want to see them suffer for walking out. 

He had forgotten about Bellatrix.

In Bellatrix’s mind, there is no space for grey areas. You are family, or you are not family. And if you are not family…

...then you are the enemy.

Bellatrix has always been loyal to the House of Black. So Sirius and Regulus leaving the family... Leaving the family isn’t a decision.

It’s a personal affront to the Family. It requires punishment.

🌊

As Regulus walks through the village, he feels a sense of unease settling in his bones. He cannot pinpoint what it is exactly. It’s the chill in the air. The way people stare. With pity in their gaze. It’s like the town has turned into a macabre cemetery. Regulus has heard the phrase avoir le sang qui se glaçe before, but he has never experienced it until now. He tries to shake off the feeling, but the unease lingers like a ghost.

And then.

Then Hagrid is exiting his bakery, eyes full of something. He’s shaking his head. Saying, “Don’t, kid,” like it means something. Like Regulus should know something, but he doesn’t.

Regulus isn’t thinking. He’s running through the winding streets of the village, heart pounding in his chest.

Whatever it is, whatever it is, he’ll—

Regulus doesn’t get to continue his train of thought. As he gets closer to the house, Regulus senses something twisted. Something rotten. An old memory, brought back to life. He can feel it in his bones, in the way his blood turns to ice. He can hear Bellatrix's voice, her laugh like nails on a chalkboard. It’s not just his blood that freezes.

It’s his steps. Regulus is running. Then, he isn’t.

Because he hears Bellatrix in the house.

Regulus isn’t brave.

He isn’t brave. He wants to believe that he is. He is not surprised to learn that he isn’t. After all, his poems are never about fighting the demons inside. They’re about being swallowed. About flying away. Death or escape, these are the two options. Regulus doesn’t fight, in his poems.

He doesn’t fight now, either.

He lets it happen.

He doesn’t step in.

There are noises that Regulus refuses to interpret as screams. He thinks that he passes out. He thinks that he leaves his own body, for a while. He thinks that he stops being a person. 

He lets it happen.

He’s a coward.

He’s a child.

He hears Effy begging. Asking for mercy. Before he knows it, he's throwing up. Still, he remains hidden.

Until his family leaves. He waits and waits and waits until they’re gone. Until the smell of smoke starts rising through the air.

Then, he runs.

Where do you go when there is nothing left of home?

Where do you go?

He's helpless, adrift on an endless sea with no land in sight.

Where do you go?

He goes to the cliffs.

The memory of Effy's screams echoes in his mind like the crashing of waves against rocks.

The air is thick with the stench of fear and the taste of saltwater. Water seeping through the cracks, trying to swallow him whole. Regulus feels like he's drowning. He can feel the water lapping at his ankles, trying to pull him under. He's fighting against the current, but he isn’t sure where the shore is. Is he getting closer or further in?

He looks at the edge. 

Leaving the Family isn’t a decision.

It’s a personal affront to the Family. It requires punishment.

Regulus had forgotten.

It only takes a second for him to remember.

Because the thing is, Euphemia didn’t die in a fire.

Euphemia was killed, and then her house was set on fire. This is a very important difference, for Regulus. Because Regulus hid, and hid, and then Regulus ran. Left her there. So he could survive.

Euphemia rescued him, but he didn’t rescue her. 

He doesn’t deserve this life, and James will never forgive him.

🌊

“Regulus? Can you— can you step—”  Severus’s voice cuts off. In the deadly silence, Regulus hears Severus take a deep breath. “Please take a step back.”

And would you look at that.

Regulus is very close to the cliff, isn’t he?

Too close to the edge, James would say.

Not close enough, his brain supplies, full of endorphins. Not even a step and he’ll poof, I’ve disappeared, I am gone, thump.

Regulus doesn’t move.

Let the next gust of wind decide. Let fate make a decision, for once.

It’s always windy, up on the cliffs. Not tonight. Tonight Regulus wonders if there even is air. Particles? Atoms around him? Or is it just

Void?

“Regulus,” Severus says again, and the voice registers as a little desperate. Scared. The “please” is whispered.

Regulus turns his head to look at Severus.

“Did you see the smoke?” he asks aloud, and Severus’s eyes widen. Regulus has never spoken in front of him before.

There are a lot of things Regulus has never done until tonight.

He has never listened to a person beg for mercy, before tonight.

He has never known, truly known, that someone who once rescued him has just taken their last breath, less than four metres away from him behind a stone wall.

He has never faced his own cowardice so thoroughly before.

He has never felt so close to breaking down and doing something s—

Regulus doesn’t register the pull, just arms banding around his chest and falling backwards.

He registers Sev’s arms tremblingtremblingtrembling as they squeeze the life out of him.

“Regulus— Reg, you can’t do this. You can’t stand so close. There is no flying option, you understand? Tell me you understand. Tell me you understand.”

Regulus doesn’t understand. It feels worse than standing in front of the precipice. It feels like a crushing weight pressing on his chest. Like someone is stepping on his heart and hearing his pleas and stepping harder. Like he’s about to burst at the seams. Like his heart is about to collapse. Like everything in him is about to collapse. That’s how black holes are made, isn’t it? And my, he feels so close. It’s this increasing pressure behind his eyes, begging— begging for release. It’s like splitting atoms.

The dam gives.

Regulus is sobbing.

They’re both trembling like leaves.

“What is the smoke?”

And the answer isn’t what comes out of Regulus’s mouth.

“Euphemia is dead.”

“-Okay. Okay.”

And that’s all that happens for a while. The arms, once better convinced that Regulus isn’t going to take a leap and cross the empty space leading down to the rocks, turn from restraining to simply holding. Holding a disintegrating soul seeping through the cracks.

Regulus doesn’t remember crying like this before. He doesn’t remember ever crying. He doesn’t remember tears ever solving any of his problems.

Severus is just whispering “okay” over and over again, like a soothing charm. Like it’ll help, to have his authorization to dismantle and evaporate into particles.

It takes— significantly longer than Regulus would have liked, for the waves of tears to subside.

Even when it does, Regulus isn’t entirely sure that Severus is ready to let him go. Regulus doesn’t hold it against him. He isn’t entirely sure he wants Severus to let go of him, either. Isn’t entirely sure what he’ll do, if given the permission to be released from Severus’s dangerous grip.

It takes a while for the grip to lessen.

And Regulus takes a deep breath. Turns to Severus.

I didn’t know where to go.

“Here. Always here.”

I don’t know what to do.

“You don’t need to know what to do.”

I need a place to go.

At this, Severus’s face twists uncomfortably.

“Let me— let me think. I— my place is— I think maybe Rosier?”

Rosier?

🌊

Regulus finds himself waiting in front of Evan’s house.

Evan, a boy Regulus has had little to no contact with at all in all the years he has been here. Which is good, because it is impossible to trace back. No one could link him to Evan, since they have never been linked.

It must speak to something, that Evan’s mother takes one questioning look at Severus and one bewildered look at Regulus before ushering them inside.

“I can’t stay long,” Severus says, shifting from one foot to another.

The floor is lava.

Maybe the floor will burn Regulus.

Maybe all that’ll be left will be a pile of bones.

Or maybe nothing at all will be left of Regulus, and wouldn’t that be the best Regulus can hope for?

He’s cursed.

Everything he touches dies or disappears.

His mother’s love, poof, gone.

His father’s care, poof, vanished.

His brother’s protection, poof, missing.

James’s promise, poof, lie.

Poof, poof, poof, his entire life in shambles.

“ — I don’t know, would you?” Severus is saying when Regulus comes back to the conversation. The world is swaying.

What?

“Are you all right to stay here tonight, and we can— figure it out. Something. Somehow.”

Regulus nods.

He is a raft on a raging ocean. What matters is holding on. He just needs to hold on. Wait for the storm to pass.

“— right?”

Regulus doesn’t know. He feels lightheaded.

No , he tries to say. I’m not all right.

He doesn’t know how much he manages to get out before his brain, finally, mercifully, gives him an out.

He takes it, and the ocean swallows him whole.

Bliss.

Chapter Text

🌊 REGULUS 🌊

When Regulus wakes up, he realises that he has slept for longer than he’d planned. It hadn’t been sleeping at all, really. Regulus is drained. There is exhaustion marring his very bones. Dragging him back towards sleep. Regulus resists it. Sleep won’t solve his problems. It never has.

And then, his brain registers what his eyes are seeing, the unfamiliar colour of the walls and the cold sheets that smell other, and he’s up in seconds. This isn’t his house. Not his bed, not his things, not—

Severus is here. Standing in the doorway, watching him come back to.

It feels awful. Like disruption. Like a breach. Like intimacy being ripped apart.

He presses his palms to his eyes, trying to relieve the accumulating pressure.

He remembers Effy. Like a sledgehammer snapping into his temple. He almost rears back from the force of the memory.

He’s at Evan’s. He passed out at Evan’s, in front of— everyone.

Weak, feeble. Frail bones and feeble heart, so useless, standing idly by as tragedy struck, and Effy is gone and his house is gone and Sirius is gone and James will never forgive him– and what else while the world continues to crumble around him? What other horrors?

How many cataclysms can Regulus endure at seventeen?

When will people learn to look at him and see beyond the skin to the rotten bone beneath?

How much more before it’s enough?

All he wants is to be alone in an empty room for— years. Decades. As long as possible. Anything to avoid reality.

Regulus needs to not be awake.

“Regulus?” Severus asks, as quietly as possible, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

Regulus takes a deep breath and slowly removes his hands from his eyes. He looks up at Severus, mind still foggy.

What are you doing here? Regulus signs, gestures bone weary.

Severus hesitates before answering. "I came to check on you," he says finally. "And… because your brother is in the village.”

Regulus’s head snaps up. My brother?

And Severus doesn’t need more prompting. He knows what Regulus is asking. “Your brother. And two other men. The names haven’t come up. A group of three. They are asking about you.”

They saw the house?

“Yeah. Regulus, they— they held a small funeral. Last night. You— you weren’t awake.” Regulus frowns, and Severus expands. “You’ve been sleeping for two days.”

Regulus’s eyes widen. What?

“You— you woke up a few times. It wasn’t— you went back to sleep,” he offers awkwardly, and Regulus shakes his head, hands going to grip at his hair. Severus takes a step into the room, unsure. “Do you want some water?”

Regulus is breathing. Harshly.

Sirius is in town.

Regulus was sleeping. Not even good enough to bury his own adoptive mother. Left the job to Sirius. And—

Three, are you sure? He signs, and Severus nods. 

“As sure as the rumours are, at any rate.” Severus gives Regulus a complicated look before backing away. “I’ll… go get them?” he says, and it’s half a statement, half a question. Like Regulus is hanging by a thread. Like the thread is thin.

To be fair, Regulus doesn’t think he looks like someone who can handle much more of… anything, at the moment.

And yet.

Regulus almost falls in his hurry to sign in the negative. Violently.

No.

“No?”

And of course. Of course it’s no. In what world would Regulus ever say yes?

Regulus's heart pounds in his chest as he thinks about Effy. His family had taken her life because of him. Because of his association with Sirius. Because Regulus followed his brother. What would they do to Sirius? To James?

He doesn’t even think to be scared for himself.

He can't risk putting them in danger.

Like he put Effy in danger. Look at him, poor Regulus, weak Regulus. Unworthy Regulus. Lets Effy get killed and throws up and runs away. Take a good look at the boy who has nothing to offer.

Not to mention… not to mention the fact that James will never look at Regulus with kindness again, now that Effy— no. The thought is too painful for Regulus to bear. He can't bring himself to finish it. He clenches his fists, feeling a surge of anger and frustration. James will never forgive him for what happened to Effy. Not that Regulus would blame him. He can barely forgive himself. Regulus takes a deep breath.

You need to tell them to go, he signs sharply, and Severus rears back.

“They’ve been asking about you, I thought you might like to—”

Regulus braces himself. He hates it. Hates it all. Damn them. Damn his family.

No, he signs abruptly, his insides churning like a tempest. They need to leave. I do— he falters. I don’t want to see them. It’s a lie. He does. He has never wanted anything more.

What does Sirius look like, now? James? What have they done? What have they become? Would it be the same? Can anything ever settle back from the upturned dust in the exact same way it was three years ago? Regulus wishes for nothing else. Nothing more.

Turn back time. Change it all. Be better. Do better.

Severus frowns. “Are you sure? That bloke— James? Evan said you were saying his name last night.”

Regulus glares.

I was unconscious.

Truth is, if Regulus goes with James and Sirius, and his family tracks them, they will be killed. And Regulus is just seventeen, yet he has already borne witness to enough tragedies to last a lifetime. He shakes his head. Focuses.

You need to tell them to leave.

“They won’t leave without you, Regulus.”

Regulus knows this, unfortunately.

He makes a decision.

Tell them I am dead.

Severus scowls uncomfortably. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I didn’t realise this was a suggestion.

“Regulus—”

Do you want them to die? His movements are quick. To the point. Unsubtle. His jaw is clenched so tightly, Regulus fears it might shatter into a million pieces. Tiny pieces of bones on the bed, the floor, gathering dust. He can hear it already: Look at this, folks, just fragments of a life made up of terrible decisions and sadness. Look at the tragedy that used to be Regulus Black. Hear them crunch, these dust fragments. Here he lies.

Regulus shakes his head.

Because they will. They will. They will be killed, just as Effy was.

“They are your family,” Severus says, uncomfortable now. But Regulus isn’t uncomfortable. He’s never been surer of anything in his life.

You protect family, Sev. You protect them.

“They can protect you, too,” Sirius offers softly. But Regulus is having none of it.

Not against the Blacks, they can’t.

Severus looks at him then. Truly looks at him. Like he’s seeing Regulus for the first time. He shifts his jaw. Looks away. “I don’t think that is true.”

Regulus glares, getting agitated. You don’t know anything.

Severus rolls his eyes. “Then explain it to me. Because I promise you, I will get them.”

If you do, I will never forgive you.

“Then explain.”

And Regulus wants to, but these feelings, they are all over the place. They are everywhere. They aren’t quiet, they are screaming and scratching, they are fear and terror and morbid fixation.

You do not betray family, he signs solemnly.

“They haven’t been your family for a decade.”

Yet they killed my mother.

Regulus has never referred to Effy as his mother before. She never was, not really. Regulus doesn’t know how Sirius managed to assimilate her as a mother so quickly.

For Regulus, Effy was always Effy. Lovely, wonderful, a saviour.

Not his mother.

His mother is danger, and Effy was a safe haven.

You cannot compare the two.

But Walburga bore Regulus. This cannot be changed. Walburga is his mother. Just as Sirius is his brother. Just as James is his soulmate, he’s pretty sure.

He thinks.

He knows.

“You can’t live in constant fear, Reg.”

No? He signs, sneering slightly, and Severus clicks his tongue.

“I won’t do it.”

Then find me someone who will.

“You are being ridiculous,” Severus says, and it’s not quite ill-intent, but it’s right on the line. It’s lined with concern and frustration. And Regulus— skips right over it. Chooses to ignore it, because Regulus never misses intonation. It is what kept him alive when he was younger.

Are you my best friend or theirs? He signs, and Severus’s brows furrow. He runs a shaking hand through his hair, biting the skin of his lower lip from the inside.

“—That’s not fair, Reg. You know that.”

Regulus knows, he knows, yet—

Evan enters the room.

“Sleeping beauty’s awake,” he says, and Regulus gives him an altogether obscene sign. “And in a mood, I see.”

“Fairly on brand for him,” Severus says, and Regulus crosses his arms against his chest in apparent protest, scowling.

He doesn’t think he likes this. Whatever this is, this— this tag-teaming between his best friend and this virtual stranger. Regulus looks at Evan like he wants Evan to leave. Like Evan is interrupting. Like Evan isn’t someone worth being interested in.

It’s always been like this, for Regulus. No one enters his tunnel vision unless it is forced. Regulus holds no space for new people. He doesn’t want Evan to enter the cracks.

No more. He won’t handle it. He won’t.

“Sleeping beauty doesn’t want his brother to know about him,” Severus explains.

“That’s—”  Evan starts. Stops. Looks at Regulus in confusion. Tilts his head. “Why? That’s insane.”

Regulus’s eyebrows shoot up. Back down. His lips twist downward. Who is this kid?

“Why do you even care? We’re not friends”, he snaps harshly, and Evan takes a step back, looking at Severus, lips pursed.

“I thought you said he was a nice person.”

Severus rolls his eyes. “He’s moody.”

Regulus waves his hands, attracting the attention back to him. Can we not?

Evan shrugs, frowning at Regulus. “What do you want, then? You can’t steal my room forever.”

And Regulus has an answer, right there on the tip on his tongue. It dies a fiery death. Gets swallowed back like a tidal wave.

Because the truth is, he doesn't know what he wants. He doesn't know where he belongs or what he is supposed to do. All he knows is that his world has been turned upside down, and he's struggling to find his footing in a reality that he never wanted. 

A sickening thump of a mass at the bottom of the cliff. Let everyone try again.

Regulus clenches his jaw, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess.

“Look,” Evan starts calmly, lifting his palms in the air, “I’m sorry about Euphemia. I know you must be in pain—”

“What would you know about pain, huh?” Regulus barks, immediately curving back in on himself. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands. He doesn’t want to deal with anyone's sympathy or pity. Especially not from someone he barely knows. The words, they want outoutout, and Regulus doesn’t know if it’s a scream that feels like a whisper, or a whisper that feels like a scream. The emotions are churning inside him like a tempestuous sea. “Fuck.”

If Evan is surprised by Regulus’s outburst, he doesn’t show it. Severus takes a step closer. “Regulus, look, maybe we can—”

“I do no, in fact, wish for your opinion,” Regulus cuts in.

He takes another deep breath, trying to push the grief down, feeling it move like a heavy stone lodged in his chest. Jaw clenched, and grinding, and bone fragments forming inside his body. He can feel them creaking, his bones. Screaming in the quiet of his body, surrounded by soft skin that tears so easily. He wants to tear. Wants to burst. Wants to explode.

Evan lifts his hands again, attempting to smooth the situation over. “What happened to Effy, it’s tragic, but—”

“Because you know all about tragedy, don’t you?” Regulus snaps, and Severus actually flinches.

Evan just levels him with a glare. “I thought we had established that we did not know each other at all?”

“How about we both agree not to make placating statements, then,” Regulus bites back.

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Regulus turns to assess Severus. Back to Evan.

“So. Will you do it?”

Evan clicks his tongue hauntingly. Shares a glance with Severus.

“What do you want us to say?”

🌊 SEVERUS 🌊

It’s the evening when Evan and Severus make their way to the tavern. It isn’t hard to locate the three men. After all, they are all the town has been able to talk about. Every single patron is staring at them, some more subtly than others.

The two take a seat in the booth behind the trio. They order a round, and listen. The tavern is loud, and there isn’t much they can hear, but it’s clear an argument is being had between two of the boys.

“—Hagrid said—”

“—Hagrid said? Do you hear yourself—”

“— every single door if I have to—”

“— gotta be smart about—”

“— can’t believe you’re telling me to be smart—”

“Please.”

That’s the third voice. Much quieter than either of the other ones, and yet.

The argument stops.

Severus doesn’t hear what is said next, the boy’s voice is too low. Either way, it doesn’t change the fact that they have a job to do. A dumb job.

Fuck Regulus, honestly. Evan takes a look at Severus, who nods at him. Together, they stand, and turn their attention to the table next to them, where the three men are now conversing in hushed voices.

And really, is there any polite way to do this? There isn’t. And Severus, well. He’s very good at acting mean. Years of practice, if he’s honest.

“I hear you’re looking for Regulus,” is his opening statement.

And ah.

Severus hasn’t heard any physical description of Sirius, or James. And yet.

In an instant, Severus recognises them both.

Sirius bears a striking resemblance to his younger brother. There is, well— no other way of putting it. The same nose, the same lips, the same hair— though Sirius’s is less curly and longer, loose curls framing his face, half bun held up by strands of leather. Both his and Regulus’s face are angular, but where it looks— dangerous on Regulus, it looks softer on Sirius, somehow. The eyes though, are the exact same. And upon hearing Regulus’s name, they’ve narrowed down. Incredibly focused on Severus. Perhaps more intrusive than any other stare. Sharp like the tip of a sword.

No, Severus isn’t entirely surprised about Sirius.

It’s James that surprises him.

He is… not what Severus would have expected to be Regulus’s type. Although… what would be Regulus’s type, Severus wonders. All Regulus has ever told him were personality details, things that cannot be pinned down to a look. And yet, Severus feels a bit blindsided. Because James is… a lot to look at, even for Severus. It’s— everything really. The hair, the build, the expression on his  face— But what stops a person isn’t his physique. It’s James’s presence.

Overwhelming.

James’s gaze is pointed. Like fangs ready to dig in. It’s also the fact that James is assessing him like one assesses a stranger: enemy or ally?

Had Severus been another man, he might have been scared. But Severus is well-versed in the art of survival. It’s a game he knows pretty well. Has spent his entire life treading cautiously around enemy lines, in his own home and among his own family. Used to wake up in the morning wondering, will today be a battlefield? Severus would never know. Not until the door opened. Not until he would step out. Not until he would see Eileen, adorned in rosy pink or bruised black. 

Yes, Severus knows the game pretty well.

He knows the colours that good and evil like to paint. He’s a master at camouflage. That’s what people don’t say. When you get good at hiding who you are, it becomes really easy to spot the lie in other people.

When Severus spotted Regulus, two years ago, it felt like crawling through the trenches, only to find someone already hiding there.

Severus knows he's being judged, weighed, and measured. He can almost feel the weight of James's expectations bearing down on him. But Severus is not one to back down from a challenge. He meets James's gaze head-on, returning his stare with equal intensity.

“You know Regulus?” the third man asks, and Severus recognises the quiet voice from before, belonging to a man he is sure doesn’t belong in the island. The man's voice is noticeably soft, yet distinct. The accent is different, rougher. Like a stranger’s.

Severus doesn’t like strangers. 

And Severus knows the plan they’ve agreed to, but for a short instant, he reconsiders. Looks at James’s eyes and his stance and the clear emotions running off of him in steady, desperate waves, like Severus might hold a lot of answers to complicated questions, and Severus wants to change the plan. 

Exit the tavern, walk three streets down to the left, up, up and through the trees, take a right. It’s Evan’s house. Regulus is there, he’s there. He’s waiting for something. Is it you? Do you have glue? Nails and screws? Do you have what it takes to create new bones out of thin air? This boy you are looking for, he’s settled dust, he’ll disintegrate upon the softest touch. He needs an exoskeleton, he needs to grow something new. He needs to end to be reborn. Can you be there for him when he breaks? Can we both hold him together?

Severus looks at James and thinks, ally.

No matter that James might consider him an enemy.

This man could protect Regulus. This man would put his life on the line for Regulus. It does not take a genius to figure that out. But, Severus guesses, that is exactly the point. Regulus does not want anyone to put their lives on the line for him, not when he does not think he deserves it.

The problem is, Severus has a moral compass. He is loyal to Regulus.

Still.

He veers off the plan.

Slightly.

“I know where he is not,” Severus says, and Sirius clicks his teeth.

“Then I think you should mind your own business.”

Evan interrupts, making his presence known. “Regulus doesn’t want you looking for him.”

“And why not?”

Evan has been told what to say. He’s been told how to fit the blade, how to push it in, how to twist and curve and allow the wound to remain open. How to feel the resistance of flesh and bone as it meets its target. Evan has never killed before.

He hesitates. 

Severus takes a step forward.

“You abandoned him, why wouldn’t he abandon you? ‘How much safer could he be’, huh?” Severus parrots back Euphemia’s words mockingly. The words Regulus heard from behind the door. The words that held true, up until a few days ago. The words that will hurt the most.

Severus sees the words embedding themselves in Sirius and James.

James stands up, now. “No. We said we were coming back to him. He’s expecting us.”

Severus ignores him, turning his attention to Sirius. “Euphemia said he’d never forgive you for this. At least one of you was right about something.” He turns his nose up. “You’ve seen the house. Who’s to say he didn’t set fire to it himself?”

Severus doesn’t see it coming. One moment he’s standing there, the next his back is against a beam, James’s hand wrapped around his neck. Not pressing, just holding. A threat.

“I think you need to stop speaking in riddles and tell us what you know,” James says, voice laced with a bone-chilling calm.

And Severus has mastered the art of sneering. He uses it now. “Do I?”

“You really fucking do,” James continues, and Severus wants to laugh. He can feel the anger radiating off James in waves. 

“James,” Sirius says, and James just– deflates like a punctured balloon. Drops his hand. Looks at Severus.

“Sorry.”

“You’ll find cooperation works much better when there is no threat on my life,” Severus says calmly, rubbing at his throat. “But I meant what I said. Reg left.”

“You don’t– you don’t get to call him that,” James says, but it’s tainted by something. Ah, guilt. There it is. Severus can almost see it, tied around James’s neck like a noose. Like the words coming out of James feel wrong. Like James doesn’t know if he’s allowed to say them anymore. There is something else, too, in James’s voice.

Regret. 

Severus can use that. He lifts his eyebrows in mock confusion. “Says… who, exactly? You? The boy who left him for years on this godforsaken island?”

“You know nothing,” James spits, but it lacks venom. James is looking at him pleadingly, like Severus knows something he doesn’t. Like Severus knows where Regulus is. Which, fair. But Severus isn’t about to tell him that.

And Severus looks at him with something like pity in his eyes. Like James is the one who’s clueless. “I know you told him you’d come back,” he says blankly, letting the words find their target. “And then didn’t. I guess he got tired of waiting.”

“We were delayed. Barely,” James speaks through gritted teeth.

“Is that what you said at Euphemia’s eulogy?” Severus says and, this time, he is expecting the fist. He doesn’t expect it to hurt quite as much as it does. James’s fist isn’t very gentle on the soft skin of his cheek.

“You don’t speak about my mother.”

All of a sudden, Evan is here, dragging James back. Sirius is on his feet, and so is the other boy. Severus echoes a laugh.

“Yeah. No wonder Reg left,” he says haughtily, wiping at his mouth, where– ah. It’ll be nasty. His father won’t like that very much. Someone else putting their hands on his son? Severus cannot wait to go home. 

“Tell us where he went?” The quiet boy asks, and Severus lets the hand drop from his cheek, stained red. He shifts his head from one side to the other.

“Got on a boat. Didn’t mention anything else. Left.”

“When was this?” Sirius asks, and Severus shrugs again, the portrait of nonchalance.

“Two days ago.” 

James takes a step forward. “Bull. Shit.”

Severus tilts his head to the side, looking at Evan. “Rosier, do you see Regulus anywhere?”

Evan makes a show of looking around. “No Regulus in sight.”

Severus aims his sharp gaze at James. “Then I guess he’s not here. Like I said.”

“You f–”

“James.” That’s Sirius. Severus focuses his attention on Regulus’s brother once more. He’s holding on to the other boy’s hand tightly. Or the other boy is holding on to his, Severus isn’t sure. The quiet boy looks like he’s ten seconds away from passing out from stress. Severus frowns. A weird bird, that one. “Let’s just go,” Sirius says, and James’s shoulders sag, the fight leaving his body all at once.

Severus hates himself. But what else is new? He pulls out the stack of letters. Sirius and James’s. The ones meant for Regulus. 

Severus has one last job to do for his best friend. He’ll do it well.

He throws the letters on the table, right in front of Sirius. He watches as the bitter truth of it all stares back at them like a cruel reminder. That Severus does know Regulus, that Regulus does not want to be found, that Regulus trusted Severus enough to give him their letters. He watches as that truth digs and buries and tears at tendons and takes hold.

Then, Severus throws breadcrumbs in the wrong direction. “Said he didn’t want these anymore. Asked me to burn them. But hey, they’re yours, right? Might as well keep them as a souvenir. For the record, he’s only been gone two days. You might be able to find him if you leave early enough. I heard Frank’s leaving at first light tomorrow. Looking for crew members.”

It takes a while for Sirius to turn away from the letters and look at Severus. When he does, his voice is quiet. Fragile. “Find him? On the ocean?”

Severus levels him with a blank look. 

“We’ve heard of stranger things around here, haven’t we?”

 🌊 REMUS 🌊

“Frank’s there,” the dockworker says, pointing to a slender man yelling at a deckhand with a thick beard and a red bandana tied around his head. Both of them look like they’ve been working on boats their entire life. “He’s a good captain,” the dockworker continues. “Been sailing these waters for years. Needs a few more crew members for his next trip.”

Remus turns his attention to the man– Frank, who’s shouting orders to a crew scurrying around the boat, unloading crates and tying down ropes. Remus shifts his attention from Frank, back to Sirius. Always back to Sirius. His North star in the insanity that his life has been thrown into.

“What kind of trip?” Sirius asks.

“Heading up to the northern coast,” the dockworker replies, shrugging. “Fishing and trading, he says.”

Sirius looks at James, who nods almost imperceptibly. It’s interesting to Remus, how tuned to one another these two are. Like watching the ebb and flow of the tide, one following the other with perfect harmony.

The thing is, they don’t have many other options. They need to work. 

There is nothing holding James and Sirius here anymore. There never was anything holding Remus here either. Although, to be honest, there never was anything holding Remus anywhere. An empty dock with no boats to moor, that’s who Remus is.

They need to find purpose. All of them. But Remus doesn’t need to look at James to know that James isn’t taking to the ocean for adventures. 

James is on a mission.

Remus can almost hear James’s thoughts, twisting and turning and thinking. How to look for descriptions and follow hot trails, how to sift through cities like sand in an hourglass, screen entire map areas to find the boy who doesn’t want to be found.

Remus isn’t sure how he feels about any of this. Chasing after a ghost, it’s a new concept for him.

But then again, what’s a man without a mission? What’s a ship without a destination? 

This abysmal state, this quiet, it needs to be disrupted. They need to move on. And so, they make their way to Frank.

Frank doesn’t even stop working, barking orders to his crew as they approach.

“Looking for work, are you?” He asks, scanning them up and down.

“Yes,” Sirius says, and Frank mutters to himself for a moment. Seems to come to a conclusion.

"I don't take cursed folk on me ship. One of you got a curse?"

No one notices the blood turning to ice in Remus’s veins. No one spares him a look. And yet, Remus feels as out of place as can be. Like at any moment, the curse will take over his body and point at him. Me, I’m the cursed one!, it would say. Revelling in taking control, like it does whenever Remus gets pushed aside. Like it will, in exactly two months.

Inevitable.

Yes, Remus has a problem.

A problem he’s been very much ignoring.

They are two months away. Two months away from the anniversary of his death.

“Nah,” Sirius says, waving the question like it’s stupid, and doesn’t Remus’s heart just clench – will he wave you away, too when he learns about you? The monster asks –, and James tags along. “You take us three?”

Remus tries to take a breath.

Frank gives them one last once-over, frowning at Remus’s expression. Remus schools it into something neutral immediately, and Frank offers him a kind smile. Wary but kind.

“If you’re useful I will.”

Remus looks at James. James looks at Sirius. Sirius looks at Remus. 

“What’s the mission?” James asks.

Frank smiles. “You ever gone Horcrux hunting?”

Chapter Text

🌊JAMES🌊

James has never heard of Horcruxes before. Frank has been— extremely vague about them. Either because he doesn’t know precisely what they do, or because Frank does not want them to know precisely what they do.

Here is what James has gathered, from Frank and from the other crewmen.

Horcruxes are these specific things hidden across the ocean that give – supposedly – the people who wear them eternal life. Or at least, the ability not to die. 

And Frank very much wants to live forever.

The details do not seem to be fully there. The how and the when do not appear to matter to Frank, which, to be perfectly honest, confuses James.

When do Horcruxes stop you from dying? Does it fight illness? The terrible tragedy of growing old? Is there a price to pay for eternal life?

James doesn’t know. Doesn’t care. Living forever seems extraordinarily boring. Doesn't all beauty stem from the fleeting? What kind of purpose could possibly be found in a life that stretches on into eternity? What is precious but that which we cannot keep? A kiss from the waves on the shore, here and gone?

Has Frank never even contemplated the idea that the fleeting nature of life is what makes it so precious and captivating? Without the looming specter of mortality, would anything really matter? 

For reasons unknown to James, these concerns do not appear to have crossed Frank’s mind.

Not that it matters.

James isn’t embarking on a Horcrux hunt.

This does not mean James is not on the hunt for something of his own.

James made a promise. He vowed he would come back to Regulus, and he will. Even if Regulus doesn’t want James coming back to him.

That’s not how promises work. James knows the difference. He has experiences with promises and their downfall.

See, the problem with promises is that they have to be honoured. Promises that are not honoured are lies. And James has heard a lot of lies.

One in particular, spoken into the foggy morning air: I will come back, from his father, which turned out to be a rotten promise. A lie.

James will not be made a liar out of. Not against his will. He has honoured almost all the promises he has made.

This is one more.

Well, really, it’s the only one left. He’d promised the same thing to his mother: I will come back, spoken in the soft skin of her neck, and that, too, turned out to be a rotten promise, just like his father’s before him.

This is one more.

And James is not a liar.

🌊REMUS🌊

Remus cooks. He likes it. It’s peaceful. He’s good at it.

Not that Remus has much skills. One doesn’t pick up skills in captivity, besides his… skills in healing, which Remus doesn’t really know how to bring up, if he’s honest. This is his, the one thing Remus is good for, and he keeps it hidden. It’s the only good thing that comes with the curse. 

Well, this isn’t entirely true. He could just come out and say it.

He’s simply afraid of the result it would bring. He’s afraid of what people would want from him. Would do to him.

Gentleness isn’t something Remus is used to.

Neither is kindness.

So, Frank puts him in the kitchen, and Remus peels potatoes, skins fish, cuts carrots. There is a state of being, an action, and a result.

It’s transforming something simple into a shared experience for everyone. Something he, to be perfectly honest, doesn’t have much experience with.

Remus knows very little, still. The world is moving very fast, and Remus is trying very hard not to let himself be swept away. There are new experiences he discovers everyday.

Everything is shiny and brand new and it’s nice, and lovely, and terrifying.

Remus had not realised how much of the human experience he had been missing because, of course, he’s been in a cage since he was five. Each day that he is out, each day that brings him further and further away from the last day he was caged, feels like a strange gift. Something he doesn’t know what to do with.

So, Remus turns to Sirius.

That is another terrifying realisation.

Remus has quite literally imprinted on Sirius. He is tentatively getting to know James. They are, Remus has decided, his people.

Remus doesn’t have much to give, but what he has, he’ll give to them.

He doesn’t know how to do anything else. Remus was never meant to live this long. He was supposed to be dead by now. How long can a person cheat Death for? Before She notices? Before She comes back?

He’d heard them— the others, back on the other boat, speaking about the cursed monster in the hull of the ship. The best way to dispose of him. To end it.

It.

Not a person. A thing.

Remus should have been shocked, or sad, but perhaps it’s worse, because he had agreed, instead. He should have been disposed of. He should have been grateful for it to end. This life, he was never meant for.

Yet, he took the hand. Left the cell behind. It’s been a few weeks, barely enough for Remus to get a good grasp at Sirius and James’s character, and Remus is scared.

He can see the way Sirius and James operate, like they’re two halves of one whole. And what will he be? Who can he benefit? He’s an abomination.

What will they say, when they find out about him?

Because they will. Find out, he means. It’s quite impossible to hide. It’s been impossible for fourteen years, ever since—

What will they do to him, then?

Remus tries not to think about it. 

He peels potatoes.

🌊

Remus is an only child.

He does not understand.

He cannot understand. His reality is so, so wildly different from Sirius and James’s. 

Sirius’s reality is being a brother. James’s reality is being a protector.

Remus’s reality is a joyful trip and lungs full of water.

It breaks them, Remus thinks. Regulus’s absence chips at James and Sirius like a ghost, and they learn to live with it. Still, they search.

The silence surrounding Regulus's name, when uttered, is deafening. Like the world comes to a standstill whenever either of them even hints at his existence. To speak his name is to invite a storm. James and Sirius both react to it, but there is something viscerally different about the way they react to it, a catalyst setting off different reactions.

Sirius retreats into his shell. His face becomes a mask, and his body language stiffens. It's as if he's trying to block out the world around him.

James wears his guilt like a scarlet letter. His eyes become heavy with remorse, and his body language slumps as if the weight of the world is bearing down on him.

But Remus sees confusion sometimes in Sirius’s eyes, when his gaze settles on James during a bad day. Like he doesn’t understand James’s reaction. Like James should not be allowed to feel as much as Sirius does. Like James should not be feeling this much about Regulus, period.

Remus is confused about it all.

He doesn’t understand. Why go through all this for someone they left behind in the first place?

He doesn’t know how to ask Sirius, nor James. It’s something in their eyes. A little manic.

A little wild.

Remus tries to trace the Sirius and James he knew before ashes and ember, to the people he is now navigating. It’s difficult. Like something fundamental has changed in them both.

Cracked and burned right along with the house.

Like something new emerged.  

Remus doesn’t know how to bring it up. 

And then, one day, the opportunity presents itself, in the form of alcohol.

Sirius and James are lopsided.

They are smiling and giggling and laughing and a rule has been established. Regulus will not interrupt this good time. Regulus is a subject that has been shelved and hidden and buried. For tonight, at least.

Remus is a lightweight. That is, why wouldn’t he be? He’s literally never drunk before in his life. All he knows is dirty water. Remus is experiencing life for the first time. Everything that happens to him, it’s all new.

Remus can say with absolute certainty that he hates rum. He tries a sip, chokes on it, and immediately passes it around. But as he sees everyone slowly loosen up, Remus gets curious. Because these people are smiling. Looser. Calmer. More ecstatic. And Remus wants to feel these feelings, too. He doesn’t want to be the only boring man on this ship.

He steals the bottle from Sirius, who is sitting next to him, passing a bottle back and forth with James and Frank. Frank is telling a story— about this rock that shines and attracts birds only to eat them, like a giant cannibalist oyster, and James is laughing and nodding, like this makes perfect sense.

Frank's storytelling is captivating, and James is an attentive listener. Remus thinks James likes people. He enjoys company, and laughter, and talking. He’s a good listener. He’s listening to Frank, now, and Remus has the bottle in his hand, eyeing it warily.

“It won’t hurt you, you know,” Sirius whispers from beside him, nudging Remus’s shoulder with his own.

“Oh? How can you be so sure?”

Sirius shrugs, like the answer is obvious. “I would never let it.”

And to this, Remus has nothing to say. It’s all— feelings, jumbled and terrified and there and insistent because… Sirius would protect him? Has anyone— ever even pretended they would? No. No, Remus doesn’t think so.

He takes a drink to avoid doing something stupid, like holding on to Sirius’s hand.

They haven’t touched. Not since the tavern. Like the ghost of Regulus dug a crevice between everyone. Like Regulus took a shovel, and dug around Sirius. Dug around James. Surrounded them with a moat of memories neither boy  is willing to confront to cross to the other side. They’re just on an island, separated by memories, looking for a ghost.

And tonight, Remus gets to learn why.

It’s an accident.

Remus isn’t even the one who asks. He’s grateful, actually. He has always been much better at observing. 

“So.” Frank's voice interrupts the peaceful silence, and James tumbles backwards, eyes fixed on the vast expanse of the night sky. Sirius is already lying down, his gaze fixated on the enormous moon and the countless shooting stars that adorn the darkness. The water beneath the ship is tranquil, still, like the surface of a mirror, like it tries to be quiet, so the moon will hear the secrets they’re indulging in.

There are a few men on the boat who have not passed out, still. Singing gentle songs, lulling people to sleep. But Remus just has to turn his gaze to see that Sirius, James and Frank are wide awake, eyes shining, looking at the starry sky.

“So?” James echoes, and Franks scoffs.

“Are you really going to make me say it, boy?”

“Say what?”

Frank takes a practised swing. “Three men show up in the morning right as we leave. Want to go somewhere. Only, the where doesn’t seem to matter to any of them. They just want out. One has dead eyes. The other carries unimaginable pain. The last one wears determination like a will to live. None of you have even asked where we were going. There must be a story there.”

James opens his hand in the air, and Remus knows to fill his empty hand with the bottle. “There is a story there, Frank.”

“Well?”

“Ah, but I’ll only trade one of mine for one of yours,” James teases, and Remus can tell that James is sloshed. It’s in the way he says the words, like there are no fear, no consequences.

“I’ll tell you a legend, if you tell me yours, first.”

James tsks. “Ah, I have never wanted to be a legend, Frank. I just want to be a man.”

“Then tell me the story of this man.”

And James gives Frank a gentle smile, like Frank is playing his game, and not at all the other way around.

“Tell me your legend first.”

And Frank gives in, just like that. He settles in more comfortably, adopting his storytelling voice.

"It’s a tale of a time when humans were not as they are now. They were two-headed, four-armed, and four-legged, a wondrous sight to see.

But their pride grew too great, and they thought themselves invincible. The gods, they didn't take kindly to such arrogance. To teach 'em a lesson, they split those humans into halves. Each half placed on a different body, weaker than before.

They were scattered far and wide. The humans were left with a quest, a search for their other half, their soulmate. It was no easy feat, but they persisted, for they knew that only by finding their soulmate, they could become whole again. And if they failed to find their other half, they'd spend their lives feeling incomplete, yearnin' for the other half of their soul."

James lets out a laugh. Then Sirius. They look at each other.

“Somethin’ funny?” Frank asks, and James nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, actually.” There is quiet for a while, and James takes a fond look at Sirius. “Pretty sure I found my other half right here,” he says, and Sirius pushes his shoulder in jest.

“You’re so stupid.”

“I love you,” James quips back, and then, there’s a mood shift. Remus can just— tell. Like fog abating. James's mood takes a complete one eighty. “Do you… do you think you can have several soulmates?” he asks aloud into the night, and no one responds, for a while.

When Sirius does, it’s confused.

“You're scared you won’t find someone?”

“I’m scared I already did,” James murmurs. And that. That is interesting. Because Remus is drunk, yes, but smart. The dots are connecting and so are they, it seems, in Sirius’s mind.

“You—?” Sirius starts, taken aback, and James— doesn’t even move from his lying position on the boat. He sighs, though. It’s weary.

“Sirius, of course. Of course,” he says again, like Sirius should have figured it out ages ago, but Remus can see both of their faces, and Sirius does not, in fact, look like someone who figured it out ages ago. He looks like he figured it out, literally just now.

Frank is all confusion.

“I’m sorry, am I too drunk or does this conversation make no sense?”

Remus doesn’t reply. He’s waiting. He doesn’t know what for. For Sirius to scream? To kick James? To laugh?

He doesn’t expect what does happen, which is that Sirius lays back down on the deck with James, heads knocking together.

“Why?” Sirius asks quietly, and James shrugs.

“It was impossible not to.”

There’s quiet and then, “Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”

Frank opens his mouth, but Remus fires a dark glare at him, and Frank is so taken aback by Remus’s reaction that he quiets down immediately, shooting a bemused look down at his rather empty rum bottle.

“You love my brother?” Sirius asks again, a confirmation of suspicion, and James nods.

“Yeah, I do. I do.”

“You’ll take care of him?” Sirius asks eventually, and James sucks in a sharp breath.

“I will. When we find him, I will.”

“He loves you, too, you know?”

And James nods. “I know.”

Sirius looks back up at the sky. “What a mess we are.”

“‘The hope that whispers, the silent scream,’” James whispers his mother’s words into the night, and he feels Sirius turn his head to him, a beat too long, before he settles back against the deck. 

Remus thinks that perhaps Regulus doesn’t have to be a gaping wound. Perhaps he can be a bridge instead, to connect Sirius and James’s lonely islands. Perhaps they don’t have to suffer alone, when they have each other. 

James hums and Sirius sighs, turning his head to look at Remus, and says something, a whisper that isn’t meant for Frank, or James. His words are meant for Remus only. 

“I think you can,” he mouths to Remus, answering James’s earlier question, and Remus isn’t sure what it is, that warmth that spreads over his entire being like a wildfire, like being burned from the inside in the best possible way. It's like a sun rising within him, casting light on all the dark corners of his heart. Sirius, who is already holding on to James’s hand, reaches out to take Remus’s.

Remus feels his breath hitch in his chest as he looks into the boy’s eyes as Sirius says, “I think I’m holding on to them both.”

And maybe, just maybe, Remus thinks softly, peeling potatoes doesn’t have to be all that he looks forward to in this life.

🌊JAMES🌊

Frank sees in James a kindred spirit, someone with a thirst for adventure and a love of the sea. And James, for his part, is grateful for the mentorship and guidance that Frank provides.

Under Frank's tutelage, James becomes an expert swordsman, learning the art of fencing with a grace and skill that surprises even himself. He also becomes more adept at reading the stars and using a compass to navigate.

But it's not just the practical skills that James gains from Frank. He also learns about the rich history and lore of the sea, soaking up every story and legend that Frank shares with him. They spend long nights on deck, with Frank spinning tales of sea monsters and mermaids, of lost treasures and hidden coves.

Frank takes a liking to James and James welcomes it, because Sirius and Remus take a liking to each other, and James doesn’t think he wants to interrupt whatever that is, not all the time.

Frank teaches James sword fighting and navigation and diplomacy, which James already had a knack for. Frank spends a lot of time recounting all the legends he’s heard of.

Legends have power. Are rooted in truth, even if only slightly.

Frank loves legends. They’re his favourite. Every night, he gathers the crew around to speak about legends. Every day, he meets with James and plans ahead.

James becomes Frank’s right hand man.

🌊

They’re having drinks in a shit tavern when it comes up– the mention of a chest that contains eternal life. Frank almost spits out his ale, and James has to knock on his back to get Frank to take a solid breath that isn’t clogged by alcohol. 

When Frank recovers, he has adventure shining in his eyes. Determination.

James doesn’t mind it. The more excited Frank gets about clues, the more they sail, the more they stop, the more James gets to search for Regulus. Any trail is a good trail, because Regulus has disappeared, and James is hunting him down. 

Regulus has always been elusive, even as a child. He was the best at hide and seek, but James has gotten better. He has mastered the use of the compass, and Regulus is his True North. James’s heart points him unerringly towards Regulus, like a magnet to steel.

It might take years, but James will find what he seeks.

And so, the crew set sail again, Frank's eyes gleaming with the promise of eternal life, while James's shine with a fierce determination to find the one he would gladly lay down his own for.

🌊

James jackknifes awake. He’s confused. His surroundings aren’t perfectly clear. He’s in his cot, and then he’s not. He’s in the corridor, and then he’s not. He’s on the boat. Walking. And then-

It feels like slipping into a dream.

Where is—

He’s on the back of the boat, looking at the ocean. He hears, distantly, someone calling his name.

It comes from two different directions.

One is behind him, from the boat. The other is in the water. He’s looking at the smooth surface of the ocean.

It’s calling to him.

Regulus.

It’s calling to him.

Without a second thought, he plunges into the water, diving deep down into the depths.

The cool water envelopes him. He feels weightless. It should be freezing. It’s not even cold.

Come to me, encourages the voice.

He swims deeper, looking.

He’s alone, and then he’s not.

They are everywhere, looking at him in glee, flowing hair that glistens in the sea light. Moonlight pale skin and shimmering scales that ripple as they move. James feels like he is standing in the middle of a shoal. It’s very calming. Soothing. Lulling him to sleep.

James doesn’t have it in him to be scared. He’s a little cold, now. He stares at the sirens surrounding him, circling him like he’s prey and they’re about to have a lovely meal. He watches them, mesmerised by their beauty, their voices like music. They’re kind at first, whispering to him, reaching out one by one to breathe air into his lungs.

He lets them. He’s a little confused. Why is he in the water?

Brother, they keep chanting, and James shakes his head.

No, he wants to say. I’m not. I only have one brother, he wants to say.

He opens his mouth but all there is is water, entering his lungs, filling him. He can’t speak. He’s drowning. This, this is scary. This isn’t soothing.

The shoal picks up speed, and James gets dizzy. He wants to tell them to slow down, but the only thing that comes out of his mouth is more air as water takes its place.

You are the Ocean’s son, just as we are Her daughters, and you will come back to us, they tell him, and James wants to shake his head, but he’s panicking. He can’t breathe. Their voices become a blur, speeding up and overlapping, until they sound disjointed and incomprehensible. He’s still drowning.

Love and loss, twin flames of life's great dance, they sing in a voice like the ocean's melody. Where one exists, the other cannot help but follow.

And James wants to deny this, of course. Of course love doesn’t have to be painful, but even as he thinks it, James doesn’t know how much he believes it.

His father.

His mother.

Regulus.

Maybe they aren’t entirely wrong.

He feels his vision failing, his mouth clogging, his lungs seizing, and the shoal stops all at once. One siren swims to him, and James’s mouth is already open, so it’s easy for them to deposit something hard and cold on James’s tongue. He swallows it, along with another lungful of water. He feels heavy. He can feel them tugging at him from below, trying to pull him further down.

James isn’t scared of dying, not really. So he doesn’t understand the visceral reaction he has when one of them pulls their hand back, gathering momentum, before they start pushing it into his chest right where his heart is, nails embedded. He feels the nails nick at his ribcage. And then it isn’t a siren anymore, it’s Regulus’s hand, digging in, eyes blank.

Bones, Regulus’s nails are touching James’s bones.

He belongs to us, too, Regulus says, but it’s not his voice.

James screams, he thinks.

That’s when the calm turns to chaos, and the hands pawing at his legs start to shred at them.

The sea salt burns in his open cuts, the nails inside his body hurt, his lungs full of water hurt, everything hurts, but James doesn’t stop fighting, the will to live suddenly stronger than ever.

James doesn’t want to die. Doesn’t want Regulus to kill him.

He thrashes and kicks, trying to break free from his grip, fueled by the desire to survive.

He’s not going to make it.

He’s not.

And then, Regulus freezes. Just— petrifies, blank eyes looking surprised. He looks at James in confusion.

And James is hauled upwards, towards the air, towards oxygen.

Go east for what you seek, is the last thing he hears from below, before he’s spit back onto the ship.

He can hear someone screaming, Sirius, he thinks, but his eyes aren’t adjusting to the dark. He’s in pain. Everything hurts. There are nails in his chest, in a circular formation around his heart, and somehow, this is what James clings on to.

Get them out, he tries to say, but he vomits saltwater instead. He tries to stand up but his legs are shredded. He can’t get the nails out, they’re touching his bones.

He’s screaming, but it sounds gurgled, like he can’t quite manage it.

His body is shaking with the effort of staying alive. His ears are ringing. He can hear Sirius, and Remus, but he can’t focus. There are nails—

Get them out, he tries again, and something must come out, because Sirius is pushed aside and Remus is there, and Remus is pulling the nails out , and he’s bleeding everywhere, he’s dying, he doesn’t want the nails scraping at his bones anymore, please.

Please.

Please.

He’s not sure what’s happening.

What’s happened.

He was just sleeping.

He was asleep.

Why is he bleeding out?

Go east for what you seek. Ah, that voice. 

James doesn’t hear anything after this.

🌊REMUS🌊

Remus is having a tough time.

Sirius is frantic, and Remus can’t work while Sirius is losing it. Remus feels a lump form in his throat as he takes in the sight of James's mangled body. His legs are shredded like ribbons, as if sharp knives had dug into his skin all the way to the bone. His chest rises and falls in shallow, ragged breaths, and Remus can see the redness spreading from the deep puncture wounds. He needs—

Fuck.

“Sirius,” Remus tries, and Sirius doesn’t react, busy looking at James’s mangled legs, mangled chest, looking with horror in his eyes, and Remus doesn’t know what Remus sees, but it’s— ah. It’s death. That’s what Sirius sees.

Fuck.

“Sirius, James isn’t going to die,” he says, and Sirius swivels his head to look at him, desperate.

Remus doesn’t think words can explain what’s about to happen, so he just– does it.

Removes the last of the nails and spreads his hands over the deep puncture wounds overflowing with blood.

He calls, and it answers, whatever strange magic Remus has.

His hands morph a little, taking on an almost— flobby quality, and Sirius freezes. Like air being sucked out. Sirius just– stops moving, eyes locked on Remus’s hands. The liquid quality they seem to take on, the almost gelatinous texture. Remus can feel Sirius rooted to the deck of the ship.

Remus doesn’t even blink at this, not anymore. It’s a part of him. His cells can divide and differentiate into new tissue. He can regrow limbs. His own, and others’ too.

When he’s finished, James is breathing more steadily, and the wounds on his chest are almost fully closed. Remus pulls his hands away, and the liquid quality dissipates, leaving his hands looking just like they did before. Calmly, he goes over to James’s legs and does it again, there. Just. Wraps the shredded pieces of skin and heals.

“What’s happening?” Sirius whispers, and Remus shakes his head. Shrugs a little, eyes on the wounds as they close.

“Side-effects of the curse.”

To this, Sirius has nothing to say. Well. Not truly. Sirius seems to be in shock, and Remus cannot blame him.

His best friend almost died. His– whatever Remus is to Sirius, can make his hands heal people. It’s a lot to take in.

Remus can feel Sirius’s gaze on his hands like a brand.

Then, James takes a desperate gasp of air, and it’s guttural and painful and choked edges. He vomits more water, turning to the side and expelling a quantity of water that seems– extraordinarily dangerous. 

When, he’s done, he’s just gasping, breathing, gasping, breathing. 

They just— nothing happens. They’re here, breathing. James’s hand goes to his chest. Sirius’s eyes are on James’s, and Remus’s hands are back to normal. They’re just breathing.

Sirius looks at James. “Okay.”

And James looks back. “Okay,” he rasps. His eyes roll back, and James goes limp again, though this time, his chest is rising and falling.

It’s really quiet.

They’re just breathing.

Sirius is back to staring at Remus’s hands. “I—”

“They’re chromatophores,” Remus cuts in, and Sirius just rears back. Confused.

“What?”

“My hands. They have chromatophores.”

“I— I don’t know what this means.” Sirius blinks, still trying to wrap his head around what he’s seeing. He turns back to Remus’s face. “What does that mean?”

“It means they can change colour and texture,” Remus explains, “And they can also reshape themselves to some extent. They can regrow. They can heal. It’s how I’m able to do things like this.” He gestures towards James, who is lying on the deck, alive. Remus steps back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “He’ll be fine,” he says.

And Sirius is just— sitting there, trying to process what just happened. Finally, he speaks up.

“Remus,” he says, “What are you?”

And doesn’t that just tear at his bones? What are you? An object to be categorised and defined.

Sirius seems to realise what he said, if his panicked glance is any indication. “No– no. No. Remus, no. No– please,” But Remus is standing up, and pulling away, and Sirius’s hand is stretching in the empty space between them both, and Remus looks at it like a parting gift.

He shrugs. “I don’t really know. I’m not like other things.”

“People,” Sirius begs. “People. Like other people. Remus, please, I didn’t mean– I’m sorry, I– you just– what is this? Please don’t leave, I’m so grateful, I am, I– I just–” he stops. “What’s going on?” he asks, looking down at James, who is breathing evenly now. Sirius shakes his head, taking a breath. “Remus,” he says again, more gently this time, “Is this why they kept you in a cage?” and there is so much pain and sorrow in his voice it sounds like a lament. 

Remus turns his head away. “I am a monster,” he says instead, and Sirius blinks.

“You just saved my best friend’s life.”

“I turn into a monster,” Remus rephrases, and Sirius just— there is so much going on. There is so much going on. Might as well get it over with. He turns his gaze to the ocean. “There is a young boy who was cursed to belong to someone and become something terrible,” Remus starts. “The boy isn’t wanted. He is born, nonetheless. The boy loves his father. The fact that his father doesn’t love him back is irrelevant. At five, his father tells him they’re going on a journey. And the boy has never been loved before, so he goes with his father. He is thrown overboard, and the boy is only five. He is doomed to drown, and drown he does. But the boy doesn’t stay dead. He wakes up, and he doesn’t know why. He is in someone else’s possession, then. And that doesn’t change, not for fourteen years. And every year on his birthday, the boy turns into a monster and is released to the sea. He needs to be far away from things, all alone, or he destroys and kills and drowns everyone and everything. The next day, he wakes up drowning, only to repeat the cycle over and over again. Sometimes, the boy is used as a weapon, left near things that others want destroyed. He doesn’t have a choice. When he’s in the water, he’s not a boy. He’s a monster. And so, the boy is cursed to live a lonely existence, unable to control the monster within him.” Remus turns his gaze to Sirius, locking eyes. “And then, a star breaks him out. And the boy doesn’t know what comes next.”

Sirius’s head is going to explode, Remus thinks. Remus doesn’t blame him. He just waits.

Remus doesn't expect the change in Sirius's demeanour as a decision starts to form in his mind. Sirius's shoulders straighten, and his gaze locks onto Remus's like an anchor securing a ship. If Remus had a more developed sense of smell, he might even detect the scent of determination emanating from Sirius. Sirius, despite his shock, doesn’t seem to be afraid of him. Remus wonders what that means.

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Sirius says eventually, his voice low and steady. He takes a deep breath, and releases it all at once. “Whoever you are, I’m spellbound.”

A rush of emotions. A ringing in his ears. A tidal wave crashing. Remus blinks, surprised. He basks in Sirius’s words.

I’m spellbound.

Remus was never meant to live this long. Had never wanted to live before now. Now, he has a little more time, and eyes that can rest over something that isn’t a cage, and a boy who has set anchor in his eyes. He isn’t sure why it feels this way, to suddenly have time.

Like a gift.

Like a curse.

Remus isn’t meant for this life.

What would it be like to try living it anyways?

He extends his hand to Sirius, and Sirius,

He

Takes

The

Hand.

It is peace like Remus has never known.

🌊JAMES🌊

When James wakes up, he’s back in his cot. Awake but unbalanced still, like all he did was wake up from a bad dream.

Confused.

He turns his head, only to find Sirius looking at him from the hard floor, right by his bed. Just looking at him. Remus is nowhere to be found.

James can’t help it. He gasps. It feels like he hasn’t taken a full breath in ages.

“They told me to go east”, is the first thing that comes out of his mouth when he can finally speak. The most important thing. His voice is still raw and spiky.

“They?”

“The—” James cuts out. Shakes his head. “Was I asleep? Did I just wake up?” he asks, right before it hits him. He looks at Sirius, eyes wide. There are questions in his eyes, and Sirius, very slowly, nods.

James is ripping his shirt off and clawing at his chest in a second.

“You’re fine, James”, Sirius says, crawling on the bed to gather James in his arms.

James is not fine. He’s gasping.

“The nails—”

“You’re okay– They’re gone, they’re gone.” And James— dissolves. He’s holding on to Sirius and dissolving, his entire body fraying at the edges. And there are arms, and the arms are holding on to him, and James thinks he’d be truly falling apart without them. Without him.

“I miss him”, James gasps.

“I know.”

“I miss him.”

“Me, too.”

And it is true.

And they miss.

Chapter Text

🌊REMUS🌊

Horcruxes, as it turns out, are quite elusive.

The one thing that isn’t, is time.

That is to say, they are still sailing two months later.

That is to say, Remus’s birthday is looming ahead.

That is to say, Sirius is incapable of keeping secrets from James.

Remus is not surprised. However, Remus also has no time to worry about James and Sirius and their ability to keep what is about to happen hush hush.

Remus is busy being in excruciating pain.

They are mere days away from his birthday, and Remus isn’t doing well. He can’t keep food down. Can’t keep down water. Can’t be touched. Can’t exist inside his own skin. It’s subtle at first, a slight itch or prickling sensation under his skin. The thing is, it never remains slight. All it does is gain intensity, as if the skin is crawling and shifting on its own. It’s both too tight and too loose, and sometimes feels like it's made of a foreign material that doesn't belong to him.

He can’t focus on Sirius or James’s worried glances.

Sirius told James, which isn’t all that surprising. James hasn’t really— mentioned anything about it. To be fair, Remus doesn’t think there is something to mention. James almost died, and Remus saved him using his giant squid powers. What else is new?

Remus knows what’s coming. Thought he was used to the pain of it.

Remus is wrong.

It always takes him by surprise, how easily the brain erases the memoy of pain. How, as soon as he’s back in his body, his brain decides that it's too difficult to remember and just– wipes it all away. On the one hand, Remus is grateful for the protective mechanism. On the other, it makes every damn transformation this much worse.

Bracing for it isn’t helpful.

It’s always bad. Always worse. But there’s a new layer to it now.

Pain when there's no one to comfort you is a different kind of agony. It's not as terrifying, to endure pain alone when there's no one around to be affected by it.

When no one cares.

After all, pain is but a signal to your body that it is alive. That it wants to remain that way.

For the longest time, Remus did not, in fact, care about remaining alive.

Now, however, the pain he endures before transforming is compounded by the fear of hurting those he has come to love. This fear makes everything a thousand times worse.

Remus is terrified.

He tries to anticipate as much as possible, all the while knowing that nothing can fully prepare him for what's to come.

Sirius is there, all the time, offering “anything, everything, what can I do?”, but Remus wants nothing, and Sirius’s arms are simultaneously full and empty.

And Remus aches.

“I can’t be here with you but I can be here for you”, Sirius says to Remus one evening. ”I can clean the blood, I can bandage the wounds.”

And Remus hears the words and shakes his head. There won’t be blood. There won’t be wounds. All there'll be is phantom pain and a blank memory. He’s not Remus, for the full 12 hours it lasts. He doesn’t know what he is. 

He wishes he could listen to Sirius’s comforting words, but sounds are too hard. Everything is too painful, each breath like shards of glass scraping against his throat.

He retreats.

He starts having nightmares, dreams in which he's drowning, suffocating, being consumed. He wakes up in cold sweats, heart racing, and it takes him ages to calm down.

Four days before, James tells Frank that they need to take Remus to a doctor, and Frank has eyes, and Frank is kind, and Frank says, “Yes”.

They moor in a town up east of Zaranda.

Remus is almost catatonic by the eve of his birthday. He’s taken refuge in the hull of the ship, inside a crate that looks a little too close to the cage Sirius and James found him in. There is no coaxing him out and into a bed in the tavern, or on a cot on the boat. He won’t hear it. Won’t leave. 

Remus whimpers and tries to forget that he has a body. It doesn’t work.

And Remus cries, and the tears are too heavy for his skin, and it’s worse.

There is nothing to be done about it.

Sirius takes residence on the floor next to the crate. Remus doesn’t have the strength to tell him to leave him to it.

He opens his eyes and Sirius is there, always, and it’s significantly better and worse to know that Sirius has not left.

Better because Sirius is here.

Worse because Sirius is here.

Sirius looks like life has taken a bite out of him and chucked him overboard. He’s never looked more helpless. Remus cannot find it in him to reassure Sirius.

After all, there is nothing to be reassured about.

It’s going to get worse.

One day before, screams can be heard from the hull of a ship docked. They’re awful. They’re awful. They’re awful. They taste like sharpened spears and poison. They sound like red and black. They feel like skin ripping open. People on the island have nightmares that night. Whispered legends are born about a monster.

Had Remus heard the whispers, he would have laughed.

He is so much worse than what the people can imagine.

And then, it’s time.

Remus knows this part well.

It’s night, and Remus needs to go out to sea. He picks himself up. Refuses James’s hand. Accepts Sirius’s, though touching skin feels like being branded in the worst way. Still, he finds himself holding on. Together, they walk out to the beach. A plan has been laid out.

Before, the system was easy.

He would be pulled from his cell and thrown overboard, condemned to swim until the transformation took place. Condemned to swim after, too, lest he drowned. Survival instincts are strong, and so is Remus, despite it all.

This time, it is different.

James has done some research. There is an abandoned lighthouse five miles from the shore, where a cluster of rocks are. James and Remus will take a boat and row to it, and Remus will wait it out there. He’ll be able to sink into the ocean when it is time, and no one will come close, and everything will be fine.

Sirius is not allowed on the boat, for the simple reason that Sirius is in absolutely no state to do anything except worry.

“If Sirius comes with you, he will not be able to leave you behind.”

James has not said anything of the sort, but Remus has heard it anyway.

That would be dangerous.

And so, Sirius is doomed to stay on shore and wait.

🌊SIRIUS🌊

It’s dusk, and today is Remus’s birthday.

There is a rowboat, and Remus is clambering onto it. James is looking away, like this will be easier, like it won’t hurt as much.

And these are the words Remus chooses to say as the boat unmoors.

These are the words Sirius hears as the barge leaves the shore, taking his soulmates away.

These are the words that come crashing in like a tidal wave, rearranging everything in their path, pushing and pulling chaotically until Remus stands in front. In front of— everything else.

"You are my lighthouse," Remus says.

Tearing at Sirius’s skin, gnawing at his soul.

Sirius collapses and, for the first time perhaps, he prays.

Sirius doesn’t get up again until James is back, sweaty and grim and lips turned down. Still, James says nothing.

A new game begins, made up of patience and patience and patience and pain that isn’t their own.

That night, Sirius falls asleep in the sand, James wrapped around him. Sirius doesn’t think it’s anything other than precaution. Comfort. Fear.

Maybe James isn’t wrong. There is a boat, and Remus is at sea, and Sirius wants to rowrowrow to him. He doesn’t want to wait for the sun to rise.

Sirius waits, falling asleep and waking up periodically, looking out into the ocean to check for— something. In his dreams, he imagines Remus out at sea, alone and vulnerable as the Kraken takes hold of him. In his dreams, tentacles wrap around Sirius and drag him down on the ocean bed and into a watery grave, and Sirius doesn’t feel scared. He wakes up with lungs full of water until he realises he’s on shore, and Sirius aches. Envies the Ocean that has claimed Remus as Her own. Jealousy spares neither the salt nor the seaweed, nor even the shells, and certainly not Sirius.

And Sirius waits for Remus’s return.

He’ll stay waiting forever. He’ll turn into a rock, covered in salt and coral, and he’ll wait for Remus.

And then.

The sun peaks from beneath the water, and Remus drags himself out of the waves like he’s been battling the Ocean for an age, and Sirius’s breath catches.

There is distance, and Sirius eats it up, feet folding in the sand and twisting, and Sirius falls and picks himself back up and he’s here , Remus is covered in slime and salt water, and smiling at Sirius a smile that speaks of pain and redemption. Sirius approaches gently. Remus nods.

Remus folds into Sirius’s arms.

“I followed your light and let it guide me home,” Remus croaks before collapsing, and Sirius thinks Remus is passed out, but Remus is whispering nonsense, reaching out to touch a dark curl, twirling it deliriously around his finger, muttering, “I gazed out to the stars, and Sirius lead me back to you”, and Sirius thinks about lighthouses and ships, and stars and oceans, and how interesting that for Remus, the land isn’t the danger but the Ocean is, and how wondrous is it that the sun rises again after a tragedy.

After the storm, light.

🌊REMUS🌊

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks, and Remus laughs. It's a sleepy, tired, pained laugh.

“I’m all right. My body is made for tragedy,” he says, aiming for a joke, but Sirius shakes his head, pulling his forehead against Remus’s.

“I don’t think your body is made for tragedy,” Sirius says. “It fits so effortlessly in my embrace. I think it was meant for me all along.” 

These are the words that come crashing in like a tidal wave, rearranging everything in their path, pushing and pulling chaotically until Sirius stands in front. In front of— everything else.

There is a new reality, and Remus closes his eyes.

For the first time in weeks, he dreams.

🌊JAMES🌊

It’s difficult to pry Remus away from Sirius for a few days after. They sleep a lot, entangled in each other. Remus is bone-tired. Sirius is relieved.

And so, they sleep.

“Typhus”, James says to Frank one evening, and Franks raises a nonplussed eyebrow and pulls James aside seriously, shaking his head.

An hour later, Frank comes back flustered and confused and quiet.

It’s not discussed.

But Remus has a curse, and Frank lets him back on the ship anyway.

Frank does love a good legend.

🌊REMUS🌊

No one ever forgets his birthday. They do not celebrate it.

Instead, they pick another day. Celebrate it then.

He turns to the candle that has been lit on top of a potato. They are still at sea, not much in the way of making any kind of grand cake. But there is a candle, and there is a song, and there is Sirius and James and Frank and the entire crew.

He blows the candle out.

Sirius, latched onto his left side, turns to smile at him, and Remus forgets to say that Sirius’s presence is like home, a storm lantern in the middle of a blizzard.

His lighthouse.

He smiles back. There is nothing else he can do. Sirius smells like home. Never has a perfume been so heady.

Chapter Text

🌊JAMES🌊

The thing with missing is, it never goes away.

It's trying to catch a falling star with your bare hands or holding onto smoke as it slips through your fingers. It leaves a hole in your heart, and you just get used to skirting around it. It becomes part of your landscape. It is here, and you walk around it.

You become accustomed to it, but it's always there. Sometimes you forget, and you stumble right into it again, falling headlong into the emptiness. Clambering out of the hole is painful, and there's no easy way to do it. You claw your way out with grit and blood, digging your nails into the dirt, frustration mounting with every scrape and cut of bone and marrow you leave at the bottom.

You’re careful of the emptiness once you’ve taken enough tumbles in.

It becomes part of the scenery. An eyesore.

You try to fill it with meaningless and meaningful things, and still the hole remains.

James doesn’t try to fill the Regulus-shaped hole in his chest. He doesn’t want it filled. He uses it as a reminder.

But two years is a long time to search for someone, and time heals, and the hole seems to fill in, a scar fading over time. James hates it.

The hole fills in like an inevitability, and James spends entirely too much time digging, trying to remember Regulus’s shape. He doesn’t want a pristine landscape.

He wants it war-shaped. Scars of conflict etched into the terrain. Craters from bombs and artillery fire pockmarking the earth. This means he’ll have lived.

After all, that's the price of loving someone - the knowledge that one day, you might have to let them go. That they might leave you.

You only hurt when you loved something enough to let it hurt you.

But nature perseveres. It’s her greatest strength.

Time heals, love remains.

Regulus is a scar, and it aches like a fresh bruise when James thinks about him too hard.

But two years is a long time, and life continues.

James is now twenty years old.

“We’re making a stop on Tortuga,” Frank says as he passes the cabin, and James nods. 

The thing with missing is, it never goes away. James has tried. He has torn and shredded and got mad. Cried and yelled and got sad.

He has rubbed his skin raw. It won't come off. Regulus’s image is engrained in James’s mind, graved in his stone heart.

 Still he looks east.

🌊 

James jackknifes awake. Again. It’s brutal, and James almost falls to the floor from his spot on the cot.

“Regulus?”

There isn’t anyone, and yet. James could swear he’s just been called. He has. He has. He would swear it. It’s foreign. Is it a voice?

Regulus.

It feels like slipping in a dream.

And James knows, this time. He knows better.

He knows better, even as he settles his body into his clothes.

He knows better, even as he moves his feet into his boots.

It’s unconscious. His body is called, and James has to answer.

He feels drunk. He didn’t drink enough to feel fuzzy like this. Like the world is a blur. But not his steps. There is a path, and James follows diligently. The voice said Regulus. He could swear it.

He follows the voice, leading him outside, and James is surprised to find that it’s still dark out. The air is cold, and he can see his breath in the frigid air. His heart is racing, and his mind is foggy as he stumbles down. East.

He doesn’t know how long he walks for. He’s walking, and then, suddenly, he’s there.

There.

There doesn’t really have a meaning. It’s not a place in the world. It’s a heart pressing against his ribs, asking to be let out. It’s the feeling of home. That’s what “there” is.

“There” is also a cave nestled against the cliffs, hidden away. It's a natural formation, with jagged walls and a rough ceiling that arches overhead. The entrance is wide, but the inside narrows quickly.

And James goes in. You couldn’t stop him if you tried.

The darkness inside the cave is almost complete, save for— fire. A torch. The walls themselves are rough, with natural fissures and cracks that have formed over thousands of years. Stalactites and stalagmites protrude from the ceiling and floor.

And still James walks to the fire.

The voice is pulling him in, and James cannot fight it.

Further into the cave, the passageway begins to widen, and the rough walls start to give way to a more open space. Gradually, the ceiling rises higher, and the air becomes fresher. There is crawling, and then space suddenly opens up into a large cave, walls stretching high into the air, towering above James in magnificent natural splendour. The ceiling is far above, and the light of the moon streams in through a large opening at the top, casting a warm and inviting glow throughout the space.

There is the torch. And there is a chest.

Regulus is standing over it, holding gold from the chest, a contemplative look in his gaze.

He doesn’t look the same. He looks— very different. Very much the same. Entirely new.

Nothing’s changed. Everything has.

His hair is still as wild as always, curls everywhere. A red bandana is attached around his head, as though trying to hold the cascade of curls. Regulus’s hair is wilder than a thunderstorm. Trying to tame it would be just as impossible. He’s dressed in a simple white blouse and breeches.

“Regulus?”

Regulus looks up. Drops the gold back in the chest, as if shocked. Electrified.

And yes.

Ah, yes, these eyes. God, James lives for these eyes.

Nothing has changed.

The past two years condense and collapse like a star explosion. Really, it's four. Because that's how long James hasn't seen Regulus. Two years on purpose. Two years of search.

James takes a step forward. Regulus takes a step back.

James cannot take note of anything else. There is the world somewhere, and there is Regulus, right there, and James’s heart is pressing against his ribs, and it’s insistent and wild and feral and violent, asking to be let out.

There is too much space in between them. James wants it gone. Erase the distance, teleport straight to Regulus. James looks his fill, eyes filling in all the information he can. That’s how James notices that Regulus is holding a dagger.

It should frighten him. His lips turn up in a smile instead.

Plan on using that? He signs, pointing to the dagger.

Oh, how quickly James falls back into the routine.

Old habits never truly die, especially not when it comes to Regulus. They endure, growing and hurting and evolving into something greater with every passing moment.

Feelings, they persist. Tall, unyielding and unafraid. Setbacks only serve to fuel the fire within.

He’s here. He’s here.

“Don’t come closer,” Regulus says, and James’s mind goes quiet. Like entering the eye of the storm. A swirling vortex of white noise that drowns out— everything.

Regulus’s voice was always something special. Something to be cherished.

God, he wants everything that Regulus is, every particle, every atom that makes up his being, to hold the universe of him in his heart and never let go. James craves every piece of Regulus’s chemical makeup, from the nitrogen that fuels his passions to the sulphur that gives him his fire.

He wants it all.

He’ll take Regulus’s dagger to the heart. He’ll do it gladly. There are no lines James would not cross. Not even the one Regulus is very clearly drawing in the space between them.

James tilts his head. "Ah, he speaks." He takes a step forward, daring Regulus to challenge him. "Or what?"

Regulus looks down pointedly at his dagger, causing James's smile to grow wider. "I would believe you if your hands weren't trembling, love," he says, turning to meet Regulus's gaze directly. "But," he shrugs, and draws his own dagger. "I suppose I can indulge you."

He mock-bows. "Shall we dance?"

Regulus attacks.

So the boy grew sharp nails.

Regulus isn’t even pretending to hide his intention of hurting James. He lungs forward like he’ll be able to gut James open. And James wants to laugh. Wants to scream with delight.

This.

This is better.

Better than gold.

Better than the spray of the ocean on his face.

Better than everything.

Unmatched.

And James should— focus, he should, because he’s pretty sure he’s daydreaming, and backing away as Regulus drives forward, and all James is doing is parring, because James can’t attack, he won’t, he’s so beautiful like this, and in a pretty nasty move, Regulus manages to nick his cheek. He barely feels it. All he feels is endorphins, like an entire bucket of hormones has been dumped on him.

James actually smiles. Lifts his thumb to wipe the blood from his cheek. He looks at Regulus as he licks the blood off, like one observes a feisty prey. He arches his eyebrow as he looks at his thumb, then back at Regulus. “So you do want me dead,” he says sweetly.

“What I want, is you away from me,” Regulus hisses.

James tosses his dagger in the air. “Yeah, I was never really good at that.”

The words spark something in Regulus, who attacks with renewed vigour. “No?” He spits, throwing his dagger to the side violently, now coming at James with his bare hands. “Tell that to the past four years.”

James drops his dagger, letting it clatter wherever it falls.

Regulus is amazing at hand to hand combat. He’s lithe, quick on his feet. Natural. James laughs, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He can't remember the last time he felt this alive, Regulus's aggression only fueling his own euphoria.

James has brute force on his side. One thing he has not, is the willpower to hurt Regulus.

He dodges Regulus's blows, and for a moment, they are evenly matched, trading blows and parries with equal skill. James is careful. Regulus is reckless.

But James sees his opportunity. He takes it. With a swift move, he knocks Regulus to the ground. The other boy tries to get up but James holds him down, his hand on Regulus's chest. He can feel the other boy's heart racing, chest heaving with exertion.

Ah oh. It would be so easy. So easy, to move his hand from Regulus’s chest to his clavicle, snake it around his neck, bring him closer. James wants nothing more.

It takes everything in him to take a step back, which is how he quickly finds himself pinned to the cave’s wall by Regulus’s arm. It hurts. It’s pointy everywhere. His back is against the rough surface, and Regulus’s elbow is digging into his neck. He’s so close. He finds himself leaning into Regulus’s touch.

Yes.

More.

“I came back for you”, James wheezes, breaths coming in ragged gasps like waves crashing against the shore. God, he should work out more. Or get laid. Something. “You’re the one who left.”

“You left first, ” Regulus's words are sharp, delivered with a pointed bitterness that James knows all too well. His hands reach up instinctively, one folding around Regulus's wrist, the other around his elbow like seaweed clinging to a rock in the midst of a turbulent ocean.

He looks up at Regulus. There is anger, and frustration that’s been bottled up for so long, swirling like a whirlpool beneath the surface. But he can also see something else there, something that he's seen before. It's vulnerability, a rawness that Regulus rarely shows to anyone.

“You said it would be all right,” James whispers, voice as gentle as a breeze blowing across the ocean's surface.

“I lied.”

Ah. Yes, lies. Never a good tool, are they?

“Was I supposed to just know?” James's voice is soft, almost pleading, as he gazes at Regulus, eyes searching for any sign of understanding. His words hang in the air, the question heavy with unspoken emotion.

“You were always good at reading between the lines.”

In retrospect, that’s probably when James’s focus drops. When he loses it. When he gives up. When he lets go.

“Lines have always been so fucking blurred when it comes to you,” he says. Grips Regulus’s arm tightly, and lifts it up, reducing the space between them to zero, chests pressing together like two tectonic plates colliding. He pulls, gently, towards him, and Regulus melts into him with no fight left.

James snags his other arm around Regulus’s waist and draws him closer. A sailor pulling in his anchor.

Their noses are touching. Two ships docked together at the harbour.

James thinks he goes cross-eyed.

“Can I—”

“I’ll die if you don’t." His voice a siren's call pulling James towards the rocks.

And James wouldn’t want that. He reaches down, lips catching Regulus’s. Two waves crashing together.

His brain shuts down. All there is is Regulus’s mouth, warm against his own.

James feels the softness of Regulus's lips, the wetness of his tongue, a sailor tasting the salt of the sea on his lips. He feels Regulus's arms snake around his neck, pulling him closer, melting. The world falls away, and all James can hear is the sound of their ragged breaths mixing together.

It's like nothing he's ever experienced before, the sensation of being so consumed by someone else. Regulus's taste, his smell, his touch— it's all James can think about. All James has space for. A shipwrecked crew of two clinging to each other for survival. James knows he won’t survive without this. He’s just had a taste, and he’s ruined. Destroyed. Wrecked.

Regulus's hands are anchors, holding him in place, grounding him, pushing and pulling at James and James goes wherever Regulus wants him to. In turn, James's hands roam over Regulus's body like they're exploring uncharted territory. A treasure map.

Their lips are still locked together, and James can taste the ocean on Regulus's tongue. Freedom. Life.

There’s the future, right there, nestled inside his arms. James wants nothing else.

He feels Regulus's fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him in closer, and he gasps for breath, his old self washing away.

Let it go. James doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want anything but this.

Their kisses are like the ebb and flow of the tides, each one pulling them deeper into the other's orbit. James is caught in the currents of Regulus's desire. And it’s lovely, so lovely, but it’s also rough, and violent and vindictive, and so new —

“Wait—” James starts, pulling away, and Regulus pounces, pulling him back, whispering “Are you mad?” And James is quiet once more.

They’re just kissing.

Except, there is nothing just about any of it.

James wants to feel the rush of oxytocin and the pull of dopamine that comes with Regulus’s touch. The way his scent mingles with James’s, the electrical charge of his touch, the chemical reactions that sparks between them.

It is madness, and James is gone.

Every touch, every movement is like a storm at sea. Regulus's hands roam over James's body, tracing every curve and dip with the precision of a sailor charting a course. James feels like he's being explored, every inch of him mapped out by Regulus's touch.

James is going to die.

Regulus never really needed his dagger.

Their bodies are pressed together, and James can feel the heat between them like the sun on a summer day.

"God, I hate you," Regulus says, breaking the kiss, and James feels like he's been ripped away from something he desperately needed. Regulus’s forehead goes to rest against James’s, and his hand goes to grip at his chest. "I hate you so much it hurts."

James is breathless. Dizzy. His hand reaches up to grasp Regulus’s fist on his chest. He brings it to his lips, kissing Regulus’s knuckles.

"I never want to let go," James whispers, voice thick.

"Then don't," Regulus replies, and James can hear the lie. Chooses to ignore it.

He dives back in.

The kiss is desperate now, each of them trying to take as much as they can before it inevitably ends. Their hands roam over each other's bodies frantically, fingers gripping and pulling hopelessly, exploring every inch. James feels like he's drowning in Regulus.

"Wait—," James says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Don’t say goodbye," he pleads. It’s on Regulus’s lips, in his grip. Goodbye is written all over it.

“Please,” Regulus murmurs, “Don’t make this any harder,” and James opens his mouth, but Regulus cuts him off in warning. “Don’t.”

James offers him a tight, ruthless smile. “I couldn’t make it harder if I tried,” he says anyway, and Regulus bites his lip to avoid smiling. James counts it as a win anyway.

It’s quiet besides their breathing, and the reality of the situation is like a weight that James can feel pressing down on him, suffocating him. He wants to hold on. He knows better.

You only lose what you cling to.

When Regulus does pull away, James feels the cold rush in to fill the void. He watches as Regulus takes a step back and forces his own body to stay. Remain. Don’t reach out. Don’t make him feel trapped.

"I have to go," Regulus says, his voice barely above a whisper, and James reaches out into the corners of his mind for something, anything, something. “—It’s not morning yet.”

The smile Regulus gives him is small and understated. “Is morning the deadline we’re abiding by now?”

“No, I just—” He gestures to the cave. Slides to the wet ground. “Sit with me for a while, please.”

A miracle happens. James feels like he's been punched in the gut, like the air has been knocked out of him.

Regulus walks back to James, the sound of each step echoing in the cavernous space around them. He takes a seat, and his gaze drifts upward, as if seeking solace in the dark recesses of the ceiling.

“Shit,” Regulus murmurs.

Regulus stays.

James’s heart soars, swelling in his chest like the rising tide.

“What happens now?” James asks.

Regulus shakes his head, and James can see the uncertainty etched into every line of his face. “Nothing,” he says.

“Nothing?” James echoes, his tone disbelieving. “You just kiss me and leave? Is this what you do with everyone?”

“No, I don’t do this with anyone,” Regulus replies, somewhat unkindly, and James has to stop it. That instinct to riot, to laugh, to fly.

I don’t do this with anyone.

But Regulus did do this. With James.

Because James isn’t just anyone. He is someone. Someone’s. Regulus’s.

“Then what is this?” James demands.

Regulus hesitates, and James can sense the weight of his unspoken fears, an anchor holding him back.

“It can’t be anything,” Regulus says eventually.

“Yet something literally just happened,” James replies, voice soft. Frustrated.

But Regulus stays silent, and James can feel the waves of anger rising within him. He wants to lash out, fight against the forces that seem determined to keep them apart. He doesn’t. He breathes out, instead.

Asks for something else.

“I want to know why you left.” James says, because all that he can think about is that the past two years needn’t have happened. They could have been doing this— always this, for years.

“It doesn't matter.”

But the thing is, it does. It does matter, so much. Because James, Sirius and Remus were on a boat for two years. Because James asked, and Regulus said it was okay. Because James believed that. Because James left with Sirius, and came back. Because James had promised Regulus he would. Because James didn’t get to honour his promise, for two whole years. Because James went east. Because James almost died. Because James had needed Regulus. Because Regulus hadn’t been there.

“It matters to me,” he says quietly.

But Regulus is quiet, and James doesn’t press.

There is silence, and the torch burns out.

🌊

James opens his eyes to a sliver of sunlight coming through the cave. There is warmth on his front, and his arms are wrapped around—

Stop everything.

Stop the world.

Stop the spinning, spiralling sensation in James's stomach as he slowly realises what has happened.

He and Regulus are snugly entangled. Regulus’s head is resting on his arm, hands resting against each other. The other arm is wrapped around his middle. Their legs are over one another. Regulus couldn’t escape if he tried.

But Regulus is asleep, and the scent of saltwater lingers in the air. It’s morning.

James tries to calm the clamouring cadence of his heart, a chaotic chorus of crashing waves in his chest. The ocean's beauty and serenity, all coalescing in the moment, encapsulated in the embrace of two beings entwined like the currents of the sea.

It’s not a comfortable position, yet it’s the most comfortable James has ever been.

James doesn’t move, but something must have given him away. He feels the exact moment Regulus awakens. He stiffens against James.

It’s work, for Regulus to ease his muscles and let himself relax back into James’s embrace.

James doesn’t know why, but he’s glad that it’s Regulus’s response to realising that James’s body is the one wrapped around him like the vines of a coral reef. He’s glad that Regulus doesn’t tear at his arms. Glad that Regulus doesn’t pull himself out. Glad that James’s arms are safe enough for Regulus to bury himself deeper in.

James releases a breath, then proceeds to fuck everything up.

The way he figures is, James can only look at the back of Regulus’s neck in this position. It’s less intimate, that way. Safer to ask. He doesn’t have to watch Regulus’s expression. He can just stare at the back of Regulus's neck, a curve of ivory that glistens like a pearl in the morning light. James can't help but wonder how it would feel under his lips. He breathes against the skin instead, and Regulus’s neck prickles in goosebumps. James wants to lick them. Trace them with his tongue. Bite until the skin is his. It’s a little dark, and a lot possessive. He wants fingers digging and clawing into Regulus's skin, marking him as his own. He wants his fingerprints on Regulus’s heart.

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” He breathes out.

Regulus’s body stiffens again. It's sharper this time, as if his entire being is a burden, and he'd forgotten he was the bane of his own existence.

With a sigh, James disentangles himself from Regulus, and Regulus scrambles backwards. Shaking his head, James takes a seat, drawing his arms up and over his knees. He rests his head against the frigid wall of the cave. Doesn’t look at Regulus. Looks up, instead.

“I know it’s a sore subject, but I— I need to know.”

Regulus recoils even more. “And I don’t want to tell you. This was a mistake.”

Still, he doesn’t leave, and James refuses to let it go. "You can't just chalk everything we do together as a mistake.”

Regulus's response is blunt. "Watch me," he says, voice slicing through the air like a knife. He starts to get up, but James's hand shoots out and grabs onto Regulus’s shirt. The fabric is damp and clingy.

Regulus sighs and James holds on, unspoken questions suspended like water drops.

“Didn’t you go back to the house?” Regulus asks bitterly, and James nods, gaze fixed on his fingers holding on to the fabric of the shirt. He frowns, and looks back at Regulus.

“Yeah. You weren’t there,” he states blankly.

James lets his hand drop from the fabric and reaches out to grab Regulus’s hand. The skin is cold, and James wants it warm. He wraps his own around it, entangling their fingers. Regulus winces but doesn’t pull back.

“I don’t know in what world you would ever want to touch me,” Regulus whispers instead, just loud enough to be audible, each word feeling like a stone dropped into the depths of James's heart.

“In what world wouldn’t I?” James chokes out, his voice fractured with heartbreak. He clings to Regulus, his grip tight and desperate, as if releasing him might cause Regulus to dissipate like morning mist under the sun's rays. See me! See me! See the potential of what we could be! James wants to scream, the unsaid words burning in his chest like a fire yearning to be unleashed. 

Regulus tenses, and James feels him pull away slightly, a soft rustle of fabric against skin. But James refuses to let go. He tightens his grip, his fingers intertwining with Regulus’s harder. He can’t let him go. He can’t let him go. He can’t. Please, God, don’t ask him to.

“You didn’t set fire to that house, did you?” James asks, voice barely above a whisper. This isn’t the question that is being asked, but Regulus seems to understand it all the same.

You didn’t kill my mother, did you?

Regulus shakes his head, but it’s heavy with guilt. “I might as well have.”

James shakes his head again. “No. This isn’t how it works, love. You can’t blame yourself for things out of your control.”

“Can’t I, if I’m responsible?” Regulus asks, pulling his hands out, and—

And James is tired. He’s so tired. He’s holding onto his world and his world wants to leave.

James is so tired.

“I don’t care,” he says, and it’s terribly, horrifyingly true. James doesn’t care. He wants this. He wants this more than he wants anything else in this world.

There are fingers on his chin then, tilting his face up, and Regulus is there, crouching in front of him and staring at him with infinite gentleness.

“You have to care, baby. That’s what makes this world bearable.”

James tries to swallow. His mouth is dry.

He watches Regulus leave, because Regulus doesn’t want to be there, and James won’t force him to stay. 

He’s honoured his promise. He found Regulus.

And now, he lets him go.

Doesn’t try to stop him.

🌊

Fate is an interesting mistress. 

She lies to play games.

James just isn’t sure to whom the game is supposed to be funny for.

There is one thing James is sure of.

He is a joke, and Fate is laughing.

She is laughing when James sets foot on deck, half-listening to Frank’s speech. A crowd has formed over Frank, and James cannot see him. The ship’s crew is whispering like the murmur of the tides, but it’s not a surprise. Sailors are notoriously chatty. That’s how legends are born. To be fair, there isn’t much to do at sea but trade stories. Except… James is tired. Exhausted. Mentally frail. He wants to curl up in his cot and stare at the wall. 

“-join us, and with their insights–”

But Fate is laughing, because Frank is talking, and James is reaching the stairs, starting his climb up to his cabin, and he chances a look down, eyes widening–

And promptly misses the step.

He crumples like a sack of wet sand. James thinks his back is broken, or maybe his spirit. Something’s immensely wrong, and James looks up at the sky, feeling dazed and stunned. Maybe he can stay here. Maybe he’s seen wrong. Maybe he’s blind.

But surely not.

James has Regulus’s contours memorised. He’d recognise that boy anywhere.

There is a commotion, and James is still looking up at the sky when Sirius, who was on his way down, flies down the stairs to help him up.

“You all right?” Sirius asks, and James has to shake his head. He’s stunned, and it’s not because of the fall. Sirius frowns. “Do you–”

“Lads,” Frank interrupts. “I’m in the middle of something?”

And it’s worse. It becomes so much worse, so quickly, because the crowd opens up to reveal Frank.

To reveal Frank and Regulus. 

To reveal Frank, Regulus, and four other people.

Sirius freezes. Lets go of James’s arm. James falls back onto the deck.

Well. This is the bottom. He can’t go any further. He turns his eyes to the group surrounding Frank. Sirius is staring. They’re staring back.

Frank looks at them, frowning. “You know each other?”

James lets his head hit the deck. He looks up at the blue sky. 

“Something like that.”

Chapter Text

🌊 BARTY 🌊

“So we’re joining Frank and his crew.”

“I thought you wanted to find the weird horcrux legend things,” Evan pipes up, and Barty wants to slap him. He doesn’t. Evan is stronger than him. That is the only reason, and certainly not because Barty can’t fathom the thought of hurting the boy who never fails to bring a smile to his face.

“I do,” Barty says instead. “And lo and behold, so does he.”

“So does he?” Evan parrots back. “A likely story,” he mumbles, and Barty actually smiles.

Jealousy is a captivating shade. It suits Evan.

“Likely or not, we’re— well, look who decided to join us,” Barty cuts himself off, greeting Regulus who, unsurprisingly, is back from one of his nightly adventures.

It’s not news.

Regulus is the flakiest motherfucker on earth, and Barty loves him dearly. But then again, Barty loves his entire family dearly. The original one was devastating and soul-crushing. This one, though… this one, Barty would set the earth ablaze to protect.

Nevermind that they spend the majority of their free time on the water. Stranger things have happened, and the sea is full of madness. Setting fire to it can’t possibly be much of a reach.

Barty has found that the word impossible seems ill-suited for many of the things he has witnessed with his own eyes.

Get lost, Regulus signs, and Barty returns the gesture with a raised finger.

“If you’re quite done with your hike, care to join us?”

Got something interesting to share, for once?

Ah, but what a charming personality Regulus has. “Fun walk, I take it?”

Regulus responds with another crude gesture. Barty smirks.

Regulus is generally pretty quiet, unless he has nightmares. When he has nightmares, he’ll refuse to go back to bed and will walk until sunrise. These impromptu hikes tend to put him in quite the mood. Not that Regulus isn’t in a mood, at all times, all the time. He's a cantankerous rogue.

Barty hadn't even wanted him on his crew. Severus just— fought for him. No Regulus, no Severus. And Barty likes Severus very much.

He likes everyone very much.

Even Regulus, now, though the bastard certainly didn’t make it easy.

If Barty had to guess, Regulus is allergic to happiness and all things that could maybe, maybe, bring him joy.

It’s okay though, because Regulus is letting it go and learning to open up, which only took several long, long, long months marooned at sea together. And even then, it took Evan taunting him until Regulus broke, until Regulus struck Evan squarely in the face, shouting about — honestly, Barty can't recall — but it all sounded very tragic and chock-full of abandonment issues, which Barty has more than enough of, truly.

What ensued had been, quite honestly, some of the worst fighting he'd ever seen in his life, which served as a testament to the fact that neither Regulus nor Evan actually wanted to hurt one another.

He's seen them both fight for real reasons. After all, one doesn’t become a pirate and avoid confrontation.

It was just… the biggest act of defiance Barty could think of, when it came to his family. He stole the family ship with a crew and slipped away under the cover of night with the boy he wanted to keep. The boy that his family didn't want him to. But Barty wanted Evan, and Evan wanted Barty. His family had always looked down on Evan, seeing him as nothing more than a commoner, a poor fisherman. Barty never understood that. Not once.

To Barty, Evan was everything.

He still is.

And so… a lovely trip out on the family ship. Sailed to another island, burned the ship, stole another one.

Look at them now, a careful balancing act between fishermen and pirates.

No one had told Barty this, but one doesn’t simply live off of pirating. At least, not until an actual treasure is found. That’s what Barty is trying to find. He’s really good at that. Gathering information. Sneaking in conversations. Making friends, acquaintances, and striking deals.

Barty is also very good at betting games. He doesn’t cheat. Well. That isn’t entirely true. He does, but he’s pretty sure Poseidon gave him that gift, so Barty doesn’t feel bad about using it.

That is, Barty can sort of see the future. Well, not sort of.

He can.

A few minutes ahead at most, generally seconds, which Barty always thought was a dumb gift, until— gambling.

Not so shabby, then.

Gambling money is what got them through the first few months. And then, Evan decided that they collectively ‘ought to make an honest living’, and took it upon himself to teach them fishing.

Here they are. Fishermen pirates.

Not quite the terrifying reputation Barty expected, but neither was falling for the son of a fisherman, so, really, his life is just spiralling into whatever it has become, and Barty has let it.

He likes this life.

But he would also like to be rich, so he could stop being woken up at dawn by Evan, who likes to ‘whisper to the fishes’ before he lets them suffocate on the main deck. Barty kind of hates and loves his idiot.

So. Horcruxes.

Frank wants to find a Horcrux and use it.

Barty wants to find a Horcrux and sell it.

Either way, same first steps.

Barty likes Frank. He is funny. His boat is bigger. So when the suggestion is put on the table, that they can perhaps help each other out, Barty says yes.

Frank isn’t entirely aware of the whole ‘pirate’ thing, but Barty assumes this is something that can come up at a later point. Or… not.

Depending on how well they get along with Frank and his crew, Barty guesses.

“Regulus doesn’t do fun walks. It would contradict his composed and aloof demeanour too much,” Severus quips, eliciting the desired reaction: Regulus releases a snort, and Barty smiles. It no longer is such a rare sight. Regulus is actually quite easily swayed into laughter, now.

It took a while for Regulus to stop containing himself so much. Still, there are days where Regulus isn’t— isn’t swayed at all. Where he’s just sad, all day long, and nothing can stop him.

But it isn’t quite as often anymore.

This morning though, Regulus carries an aura of impending storm clouds, as if he's ready to draw daggers and strike down anything that rubs him the wrong way. Even his amused snort is on the wrong edge of danger. Barty makes a mental note to caution Evan, who has a tendency to absentmindedly wander into dangerous territory. Today is not a day Barty wishes to witness Evan spilling crimson in the salt-soaked air. It wouldn't be the first time. Regulus is a paradoxical enigma— a tempestuous whirlwind of strength and ferocity, yet simultaneously a gentle, sensitive soul. Easily bruised. He's a man perpetually at war with himself, battling the contradictions within.

Barty can't help but ponder what it might be like, if Regulus could find a moment's peace. If he could reconcile the opposing forces that rage inside him.

How would it transform the man standing before him, the man who has become an integral part of their makeshift family?

It’s a strange balance, difficult to get right. Barty still hasn’t mastered it completely, but he's getting better at it. He's learned to read the subtle cues in Regulus's behaviour and adjust his own accordingly. They've all learned to adapt to each other in one way or another, growing as a family, a crew.

“Right, well, fun walks aside—” he eyes Regulus, who rolls his eyes, “This is actually important, Reggie, so please pay attention,” Barty says, and Regulus turns to him, focusing.

Chapter Text

 🌊 REGULUS 🌊

There is before, and there is after.

Before, Regulus is making progress. Moving on. Shedding the skin of his past and learning to become a person all his own.

Before, there is Severus, and Evan, and a solution to be found.  A new life forged out of the flames of a disaster.

Before, there is Barty Crouch, of all people, showing up on Evan’s doorstep to ask Evan to join his crew. Seeing Severus and Regulus, shrugging, and extending the offer to them too. There’s Pandora’s face peeking out from behind Barty, and— it’s a whirlwind of new faces for Regulus to see and understand and suddenly care about. Regulus, as we’ve said, doesn’t have space for too many people. He is made of cracks. But then again… he suddenly has one extra space that Death swept by to open up, and another two spaces that he made a conscious effort to sweep away.

He’s good at that, it seems. Making a home for something only to sweep it away.

Before, Regulus is struck by the realisation that these people are all friends, they’ve been friends, and Regulus had simply been left on the periphery. He doesn’t blame them. Regulus doesn’t mind. There is more to witness on the sidelines.

Either way, these are the people that invade the empty spaces left by Effy, Sirius and James. They enter his tunnel vision. They file in through the cracks Regulus is made out of.

A new family is born, and trust blooms.

Over months, Regulus becomes comfortable. Starts to use his voice. It’s a rare thing, still. But it happens. Out of nowhere, Barty announces they have to learn sign language for stealth purposes, and Regulus just nods, because he knows that emoting is hard. Pretending is easier.

So, Severus and Regulus teach Pandora, Evan and Barty sign language.

And for two years, this is what Regulus has.

He never forgets his brother.

He never forgets James.

Still, he moves on.

He has to. It is better this way. They are safer without him.

This is what comforts him, when his chest constricts and he’s laughing with his friends only to find tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

Sirius and James are ghosts in his field of vision. He sees them walking the deck, back and forth, searching for him, and his steps stutter. Dreams and nightmares intertwine, blurring reality.

In his dreams, Regulus cannot hide forever, and his brother finds him. He tells Regulus that his family is dead, that he’s safe, that they can be together. Sometimes, the dreams are very specific, and the only person who dies is Bella, strangled by his hand as she tries to curse him. Bella might be a witch, but a dead witch can’t cast spells. A dead witch can’t find them.

These are the good dreams.

In his nightmares, James finds him, and they’re both smiling, but James’s smile turns bloody and blood starts pouring out of his neck before it detaches itself from James’s body. Bella emerges, her nails like razors, her tongue tracing the lethal edge. The nails transform into swords, flying towards Regulus, narrowly missing their mark, and Regulus wants to say so, wants to point it out, but then, a choked noise from behind him, and Regulus turns to see Sirius impaled, lifeless before he even hits the ground.

These are the bad nightmares.

Severus usually wakes him up from them, shaking him until he stops screaming himself raw from the terror that grips his throat. It takes Regulus a while to recover from them.

But Regulus considers himself fortunate. James and Sirius are far from him, and that keeps them safe.

This is before.

Then, there is after.

After is a time of swirling chaos, where Barty, of all people, forges an unlikely alliance with another captain.

After is another dream where he’s called and he answers, because he can swear it’s James’s voice, and James is in pain, and Regulus goes to him. Of course Regulus goes to him. He has gone to James in every single dream he’s ever had. Except, Regulus has always woken up alone in random settings, before.

This time, he wakes up over a chest full of gold, and that must be just another dream. He’s had so many of these since joining Barty’s crew. It must be, so it doesn't explain how Regulus sees James, how James is physically present, and why Regulus instinctively launches himself at him. Regulus just does . He does, because James is here , and James can’t be. Regulus isn’t a safe place for James to anchor himself to.

If he had, Regulus never would have left in the first place.

Regulus chalks it all up to a dream. After all, these are all they’ve ever been before. But then James kisses him.

That kiss cements the truth of it. A dream it must be. That kiss launches him outside reality. It feels like the first breath after being submerged in water.

Except James doesn’t get decapitated, and the dream doesn’t turn into a nightmare, and it doesn’t end, and it feels— it feels— it feels. It feels like coming home.

That’s the realisation that pushes Regulus over the edge.

Coming home is not a good thing. Home is dangerous, and so is James when he has that fire in his eyes. And Regulus is weak. He's never been strong a day in his life. All he does is run away.

This, he thinks, might be the hardest steps he ever takes.

Away from James, and towards James’s safety.

Bellatrix is a witch. She knows how to find people. Regulus knows. He knows, the moment he lets go, the moment he dares to think, even for a moment, that he can have nice things, Bella will come and destroy it.

That is the price of desertion in his family.

The Black family curse.

Regulus knows better than to trifle with curses.

And yet.

There is a fleeting instant, suspended in this liminal space, where Regulus dares to envision a life in which he gets to have what he yearns for.

In the cave, there is a chest overflowing with gold.

In the cave, there is a chest brimming with love.

Regulus abandons both.

In the cave, there are now three chests, and one of them encases the heart he isn't permitted to wield.

Regulus shuts the door on that vision of his life. Goes back to the ship. Tries to contain the cracks.

It’s difficult to remain moody and sad, when Barty and Severus are so intent on making him laugh. Regulus hates it. He likes it. He wants to brood. He wants to smile.

This is his life now, a careful balance.

“Right, well, fun walks aside, this is actually important, Reggie, so please pay attention,” Barty says. So Regulus turns to Barty, exchanges a glance with Severus, and pays attention.

🌊

They row out to meet another ship.

Regulus stands on the deck.

The crew opens up, and Regulus’s world shifts on its axis. Fate has plucked him from his safe haven and hurled him headlong into a storm. Regulus has perfect vision, and before him are Sirius and James, their eyes wide with disbelief.

It’s the three of them, and all the bleeding wounds time has refused to heal. The ghosts that haunted him are flesh and bone, and the fragile balance he had achieved shatters.

Regulus should have known he couldn't bury his past. That his past wouldn't stay dead. But no one had ever told him it would grow claws and chase him. That Regulus wouldn’t be able to outrun it.

He thinks of Bellatrix, and nails, and he’s terrified. These aren’t nightmares, they’re predictions. Regulus just knows it.

Barty can see seconds ahead, but Regulus can see their entire lives pass by in a blink. It’s very quick. It’s happiness followed by family finding them and death.

Regulus doesn’t see Sirius and think, brother. He sees Sirius and thinks, run.

He doesn’t see James and think, love. He sees James and thinks, please, God, not you.

Regulus knows these are emotions born out of fear. He doesn’t know how to feel anything else.

The three of them stand there, silent as the space between heartbeats stretches into an eternity. The air crackles with tension, charged with the weight of four years of unspoken words and memories they thought they'd left behind.

Sirius is the first to move. He takes a hesitant step forward, his eyes locked onto Regulus's. There's pain in his gaze. Old wounds that have never healed.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Regulus takes a step towards his brother and the man he loves. It's a small gesture, a fragile bridge across the chasm that divides them. Immediately, he wants to take it back. Step backwards. Simultaneously, he wants to start running forward.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know. He’s rooted to the deck.

Brother.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius stands on the boat, paralysed, feeling the salt-laden wind whip at his hair.

Paralysed.

Sirius doesn’t talk about his brother. He can’t, because it hurts. He can’t, because aside from the Rum Night, during which Sirius may have drunk unrecommended levels of alcohol, Sirius has said a grand total of nothing at all.

Regulus is a topic he avoids like a treacherous reef, hidden beneath the surface.

It's a strange thing, losing a brother.

It’s like a part of your soul being ripped out and left to wither, leaving a gaping hole that can't quite be filled by anything else.

It only makes it all worse when the brother isn’t dead.

When the brother is somewhere, but not here. When the brother doesn’t want you.

When the brother went through one of the worst things imaginable and instead of running to you – waiting for you – he ran away, instead.

Sirius doesn’t think he’ll ever get over this rejection. Being kicked out of his home by his own mother left a painprint on his heart. Losing Euphemia was harder still. But losing his brother? Losing his brother was worse.

Anyone that has never had a sibling cannot possibly imagine. A sibling is everything. It’s everything, the air in lungs and the reason behind smiles and losing that is worse.

Worse still is that Regulus had decided that Sirius wouldn't be worth being home for.

Sirius can almost forgive Regulus leaving. Four years ago, Sirius had left, too. But he had promised Regulus he would return, and he had . He had come back. Regulus, in turn, had promised Sirius he'd be there when they came home, but hadn't been.

Sirius hates Regulus for it. He hates him. He loves him, he loves him, he loves him, that’s his brother.

Sirius draws in a shaky breath, forcing his limbs to obey him once more. He steps cautiously over James's body, closing the gap between himself and Regulus. The distance between them stretches for miles. It is only a matter of steps.

As Sirius approaches, Regulus stands taller, trying to brace himself. They are two ships on a collision course, drawn together by a magnetic force they can't escape.

And Regulus is lookinglookinglooking at his brother, eyes wide, and Sirius doesn’t care about the fear he sees there. It’s not aimed at him, he knows that. He knows, because Regulus is his brother. Sirius would recognise Regulus’s marrow from thirty miles out. Sirius would recognise any part of Regulus, anywhere, forever. That’s what siblings do. They belong to each other, from cradle to grave.

That’s his brother.

There is space and then Regulus is here , and Sirius wraps his arms around him, enveloping Regulus in a tight, fierce embrace.

The moment their bodies collide, a dam breaks within Sirius. The years of longing, anger, and love come crashing down like a torrent, and he clings to Regulus as if he's a lifeline.

He isn’t the only one. Regulus’s arms are around him in a second, and they’re holding on like letting go would be a sin, and Sirius thinks how idiotic, as if I’m ever letting you go ever again, you belong in these arms, you’re my brother, you’re my brother, you’re a part of my soul and I just found you, where were you, where were you, I looked for you, and where were you, soul of mine?

Sirius doesn't know how long they stand there, entwined in each other's arms, but it feels like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough. Eventually, he pulls back, only to grip Regulus's shoulders, shaking him hard. He wants to punch Regulus. He does.

And yet.

There is not a world where Sirius would ever raise his hand to Regulus. So, he shakes him, his voice cracking with suppressed tears.

“You’re alive.”

Because, really. That’s all that matters.

There he is, alive, and alive, and alive and well.

Sirius drags Regulus away.

Voices call for him, but he can't care. The boat can wait or leave. All that matters is holding onto his brother.

He drags Regulus away, and Regulus follows.

That’s all that matters.

Regulus isn’t struggling. He’s following. He’s following Sirius, walking in his steps, and he’s a step behind, and Sirius can protect him like this, and Sirius drags him away, until they’re alone, and it’s a beach, and it’s full of pebbles, because the beach is shielded and the ocean's waves haven't yet transformed the pebbles into sand, a testament to the shore's sheltered nature.

Regulus has let go of his hand at some point, but he’s following still, so very close to Sirius.

They’re walking, and all the while their hearts are speaking to each other. Screaming over one another, I’m scared to lose you again, because what we have, I won’t find it in anyone else, and this is home, here I am again, why does it feel like dancing on broken edges? and family, family, family.

Unbothered by the cold water, Regulus takes a seat where the waves reach his feet, knees up. His pants soak up the water, and it must be cold. Uncomfortable. Sirius follows.

Maybe they don’t need to be comfortable for this discussion.

Sirius doesn’t look at Regulus, though it’s all he can think about.

It’s him, there, and it’s him, and—

“Your thoughts are louder than you think,” Regulus says eventually, and Sirius didn’t expect it at all, the sudden wave of relief. Because Regulus isn’t the home he used to know, but his voice is the same. Darker, sharper, but it’s the same, and maybe there are things that can be salvaged from the wreckage.

Sirius just grabs a pebble, tossing and catching it before it meets the water.

"I thought I would never see you again," Sirius says, and Regulus's reply is quick and cutting. He signs, You almost didn't.

“What happened?”

Regulus turns to him, eyes hard. Don’t you already know? He signs aggressively, and Sirius should have expected it. The resentment.

Because Sirius does, in fact, know. The house burned to a char has the Black family curse written all over it. This had been no accident. Sirius knows this.

Sirius betrayed family, and family came back to exact vengeance. And then, Regulus — family as well — made him pay for it by leaving him.

In one day, Sirius lost a mother, got betrayed by his family, and was abandoned by his brother. Sirius hasn’t recovered from this yet.

He’s trying to. It’s difficult to heal alone, without the part of your soul that decided to leave you.

“I didn’t imagine they would ever go to this length,” Sirius says eventually.

Regulus snorts, and fists his hand, extending his left index finger and forming a C with the other hand. He makes a quick, forceful poking motion outward. Like it’s lies. Nonsense.

Bullshit.

Sirius shakes his head. “I— why did you leave with me, then, if you knew this could be the result.”

And that seems to anger Regulus more.

I can’t live without you.

Then where were you? Sirius replies. The hand gestures are wild, and choppy, and filled with so much anger. And maybe that’s the tipping point.

Regulus sucks his teeth. He signs, dead serious. Surviving.

Sirius starts crying, then. It’s a culmination of everything. Fear and relief and stress and love — and something ugly and painful too.

“Where were you, Regulus? Where were you?” His voice is cleaved in two, broken and jagged and destroyed. An agonising refrain that echoes in the chasm of his heart. “Where were you? We came back. Where were you?” Why did you leave us? Why didn’t you come back? We left a note, we stayed for weeks in that city, we did everything so you would be able to find us if you heard, but you never came back, you never came back, and where were you? “Where were you?”

Arms coil around him like ivy. Legs encircle him on either side, his back drawn into Regulus's vice-like embrace. Their limbs intertwine, and they hold on to each other like it’s the only saving grace they have, like this is all they’re good for.

Regulus's chest melds against Sirius's back, and he realises he was wrong, so terribly wrong. This is home, the one true sanctuary that nothing else can ever replicate. “I’m sorry, where were you, I’m so sorry, where were you,” he keeps repeating, lips against Regulus’s forearm, fingers sinking in like grappling hooks, etching fingerprints, and they’re his fingerprints, and he knows fingerprints are unique, and they’re on Regulus’s skin— and why hadn’t he done that before, he would have found him then, Sirius thinks irrationally, if his fingers were on Regulus, he would have found his way back, they would have found each other, they—

“I’m sorry, too,” Regulus whispers, hot tears tracking down his neck and into Sirius’s shirt.

What a picture they make. Tear-soaked and holding on like it’s the last ship that will leave the port.

Sirius doesn’t think before he speaks, all he is feelings and emotions and determination.

“Never leave us again,” Sirius pleads, and Regulus chokes on his tears, but he doesn’t reply, and Sirius digs in, furiously holding on. “Never leave me again,” he repeats more firmly, and Regulus shakes his head, still. His heart aches, yet it's Sirius's hands pressing against his chest that squeeze . "It's the way you hurt, Regulus. When you're in pain," Sirius grasps his hands tighter, holding them against his own chest, "I feel it too. Everything that happens to you happens to me too.”

Sirius turns around, because Regulus held him, but it’s Regulus who now needs to be held. He gently pulls his brother into a hug, enveloping him in warmth and safety. As Sirius holds his brother close, he can feel the tremors of Regulus's body.

“They’ll find us. She’ll find us, Sirius, you know she will, she—”

“I don’t care. I don’t care, Regulus. Listen to me. If they separate us, they win, do you understand?” Sirius says, and they’re rocking together now, and Sirius couldn’t stop rocking if he tried. Anything to ease Regulus’s pain. Anything to ease his own.

“They’ve already won. They took Effy, they’ll take you, they’ll take James, and I—” and I can’t bear this, I won't bear this, I'll remain in solitude for eternity, I'll weave an alternate tapestry for your existence, and you'll be secure, and we won't be together but you’ll be safe, and it’s what I need, all I need is for you to be safe.

Regulus doesn’t need to say this. Sirius already knows.

But Sirius has had time to prepare. Two years of staring at the ceiling and unravelling all the reasons why Regulus might have done what he did. Two years of piecing it together. The worst part is that Sirius understands why Regulus did it, which makes him equipped to dismantle that belief.

"They only win if you leave again. That's the curse, Regulus. We left together, and they separated us. Whether she finds us or not, whether we're together or not, we're only strong if we're together, don't you get that? That's the one thing they can't take from us."

But Regulus is shaking his head. Sirius insists. "They taught us to leave to protect ourselves from them, Regulus. We need to teach ourselves to stay to protect each other, now.”

Regulus is crying more heavily now, and Sirius knows that’s a good sign. He doesn’t want Regulus to cry, but he does need Regulus to realise that Sirius is family, that Regulus doesn’t have to keep shouldering everything. That he can lay down his strength. That Sirius has him. He tells him, now. "It's too late to leave again, you're already in here," Sirius says, gesturing to his heart. "You're in here, and you're in James, and promise you'll never leave again. Stay for yourself. If not for us, then for you. Stay with us, for you."

And then.

Regulus is nodding. It’s faint. Sirius can barely feel it against his chest. But

Regulus

is

nodding.

“Promise you won’t leave,” Sirius whispers, and holds his breath. This is the turning point, he knows. Whatever Regulus says now, that’s their fate, sealed.

“I won’t.”

Sirius’s breath leaves his body all at once. Deflating like he’s just fought the hardest battle of his life. He steels himself. One last thing.

“Promise.”

Promises are important in their world. They do their best to stand by them.

And Regulus,

He

Promises.

It’s not a promise Regulus will be able to keep. But he doesn’t know that. Not yet, anyway.

🌊

It takes time, as all things tend to do. Healing requires patience.

Regulus takes careful, gentle steps toward Sirius.

Sirius takes gentle, careful steps back towards Regulus.

Together, they work on mending what both of them tore apart. But tears can repair themselves. And what cannot be repaired is put through the gruelling task of transforming anew. There are hard conversations, and difficult truths articulated into quiet spaces.

Regulus and Sirius aren't the only ones working on repairing the frayed tapestry of their past.

James refuses to talk to Regulus, for a while. It takes time. Three weeks, in fact, for James to relent, as he was always bound to do. There is no force in the universe that can stop James and Regulus from colliding back. This gravitational dance has been the issue from the start, hasn't it? Regulus tugs, only for James to resist. Or James pulls back, only for Regulus to cross the line of fire and invade James's orbit.

The ship is filled with complicated conversations.

Severus, for all his efforts, does take a fist to the mouth when James learns he lied to them that night in the tavern. Which really isn’t necessary, because Severus has been hit then as well. For another reason, but still.

Regulus doesn’t like that. He punches James right back.

"Never hit my best friend again," are the words snarled into James's face, and that— that's the tipping point for them both. James brushes his nose against Regulus, breath warm against Regulus's face.

“Yeah? Make me.”

The confrontation, in all honesty, is ridiculously ugly. It doesn’t even reassemble a fight. All it is is Regulus yelling at James, and James yelling at Regulus, and everyone making themselves very scarce and very busy, because it isn’t a fight at all, it’s a lover's quarrel. There are awful words exchanged, and they hurt, and they come out anyway. It all culminates when Regulus, in a very little brother moment, just— shoves James overboard. The ship isn’t moving, and there isn’t much that could have happened to James. But James falls into the water, and Regulus barely spares a glance before leaving, letting James drag himself back up. Regulus isn’t ten steps away before James drags him through the deck and launches him into the water in turn.

This is the point where Sirius attempts to intervene, only to have Remus hold him back.

"They need this. Let them fight it out.”

The thing is, Sirius doesn’t want them to fight. He’s aware that there are unresolved issues, and that fixing them won’t be simple, but this is just— chaos. It’s fighting for no reason, because both of them want the same thing, and why are they fighting?

“Because they’re scared,” Remus tells him one night. “They’re scared the other will leave, and it feels less terrifying to hurt the other than to hold on.”

“I’m tired of seeing them upset.”

“It’ll pass,” Remus says.

Time marches on, relentless and unstoppable. Remus is right.

There is conflict, followed by mutual avoidance, until one morning, Sirius awakens too early and finds himself on the upper deck, admiring the ocean's vastness and the sun's slow ascent, only to realise he isn't the only early riser.

Regulus perches on the boat's prow, legs dangling, and James approaches cautiously from behind. Sirius resists the urge to interrupt. It's hard not to watch. These are the most important people in his life.

But perhaps Remus was right.

James doesn’t push Regulus into the water, and Regulus doesn’t ask James to fuck off.

Regulus just looks up, neck twisting to watch James approach. Even from this distance, Sirius can see the fight drain from Regulus's body.

There is nothing left.

Regulus is wrung out.

And either James can see it too, or James’s fight has also left him, because all James does is sit behind Regulus, extending his legs on each side of the other man’s. Sirius watches as his best friend slowly encases his little brother in his arms. He watches as Regulus scoots back, and as James hooks his chin over Regulus's shoulder.

He's too far to hear their words, and he suspects they aren't meant for his ears anyway.

This moment is theirs.

And so, Sirius leaves them to it.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James spots Regulus on the boat's prow, gazing at the ocean's sway.

Regulus, so striking and lovely. And it’s so, so unfair that they haven’t been able to enjoy each other’s company. It’s been teeth and resentment, turbulent clashes and fears exposed like bones. James isn’t stupid. He knows why Regulus is fighting so hard. He also knows why he is fighting back. The truth is, James has a lot of resentment stored in his chest, too.

He left Regulus with the promise of coming back, and he did.

This is James’s greatest sin.

Regulus then proceeded to make his best friend lie to them, forced them away from James’s island, found him on the other side of the world, kissed James, then left him alone again.

James has issues with all of that. None of this is all right. James is furious.

Fighting Regulus feels good. Cathartic.

For a while.

But the fight grows stale. James doesn't want fists on his chest; he wants hands in his hair. No cruel words or sharp jabs. James is weary. He doesn’t want to fight.

Judging by Regulus’s form, Regulus is all out of fighting today as well.

So James nears, and Regulus lets him. James crouches, and Regulus allows it. James encases Regulus, chest pressing against Regulus’s back, and then they’re pressed against each other, and it doesn’t hurt.

James enjoys it, just like this. No one is awake. The boat is quiet.

James suddenly doesn’t care about fighting and battles and anything that doesn’t involve loving Regulus. So he nuzzles Regulus’s neck and is rewarded with full body shiver.

“I like you like this,” James whispers against Regulus’s neck.

“What, caged?”

James pulls back, searching Regulus's eyes for a hidden meaning. He finds vulnerability, a rare, raw honesty that leaves them both exposed. The world outside, with its conflicts and turmoil, seems to dissolve around them. They are simply two hearts entwined, bleeding their truths onto the pages of each other's lives.

James shakes his head. “Mine.” He tightens his grip. “You feel invincible between my arms. Like nothing can happen to you. Like I can protect you.”

“You know you can’t.”

“I want to try,” James says anyway.

“I’m polluted marrow,” Regulus tries again.

“If that's the case, let me be the acid that dissolves it away, the mercury that purges it from your bones.”

It’s quiet, for a beat too long. And then.

James feels Regulus folding. Bending. Melting. His entire body relinquishes control, and the battle is won.

The battle is won.

James wants to cry.

“Promise,” Regulus whispers.

James feels his resolve surging. Thundering. Reverberating.

Promises are important in their world. They do their best to stand by them.

And James,

He

Promises.

It’s not a promise James will be able to keep. But he doesn’t know that. Not yet, anyway.

Chapter Text

Incredible art by talitasami

🌊 REGULUS 🌊

There are things that Regulus never thought he would ever get to have.

There are things that Regulus never dared hope he would ever get.

And yet.

These are the things that Regulus gets.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

Regulus speaks French, as does Sirius. Sirius doesn’t really practise it, but James knows that Regulus writes in French. He’s a poetic heart, Regulus. He’s seen his words written, the meaning as elusive as sunken treasure. All he knows is that Regulus’s handwriting is beautiful.

It’s another experience, having Regulus speak them to him again. It’s been years, and James is transported back to a small bedroom where the stones aren’t charred yet. Death hasn’t touched them, and they’re growing up together. James’s feet are up against the wall. The room feels comfortable, and everything is right. In this moment, this is how James feels again.

Right.

Like all the twisted ropes of his life have been untangled, and he's allowed to drift peacefully in calm waters.

They’re sitting on the prow, James’s body encasing Regulus’s smaller frame. It’s their spot, now. The place where they can’t be touched.

Finally.

They find themselves here a lot. Well, as much as two people living on a boat with others can, anyway. Between standing watch, performing maintenance tasks, and other duties, finding moments of peace and quiet can be a challenge. But James and Regulus have a way of making it work. They steal moments together whenever they can, whether it's sharing a meal in the galley or stealing a few minutes of conversation during a training session.

One stolen moment at a time, strung together like precious pearls.

James is twenty-one years old. He looks at Regulus and sees a thousand years into the future. Uncharred stones and wooden houses. Blooming flowers and scattered notebooks. Crashing waves and lazy afternoons walking hand in hand along the shore. The sound of the sea and the smell of crushed leaves.

We’ve made it, he thinks.

The sun is setting, casting a warm glow on their faces as they sit at the ship's rail. Regulus’s face is turned up to the sky, temple resting against James’s neck. James’s hands are casually circling Regulus’s waist. James is nosing at Regulus’s own neck. Breathing him in. And Regulus is speaking French.

“Je capitule. Je m’abandonne à ton autel. Je ne prie qu’à toi. Ta mère m’a porté jusqu'à toi, et je m’enivre de ton odeur salée. Les gens disent qu’une famille vient du sang, mais l’océan n’est-elle pas aussi liquide? N’appartient-on pas tous à la même mer?”

All James can think at that moment is that loving Regulus feels like inventing a new language. That’s the best way James can explain what happens between them, the wisps of magic that escape the love language they are creating together.

It’s called familiarity, he thinks. It’s intimacy growing bold and forming new words. It’s references to things no one can understand but them. The whispers of "Do you remember when..." that cannot be understood by anyone else, because it was just the two of them, then. It’s so special, to be understood so completely by another person.

It’s so special, to see your person and watch them unravel in front of you. The days are easy and Regulus is laughing. The days are hard and Regulus doesn’t say much. James is there for it all. They’re building, constructing something so new and yet so old, so needed, so necessary.

James isn’t good at French. He’s good at love, though. This is a language he can teach. So he does, without coercion. They have time, don’t they?

Life ends, but love is infinite.

James doesn’t care about Horcruxes. He doesn’t care about chests full of gold. He doesn’t care if all they do, now until the rest of time, is fish. He’ll fish his entire life for the chance to witness morning wisps of sun tangle in Regulus’s hair.

“I know you are saying words, love, but I don’t think my brain has the capacity to really understand them.”

“Your brain doesn’t have the capacity to understand much either way,” Regulus replies lightly, and James squeezes his waist in reprimand.

“Tell me,” he says softly.

Regulus folds. Bends. Melts. These are now James’s favourite words. These words all carry a common meaning– progress.

With the hand not intertwined with James's, Regulus reaches back to play with the hair at the nape of James's neck.

"I surrender. I give myself to your altar. I only pray to you. Your mother brought me to you, and I intoxicate myself with your salty scent. People say that a family comes from blood, but isn't the ocean just as fluid? Don't we all belong to the same sea?" he translates quietly, and James exhales.

"I'm not sure I understand it in English either, love," he says eventually, smiling into Regulus's neck.

"It means I can't get lost with you. It means every path I take leads me back here.”

"So, just lengthy detours?" James teases, and Regulus nods against James's warm skin.

"Yes. Just detours."

It’s meant to be lovely, he thinks, in an all-the-roads-lead-back-to-you way, but James can’t help it. His mind flashes back to the years of searching, and the nights where maybe James was never going to find Regulus, and James feels these words plucking at his heartstrings, misinterpreting them. But Regulus sees the way the words are twisted and changed in James’s brain, so he grabs James’s chin with his thumb and index finger, pulling him closer. James can almost taste Regulus’s lips like this.

Regulus plucks new words out of thin air, and makes them the most important of James’s vocabulary. His eyes dance back and forth between James’s eyes and his lips, and a gust of warm breath against his lips makes James breath in. He wants, he wants, he wants.

“These belong to me, now,” Regulus breathes out.

And they do, and James says so. “Yes.”

They’re healing.

🌊REMUS🌊

Remus has been gifted with many surprises in the past few years. So many, in fact, that he thinks nothing should surprise him anymore and yet. He is pleasantly surprised by that one. By the fact that Regulus becomes a good friend.

The truth is, Remus can’t help but look at Regulus and see parts of himself.

He shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that they get along like a house on fire— that might be a bad analogy. They get along beautifully, though.

Their friendship is different from the rest, and perhaps that it is good.

Remus doesn’t need many people to feel whole. He has Sirius, and James, and he has lovely conversations with Evan, who teaches him how to fish.

Remus spent years alone. He is used to the quiet. He doesn’t need all the stimuli from dozens of friendships.

Regulus is different, Remus can tell. Regulus is shy, but he’s needy. He wants to be noticed, wants to be cared for in all the different ways that Severus, Sirius, James, Barty, Evan and Pandora can provide. They are all feeding a facet of Regulus’s needs.

Remus, as it turns out, feeds Regulus's need for quiet. They don't actually talk much.

But Regulus likes to join Remus on the upper deck when Remus takes on the arduous tasks of peeling dozens of potatoes. If he is honest, Remus is ready to never eat a potato again. He understands that they do well at sea, he does. But by God, they are boring.

Regulus sits with him.

It's easy.

Severus pulled him aside once, to tell Remus that this was Regulus's way of approaching people. Quiet observation. Gentle assessment.

So Remus had let himself be assessed.

Until, "My family also has gifts." These are the first words Regulus speaks directly to Remus. They have been at sea for three weeks.

"Oh?” Remus replies carefully, "What kind of gifts?"

Regulus hesitates, then says, "My cousin can see the entire family on a map. My other cousin, she’s… she’s very good with plants. Even in the dead of winter, everything she touches just— blooms. My father, he could— he can mimic the voice of anyone he has heard before.”

Remus considers this for a moment. “Sirius never told me.”

Regulus closes his eyes briefly. “Sirius doesn’t talk about family.”

Remus nods, once. “What’s yours?” he asks carefully, and Regulus shakes his head. “I don’t think I have one. I— I have these dreams where I can hear— overlapping voices, and I don’t— it’s stupid. They’re just dreams.”

Remus wants to say that James also has had these ‘just dreams’ that almost led him straight to the deep. He doesn’t. It’s not the time. And James hasn’t mentioned it to Regulus, which Remus can only assume is for a good reason, whatever it may be.

"It's not stupid," Remus says softly instead. "Dreams are... Maybe there's something more to them."

Regulus nods slowly. "Maybe," he murmurs. He chews his lips, considering. Doesn’t say anything.

Remus eventually speaks up, his gaze fixed on the potatoes. "You can ask, you know," he says, because that’s what Regulus is asking, isn’t he. He isn’t sharing information to share information, that’s not Regulus. He’s digging for something. Regulus isn’t good at asking for anything.

Remus thinks he can show Regulus that it’s possible to just ask. That sometimes, questions have easy answers. He glances at Regulus, who looks at him from the corner of his eyes. Slowly, Regulus tucks a leg under his chin, resting his cheek on it in thought.

After a moment, Regulus speaks up, his voice low and hesitant. "Is it just on your birthday, or do you— are there other gifts that are borne from it?"

Remus hums thoughtfully, considering Regulus's question. “My hands can heal. I’m also very smart, but I don’t know if it’s from the— or, from just… me. I—” Remus starts, and chuckles a little, because it is funny, and he’s allowing himself to laugh about his condition, now. It’s been a burden for too long. Remus doesn’t want it anymore. “I have excellent grip,” he adds, and Regulus doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t. He doesn’t, but there is a smile, right there. On the corner of Regulus’s lips.

“Nice suckers,” Regulus says quietly, lips stretching, and he and Remus exchange a quiet laugh.

It’s so gentle, their conversation.

“Can you grow… limbs?” Regulus asks, growing bolder, before abruptly changing his mind, “No, ah— no. Nevermind. I don’t actually want to know. I—”

“I don’t,” Remus cuts him off, letting him off the hook before Regulus starts spiralling.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. I don’t remember it well, either. When I transform, I mean. I just… I just go away, look from a distance, but... It’s terrifying actually. Because it’s my body, but then it isn’t, and it’s my mind, but then it isn’t. So where do I go?”

Regulus lets Remus’s words seep in. “Would you prefer knowing?”

"I don't know," he admits, "Maybe." He falls silent.

Regulus nods. "I get it," he says softly. "The unknown is a little terrifying, isn’t it?”

Remus's mind drifts to memories of his childhood– the house where he spent the first five years of his life, his first trip and a side of death, the subsequent decade spent in a cell. He thinks about how he finds solace hiding in crates when the weight of the world feels too heavy. Remus turns his gaze to Regulus then, truly seeing him for the first time. He notices how the sunlight catches the edges of his hair, and the elegant curve of his jawline. He wonders how he never saw it before. He looks just like Sirius. Sharper, but then again, everything about Sirius is so soft, to Remus. Like stepping into a dream. The rest of the world a dull, grey wasteland in comparison to the vibrant hues that surround Sirius. 

“Yes,” Remus says, “it is.” He turns back to the task at hand. “All people see when they look at me is tragedy. I wish I could be made of the stronger stuff.”

That drags a laugh out of Regulus, who shakes his head.

Remus grunts, “What?”

“My brother looks at you like you're a work of art, not a tragedy." Regulus says.

“He does?” Remus shifts. “Does he… does he have a gift, too?”

This time, Regulus’s smile is genuine. “Yeah. I think you’re it.”

🌊SEVERUS🌊

Severus does get an apology from one James Potter. It’s heartfelt, which Severus hates. Severus wants to dislike James, but his mind is screaming ally, and Severus doesn’t know how to stop it. How to reverse it.

James is ally, and Severus accepts the apology.

It’s difficult for Severus not to notice the obvious fit between James and Regulus. The less they fight and the more they cave,  the more Severus understands.

Regulus doesn’t need a cliff to decide whether to soar and fly or soar and fall with James around. 

Severus observes their interactions closely, studying the way James and Regulus move around each other, the way they communicate without words. Severus wishes he had someone like that in his life, someone he could rely on without reservation. But the only person he's ever trusted completely was Lily, and she's gone. Or, more accurately, he left her. He tries to push the thought out of his mind, but it lingers like a stubborn stain. He watches James and Regulus laugh together, and a pang of longing hits him hard.

Severus wants to feel like he belongs somewhere, too, the way Regulus and James belong together. 

James seems to instinctively know when Regulus needs support, when he needs someone to talk to, or when he just needs a shoulder to lean on. And Regulus seems to trust James implicitly, letting him take care of him in a way that Severus has never seen before. It's not just the way James takes care of Regulus, though. It's the way he does it without any expectation of anything in return. 

Severus has always been protective of Regulus, but watching them together, it’s obvious that there's a difference between being protective and taking care of someone. James is both, though it’s clear to see he’s trying very hard to contain the protectiveness. He’s correct in doing so, too. Regulus wouldn’t appreciate that.

There’s something else, too. Severus is Regulus’s best friend. This hasn’t changed. Regulus spends an extraordinary amount of time with Severus, and James seems to be glad of it, because he still spends an extraordinary amount of time with Frank. With Sirius. They’re building relationships outside of one another, and Severus thinks that’s good. That’s healthy. It's not just James and Regulus who are building relationships outside of their own. Severus has started to branch out as well. It's a slow process, and Severus still finds it difficult to let his guard down around others, but he's trying. 

Still. James makes an effort to get to know Severus. It’s awkward and tentative and all wrong, the way forcing people that should have never met is. But James is a force to be reckoned with, and finally, they find common ground.

Mothers.

Eileen and Euphemia. 

It’s not what you’d expect two grown men to bond over. And yet.

Severus speaks first. "She was a talented woman, you know." He sighs, recalling the memories of a woman who had suffered in silence, and yet had passed on some much love to her son.

James nods. "Euphemia was warm. Gentle to the touch. A hug in the shape of a person." He smiles wistfully, thinking back to the many times his mother had offered support and love to him and his friends.

It's a strange sort of camaraderie, this newfound understanding of each other's vulnerabilities and strengths.

The atmosphere among their circle of friends becomes lighter, more cohesive. The bonds between them all strengthen, and they become more than just a group of individuals – they become a family.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

They’re walking back from the city.

It’s just that Regulus’s nightmares haven’t stopped. They’ve eased up, but there are times still, where he’ll wake up in cold sweats. These nights, he’ll seek refuge alone. But sometimes, sometimes he’ll allow James or Severus to go with him. They’ve been moored for a few days now, in a town James cannot pronounce the name of, far east. Frank seems to be under the impression that they are getting closer to something. James doesn’t feel the same way, but then again, James doesn’t necessarily care about Horcruxes, as established. He’s happy like this. James doesn’t think he wants much more than the life he’s currently living.

All he wants, perhaps, is for Regulus to be at peace. To settle more. To stop looking behind his back constantly.

It’s worse for Regulus, when they’re moored.

Regulus explained Bellatrix’s power to James, once. It’s a family gift. The Blacks, they’re like Barty. Some of them have got some gifts, some things they can do. Bella can just— see their entire family as dots on a map. When the dots are on the move, it’s more complex to pin down. The movement of the water tends to perturb the gift, complicating the localisation. Because of the turmoil, and because of the ways ships sail, quicker than horses on land would be. It creates interference.

Regulus doesn’t like being on land because of it. Water is safer.

It’s probably why he gets restless and starts walking.

James thinks Regulus figures, if Bella finds him and he’s alone, he’ll be the only one to suffer.

So, it’s barely morning, and James is leading Regulus back to the ship.

It’s a gentle walk. Regulus’s palm is against his. He likes that, the contact of Regulus’s palm against his hand. James likes everything about Regulus, of course, but his hands have always been so special. They were the first mode of communication they ever had. They revert to it often, even now, even as Regulus gets comfortable and starts talking, more and more, to everyone. It’s draining, but he does it. He tries. Like it’s the most important thing he can do. To try.

And James loves. It’s ingrained in his bones at this point, filtering through his blood.

James loves Regulus.

He hasn’t said it. He doesn’t think he needs to. Regulus knows. And they have time, don’t they? They have so much time, and the timing isn’t right, and James will be damned if he rushes anything ever again when it comes to them.

He refuses.

Instead, he is tightly holding on to Regulus’s hand, thumb tracing patterns on the soft skin between Regulus’s thumb and index finger.

It’s a soft morning, and James is staring. He can’t help it. James tries to take notice of all the subtle changes he didn’t take time to notice before. James had been busy fighting, then kissing, then fighting, then ignoring Regulus… and— James has time to take Regulus in, now. So he does. The hair is the same — thank God — and the eyes are as deep as he remembers, but that is where the resemblance stops. He’s taller now, almost as tall as James. He was angular, James remembers thinking, but he’s grown into his angles. He’s sharp now. Lethal cheekbones. Aristocratic nose. Dangerous lips.

He could cut his heart in two.

James would gladly offer it to him, his heart. He’s known the boy for years. The offering stands.

He’d tear it out himself if Regulus only asked.

James wishes he could say he fell in love with Regulus like one does with a stream, slow and steady. But loving Regulus isn’t slow and steady, it’s a tornado heart. Wind and storm and thunder and so much love erupting from nowhere and consuming everything in its path. It’s the howling winds that whips around him, leaving him breathless and exhilarated, leaving its mark upon James's heart.

It’s frightening, the lengths that James would go for that man. Farther than he would for Remus.

Farther than he would for Sirius.

The revelation aches. But Sirius isn’t soft the way Regulus is. James doesn’t need to be there for Sirius. He wants to be, but he’s not needed.

It’s different with Regulus. It’s different, because James needs Regulus, the same way that Regulus is slowly allowing himself to need James.

James has never truly spent much time thinking about the future. For the last two years, the only future he wanted was one where he found Regulus. Regulus was always - always - going to be a part of James’s future.

Years at sea taught him two important lessons.

One about himself. James is strong. Useful, on a boat. Smart. People listen to him. He is valuable.

One about others. James is lucky. The people that populate this world aren’t always nice. They aren’t here to make friends. James had not realised that the people he had been exposed to, who had entered his life by accident— by fate — would be the best ones.

This is not to say he hasn’t made friends. He has. But nothing compares. To Sirius. To Regulus. These two humans are his. He will protect them with his life.

🌊 

The truth is that James and Regulus haven’t… There has been a lot of emotional upheaval, and James’s mind wasn’t really focused on physical wants.

If he’s honest, James feels like the past few weeks have wrung him through the entire spectrum of emotions several times over. James did not have time to feel— anything but bone-weariness.

It’s fading, now.

There are strong charges passing between his eyes and Regulus’s when they pass each other, and tense silences that could wreck a ship. Sirius doesn’t even look at them anymore. Severus has also made himself very scarce, ever since James heard him suggest to Regulus that cutting the tension, as it were, might help everyone on the ship feel a little less stressed. James isn’t unconvinced by Severus’s suggestion. He knows this is not sustainable.

The problem is, well.

James doesn’t know. There is a wall, somewhere, and neither of them are strong enough to break through it. Actually, James is pretty sure that a small gust of wind might be enough to topple it all. But neither of them are breathing, because this is— years in the making. It’s a strong tornado warning. James isn’t sure whether to brace himself and hide, or run towards it.

There are two days during which James thinks he will spontaneously combust every time that Regulus looks at him.

And then Frank, sweet soul that he is, invites everyone for a lovely night out without James and Regulus.

It doesn’t work, because Regulus is too embarrassed to do anything but groan in despair, which makes James groan in a different kind of despair, and there are several more days of absolute torture.

And then.

Then, Regulus wakes up from a nightmare, and it’s a normal day, and no one blinks an eye when Regulus and James leave the boat for an early morning walk.

Except it’s not a morning walk, because Regulus is basically speed walking to the small concave beach they found two days ago by accident, and James isn’t stupid.

The wind is picking up.

There’s at least a few feet between the both of them, but it doesn’t really matter to James. There could have been oceans. Earths. Galaxies. Universes.

A clash of warm and cold air, a stirring of the atmosphere, an imbalance in the mix.

Nothing would have changed this moment. James was forged to love Regulus, and he'll carry this undeniable truth with him for as long as he lives, like the sand cradles the relentless ocean.

A spinning vortex. The swirling air, twisting and turning.

The empty space between them cannot hold anything more than what it already does. It is full of electricity and unspoken fears and a terrifying truth that perhaps they can manifest, now.

A rush of energy, a force of nature. The birth of a monster, a fearsome creature.

The space evaporates and James

S c a t t e r s

Into a thousand fragments.

Regulus’s lips are on his.

James's breath transforms in a way he can't quite define. It doesn't hitch, nor does it falter. But it’s different. Unlike anything else. And James presses back into the kiss.

Regulus opens his mouth, and suddenly it's warm, gentle, ravenous, and desperate all at once. It's tongues dancing and lips exploring each other's unique landscapes. It's missed eager kisses and tender corner kisses, with a whispered God sent skyward. James lifts his head up, up, for the first time, to see the night sky speckled with stars as the night slowly gives way to morning. He senses Regulus, up there, and feels him, down here, savouring the tender skin of his neck.

His breath alters once more, and he thinks he's combusting, disintegrating, metamorphosing into a new version of himself where he is no longer just James. All that he is belongs to Regulus. He would lay himself bare at his altar. James would skin his teeth on his brittle bones, scream and beg for Regulus. Whatever Regulus wants. The pleasure of such a soft touch is incandescent. It’s just lips, and all they’re doing is touching him, yet James feels resplendent. Vibrating with life.

Regulus's arms encircle his shoulders, drawing him nearer until no space remains between them. But of course, it isn't enough. It'll never be enough again.

James speaks promises into Regulus's skin, and his words seep into his soul as water is absorbed by the sand.

“I care, I care, I care so much, baby. I care and I care until all your burdens are mine,” Regulus mumbles against James’s lips, and James swallows his words like they’re the only truth he’ll ever need.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” James whispers back, because the words are strong and insistent and generous, and James wants to lavish them upon Regulus. There is time, and the time is now, and James releases the words.

Regulus's face is always meticulously controlled. It's a presentation of what he wishes to show the world. And it would be fine, really, it would. James is accustomed to that face. The problem is that Regulus has abandoned all pretence, and James realises he hasn't seen his face like this before, not since they were children. Open, awake, vibrant, and vulnerable. And it's all for him.

James is a wreck.

He seizes Regulus's face, tugging his hair forward as if he'll be able to merge with Regulus's body if he tries hard enough.

And Regulus gives as good as he gets, which is interesting, because James thought he would be— less. Less passionate, less engaged, somehow. He’s the opposite. Regulus’s hands rove far and wide, on all the corners of his skin. They’re shaking as much as his and they’re everywhere and James’s mind is fractured.

This is better. Incomparable. He’s heard of sailors who do opium to feel better. Who drink rum and go to brothels and go wild and this is better.

Regulus is superior to everything.

It’s a surprise, but his clothes are gone in record speed, and then so are Regulus’s, and honestly it’s more practical this way, because—

A single, heated stroke of his tongue spans from the curve of James's backside to his neck, and James is gone. Indecent. The cool air takes over, causing his skin to erupt in goosebumps. Regulus's nose nestles between his shoulder blades, breathing celestial patterns and brushing the tip of his nose against James’s skin and it’s mad— to feel this good.

Teeth press against his shoulders, and James adores that. It's slightly painful, a little wild, and he can hear Regulus's sharp intake of breath as if this affects him as much as it does James. What a wondrous sensation, to intoxicate one another.

James didn’t expect this much from sex. He hadn’t expected it from Regulus. More importantly, he hadn’t expected to like this so much. The lack of control he has, the way Regulus seems more than willing to take it and do something with it while James catches his breath.

It’s hard, collecting himself, because Regulus’s lips are on his neck, and then he’s turning James in his arms and slowly lowering himself to his knees, dropping kisses as he journeys, and James, practically speaking, knows what’s about to happen. He’s not ready for it, when it does happen.

Regulus’s tongue does the same thing it did to his back, a long swipe, and a look, to admire his handiwork, perhaps, and James thinks he’s ascending.

Nothing could have readied him for the heat of Regulus's mouth, or anything that follows. The warmth, the sounds, the hands gliding along his back and thighs like boats seeking an anchor, Regulus's eyes locked onto him, and the blush on his cheeks, accompanied by the hum that makes James lose his mind.

Then Regulus is up, up and James is crushing him. His arms are roaming Regulus’s back and his face is pressed against his and the kissing is sending James across the oceans and through another stratosphere.

Regulus is the sea, and James is caught in his current.

Regulus gazes at him as if it's the other way around—as if James is the sea. Preposterous. James needs Regulus to know. He opens his mouth, but Regulus speaks first.

“Of all of the things that I know how to do, loving you is my favourite.”

There’s a detonation, somewhere in James’s heart. James chokes on his words, and has to press his lips to Regulus as he gathers his thoughts, forehead pressing against his. Gently, he brings Regulus’s hand to his heart, where it’s beating faster than he knows what to do with. He settles on a truth that isn’t nice, or poetic or lovely. It’s the cold, hard truth. Regulus looks down at their hands, settled on his chest. James hears his breath catch when the words crash upon the shore.

“You reign supreme," he says.

You were born to defy the Gods, he doesn't say.

This is the first time they create a tornado.

It isn’t the last.

🌊JAMES 🌊

“Did you know?”

James’s brain doesn’t know how to think anymore. Regulus has sucked his soul out like the sirens sailors talk about.

“Huh?”

There’s a pink blush that blooms on Regulus’s face as he realises that James perhaps isn’t functioning at his full capacity. Perhaps because of him. Perhaps Regulus likes it.

He looks up, staring at the ceiling of the bedroom on the ship they’re sharing.

“Did you know that it would be this way?”

Which way, James wants to ask. There are no ways, only one evidence.

But the words seem to catch in his throat, and all James can do is shake his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Regulus's.

He brings his hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow down.

“My heart’s a little swollen from loving you.”

And Regulus, greedy as he is, asks for more. “Do you love me?”

And James, bleeding heart that he is, gives it back. 

“You are in everything I touch, darling. You are the water I drink, the people I touch and the things I don’t say. You are everything I cannot bear to escape from.”

And Regulus doesn’t look like he understands, for a while. But then it clicks, and he nods.

“I will keep wanting you until I die,” Regulus vows.

They’re healing.

🌊JAMES 🌊

“I want you to make me something I can carry with me always, even when you’re gone,” Regulus says off-handedly, and James scoffs, inducing a soft eyebrow raise from Regulus. “No?”

James scoffs again, shaking his head lightly. “No, I can. It’s just— your mistake is thinking I will ever leave you again,” James replies.

That’s a blush, and James put it there.

Regulus shifts his head away, trying to hide his smile. “You’re so stupid.”

“Actually, I would argue that this is very sound reasoning. Nothing good ever happens without you.” There is a shrug, and then a potato wedge gets thrown at James’s head, who whips it up. “Hey!”

Remus, a few seats over, gives him a look.

Regulus cackles out loud.

James rubs at the place where the wedge got him. “Rude,” he says, and Remus shakes his head fondly.

“I am not forgetting that, Jamie.”

“You never forget anything,” James mumbles somewhat guiltily, and Remus laughs at that, too. “Glad I can provide entertainment for everyone here.”

Regulus’s lips tip into a smile as he lifts himself out of the bench. “I’m going to find Sirius. Make yourself useful with the friend you definitely didn’t insult a second ago,” he says, hesitating just a second before bending down to press his lips against James’s temple.

It’s quick, a barely there press of the lips. It’s the most important part of James’s day, when Regulus just—does these things. James doesn’t take them for granted. He doesn’t think he ever could.

They’re healing.

🌊

It's several days later that James finds Regulus again, on deck with Evan, carefully examining the nets for any signs of damage. It's become one of Regulus's favourite things to do now—repairing holes, untangling knots, and freeing debris caught in the mesh.

Regulus had once mentioned to James that working on the nets felt like meditation. There was something soothing about the repetitive motion of weaving the netting back together, the intricate patterns of knots requiring his full attention and focus, finding solace in the quiet and the steady rhythm of his hands.

James watches them for a moment from a distance, noting the look of concentration on Regulus's face and the gentle swaying of Evan's body in time with the ship's rocking motion. They seem at peace, completely absorbed in their work.

"Hey," James calls softly. "Mind if I join you?"

Regulus looks up, a small, genuine smile gracing his lips as he nods. Evan echoes the sentiment with a friendly nod, making room for James to sit down beside them.

As James settles into a spot on the deck, Regulus hands him a section of the net to inspect. He takes a deep breath, allowing the salty sea air to fill his lungs, and focuses on the task at hand. The three of them work in companionable silence, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull and the occasional creak of the ship's timbers.

The truth is, James has something he wants to give Regulus. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it, and he figures waiting for an occasion would be stupid, so he just— takes it out of his pocket, and hands it over to Regulus.

Just like that, a gift lands in Regulus’s hands. It’s not something that James has made, not really. But it’s something that matters, anyway. It’s a reminder of their first meeting. It's memorabilia.

It’s an intricate gold coin that used to belong to a cave where three chests collided. There’s a chain around it, now.

Regulus doesn’t say anything as his hand wraps against the small coin, fingers catching on the detailed engravings on both sides.

James waits, unsure of what to expect, as Regulus's fingers trace the contours of the coin and the chain that accompanies it. As with most things, Regulus takes his time. As with most things, James can’t handle it well.

“I wanted to keep a part of us with me. You should have it, now,” James says, because he would like for the quiet to be filled. For Regulus to throw the gold from the chest away, to pass the chain his neck, to look at James, to– something. Something other than quiet silence.

You kept it? Regulus signs, gaze catching his.

James nods. I wanted something to remember you by, in case…

“I’m sorry," Regulus cuts in. He pins James with a look, turning to sign again: For what I did to you. 

And James… James hadn’t realised he needed that. Hadn’t realised that Regulus hadn’t apologised, yet. Hadn’t realised how necessary Regulus’s apology was for him. But it was. It was, and it is, and James drinks it down. 

Regulus looks at the coin again, his expression thoughtful. Then, he carefully threads the chain through the small loop on the coin, and fastens it around his neck. The gold pendant rests against his chest, catching the sunlight that filters through the ship's sails.

“I’m sorry, too. For leaving the first time.”

And maybe Regulus needed to hear that, too.

Maybe they can properly move on, now.

🌊SIRIUS🌊

Sirius spends his nights attached to Remus, breathing in the skin that he’s learning all the contours of, and his days with Barty.

An unlikely friendship, and yet. Despite their differences, the two find common ground and companionship on this ship full of unique individuals, all of whom seem to be connecting with one another in their own ways.

Regulus peels potatoes with Remus.

Pandora talks to the fish with Evan.

Severus and Frank seem to have a lot of deep, intense conversations over all kinds of different subjects.

Sirius learns how to navigate with Barty. He learns how to tie knots, and which ones to use for which occasion.

In exchange, Sirius teaches Barty how to read the stars at night.

And when he finally returns to Remus at night, it's as if the whole world comes into focus again.

They lay together, tangled up in each other, with Sirius acutely aware of the steady rhythm of Remus's heartbeat beneath his skin. He traces the curves of Remus's body with his fingertips, memorising every inch. He wants to know Remus like the back of his own hand. He has strange thoughts sometimes— of burrowing into Remus's skin, making a home out of his bones, just so he can be perpetually enveloped by him.

There are months, and everyone learns to deal with everyone.

This, Sirius thinks, is what family is meant to be.

So when everything proceeds to go to shit, Sirius finds himself completely unprepared for the storm.

🌊THE OCEAN🌊

The calm before the storm is a deceptive serenity.

A gentle lull that lures sailors into a false sense of security.

There is something extraordinarily powerful about lullabies, and I am one. I lull sailors to my bed, and I sing to them, and they fall asleep, blissfully unaware of the approaching storm.

Naive men.

Today, I sense an unsettling stillness, a precursor. There is a tug in my energy, a sudden quiet that permeates my depths. My surface ripples gently, stirred by the soft breeze that caresses my waves.

I am quiet on the surface, but my body prepares.

Schools of fish swim hurriedly, searching for shelter within the safety of my coral reefs and rocky caverns. The great whales dive deeper, their haunting songs echoing throughout my expanse. The life within my body hides, and still the sailors sail.

Foolish men.

I am the destructive power of gale-force winds, the unrelenting rain that pummels my surface, and the electric fury of lightning as it strikes my depths. How can’t they see I am preparing for war? How can I go unnoticed, when I am all around them?

I am the great provider, the lifeblood of this planet, sustaining countless species within my depths. I am the vessel for exploration and trade, connecting far-flung shores and fostering the exchange of ideas and cultures.

And in moments like these, I am the unforgiving force of nature that can both give and take with equal ferocity. I am the embodiment of both creation and destruction, the perpetual cycle of life in motion. I am a thundering symphony, and my lullabies are filled with violins.

Hear me sing.

🌊SIRIUS🌊

The first sign is a headache, like a vice grip tightening around Barty's skull. Despite his usual good health, Barty wakes up feeling off-kilter, a pervasive sense of unease settling deep within his bones. He spends the entire morning flickering ahead a few seconds, shaking his head to settle back into himself. He's completely disoriented. Evan is hovering.

The second sign emerges when Regulus and James are found already awake before the rest of the group. Regulus appears utterly drained, dark bags under his eyes and a nervous tic tugging at the corner of his lips. James is dragging a hand across his face like it’ll erase the fatigue from his body.

The third sign, which finally spurs Frank into action, is Remus waking up with an inexplicable achiness permeating his body. He spends the entire morning tugging at his skin, trying to peel away the discomfort.

With a decisive air, Frank announces, "Let's get out of here, then." No one raises any objections.

They weren’t meant to leave for another three days, but there are signs that cannot be ignored, and Frank does love legends, and legends are often accompanied by warnings, foreboding premonitions to be heeded.

Frank would be damned if he didn't listen to them.

They set sail.

Chapter Text

🌊 REGULUS 🌊

It’s the dead of night when it happens.

Isn’t that when it always happens?

It’s a special night. Most of the crew is out on another ship, handling a trading deal and likely getting very drunk. Sirius, Remus, James and Regulus have volunteered to stay behind. It’s nice, sometimes, to have time to themselves. Life is busy on a ship. There isn’t always time to just settle and be, without anyone around.

The evening has been lovely, and the night even lovelier.

And then Regulus falls asleep in James’s arms, and then it’s the dead of the night.

Darkness shrouds the ship, the only light coming from the moon, casting an eerie glow. The waves crash against the hull of the vessel, as if the ocean itself is trying to warn Regulus of what is to come.

Regulus knew it could happen, of course. If he’s completely honest, he knew it would happen. Eventually. This is a world where bad things happen to people like him. But he’d thought, for a while, holding on to James’s hand, that perhaps Death had decided to stop Her assault on him. That perhaps happiness was something he was allowed to believe in for himself.

He isn’t surprised to find that he is wrong.

The world loves to remind him that he doesn’t belong to James. James is the sun, and Regulus was made for the depths of the ocean, where it is dark and lonely and suffocating, alongside the echoes of sunken ships and forgotten sailors.

Regulus has always had dreams — premonitions — of fulfilling his destiny within the ocean's ecosystem. Knew he would one day be covered in marine life and become part of the deep-sea habitat, a melancholic contribution to the graveyard of everything that has been claimed by the ocean's embrace and swallowed by the deep.

His time was never meant to last. It’s not surrender. It is realism. Pragmatism.

That is not to say Regulus goes without a fight. 

There is a creaking noise, and Regulus knows what it is, knows what it means, this is the noise that has haunted him his entire life, he would recognise Death’s knock anywhere, and he’s up and ready to protect James with his life.

He doesn’t need to, of course. They are more efficient than he is. While Regulus was luxuriating in sleep, satiated with the knowledge that James loves him as much as he does, they stole him away.

Regulus is alone, and then he’s bound, and then he’s brought to the bow of the ship.

It’s quick.

They are already there. Sirius, Remus, James.

They are bound and gagged, too, though that doesn’t stop the hideous noises from escaping their mouths. The sounds are distorted by the gags, but Regulus has no trouble discerning what they are. They are pleas, and screams, and rage and despair, all wrapped into one. Regulus doesn’t make any noise. It did not work when he was younger and won’t work now, either.

They evidently saved the best for last.

This is Regulus’s biggest fear, brought to life.

He tries to tune it out, all of it. It’s just noise. He tries to ignore Sirius’s bloody nose and James’s swollen eye, almost shut. He’d like to pay attention to Remus, he would, but Remus has never held a place as important as Sirius has. As James has. And if these are his last moments, he’ll spend them as he likes, looking at the two people his life has revolved around for twenty-one years. He takes inventory of the boys his heart belongs to.

His brother’s hair is blood-soaked and his face is twisted in an expression Regulus has never seen him wear. It’s helplessness, he thinks. Sirius always has a solution. A plan. A vision.

There is no vision to be had for their situation. Regulus is going to die. He knows it and, it seems, so does Sirius.

You do not betray family.

The three of them are on their knees, blades held to their throats. They are aligned, one after the other, and don’t they make a pretty sight, his family united together under the moonlight?

He turns his gaze to James, who’s been crying. Regulus knows, because the tears have left tracks on his bloody face. He can see the paths they have taken, from the corner of his eyes to the dirty rag painfully tied over his mouth. He’s still beautiful like this, Regulus thinks. But then again, when is James not beautiful?

James’s eyes are different from Sirius. There is determination in them. Something a little crazed, a little scary. Regulus wants to smile at James, tell him it’s all right, but Regulus has never been good at lies.

He knows what his family wants, and it seems like they are getting it today.

Either you are family… or you are the enemy.

Regulus doesn’t want to die, of course. No one wishes for death. He hasn’t, not in a long time, and especially not in the past year. The past year, all he’s been wishing for is more of the same. More mornings encased in James, more afternoons with Severus, more evenings talking to Sirius, more, more, more, more, collecting wishes like one collects shells on a beach.

It seems that his wishes end now.

Still, he makes one more. He wishes for it to be quick.

He’s expecting to die, so it isn’t a surprise when Bellatrix pushes him into the water, hands and feet bound, holding him under. The salt water hurts his eyes, but he guesses that is the least of his problems. It won’t be a problem for much longer, anyway.

And there, in the moment, something comes back to him.

Something that doesn’t die can’t be beautiful, James had said once.

Regulus had laughed at the time, thinking it a strange thing to say. But now his lungs burn and his body convulses with the need for air, and Regulus understands. Something that doesn’t die can’t be beautiful, because it cannot evolve. Regulus doesn’t want to be frozen in time. He wants to experience new things, and grow, and change. He wants to live.

But he cannot fight the water, and cannot fight the hands holding him down.

The problem is that the rest of his family are holding James and Sirius and Remus overboard to watch it happen. So, he holds James’s heartbroken eyes, and Sirius’s desperate gaze. He’s not at peace, but how he feels doesn’t matter much. He just doesn’t want them to think he is in pain.

By God, he is in pain. Regulus has never wanted to take a breath this much in his life. His heart is beating so fastsofastsofast, it feels ready to explode out of his chest, it does. And right before he opens his mouth to take a mouthful of water, right before Bellatrix releases him to the ocean like a gift, Regulus manages a smile.

He is not at peace but, if Regulus has to die, he’s glad his last sight isn’t unpleasant.

He wishes things could be different.

They aren’t, and so Regulus swallows water, and the ocean swallows him.

🌊 THE OCEAN 🌊

There is a boy, sinking into me.

I have welcomed a lot of bodies, but this one is different. I do not recognise it. I am not waiting for it. He is unplanned.

There was a body like him, long ago. A boy who wasn’t destined to die.

And another one, who almost did sink into my depths.

These boys are causing chasms in the fabric of the world. They keep finding each other.

There is a boy, sinking into me.

It is a lovely gift that I cannot accept. Still, I open my arms.

Although I cannot accept the gift, it does not mean I cannot embrace it, even if only for a while.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James is screaming. He can’t hear it at all. He just knows that he is, because his vocal cords are breaking, and he’s unravelling like a thread.

It must surprise the man with the knife against his throat, because the man rears out, and James explodes like a loose cannon.

James isn’t sure about the order in which things go down, or his overall involvement in the situation. He knows that the men are dead, because there are knives buried in them. He knows that Sirius’s hands are wrapped around Bellatrix’s throat, and then Bellatrix isn’t moving anymore. He knows that had he not screamed, had he not surprised himself with the guttural noise that clawed its way out of his mouth, they would have been dead instead. So, in the end, it was the pain of loving and losing Regulus that saved James's life.

James remembers the tale of Charon, of passing souls back and forth on a boat, so James jumps into the waters, because if there isn’t a body and Regulus belongs to the ocean, James will, too.

It’s Remus who pulls him out.

He’s a good swimmer, much better than Sirius ever was.

James refuses to see the shore.

Regulus was looking at him, and Regulus was there, and he must be in there, still. James needs Regulus. Regulus needs James. They need each other.

It takes an extraordinary amount of time to realise that Regulus is

(gone)

When he does,  James thinks he loses touch with reality.

🌊

James has never paid attention to natural disasters before, and their impact after landfall.

James never thought he would love tornadoes.

James never thought he would seek refuge in hurricanes.

James never thought he would be jealous of maelstörms.

The truth is simple. James wasn’t meant for a world without Regulus.

Sirius gives James time. To lash out. To cry. To tear and vibrate with loss.

But James doesn’t need time to adjust.

James needs Regulus.

Regulus is the balance James needs. Sirius was only half of the equation, and James is wobbly.

🌊

James is bombarded by hollow words.

It isn’t your fault, spoken softly, and these words are fire, licking at James’s skin and bubbling out black gunk, oozing viscous tar. Fuelling the flames.

James cannot bear them.

🌊

After his mother, James thought that he knew what loss was.

James had forgotten one very crucial piece of information.

Euphemia was his mother. She was always going to die before him. He was always going to be her legacy. It happened too early. It happened dramatically, but James knew it would happen, eventually. Parents are here to raise you and send you on your way. They’re here throughout your childhood, if you’re lucky, to pull up when you’re down and to help you with the founding blocks of your personality. Who will you be, what will you like, who will you love?

James was always going to travel abroad. He was always going to move out. To start creating his own life, navigating on his own sea. Family prepares you for the future, but they live in the past. Euphemia’s role in James’s life had been fulfilled. She had instilled core values, and the belief that people are good, that people can become good, and James had carried those values with him into adulthood. He’d adapted them to fit his own growing morals, but the core, the heart of it was Euphemia.

James had not realised how different it would be, losing Regulus.

But it is, God, it is.

Because Regulus was meant to be his future. And what is he left with, now?

🌊

There is the day before and the day after.

The day before he’d let the light shine through his eyes like Regulus was the gold he'd been digging for his entire life.

Then, there is the day after.

The day after is his own personal apocalypse. Memories of Regulus crawl up like the undead from every direction.

He lets himself be swallowed by greedy phalanges.

🌊

James was raised with the idea that loving people is enough. That most of the time, it’s enough.

But his mother never told him the truth. She tried to protect him from it. He knows that. Resents her for it, now.

Here it is, hear it. Hear it and remember it, so you can avoid it.

Hear it.

The Truth.

James thought Regulus would be his home. He thought they would build the foundations, thought Regulus was the foundations. But James’s nose is packed with the smell of smoke and his fingers are soot-soaked and his soul is burned. He doesn’t try to look for embers, there are none to be found.

It’s ashes and dust.

His mother never told him, "Carve pieces out of yourself and build your own home. Do not, I repeat, do not carve pieces out of other people. They'll want them back. Eventually, they’ll want them back. They'll leave your house shaking. They will take the foundations away. And you will reach into your pocket, find the matches I gave you, that you always swore you wouldn't have to use. You will light your house on fire. Never carve pieces out of someone to build your own paradise. They can only provide temporary shelter.”

James learned his lesson the hard way, as it tends to happen with these things.

The soot is part of him, now. He’s in a constant state of burning. It’s hot coals searing into his soul. Every touch from anyone that isn’t Regulus is like a blazing inferno. Unextinguishable.

He’s a fiery mess.

It’s not the type of fire Regulus used to mention, like the fire of his skin against Regulus’s or the quiet way he would reach out, pick up the younger boy’s hand, and breathe warmth back into it. No.

It’s a fire that destroys. It spreads and ravages and is uncontrolled and unmanageable.

James is really good at containing.

The only thing he destroys is himself.

🌊

Regulus’s name is written across James’s bed, and James cannot sleep in the same room for fear Regulus will invade his dreams, and when James wakes up, Regulus’s hand will be nowhere to be found and he’ll still be gone.

He’ll be gone.

He’ll be

Gone.

James isn’t much for drama. But Regulus tattooed his face with his fingers, left his print all over him, and never bothered to clean up the edges. Regulus might have been born to defy the Gods, but James was born to spite them.

Here is the thing no one tells you.

No one tells you it feels like suffocating, a weight on your chest that never quite subsides.

No one tells you how unimportant everything else seems in comparison.

No one tells you what happens when love doesn’t have anywhere to go. It doesn’t just disappear. It looks and searches and cannot find and it bites its own tail in distress. It twists and contorts into something vile and ravenous. It reshapes itself into something else. Something monstrous and cruel and greedy and dangerous with razor-sharp teeth that tear and

still, it is love.

It’s just manufactured differently. The package grows teeth.

James’s heart bites.

James looks down at his body now. The soft skin hides demons. Can he carve it to see if they’ll leave , if he can pull them out, if they can disappear?

There’s something in his chest, and it’s beating so fast, so fast, and it’s the cause of all his pain. He doesn’t want it. All this heart does is hurt him, white-hot coal burning away at his insides, and he’s mad, he’s mad, but of course he is, how could he not be? Regulus is dead, and he watched him die, and saw his smile, and James doesn’t want this heart.

It is compressing his soul.

🌊

I call you and you don’t come.

🌊

I love you and you don’t come.

🌊

I thought I knew what loss was. I didn’t understand a thing at all until you were gone.

🌊

Pieces of you keep coming out of me like draining blood.

🌊

Feeling… This isn’t something that James can keep on doing.

He sits at the prow of the ship and his hands are emptyemptyempty.

The problem is that James doesn’t think he ever tries. A life without Regulus isn’t one James is keen on discovering, and perhaps Regulus would resent him for this, but Regulus isn’t here, because Regulus is dead.

Touching his own skin is like tasting echoes and James has never hated the reflection of his own touch as much as he does now.

Responses to trauma require a traumatic event to occur. What happened wasn’t a traumatic event. It was a cataclysm.

People speak of grief in stages, and perhaps that is true for most. But James never makes it past despair. Nothing helps. Everything cuts and breaks and adds to the mounting sense that something has to snap.

There is a game James plays. It’s not a game he can win. He knows that. He’s the one making the rules, after all.

In the end, something does.

James isn’t sure what the deadline is. When it happens. How long after Regulus goes down.

But he has sanity, and then it’s gone.

Because James has a thought.

A careful thought.

An unhinged thought.

Something James had not even thought of, because James was busy thinking inside the lines. Trying to heal the unhealable. He knows that when something is too diseased, too broken, too mangled, it is sometimes better to cut it out and learn to live without it.

The cause of all this pain resides in his chest.

What if it was gone?

What if James took it out?

Dying takes courage. Reaching inside doesn’t.

So James does.

Pressure and release.

James presses his hand in, reaching.

The physical pain is nothing. Nothing, compared to losing Regulus. And so he pushes further, and further in, and breaches skin, and he reaches until his gentle hands wrap around his beating, dying heart. There is something soft about the tissue, like touching a part of someone’s memory. Then again, Regulus did touch his heart in all the ways that mattered. Why wouldn’t he find echoes of him etched into the surface?

It’s a hot, pulsing mass. It resists like a tangled, thorny vine wound around his chest, but he pulls it free. Aims his gaze down, and stares at it, cocking his head to the side.

“I’m finished with you”, James says to no one and nothing.

“I’m finished with you”, James says to himself.

James never looks at a mirror again.

There are dried tears on his face, but James cannot remember why. It’s there, on the border of his consciousness, asking to be felt, demanding to be heard. It’s so easy, to push it away.

How does something so small, so soft, so insignificant, cause so much damage? How does it destroy so thoroughly?

It feels better.

Not to feel at all.

🌊 THE OCEAN 🌊

Here is a truth that people are afraid of confronting. But I am Truth, so I will speak it into existence.

I am not a friend. I am a wild beast. I do not care if you live or die. I am the place where Love goes to die.

Love isn’t nice. It’s dangerous. It's a storm that rages on and on, unasked questions and fumbling moments piling up like waves against the shore. Sometimes it is peace, a flicker in the midst of the chaos.

You cannot love without fear, for fear is the essence of Love.

It's a dance with the devil, a gamble with the abyss.

If you Love nothing, then you have no fear. If you have no fear, then you are invincible. Death doesn’t want you now. Death doesn’t want you if you cheat the game.

James is a cheater.

And Death has a Plan.

James has been through hell and back, but to Death, who has seen a million love stories and will see a million more, his is just another drop in the ocean.

James has gone through a lot.

But to Death, is it not enough.

Chapter Text

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Life is different, now.

Not good, not bad.

He is happy, most of the time. He has Remus. And his boat. And usually that is enough. Usually it’s all right. He has friends, too. They are on his ship and they are sailors, just like they said they would be. A little pirating on the side, some fishing here and there, thanks to Evan’s teaching. All in all, Sirius is happy. Or he would be.

If.

This is a story about a heartless man, after all.

Sirius still has a heart, though Remus likes to take bites out of it sometimes, just to remind Sirius that he can. That’s love, isn’t it? Letting people take chunks out of you and feeling more whole in the process? Letting people ruin your life and thanking them for it? Letting someone wreck everything you used to know and telling them how grateful you are that they have come into your life to do something like this. That without them, you would be different. Less happy, perhaps. Nothing is ever certain, but this, you seem to know.

Sirius doesn’t need Barty’s gift to know what his future would have looked like without Remus in it.

He doesn’t even want to imagine it. His chest compresses at the mere thought.

No, Sirius doesn’t want to know.

Life is different, now.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

There is something to be said about chain reactions.

There are the good ones, like the ones leading up to a first kiss. These are easy to talk about behind blushes.

Sirius and Remus’s first kiss happens a lot later than everyone thinks, but that’s them for you. As a couple, Sirius and Remus are extremely private.

It takes them months to work up the courage, though thinking that they aren’t together before that would be ridiculous.

Funnily enough, it doesn’t start in a very fun fashion.

Remus is only freshly back to being human, looking at his body like his skin might rip and tear at any moment and show the monster beneath. His hands are shaking. They are three days post-transformation, and Remus is recovering.

Recovering is a strong word. He is dealing with strong flashbacks from a time where he wasn’t even in his body. His mind doesn’t blank out fully when he’s in the water, you see. He doesn’t have control. That isn’t to say he doesn’t see everything that happens from a strange distance.

The days post transformation are always hard for Remus.

He used to deal with it alone. He used to do a lot of things alone.

Sirius is here now, though. His lighthouse.

They’re in their room, which Remus hasn’t really left since he dragged himself out of the ocean and stumbled back on board, Sirius holding him up like a ballast. There has been a lot of sleeping. A lot of staring blankly around the room, trying to reconnect with his humanity.

Remus is looking at the back of his scarred hands, his palms, from his knuckles to his nails, where sand is still buried deep. It hurts a little, but there isn’t much to do about it. The nail will grow, the grains of sand will be pushed back, and his body will expel the physical proof of his pain.

“I look at the abused skin of my fingertips and wonder if this is some kind of punishment,” Remus says that evening, and Sirius is quick to grasp Remus’s hands.

It’s so gentle, Sirius’s touch. Like a feather on the skin. He’s shaking his head. “Remus.”

And Remus lifts his head, eyes travelling from his hands to the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. Ocean blue. He’d drown in them if that were an option. Sirius’s blue is calm and steady, now. Settled.

“Remus,” he says again when Remus’s attention is fully on him, “you are a reward.”

Remus doesn’t remember closing the distance.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

There is something to be said about chain reactions.

In his life, Sirius has known two.

There is the moment right before someone’s lips touch yours, someone who you know will change the course of your life. Someone who might have already started.

Sirius and Remus’s first kiss feels like that.

It's a culmination of unspoken words, stolen glances, and the undeniable connection that has grown between them over time. It's a tender collision of vulnerability and desire, an electric spark that ignites a fire that cannot be smothered.

Then, there are the others. They taste like splitting mercury between teeth, bitter and radioactive. You cannot approach from the epicentre. It is contagious, epidemic. It will infect you within minutes, destroy you in mere hours.

These reactions become stories, told in seedy taverns and discussed in the dead of night, whispers barely above speaking levels.

Sirius was caught in the blast of one, once upon a time.

It was only five years ago, but whispers travel fast, grow and spread like a disease. These whispers are what become legends.

The concept of legends is quite absurd. Most of them aren’t even true.

Most of them.

🌊

Frank loves legends. His favourite thing is to tell them to unsuspecting sailors. The young ones, the cabin boys especially, who are so new, and so shiny, and so willing to listen.

Tonight is one of these nights.

They are at a pub for the evening with the crew.

It is night, and Frank is telling his tales.

The crew has heard it a thousand times by now.

Five years ago, Sirius would have loved nothing more than to listen. But Sirius isn’t nineteen anymore. Life has happened to him.

It should be a happy sentence. People should be happy to experience life. Sometimes life throws curveballs, though.

Frank starts with his favourite, only because it’s so close to his heart. After all, he lives with a legend now.

“This is the story of a boy who has never been loved,” Frank starts, and Remus stands up quietly, leaving. Sirius takes a sip of his ale and lets him go. He’ll stay for that one. Remus always needs a little time for himself. “A young boy who was cursed to become something terrible,” Frank continues, while Sirius is staring at the inside of his ale. In five minutes, he’ll go. He misses Remus already. Distance is always difficult, even after five years.

There are some wounds that never quite heal. Sirius knows that better than anyone else. After all, who else can say that they know what it’s like to lose their other half? To hold their heart and have them ask to hide it away. To hear them say they don’t want it. To tell them that they’re not enough. To be rejected by your soulmate.

Now that’s a wound that you don’t ever recover from.

“You are not born to become a legend.”

Frank is really good at telling stories.

“It is what happens to you that creates that opportunity.”

Sometimes it’s a gift.

“This is the story of a Heartless monster.”

Sometimes it’s a curse.

Sirius drains his ale and leaves.

He doesn’t like tonight’s legend.

🌊 FRANK 🌊

“There is a pirate in love, who witnessed the death of his love, and tore his own heart out. Who put his heart in a box buried in the unforgiving sand. The heart is his only vulnerability, the chink in his armoured soul, and still the pirate defies mortality. But it also turned him into a monster, for what be a man without a heart but an empty shell?

Upon his vessel he emerges, sinking ships with fury, seeking solace in his plight. Some say he has no friends, no allies. Some say he waits for Death to find him, and often gives Her reasons to take him. But Death does not want a man who defies the very laws of nature, who remains unscathed and invulnerable.

The pirate doesn’t want his heart back, not for a second, not an instant, even if it brings him to his knees in front of Death Herself. The pirate cannot bear it, and so he is aimless. No one knows what will become of him. How long he will roam. His boat is magic and it will rise from the water to unsuspecting crews, leaving you with one choice: die or join the crew.”

Frank really does love legends. He knows how true they can be.

Perhaps the cabin boys wouldn’t be so quick to smile if they knew.

🌊 THE BOY WITH NO NAME 🌊

The boy wakes up from sleep and he is in the water. He knows how to swim, but he gets tired quickly. He thinks he’ll drown again if he isn’t saved. Does he want to be saved?

He is no one, isn’t he?

So he loses consciousness and starts drowning. It feels like a memory. He’s drowned before, hasn’t he? A long, long time ago?

Perhaps.

There is wood, he thinks. A flare of instinct, and he grabs on.

That is the last thing he remembers.

🌊 THE OCEAN 🌊

People fall in love on my shore all the time. A timeless tale unfolding repeatedly. It is the dance of human emotions, where love blossoms and withers, where hearts are shattered and transformed.

I know all of their secrets, for pirates are always burying treasures in my sandy chest.

Some bury secrets.

And some bury love.

I am the Ocean and I am an island. In the sanctuary of my shores, a precious heart beats silently. It was gifted to me. I will give it back, eventually. But Love keeps the things it finds, and that heart is a treasure I want for myself.

I will hold on to it for a while longer.

I do not intervene in the dalliances of humans; they are fickle, and disappear so far.

I did make an exception, once.

Chapter Text

🌊 THE OCEAN 🌊

There is a legend about a man without a heart.

Some may dismiss it as mere foolishness. These people do not know what love is. The depths one would go for someone’s love. The things one does. The things one tolerates - all for the sake of love.

Only fools would dare question this legend.

There is a legend about a man without a heart. It is said that he shed it like a second skin, along with all the trappings of his previous existence.

There is something daunting about reaching in, in, in, and ripping out the one thing that makes us human.

Some might call it gaul. Bravery. Some might be wrong.

There is nothing courageous about tearing one's own heart out.

No one reaches that point without a good reason.

One would need an equally good reason.

To put it

Back.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Sirius’s life changes with the words, “I want to go home.”

What Remus means to say is, I want to create one. I have been unmoored my entire life. I want to build a house, and I want you to be the centrepiece.

Sirius has had years of practice in learning how to read Remus’s unsaid words, suspended like water drops in another universe. Sirius looks at Remus and understands.

It's time.

There once stood a charred house. Now, only ruins remain. Maybe something new can be built overtop.

There is beauty in destruction. Did you know that weeds can grow on ships? A seed lodged between floorboards, and it will thrive. Not everything on this Earth requires ideal conditions to bloom. Sometimes, a little space is all one needs. Remus has found that space in the embrace of Sirius's arms, and it has been enough for him to flourish. Yet, Remus yearns to expand and pollinate. Sirius once told him that he could do more than merely exist. Years have passed, but Remus never forgot.

He’s ready now.

A faint sadness lingers in Sirius's eyes—a shadow shaped like a lost brother, a lost mother. Remus cannot remedy the brother, but the mother…

There is a home in ruins, and Remus has a good grip. He can lift stone, and he can build new foundations. With Sirius’s help, they can forge something new from the ashes of what once was.

Remus has never had a home, and Sirius lost all four of his. One family, another mother, one brother, then the other. Sirius has known loss like very few people can say they have, and still Sirius smiles. It’s Remus’s doing, but not only.

Sirius is a weed. He’s relentless. He’ll bloom where he’s planted, and will be ripped apart, and he will try again. Sirius is full of life, and life tries to smother his light, and Sirius doesn’t let it. Remus is the same.

He thinks it might be time to try again.

They will be cautious. They will be tender. And Sirius will always reciprocate, for gentleness is an intrinsic part of his being. Remus closes his eyes and witnesses the tendrils of love woven throughout their existence. Remus closes his eyes and sees Sirius’s love.

In a world where people relentlessly strive to exterminate weeds, can you imagine what would happen if someone dared to nurture one?

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Remus wants a home, and Sirius wants to provide. What Sirius doesn’t know is how to deal with the small inconvenience of Remus’s curse.

Small, because Sirius refuses to give it any importance. Remus's curse doesn't diminish his worth, though it penetrates him to the core. Tears him to his bones. It’s once a year, except it isn’t. It’s two weeks before, and two weeks after, it’s preparation, and tiredness, and pain, and Sirius could live the remainder of his life without witnessing the pain etched on Remus's face.

Almost everything Sirius cherished has slipped through his grasp, except for Remus.

He has failed, and he has tried, and he has won, and he has failed again. Sirius has been knocked down, and been told to give up, and been told to never try again, and Sirius has not listened. Effy taught Sirius how to love himself and others, and Sirius refuses to dishonour her memory.

“I want to go home,” Remus says. Sirius thinks what Remus means to say is, I don’t want to be cursed anymore.

Sirius refuses to surrender until there is nothing left to cling to.

Sirius is good at that. Clinging to things.

Even now, concealed beneath his bed, Sirius clings onto a small chest. In it belongs his best friend’s heart. It has remained silent for years, but Sirius doesn’t really believe in tragedies. Death takes no time at all, but living must be wanted. It's easy to give up; far harder to persevere.

James is taking the scenic route.

In the meantime, Sirius will safeguard his heart.

It is not James's fault. He loves wholeheartedly, and grief adheres to no schedule. It takes the time it requires, and rushing it is futile. After all, what is grief but love with no place to go?

Sirius’s heart is full of love. Some of it is tainted, dark and tragic. Some of it is bright and light and expanding every day.

Remus has a curse, and Sirius is in love.

It’s been long enough. He’s tired of suffering at the hands of fate. Time to take the reins.

He lifts his gaze to meet Remus's eyes.

“I’m going to give you freedom,” he says. “Then, you can take us home.”

Chapter Text

🌊 JAMES 🌊

What is left of another person, when you take the best part of them and twist? When you take the only good part and kill ?

What happens?

Something ugly is created. Something detestable. Something rotten.

That’s James, now. Rotten bones.

James is one open wound that never heals, and it’s no surprise that pain turns you monstrous. This isn’t something that you’re told. You have to experience it firsthand to understand it.

James is a monster. It’s not what he’d planned to be, but the details of what he did want are fuzzy now. After all, five years is a long time to live without a heart. Memories have gotten blurry, and James has let them.

He’s not mad, he’s defending himself. After all, what is madness but a defence against grief, a means of self-preservation?

Do you remember when James thought that loving someone felt like inventing a new language? That notion feels like a lifetime ago now. James knows English. He knows sign language. But that unique language he constructed alongside the man he can no longer remember? That’s the language James mourns the most. This unspoken language made with touches and glances and feelings, this language James won’t speak with anyone else.

With one half of its creators now gone, so is that language. James hasn’t spoken it in five years.

Not that James speaks, anyway. Sign language is the only way people communicate on his ship, unless they’re boarding another vessel. James isn’t sure how it happened.

All details past the five year mark are complicated for him to access. Sev once told him he’d set that rule – the no-speaking rule –  in place himself. Almost… almost right on the five year mark. James didn’t ask why.

There are things one knows to tiptoe around.

James doesn’t know what happened five years ago.

He assumes it must have been bad.

Whatever happened, James isn’t interested in repeating past mistakes. His brain knows him better than he does. It knows what James can and cannot handle, so it protects him. It lets James forget.

These days James doesn’t remember, but James writes words like ghosts behind closed doors, telling half a story. Writing is soothing. Therapeutic, in a way.

That’s what James needs to combat the terrifying way he simply does not care about anything anymore.

His humanity is hanging on by a thread and by his crew. After all, one doesn’t man a boat all by oneself. Sev, Barty, Evan and Pandora are with him on this ship he’s had since before the void. There are new crew members, too, but these are the old ones. The ones James remembers from before. Though it doesn’t feel like any of them really want to be there sometimes. They are there because they must be. The reasons are unclear, but James knows it to be the truth nonetheless. They are here because of him. Whatever he’s done. Whatever has happened. They’re here for him.

James dreams strange dreams. Has been for years.

Twins and sirens, siblings and lovers. Black curls and lighthouses. Nails and whetstones.

A mother, once.

There are sharp edges everywhere he turns, and James doesn’t like falling asleep. He can’t recall much more than fractured memories.

He puts his pen to the paper.

There is something strange about recalling a warm memory

And feeling utterly cold.

🌊

I’m bored of the ocean, he signs to Evan that morning. Take us to shore.

And so, closer to shore they sail, and to the beach James goes, a solitary figure caught in a siren's call.

They quietly do what he asks, his crew. After all, James wrote them into a ghost ship. The Silent Marauder is a silent ship with a silent crew. James wonders if he used to be friends with his crew. If he had other friends. If he had anything that mattered, at one point.

Whatever he might have had, it’s faded echoes now, and James wants for nothing.

The boat is both sanctuary and prison, and James is empty.

There are beats in every chest but his, the only music this crew is singing, and James is voiceless, heartless, aimless. Conveniently, James feels less than what he used to be. It seems fitting for him to be less. Emotions are a labyrinth, and James fumbles through their intricate corridors. There are few emotions, but there is instinct. Emotions are built off of experiences. Instincts are innate and unlearned. They just are.

Digging through sand is one of James’s. A subconscious need. The sand calls to him. James doesn’t know where it comes from, or why, but the sand calls to him, and when it does, James answers. He’ll aimlessly wander beaches like he’s looking for something.

He’s not interrupted. He’s not bothered. His crew just lets him. Perhaps they used to try to stop him. Perhaps they gave up. Perhaps he scared them off. Either way, they let him be. He stops at specific spots and starts digging for something. James isn’t sure what.

It’s a routine.

He can’t help himself.

He’s never found anything, and his chest is empty.

🌊

There is a rule that a ship on sight is a ship to board. Fight or trade, the ocean is large and the boats are rare. It is an event, and James is ready. He’s been looking into gathering new things for the boat. It’s something James has taken to doing.

The boat James inherited five years ago was dark and cluttered and smelled of evil.

James is turning it into something that can be loveable for someone one day.

It started with sanding away the old black paint and applying new varnish over the light brown wood. Replacing the furniture. Adorning the walls with paintings and photographs. He’s trapped himself on this boat, escaping a bony cage by freeing his heart, only to confine himself within the embrace of a wooden one.

After all, he has nowhere to go. Doesn’t it make sense for James to make this a boat worth living in? At the very least, it's a cage of his own making.

James has taken to doing something else, too.

A pastime of sorts.

He gathers broken pieces of glass, shimmering seashells, and miscellaneous trinkets, fashioning them into mobiles. They twirl and sway, reflecting light and casting an array of colours. He likes the blue and grey ones best. There is a soothing quality to these colours, and he does not question it. Things are as they are for a reason.

The point is, James’s boat — which he has been in possession of since before his lost memories — appears exceedingly unthreatening. Mobiles dance from the masts, and the boat gleams, meticulously maintained.

It always takes people by surprise, because the legend surrounding The Silent Marauder is that it’s a dark ship that takes down other ships and kills sailors on sight.

The truth is that The Silent Marauder ’s crew are masters of survival. They have learned to navigate treacherous waters and treacherous souls with equal finesse. In another life, James might have been the most troubled by the violence they’ve partaken in since they started sailing together. But this is this life, and James isn’t troubled. He’s happy to trade with other ships, and just as happy to sink them if they so much as think about harming a member of his crew taking over his ship.

That’s the thing about legends. Most of them aren’t even true.

And today is no exception.

🌊 SEVERUS 🌊

Severus is in charge of preparing the boarding.

They’ll acoast the other ship with niceties, explain the lack of words and the emphasis on gestures, and James will arrive to discuss and negotiate.

On these occasions, Severus will act as James’s translator. He would find this funny, how years ago Severus couldn’t care about sign language more than the basics needed to insult Regulus, and how he’s now fully fluent and translating for James’s benefit.

The world truly does throw curveballs sometimes. Severus doesn’t often walk down memory lane, because it’s a dusty cobblestone made of death and tragedy, but he likes to think Regulus would be grateful that Severus is there for James in the way he can’t be anymore.

Severus moves in, and the crewmembers move aside to let a woman with grey eyes and gentle features approach.

“You need anything?” she asks, and her voice is like soft rain. Everything about her seems kind, from her eyes to her long blonde locks piled half on top of her head.

And yet.

Something about her unsettles Severus. Like a well hidden secret. A curated portrait. Something a little off.

The thing people don’t tell you about sailing, is that there are a lot of mean people on the ocean. The crew on The Silent Marauder is good at anticipating problems, thanks to Barty. A whole sign system has been set up in place, such that should anyone have… unhelpful thoughts about getting their ship or killing them, Barty would be able to alert everyone in a few helpful gestures. 

“We’re going to need you and your crew to cooperate on something.”

“That so?” she responds, gaze shifting from Severus to the ship. Assessing.

“It’s a bit of an unusual request.”

The woman looks at Severus then, eyes travelling from him to the boat he just came from. “It’s an unusual boat,” she says simply. “Got children aboard?”

Her eyes are on the mobiles, and the sunny day illuminates the boat, causing it to radiate with vibrant colours.

"More like a captain with a flair for the dramatic,” Severus remarks.

“I hear all captains are dramatic,” is her reply, and Severus wants to laugh. None quite as dramatic as James. It would be funny, if it didn’t come from a place of deep-seated trauma.

“Is yours the same way?”

"I'd say I'm pretty level-headed. I'm Indiana,” she introduces herself, extending her hand for a handshake. Severus shakes it. The grip is firm, and Severus’s other hand signs in his back, signalling to Barty. Instinct screams enemy, and Severus wants to be ready.

“Severus.”

"Cheers. So, what are the 'captain's' requests?" she inquires, mimicking air quotes with her fingers.

“That no one speaks.”

🌊 BARTY 🌊

Barty loves boarding new ships. People are so interesting, and he doesn’t meet enough of them, and Evan does provide endless entertainment, but new people are just— a treat. The confusion he gets to witness when they board, the quiet discussions they have while James is away discussing trade, it’s all so lovely.

Don’t tell anyone, but Barty doesn’t mind this life. Mainly, Barty enjoys travelling as much as they do. He gets to witness the awe in Evan’s eyes, and the contemplation when they see something new for the first time, and Barty loves that he gets to share this with him. It’s easy not to take anything for granted after what they all went through. Barty refuses to spend any moment thinking about the future. There is now, and there is Evan, and that’s life they’re currently living. The day Evan gets tired of travelling, they’ll leave. In the meantime, he’ll enjoy the lovely view from a lovely boat with a lovely crew.

James may not allow speech when he’s around, but he’s only one person, on a large vessel. It’s really not that bad. And to be honest, there is something lovely about communicating with hands. He gets to watch Evan’s lively expressions, and the poetry in his gestures, and the ways his hands speak to him in a way they do not with others. Evan’s hands dance for him in a very special way, and Barty likes that. Feeling unique. Voices are all the same, but Evan’s hands talk to him like he’s special.

It’s been years. It never gets old.

They’re boarding a new ship right now, and Barty is at attention. They have a very handy way to signal to each other, which tends to come naturally on a silent ship.

He’s watching Severus chat with a member of the other crew, one hand behind his back, and— sword on Sev’s neck, blood on the deck—

Enemy.

He comes back to his body just in time to signal to the rest of the crew. Pandora’s a good shot. Her arrow lodges itself right besides the blond girl. She doesn’t move, which is a bad sign. She reaches out to grab the arrow and looks up at Pandora, right as Severus’s sword reaches out to touch the tender skin of her neck.

It smells like danger.

And then, as Barty thinks it might not be so bad, he’s thrown ahead of time, right as it turns to shit.

Here’s the thing.

They’ve accumulated quite the reputation as a dangerous crew. Sinking ships and killing sailors.

It’s not entirely true.

But sometimes.

Sometimes, it’s not entirely false either.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

It takes less than twenty minutes to get everyone on board bound and gagged. It’s easy when you’ve got a head start and years of experience.

James is merciful, most of the time. Except when people have malicious intentions towards his crew. Then, James doesn’t have it in him to be merciful.

Kill them all, James signals, making a swift pivot as he's done, attention claimed by a misbehaving mobile that seems to spin erratically in the warm wind. He noticed it while fighting earlier, and perhaps a twine on the left side would—

“Take me with you.”

James halts in his tracks and swivels around, a sceptical eyebrow artfully cocked as someone materialises from the belly of the boat. Indiana, from her bound spot on the deck shakes her head, letting out a tired laugh. This is enough to pique the curiosity of The Silent Marauder crew.

An unsaid conversation flashes between James and Barty. The latter's head shake communicates volumes. They weren’t there when we checked.

“I’m looking for someone,” they continue gravely, advancing forward, hands and feet bound, hands raised in front of them like an offering, and Indiana chokes back a bitter laugh.

“Better with us than with you, that witch,” Indiana says, and the witch spits at Indiana’s feet, defiant.

“You couldn’t hold me at the bottom of the ocean if you tried, slaver.”

Indiana turns her head away, face scrunching. She directs her words at Severus, "You take them, then.”

Meanwhile the slave, undeterred by Indiana’s venom, pins James with a defiant gaze. "Teach me sign language and I'll keep quiet. Take me with you.”

James glances at Severus, rapidly signing his response.

"No temporary individuals on his ship," Severus translates.

“There’s a first time for everything, boy,” they say, pierced eyebrow arched.

What is your name?

“Dorcas.”

Severus gazes at James before redirecting his attention to the slave. "Who are you searching for?”

“A girl,” they reply.

Severus looks at James, and although the words taste like sulphur as they escape his lips, he dutifully translates, “Pick another one and move on.”

Dorcas leans back. They gaze at James with disdain and arrogance, a small smile playing on their lips. “You must have never loved anyone to suggest something so utterly foolish, boy,” and in their voice lingers the echoes of time's vast expanse. A thousand weathered lifetimes, while James stands like a mere sapling in their presence. Still, he gives them a blank look.

I haven’t, and I never will, he signs. He looks at Severus, waiting for his translation, but Severus is looking at James with something foreign in his eyes.

“Captain doesn’t have a heart,” Barty interjects, as the words refuse to form within Severus's mouth. He casts a grateful glance at Barty. Dorca’s unwavering gaze doesn’t deviate from James’s dead ones. They’re pointy like swords. Their expression is blank yet their eyes laugh.

“So it seems. You're the one making the mobiles,” they say eventually, and James nods, briefly shifting his eyes to the very mobile they are pointing at. “Someone who can make something this beautiful cannot be that heartless. Come on then, heartless boy, take me with you. I miss her.” Their voice is melodic. Dangerous. A siren’s voice. James could swear he’s heard it before. His eyes travel from their bound hands to their wiry frame and gaunt cheeks. Eventually, he shrugs and walks away, which is as good a yes as James would ever give.

A beat passes, and then Severus turns to James and yells out, “What about the rest of the crew?”

James halts, turning back slowly. His gaze fixates on Dorcas, eyes locked in an unspoken question. Dorcas studies him, a half-smile curving their lips— devoid of amusement. "They are not my crew; they are slavers. As far as I am concerned, that ship and everyone aboard it can sink.”

And so, it does.

🌊 DORCAS 🌊

From the deck of The Silent Marauder, the freed witch observes the sinking vessel, their newly liberated wrists rubbing together. There’s a wave, and fresh brine on deck, splattering against their face. They lick their lips.

The salt tastes like freedom.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James is unnerved. He’s pretty sure there is an actual witch on board. He doesn’t know them. He doesn’t trust them. It’s all internal, though. It’s James’s bones asking to be hidden from view. It’s James’s veins wanting Dorcas to look away. He feels seen in a way that isn’t wholly human. He doesn’t know why he let them board. In anything, he felt compelled to. 

But Dorcas isn’t just a former slave. He doesn’t know what they are. If he weren’t able to see their legs and arms and hands and face, James would wonder if Dorcas were human at all.

James observes from the upper deck as Dorcas turns away, eyes wandering upward, where he stands, gaze fixed upon him with a familiar expression, like they know what James is. What he’s doing. What he thinks. Who he is, in his soul.

Dorcas is tall, dark and, if James had to find a word, otherworldly would come to mind. Their hair is adorned with beads, shells and feathers, and though James is a few inches taller than them, he doesn’t entirely feel tall, next to them. In fact, he feels the opposite. They wear a dress that is layered and eclectic. A long skirt in deep blue, an overlay in earth tone, a fabric laid over it with strange embroidery. They’re barefoot and haven’t requested shoes, though they’ve been offered.

They join him on the upper deck.

They walk the ship like they own it. It’s a slow dance, when they walk. One foot in front of the other, purposeful, gentle, like caressing the floorboards. Their head tilts this way and that, hands reaching up to touch a shell hanging from a mobile. They look threatening now that they aren’t bound, walking through the ship like a dark essence— reminiscent of the mermaids adorning some ships' prow. Ethereal. Dangerous.

Not to be trusted.

“Take us to Tortuga, heartless boy. It holds what you most dearly want, and what I most dearly need.”

James pins them with a look that seems to say, you have no idea what it is that I want.

The witch studies him and laughs. “Foolish, heartless boy.”

Their words strike a chord within James, causing him to pause and truly examine them. Because they aren’t speaking in tongues, and yet…

“You do not want to live, heartless boy, do you?” Dorcas asserts not unkindly, and– it should be a simple answer.

It takes James several minutes to muster the courage to say something true. They don’t press. They look at him quietly, eyes assessing.

And James wants to speak, wants to say, it's not that I do not want to live, but rather... I no longer know how to live.

He doesn’t. Dorcas’s smile grows, unsettling. “Take me where I need to go. You will not regret it.”

James is unnerved.

Dorcas turns their head and smiles at him.

James’s neck tingles in displeasure. He turns away, but the eyes remain locked on his back. He can tell Dorcas is watching.

And so, Dorcas joins the crew.

🌊 EVAN 🌊

Evan likes Dorcas. Their energy is vibrant, like a painting brought to life. Full of secrets and hidden meanings. Evan has no secrets to hide, and nothing to be ashamed of. He likes Dorcas. They don’t help a lot on the ship, but Evan thinks that’s all right. They’ve been at this as a team for five years. They are a well-oiled machine. Dorcas can rest. Perhaps they’re their lucky charm. After all, the wind has been in their favour ever since Dorcas got on the ship. The weather has been calm. The fish have been plentiful. Pandora and Evan have never seen so many fish around the ship before. It has been quiet and gentle.

The ocean is never quiet and gentle.

Maybe it’s been soothed. Maybe it’s lying in wait.

Either way, Evan is happy.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James hasn’t used his voice in a very long time. He’s unsure how steady it will come. What it will do to him. If his body will remember how to vibrate around the words.

It’s early morning. Four, perhaps five. The sun isn’t up yet, but it’s yawning.

Dorcas is sitting on the prow of the ship, legs dangling from the edge, hands splayed behind them to hold their weight. Something violent unfurls in James’s gut. It’s wrong. James has the sudden urge to rip the floorboards from the deck and pull Dorcas away from the edge. It’s not their place. It’s—

They turn their head, eyes locking on James’s. A gentle, unnerving smile at their lips. Knowing. It cuts the anger off at the roots. James lets out a breath and approaches.

“I want to know what you are taking us to,” he says, voice unsteady like a flickering flame in the wind. He hates it.

“Your crew won’t be endangered, if this is the question.”

“It isn’t the question, Dorcas.”

“Then speak plainly, heartless boy. I do not like to waste time on fickle conversations.”

“The thing you say I want, the thing you say you need. What is it.”

Dorcas smiles like a cat that caught the canary, teeth bared. Their smile bites James, causing him to recoil and take a step back toward safety.

“Have you heard of Horcruxes, heartless boy?”

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James is digging a hole in the sand again, words fighting and mounting on top of each other, sentences jostling for position around his brain.

They say they can bring eternal life.

Everything on this Earth requires an equal exchange, heartless boy. What do you think it needs to provide life?

I don’t—

Do not lie to me, heartless boy.

Another life?

Dorcas smiles again, eyes glittering. Now you’re listening. I need a sacrifice, and you’re so willing.

Is James willing? He is.

He is.

Is he?

He digs.

What’s in the sand? What does he want? What is James looking for? Where is it? His heart, his heart, his—

I can help you find what you’re looking for.

No one can help me.

Nothing is forever lost if you want it bad enough. But you do not want it. You are afraid.

Aren’t I correct to be?

Fear can be tamed. So can hurt.

James stops, hands full of sand, brain turned over like fresh soil.

James’s heart isn’t in the sand. But what is, what is, what’s hiding—

James looks up, and Dorcas waves from their spot on the ship.

It isn’t a nice smile.

🌊

James doesn’t have a lot of prized possessions, but this ship is his cage, is his house, is his home, and James will drown with it if he must. No one else gets to have it. It is his.

“There is a storm coming. Something new from the ocean will be released.”

James jumps, turning around as Dorcas approaches quietly. They’re looking at the horizon. The blue horizon. The sunny horizon. The calm horizon.

James shakes his head. “There are no storms coming.”

🌊

James is wrong.

There is a storm, and it hits strong, like it’s been called.

The sky darkens abruptly as ominous clouds gather above. The once gentle breeze turns into a howling wind, whipping through the sails with a fury that threatens to tear them apart. There is a storm, and the crew scrambles to secure everything on the ship, bracing themselves for the impending tempest.

This hasn’t happened before.

Rain starts to pour, heavy and unrelenting, drenching everyone on board. The sea, once serene and inviting, transforms into a churning mass of angry waves. It lasts for hours. The ship pitches and rolls, groaning under the strain of the tumultuous waters. The entire time, James grips the helm tightly, knuckles turning white as he fights to keep control.

There is a storm coming, Dorcas had said.

Hours pass like an eternity. The storm gradually begins to lose its ferocity, as if nature itself has exhausted its rage. The wind subsides, the rain dwindles to a drizzle, and the waves gradually calm.

James finds Dorcas standing barefoot on the prow, looking at him already.

“Some weren’t quite as lucky as us,” they say, looking back to the front of the ship. James sees it, then.

The remnants of a vessel.

And a boy.

They are miles away from the shore. There is nothing but oceans and oceans in every direction. Nothing but oceans and a boy holding on to a piece of wood. He’s not conscious, and the boy slips.

James has seen many a boy be swallowed by the ocean. It’s never bothered him before.

He’s never cared before.

James didn’t know he had it in him. And yet.

He jumps.

🌊 DORCAS 🌊

On the prow of the ship, Dorcas smiles.

🌊 SEVERUS 🌊

Severus doesn’t have any problem recalling everything that went down five years ago. The memories resurface with vivid clarity, etched into his mind like scars that refuse to fade.

After all, it’s difficult to forget some of the worst moments of his life.

By the time they’d gotten back to the boat, James had been nonverbal, and Remus had been holding Sirius like his bones would liquefy if he let go.

There had been dead bodies, and no Regulus in sight.

It’s just that Regulus had been his best friend. And when James had lost it, that final time, and given his heart to Sirius, and told him to take care of it because he couldn’t bear it anymore, and asked Sirius to leave, because his face reminded him too much of Regulus—

It’s just that Severus thought it might be what Regulus would want. For Severus to look over James.

James isn’t a bad person. That was never the issue. The issue was— is, that James loves with everything inside of him. It is a force that consumes him. Others see it as a gift, but Severus finds himself conflicted. When does unwavering love become a curse in disguise?

Severus thinks it might be somewhere at the point where one’s heart becomes too tainted to bear.

No, Severus doesn’t have any problem recalling everything that went down five years ago.

He also doesn’t have any problem remembering James's cold personality, since. His disinterest for everything. His constant state of detachment. It's as if James has built an impenetrable fortress around himself. Gone is the vibrant, passionate soul Severus once knew. James is a hollow shell. Apathetic.

Severus often wonders if it's fear that holds James back. Fear of reliving the memories, fear of facing the truth, and fear of the emotions that would come flooding back. Maybe James believes that by numbing himself to the world, he can escape the clutches of his own heartache.

So imagine his surprise when Severus arrives on the prow just in time to see James jump into the water after a boy.

Chapter Text

🌊 OCEAN 🌊

With every surge and retreat, I carry tales of time, whispers of joy, and murmurs of heartache. I witness everything, from the shifting of tectonic plates to the flicker of love that sparks in human hearts.

It's easy for me to overlook life, being as old as I am. Having seen the same story unfold in a myriad of ways.

I see, omniscient and unparticipative.

Invicible.

And then, Marlene steps foot onto my shores for the first time.

And I, oh, I discover I can love.

Marlene, with her vibrant spirit and heartfelt laughter, head tilted up towards the sun, bringing life to my lonely shores. Dancing bare feet on my sands, imprinting kisses.

I offer Marlene the most beautiful shells from the depths of my belly, pearls and soft sand, everything, just so Marlene will return, time and again.

And she does.

She does, she does.

I am in love. This is all I am, all that I do. I love, love, love Marlene.

But then, Marlene returns with another hand in hers. Dorcas's.

And I try. To look away, jealousy crystallizing in my salts, in my algae and waves, in every grain of sand, painted green with envy. It seeps into my aqueous veins, choking me with the salt of my own tears.

Jealousy is liquid and smells like blood to a shark, an unyielding undertow pulling at my heart, festering. So I lash out.

Dorcas takes a boat, just once. I remember the date. March 10th. I seize my opportunity. To keep Dorcas within, to claim Marlene for myself. I trap Dorcas in the water.

I watch the beach.

Marlene waits, and waits, and waits.

Weeks pass, Marlene waiting by my shore, heart echoing the rhythm of my waves, and this is so, so lovely. Her tears mingle with my waves and our essences touch.

Dorcas never reappears. For years, held in my embrace.

And Marlene cries, and cries, and cries, but her heart is mine.

Salt crystallises on her cheeks and Marlene statufies.

White rock, it's Marlene. Sat there waiting, salt and coral, it's Marlene.

Waiting for Dorcas.

Staying by my side.

Forever waiting.

🌊

Playing with humans has a cost that even I can’t predict.

Dorcas remains, and Dorcas evolves. This requires time, a process unfamiliar to me. My energy seeps into them over decades. And throughout it all, Dorcas endures. Unaffected by the relentless march of time, Dorcas persists.

There are ways to deal with events.  For Dorcas, it's patience. My preference leans towards tumult and resistance. I want them to lash and fight, I want to tame and showcase, prove I am better. But Dorcas doesn’t take the bait, and wait they do, and they drain me.

By the time I regurgitate them on another boat, on another ocean, a world away from my Marlene, Dorcas is no longer the same human I originally ensnared.

If I had to give it a word, I would say,

Otherworldly.

🌊 DORCAS 🌊

Dorcas needs to find the girl. Once the girl is found, Dorcas will need to find the cursed boy and the ocean boy. They cannot let the cursed boy walk with a gift meant for another. He doesn’t see it as a gift. It’s wasted on him.

These boys have been creating chasm in the fabric of the universe. Stealing gifts and treating them like curses. Stealing Death and defeating Life. Dorcas will put a stop to it.

Dorcas needs to find Marlene.

It has been so long.

They have been separated for years, and Dorcas wants. They need. They ache.

They rage.

The girl belongs to them.

Oh, Dorcas rages.

How dare? Indiana belongs at the bottom of the ocean. She will be found again. Dorcas will crush these bones to coral. Nothing will be left of her. How it always should have been. And then, Dorcas will make the Ocean swallow Her own tears.

There is a vendetta afoot, and Dorcas is the executionner.

Dorcas will use the ocean boy. He will help the heartless boy find the chest. After all, he is the missing link between them all. He has been kept safely.

They release him, now.

Dorcas always knew he would serve a purpose. Good of them, to have kept him for so long.

And then.

Then, the heartless boy must die.

But isn’t that what he had wanted this entire time?

Dorcas is merciful.

They will give James what he has been asking for.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

You never get used to the pain before a transformation. Never. It’s been years, and Remus is still catatonic with pain for days before. He isn’t alone in dealing with it anymore now, at least.

There are small rituals that Sirius and Remus have established to help. Nothing does, not really, but it does help Sirius, so.

Anything to help Sirius, really. Remus would keep his curse, double it, triple it for the chance to meet Sirius for the first time.

That boy is everything to him. He has known Sirius for years and will keep knowing him after their bones have turned to dust. After they’re sand on the beach, his grains will surround and protect Sirius’s.

They’ve accosted the ship on Sirius’s demand, close to the beach they go to every year.

“Are you guys going to be okay?” Frank asks, and isn’t that a loaded question.

No, of course not, they won’t be okay. They never are, while Remus is gone and the…it… takes his place. So much could go wrong. So much does go wrong.

Sirius hates every moment that the curse takes Remus away from him. Makes it impossible for him to protect the one boy he will never stop aching for.

But yes, of course they will be okay. Because they have been doing this for six years, and because they have no other choice.

Sirius built Remus a hut on that godforsaken beach. It’s easier than moving from the ship to the barge at dawn. It’s wonky and twisted, but it’s a labour of love. Remus helped, of course.

“Consider it practice,” he’d said to Sirius.

“Practice?”

“For when we build our actual house.”

“Bold of you to assume you would ever want to build anything with me ever again after this.”

Remus has just smiled. “I want to build my entire life around you, sweetheart.”

“No, don’t say that.”

Hands framing Sirius’s face, forcing him to look up. “I do say that, Sirius. I would build a hundred wonky houses with you. I would sleep under the stars, on the beach, if you asked.”

“You shouldn’t be allowed to say things like that.”

“I never want to say anything else.”

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

They’re at the hut now, and Remus is bursting out in cold sweats. One thing that helps, as they have discovered, is putting Remus in cold water. He’s in it now, hands going in and out of that flobby consistency Sirius has come to know intimately. Healing scrapes and scratches, useful. Let me heal this for you with my bare hands, oh, you wish you had that power? Let me reassure you, you do not.

Sirius is speaking to him softly, not touching. Hasn’t, ever since that night six years ago. It hurts Remus more than soothes him when he’s this close to shifting, which is all that Sirius needs to know to not do it again.

When the pain gets too much, Remus will dunk under and scream. It is something Sirius has never gotten used to.

Remus’s pain still is Sirius’s most painful open wound, besides Regulus.

Besides James.

Well.

There has been a lot of pain in Sirius’s life.

Remus’s is the only one Sirius might be able to do something about. He’s been reading about curses. Remus’s? Appears nowhere. He is a freak incident. A lovely, lovely incident. But Sirius is not deterred. He will find a solution.

In the morning, Remus goes to the barge, Sirius paddles them to the lighthouse.

The wind is off.

This is Sirius’s first inkling that something isn’t quite right.

Sirius doesn’t have time to wonder.

“Remus.”

In any other situations, Remus would have been the one to notice the wrong, to tell Sirius what to do. But Remus’s eyes are closed. He’s fetal on the inside of the boat, shivering, skin slowly taking on a dangerous flobby consistency.

They’ve waited too long.

Sirius paddles faster, even as he knows.

He isn’t going to make it back to the beach on time. Isn’t going to make it anywhere on time.

He comes to the realisation only a few seconds before Remus starts melting into the bottom of the boat, eyes blank.

And well, Sirius’s instincts are alive and kicking. He drops the paddles inside the boat, next to Remus. Jumps in the water. Starts swimming towards the lighthouse. It’s barely two hundred meters.

He can make it.

He prays.

That he can make it.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

There is something tugging at his psyche, asking for his attention.

Remus cannot focus on it.

There is pain, and the knowledge that he shouldn’t be alive.

He is, and the pain is all-encompassing.

And then, Remus isn’t there at all.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Close, the rocks are so close.

Sirius is going to make it.

He is.

In fact, Sirius is so sure of himself, fingers grazing the first rocks, that he doesn’t quite understand, right away, why he is abruptly jolted back. Why instead of moving forward, Sirius is being dragged away.

Why instead of opening his mouth to oxygen, his lungs are suddenly full of water.

Then the tentacle fully wraps around his ankle, dragging him in the deep, and Sirius’s last thought is,

Oh.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Remus is feeling sluggish, like someone is pushing him far, far, far

D

O

W

N.

Further down that he’s ever been.

There is comfort in the fear, because Sirius is with him. He looks lovely, pale skin under water, like a painting. Remus lifts his hand to touch Sirius’s cheeks, only to frown. He doesn’t have hands, only tentacles. Should Sirius be with him now?

It feels wrong, a thought that shouldn’t be.

It seems like trivial information to hold on to, but Remus does, nonetheless.

And then, Sirius screams underwater, and Remus disappears again.

🦑 KRAKEN 🦑

The Kraken find this gift to be so lovely. So lovely. It is glad. It had been refused gifts for so many years. Forced to swim around, aimless. This boy between its arms, it likes. It starts to drag the gift down into the ocean, but the gift is fighting, pulling, stabbing at its arms with bony fingers.

For something so beautiful, the gift certainly isn’t lovely.

It is getting tired though, strength leaving its body.

Good.

The Kraken doesn’t need its gifts escaping their confines. Pulling another arm around the gift, the Kraken gets ready to turn around—

There is something shining at the bottom of the ocean.

Instantly, it knows ‘this’, the shining ‘this’, to be better. The Ocean is whispering, too, asking for it to go grab its gift, it’s shining, better than the boy you’re drowning, get the gift I am offering you.

Years without gifts, and two at once?

Oh, oh it is happy.

Releasing the first gift, the Kraken goes to fetch the second gift. Down it goes, to the bottom.

Oh, it is another gift, just like the first.

Another one. Unlike the first, he looks at peace, eyes closed and mouth open, hands above his head, waiting to be plucked from the ocean.

There is a boy at the bottom of the ocean. The Kraken picks him up.

There is a boy in its grasp.

It has time, still.

The Kraken swims away.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius has just enough strength to breach the surface of the water, pieces of the barge Remus destroyed everywhere.

He thinks, I can do this.

Thinks, he let me go.

Thinks, just hold on.

He does.

And then.

Then, a storm, out of nowhere. And Sirius thinks, maybe I can’t.

After that, he doesn’t think again.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Remus doesn’t want to give it up. He was inside the boat… Sirius was paddling… they were heading…

There is a chest, buried in the sand.

Remus couldn’t be on the sand, he was melting… inside the boat…

…Is it over yet?

It doesn’t feel over.

Remus feels heavy. His hands are full.

It doesn’t end, and Remus endures.

🌊 THE BOY WITH NO NAME 🌊

The boy opens his eyes to blue skies and quiet.

It’s lovely, after the songs of the Ocean and Her pleas to let go.

The boy’s hands are tired from holding on. His fingers clutch into emptiness. His back is against solid wood. The boy isn’t at risk of drowning anymore, and his ankle hurts.

He’s alive.

He is alive and someone is hovering over him, shoulders wide and hiding the unforgiving sun. The boy’s face is in the other person’s shadows, and he opens his eyes.

He wants to open his mouth to say something, but words fail, and the boy doesn’t speak.

A hand gets extended, and the boy takes it. He is pulled into an upright position, which is a terrible idea, because the boy hasn’t used his body in what seems like hours. He’s jelly fish limbs, but the hand latches on with a stronger grip, and the boy looks up.

The man is looking at him with confusion, like one stares at an interesting looking fish. With consideration and curiosity. A decision is made, and the man smiles. The gesture doesn’t reach his eyes, which is perfectly fine with the boy. He wouldn’t know what to do with a genuine smile anyway.

“Here you are,” the man says, and his voice sounds just as broken as his smile. Unused and pained.

The boy wants to say that he isn’t what the man is looking for, because he is no one, and therefore cannot be the man’s you.

Who is he?

But it sounds nice, this you coming out of the man’s mouth. He’d like to be that person.

It doesn’t occur to the boy to be scared. Of having forgotten. Of not knowing who he is.

The boy smiles. It is a little sleepy. It’s the last thing he does, before he lets the arms cradle him as he loses consciousness.

🌊 SEVERUS 🌊

There is a boy on the ship.

Severus recognises him.

There is a boy on the ship. His name is Sirius. And James has just spoken to him.

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James needs to stop collecting lost souls on his ship.

First Dorcas, and now this boy, who looks extraordinarily familiar, like a song that has been sung many times before being forgotten.

And oh, how James misses.

It’s rooted in his bones, asking for—

The longing has always been there, of course, ever since—

But it’s more insistent now, demanding.

This is the first time that James does not want to staunch the call, but answer it instead.

He wants—

Desperately.

Desperately.

Go to him.

He doesn’t know who the voice belongs to.

Go to him.

It sounds like a boy who has his heart.

Go to him.

 James doesn't want to be there, next to the sleeping boy, when he wakes up. He's scared. 

Go to Sirius.

Chapter Text

🌊 DORCAS 🌊

Dorcas doesn’t have all the answers. The threads of time are complex, aren’t they? Interfering is a tricky business. Even Dorcas doesn’t love to play with the tricks of fate. Pulling always has consequences. Dorcas knows.

Still.

They pick a thread, and

P

   u

            l

                            l

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Remus wakes up on a beach, and the sand is soft, a stark contrast to the relentless pull of the sea that Remus has grown so accustomed to. There is a breeze, carrying on its wings a hint of salt and the distant notion that it all could be a dream, if his exhaustion weren’t so real, if it wasn’t bearing down on him so heavily.

This is the first time.

Remus doesn’t wake on beaches, he wakes in the water. Always, the water.

He feels frail, torn from the belly of the beast, pulled ashore like a forgotten relic of the deep. He is so tired.

He wakes on a beach, and turns his head to the side.

There is a boy with him. This, too, is new.

The boy is unconscious, and then he isn’t, eyelids fluttering open, revealing the depth of the blue cosmos in his gaze…and irises like Sirius’s.

He’d recognize that boy anywhere.

“Regulus?”

Regulus turns his head from Remus to the cloudless, endless blue sky.

“I think I am not supposed to be here,” is the answer Remus gets.

Remus wants to speak, to ask a million questions, to understand the improbable reality before him. But the weight of exhaustion presses down on him, pulling his consciousness back into the abyss. He closes his eyes.

He is tired.

🌊

When he wakes up again, Regulus is gone.

Remus finds him walking along the shoreline, hands tucked deep in his pockets. He looks like a ghost, a dreamwalking silhouette, feet like soft songs on the cold sand.

“Did you take me to shore?” The boy doesn’t look at him, just keeps walking. “Thank you,” Remus continues. “You didn’t need to, you—”

Regulus turns around, and Remus is once again shocked. That boy, he looks…

“What year are we?”

“What?”

Regulus cocks his head slightly, his brows furrowing. “The year. Today’s year. Which one is it?”

Remus stumbles. “Does it matter?” He asks, catching up to the boy just as he stops, toes digging into the wet sand.

Time stretches, the boy looking out onto the ocean for what seems like hours. The world seems to hold its breath.

"I feel old," he finally murmurs.

It’s not the sentence itself, but the way the boy says it. Like the skin has had time to mold. Like his entire body has had time to turn to dust, a soul that's seen epochs pass by.

And then, with a hint of wonder and a touch of genuine curiosity, he peers at Remus. "Who are you?"

Remus is preoccupied with a more pressing concern.

“Did you pull me to shore?”

Regulus’s expression remains unreadable. “You were drowning.”

“Thank you.”

The boy, who looks so much like Sirius, narrows his eyes and says again, “You were drowning,” like his actions needed no explanation.

Remus finds comfort in that—the idea that for some, saving a drowning soul is a given. “Still, thank you.”

Acknowledging him with a nod, the boy introduces himself. “I’m Regulus.”

And isn’t that interesting? Because Regulus is dead. Remus had seen him sink beneath the waves years ago. Had dived to find him, only to come up with hands full of water and nothing to show for it.

Yet here stands Regulus, unmistakably himself, aware of his own identity but seemingly unfamiliar with Remus, and—where is Sirius? Where is James? Where—

“Where are we?”

Regulus shrugs. “I don’t know. An island. You tried to drown me with your tentacles.” Like an afterthought, “Good thing I was already dead.”

There's an odd cadence to Regulus’s words, emerging a little out of place, like something reborn not quite right. It should worry Remus. It doesn’t.

Remus lived in a cage for a decade, no better than a beast to be taken out when others wanted it, no decisions in his empty, bruised hands. Had no one and nothing belong to him for longer still. He is one of them—a person a little out of place, something reborn not quite right.

So, he does what Sirius did to him back when the hinges from his cage got removed, and he got to experience

Life.

He goes gentle like fingers intertwining in hands that have never felt touch. Careful, like skimming the hair of a skittish animal, mindful of its wolf-eyes.

“Where were you?”

“The bottom of the ocean, I think,” Regulus replies before he starts walking again. It’s aimless, steps forward because something needs to happen, and walking is as good an excuse to act human as anything.

Remus’s legs are in pain. Every inch of his body is on fire. He normally treats his body gently the week post-transformation, something not quite set back in his bones, a requirement to take it slow, catch his humanity back.

He ignores it.

This. This is more important.

“Do you remember before?”

Regulus’s steps falter before steadying. Curious, head tilting with interest, “Before?”

Remus gets the notion that before does not mean to Regulus what Remus implies. So, he clarifies. “Before you were dead.”

Regulus doesn’t answer for some time, though his steps slow. He starts dancing on the sand, testing sounds with the sole of his feet, looking for—

“Ah,” Regulus says. Sinks down on his knees, and starts digging with his bare hands. “I was alive, before,” Regulus says conversationally. He doesn’t seem to know that dead people cannot behave the way Regulus currently is. That Regulus is alive. That death implies bone dust and disappearances.

But then again, Regulus did disappear, didn’t he? Down at the bottom of the ocean, but now he’s here, digging a hole in the sand.

So what is this all about?

“What are you, now?”

Regulus stops for a moment, eyes focused on his hands and the way the sand is turning wet the further down he digs. “Now, I have been released.”

The word doesn’t sit well with Remus.

Release.

It implies capture. Implies an intent to let go. Like Regulus’s reappearance was planned.

Planning implies sentience. Implies agenda.

“Who released you, Regulus?”

Regulus starts digging again. Doesn’t answer for a long time. Digs until he finds what he is looking for, and excavates it. It’s a nondescript wooden chest. Small enough, light enough, it fits in the palms of Regulus’s hands like it was made to be held by him.

Regulus lifts like smoke, gently settling the chest under his right arm.

“I don’t know who.” He looks at Remus. “But I know why.”

🌊 REGULUS 🌊

He’s a thousand years old.

Or perhaps he was just born yesterday. Regulus cannot pinpoint much about himself, just the task he has. There is a heart buried in the sand, and Regulus has taken hold of it. It is precious and so warm under his arm. It feels less like holding a chest, and more like skinning his teeth on soft marrow, like digging into life. Holding the chest feels like settlement. Arranging a piece of himself a little more to the right.

He glances back at it, now.

He needs to bring it back to the cave, where the horcrux is. Something will happen if he does. He does not know what, but then again, the what does not matter. He knows the why. That is enough.

He turns to the man, who is a monster, who he pulled out of the water, who has eyes like a scared child. “I need to find a cave. Can you help?”

The man, who is a monster, who he pulled out of the water, who has eyes like a scared child, shakes his head. Changes his mind, nods. Bargains. “If you help me find someone else first.”

Regulus shakes his head. “No.”

Head tilting, “No?”

Regulus turns his eyes to the wooden box. “It’s out of the sand, now. On a timer. It will rot if not returned to where it belongs.”

Remus is confused. “Did you not just take it from where it belonged?”

“This was never where it belonged. A temporary place for a temporary time.” He pauses again, considering. “On a timer, now,” he repeats. Regulus isn’t sure how he knows, but regardless, he does. Now that the beating heart is out of the sand, he needs to give it back to the chest in the cave. He needs to open his own chest out as a sacrifice. He needs blood between his teeth or ocean water in his lungs. He needs to belong to the water once more, a piece of him missing. Or he needs to go to the cave and—and—and—

“What is your name?” he asks again.

“Remus.”

Regulus gives him a tired smile. “Remus. I feel very strange. Please, help me find Marlene.”

Marlene.

Marlene?

Marlene.

Marlene isn’t a name Regulus knows. Still, he knows her. Knows the shape of her coral body like an evidence, like he was born knowing her. Can close his eyes and envision every part of her rock salt body. Knows he would recognize her anywhere. It is not his memories, though it is a memory that comes from somewhere, a liquid connection to something—someone?—who used to know her.

Remus takes his time, considering Regulus’s words. Regulus thinks he quite likes the way the monster with scared eyes looks at him. Not like an object and not like a person. Something in-between. Like an echo, almost. Something like recognition in his gaze, we used to be the same.

Eventually, he agrees. “All right. What do you need?”

“There is a rock somewhere on this island, by the beach. It is said that no one can find the cave, unless the gods want you there, unless you know a god…or unless you’ve touched the rock. She shows you the path.”

The scared monster arches a brow. “You want to find a rock…on a beach.”

Regulus nods, unbothered but the lunacy of that request. “Yes. It is said that it looks like a woman staring out into the ocean. If I find the rock, she will tell me where the cave is.”

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Remus doesn’t think he understands what Regulus is saying.

That is, he does, but there is an unhinged and uncomprehensible part about it.

Otherworldly.

For the first time since Remus woke up with sand between his fingers on this beach, something inside of him wonders if Regulus is Regulus at all.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius’s last word to James were, “I will bury your heart.”

He thinks—perhaps he lied, because there are shards of James’s heart embedded everywhere in Sirius. He’s been pulling pieces out for years. They appear in mysterious places, at mysterious times.

It’s harder than people think, to let go.

The thought will come out of nowhere sometimes, Effy would have hated this. Or perhaps she would have understood? Regulus is with her now, isn’t he?

Regulus is another broken piece in Sirius, the jagged edges just as vicious.

He wakes up sometimes wondering if all he will ever be made out of are pieces of James and Regulus. It takes time for him to get out of the spiral, to remember Remus is there and whole, to remember he is, too. Two for two, these damn pairs again.

Too many people in Death’s arm.

No one told Sirius this would be his life.

Brotherless—and that is a painful shard, a partner with a curse even too large for the ocean to hold—another, the ghost of a best friend he hasn’t seen in years—ouch, who’s little less than, well...a monster. Another kind than Remus, something manufactured.

Remus was forced into the shape of a monster.

James took it, a decision made from heartbreak, yes, but. But Sirius had been heartbroken too. Sirius had suffered, something loose and painful rubbing at his chest, pain like a black, evil thing with teeth gnawing at what he had been. Sirius has wanted to crawl into a hole and stay. Had wanted to scream and tear and turn the world around—start it again, please. Anything to prevent that.

The world doesn’t care about begging, and wounds are meant to heal.

Sirius had healed.  A scar freshly sealed, pink and difficult to manage around sometimes, so easily torn, but healed over in time.

James hadn’t allowed this to happen. Hadn’t wanted to—and perhaps Sirius has Remus to thank for that. Perhaps his reaction would have been much more visceral, had he only had Regulus and James—then James only—then no one. Perhaps the step he would have taken wouldn’t have been quite as virtuous.

Regardless, James had become a ghost.

And yet.

🌊

Sirius wakes on a boat. Instinctively, he knows it isn’t the first time he’s been awake, though he doesn’t remember much.

He remembers jumping off the boat. He remembers swimming, being pulled back—

He jackknifes halfway off the bed.

“Remus.”

A voice answers him. “Remus isn’t here.”

It’s a far away echo, but Sirius remembers this voice. It’s a voice he’s heard before. Before…way back when. Back when—

He opens his eyes, and the memory comes back, along with the sight of—“Severus?”

Severus gives him a wry smile. “Sirius, what a pleasure to see you. Welcome to The Silent Marauder.”

🌊

Sirius, miraculously, remembers how to sign.

This is the first question Severus asks Sirius. Of course on the tip of his tongue, transforming to—actually…but in the end, yes. Yes, Sirius remembers.

A bitter taste on his tongue, that word. Sirius remembers everything. That’s what people do, don’t they? They remember. They suffer through, and get by, and move on, and they remember.

Well, unless you are James.

James.

James…

There is so much love attached to that name, as well as an anchor with teeth sinking in his skin when he thinks about him too long, my god. Sirius hates James. Hates how much he loves him, hates how much he misses him, hates how much James robbed him of his own grief surrounding Regulus’ death.

But hate is a sugarcoating word, isn’t it? It surrounds another word, which might be love, or envy, or jealousy, or a plethora of other choices. No one hates without reason, there is always something silently affixed to the hate. It’s a ghost-particle around the word, I hate you but what I mean is…envy, desire, despair, grief, lovelovelove—

Sirius hates James but it’s love.

After all this time, still, it’s love.

And so Sirius is on James’ boat, and hasn’t seen him, and Severus is asking him about sign language.

He isn’t sure he understands the recent events: He is on a boat. On James’s boat. Where everyone is speaking sign language to communicate. James is nowhere to be found—avoiding reality, Severus said. They are headed to Tortuga because a witch asked James, and James said yes. Said, sure, why not? Said, let’s head there.

Put together, nothing makes sense.

More importantly, sense aside, Sirius doesn’t care about Tortuga.

He wants to find Remus.

Remus, Remus, Remus, circling around his head like a prayer formed from a curse, it’s the only god Sirius is interested in praying to. No other god has listened to Sirius like Remus has. It’s empirical knowledge that this one listens, hears, responds. It’s a god who’s suffered like no other, and pain is such a human feeling to have. A paper scrap, something sudden, then blood peppering out of the skin. Remus doesn’t bleed, of course. It’s different, he’s cursed. Sirius doesn’t care. He’ll lick the saltwater off his wounds with his tongue, no shame, only love.

That’s in three. Remus spoken once feels small and unimportant, Remus spoken twice isn’t quite enough, but three times, that’s good. That feels like perhaps it’s just enough. Never completely of course, Sirius could spend his entire life speaking the vowels that make up Remus’s name thinking about saying it just one more time, but—well.

Tongue, shame, love.

Remus, Remus, Remus.

James doesn’t seek him out—painful, that shard, and by the end of day one, Sirius goes on a hunt.

This is a boat, there aren’t infinite corners to hide in, and Sirius wants to see. He wants to see the boy who used to matter so much. The boy who got destroyed by his brother.

He wants to confront him.

🌊 SEVERUS 🌊

Severus has a terrible feeling about the entire thing. Something is wrong with James. With Dorcas. With Sirius. Something isn’t right.

He is incapable of pinpointing his discomfort, other than the fact it exists, strong and steady, altering his mind. It’s wrong, everything is. Severus needs the Time to stop, needs time to explore other universes, perhaps take a step back.

He’s walking towards Evan, opening his mouth to discuss, to share, to—

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

He finds James busying himself with a mobile in the hull, like he has no responsibility as a captain.

It's James. His once boyishly wild dark hair has grown even more unruly. He is warm-toned for someone so ocean-cold, focused on his mobile, eyes like the deep, and Sirius misses when he could find himself reflected on the surface. There are nothing but shipwrecks swimming in his irises now.

Sirius looks at James, and observes and frowns and tries to understand what happened, how he let the riff become so generous. How he let the past five years happen at all.

HowhowhowHOWHowhowHowHowhowhowhowhwhowhowhowhow

How

          How

             H

  o

        w

This is his brother as much as the real one was.

“James.”

James turns around, whip-sharp, almost angry at the sound, but Sirius refuses to entertain James’ lunacy. He continues, daggers out, because gentle isn’t something he feels capable of right now, hate coating every word but it’s longing, the shape of James branded in the form of a best friend he hasn’t hugged in years, and the question is an excuse for everything else, bridging the gap that’s so large, so large, impossible to see beyond—“Why aren’t you manning your boat?”

And James isn’t happy, but you know what, neither is Sirius.

His voice is iceberg cold when James replies, voice rough from disuse—but following Sirius’s lead nonetheless—“They know where we are going.” And then, a shift in James’s eyes, anger but it’s coated in I miss you’s, “Sirius…”

This is the first time in years that James calls Sirius's name. Makes him belong to him again. Like a homecoming, finally, Sirius’s name in James’s mouth again.

Why is this so hard, when they used to belong to each other? They did, didn’t they?

They used to belong to each other.

That belonging is long gone, the first two letters dropped out into the ocean and transformed again like everything the ocean seems to touch, and Effy had been right of course, ‘It’s dangerous, the sea! Don’t you hear all the tales of sailors who drown? Ships that wreck? What will you do, if James—’

Oh, oh, Effy had been right.

They used to belong to each other, but all Sirius sees right now is a gaping maw between them, and James’ longing just as strong as his, unable to cross the divide, how do we do this, this thing we used to be so good at, friendship?

It feels so far away now, so different from what used to be, so different from what Sirius now knows.

“James,” Stopping, assessing, nothing is right, the words aren’t formulating in his mouth the way he wishes, so much anger but that’s not the way to approach. Finally, “I did what you asked me to.”

Longing increasing, and of course it would be easier if James still had this heart they’re skirting about, might be able to have an open conversation, a heart-to-heart, but these only work when everyone is fully formed. When one’s best friend hasn’t asked the other to bury his heart somewhere he can never find.

“I always trusted you,” James replies, a lot softer now.

Feet planted in the ship, Sirius prepares. It’s now, now or never, “James—”

🌊 DORCAS 🌊

Dorcas hasn’t used their powers on such a large scale in a while. It takes so much energy, they almost collapse by the time they’ve accomplished what they set out to do.

But then, the plan is set into motion.

Sailors aren’t going to be the ones derailing their plan.

🌊 SEVERUS 🌊

Severus’ mouth closes, and Evan escapes his mind. He’s feeling awfully dull. His brain like soft gray, his thoughts like rehearsed lines, something that doesn’t belong to him. He wants to bring it up to someone, but always finds himself confused, elsewhere, doing something else. Severus doesn’t understand what is happening to him.

He is powerless to stop it, confused by it, distressed because—what is going on?

Systematically, he’s been looking overboard, spying for sirens and monsters, a reason for his discomfort.

He finds none.

He does think, quick and abrupt, almost in passing, that he hasn’t seen the witch in a while. The thought, as quickly as it enters his mind, disappears, and Severus shakes himself awake.

He has things to do.

It doesn’t occur to Severus until it’s too late. The reason behind his sluggishness and mental drifts. By the time he does, it’s too late.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

They find it on the fourth beach.

The rock.

Remus will admit, it does look somewhat human. Shaped and molded by years spent in the embrace of the ocean, a surface bearing the scars of time: pockmarks, grooves, and cavities formed from relentless waves. Embedded within its structure are glistening salt crystals and dead corals, remnants of marine life.

Sat and looking at the ocean horizon, it’s what used to be, coral legs crossed, hands on thighs like seashells.

“Is it her?” he asks, and Regulus nods.

“Yes.”

The boy takes a step forward, facing the ocean statue. There are no thoughts, no expectations in Regulus’s eyes as he approaches his hand. Similarly, there is no indication that the rock could cause any issues. No revolting feeling, no voices in the wind. Remus cannot attribute his rash behaviour to anything but instinct.

“Wait.”

Regulus’s hand is inches from the rock. He turns to Remus, hand hovering—too close.

“I have to touch Marlene if I want her to show me to the cave,” Regulus says matter-of-factly, though he stops his hand from continuing its trajectory.

“I know you don’t recognize me,” Remus starts, suddenly eager to converse as long as possible.

Something about the rock.

Regulus shouldn’t touch the rock.

Regulus should not.

He should not.

Keep him talking.

“Do you remember anyone else?” He asks.

Regulus drops his hand to his side. Tilts his head in confusion. “Who else?”

“People you used to know before…” Before you died.

The thing is. Remus is not entirely sure that Regulus is dead. He isn’t entirely sure that Regulus is alive, either.

There is something about him.

Something strange.

If Remus had to name it, he would say,

Otherworldly.

Regulus gives him a smile. “There is Marlene,” he says, which is not an answer, and before Remus has time to stop Regulus, his pale hand touches the statue, and Remus has the thought, I should pay more attention to my instincts, right as Regulus’s eyes roll to the back of his head, take on a dangerous cloudy, icy blue hue, before the pupils vanish entirely, leaving only white.

His voice comes out, but it isn’t his. It’s a dream-like sigh like finally finding gold in a river after decades, touching a loved one after eons, “Marlene.”

It’s a lover’s call. Pleased and somewhat feminine. On the edge of it really, a deep but clear voice.

It is not Regulus’s voice.

And then that doesn’t matter, because Regulus’s wooden chest starts bubbling viscous red, dark blood oozing out of the grooves like an unclosed wound, bleeding all over Regulus’s hands.

Unbothered, Regulus turns his cloudy eyes to the box drooling blood and goes, “Oh, the countdown has started,” and collapses.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius is trying to gear up, ignoring the creaking timbers of the ship's dimly lit cabin. He wants to have thatconversation with James—when footfalls echo on the wooden planks and the door is suddenly thrust open with urgency, revealing a flustered blond man. A lot of noise, heavy breaths and looking like he’s seen something not quite right.

Captain, the blond man signs, you need to see this.

A shared look, less longing, more like before, and he and James are running out the door.

🌊

The witch’s—Dorcas’s—eyes aren’t normal. They’re this unnatural blue like an icy lake, too cold to touch, a color that doesn’t presume anything good. They are smiling into the void, hand extended, whispering, before the eyes revert to a more comforting shade of brown.

“He found Marlene,” they say, evidently unbothered by the silent rule any longer.

Sirius doesn’t have time to ask who he is, or who Marlene is, or what the fuck.

Dorcas turns to Barty, says, “I hope you don’t mind,” and with a disturbing calmness, reaches into their mouth, gagging, as they extract—from somewhere—a wrapped piece of fabric.

Distantly, another voice emerges, echoing Sirius’s own shock: “What the fuck.”

Dorcas coughs once, and unfurls the fabric to reveal—a tooth.

Still smiling, they take a step forward. When they speak again, their voice isn’t human.

“Hold on to James,” they order, and it’s compulsion, Sirius’s hand grabbing James’s without a thought, touching him like that crater between them has never been a problem—“Good. Take a deep breath, this is going to shake,” they say.

🌊 SEVERUS 🌊

Severus watches it all play out like a nightmare in slow motion.

He’s locked in his limbs, incapable of moving forward. Incapable of moving at all.

There is something foreign rooting his bones to the ship, cells rebelling and being shut down.

He watches as the witch regurgitates a tooth out of their mouth like a baby bird. He watches Barty flicker forward, knows he’s just seen what’s about to happen. He’s rooted to the spot, watching and seeing and incapable of acting. Frozen like an omniscient spectator to a gruesome spectacle. Everyone on the ship seems to be.

And for the second time in his life, Severus watches someone he’s grown to like disappear from his life.

🌊 SIRIUS 🌊

Dorcas’ right hand extends to touch Sirius—

—He hears Barty scream, “No!”—

—Their left hand go to touch the tooth—

—Sirius is squeezed through a tube and spit out on a beach.

🌊

The abrasive texture of the sand clashes with the softness of Sirius's hands and he kneels and retches violently onto the beach.

Gagging and inhaling, tears at the corner of his eyes, confused, trying to look up—he’s not on a boat, how did he get here—

Distantly, he is aware of James’s similar position right next to him, and the sounds of James's own upheaval.

Blinking against the tears and grit, and then—

“Sirius?”

🌊 REMUS 🌊

One moment, Regulus looks haunted. The next, he’s crumbling on the sand, hand clutching the bleeding chest like a lifeline, eyes rolled back.

One moment, Remus is alone with an unconscious Regulus and a bleeding chest, wondering what on earth, and the next.

The next, James, Sirius and another person with long hair and a strangely ecstatic smile are there.

Just—out of nowhere.

Nowhere, then here.

Sirius and James are on their knees in a second, retching. The other person is standing there, in perfect health.

“Sirius?” He asks, to make sure, just as the person with the unsettling smile settles their eyes on both Remus and the crumpled form of Regulus beside him. They look at him, clap their hands together.

“Ocean boy, cursed boy. What a joy for us all to be united.”

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James recovers eventually, standing on shaky legs.

His mind is looping around witch, witch, witch, witch, witch—

Foolish of him not to trust his instincts.

There is Sirius, Dorcas, Remus, and—

oh

The beach is very quiet all of a sudden,

and James,

James

remembers

something

from before.

Like being underwater, watching something through frosted glass. The boy is half-human, half-blood, eyes closed and limp in the wet, red sand.

He’s holding a bloody wooden chest, steadily dripping and tainting the sand around him with more crimson.

There is something about this boy.

Something familiar.

Distorted, important, different, there, present, memory, absent, there, insistent, gentle, soft, quiet, memorable, forgotten, pushing, there, gone, hands, signs, retreat, the ocean, he’s the ocean.

He is James’s ocean, back and forth in his mind, there and gone like the tide.

He brings water to James’s shore. Lifting a hand, tear tracks on his cheeks.

James had not known he was still capable of tears.

There is something else.

James’s chest aches. Aches like a small hand twisting in a shirt, pulling, asking for attention, please.

It’s a feeling James hasn’t experienced in years.

Looking at the boy hurts.

He hasn’t even realised he is reaching out when the wooden box starts emitting light through its grooves. It's so drenched in blood, still oozing, that the radiance takes on a harsh pink hue. Pink is usually soft, this one isn’t. It looks like cleaned up blood from the bottom of a white porcelain sink.

The more he reaches out, the more the chest feels familiar, like he’s expecting his ribcage to open up instead of the box. Like it belongs to him.

The resounding beat that suddenly echoes from it shakes the world all the way to the bottom of the ocean.

Distantly, he hears Sirius’s breath catch right as he collapses on his knees, clutching at his empty chest, ribcage curving around nothing. It’s gone and aching and it’s this nothing, so how can nothing be missing? How can it gnaw at the void? How can it carry weight and resonate in the silence? How can it hurt? He remembers nights twistingturningpulling at his skin to find the source of this invisible ache and finding nothing. His fingers itch now, like the something is closer than ever, aching to come back home, on its knees begging.

He’s short of breath, struggling to inhale, like something big and warm is taking root in his chest. He feels heavy, badbadbad. Oh, he hates it, that feeling, like losing your gravity centre and having to recalibrate. Something new causing problems, already.

He tries to breathe but his lungs can’t expand the way they used to, blocked by something.

Oh, oh, he hates it.

🌊 REMUS 🌊

Remus doesn’t have time to question everything—though, in his opinion, everything warrants a lot of questions.

Too much is happening at once, it’s overwhelming for him. He has never really recovered from the years of neglect and abuse. He handles and he deals, is healed as much as he ever will be. It isn’t enough, of course. It never will be enough, but Remus has Sirius.

That is, Remus has Sirius when Sirius is here.

Sirius’s eyes are not, at present, here.

He is a million miles away, eyes swaying between his brother’s rag-doll shape and his best friend’s bent-over form.

Remus knows Sirius enough by now to know his partner is not faring well with the current events.

And yet.

There is a feeling in his chest like perhaps it isn’t going to get better. Like perhaps this doesn’t end like the stories he knows exist. Not that Remus has ever been read happy stories, of course.

Perhaps it was foolish of him, but he had hoped…that something good might have happened to him, for once. There is only so much the world can try to take from you, right? Before it rights itself? Before it starts giving you back?

The thing is, Remus alone never had that much to look forward to, or be sad about. But Remus isn’t alone anymore. He has Sirius.

Is half of Sirius, and Sirius is half of him.

It breaks him, to see his lighthouse like this—dulled.

The witch kisses their teeth, looking down where Regulus is lying in the red sand, and where James is kneeling a couple of feet away, lung-packing and wild-eyed, eyes glued to the boy holding the chest.

And then, they aren’t looking at anything but the coral rock.

“Marlene.”

And that.

That is a sound Remus has heard before, coming out of Regulus’s mouth.

🌊 DORCAS 🌊

Dorcas loves Marlene.

There is a beach on Tortuga, where Marlene has been waiting for years.

Dorcas hasn’t stepped foot on land in decades. When they do, the sand beneath their feet is firm, a forgotten reality.

Marlene is there.

Of course she is. The years haven’t changed her at all. She’s still ethereal, beautiful under the salt and the corals. She’s Marlene, nothing could ever make her unpretty to Dorcas’s gaze, an image frozen in time, eyes forever staring at the sea. The sunlight catches the crystalline traces of salt on her cheeks, turning tears into rainbows. But there is a familiarity in the curve of Marlene's cheek, in the set of her jaw, in the way her hair is swept back as if caught by the wind.

Dorcas steps closer, sand sticking to their wet feet, tiny grains imprinted in the skin, feet like the tide.

Reaching out, fingers brushing against the statue's face. Cold. Hard. Spirit immortalized in stone. A soft sigh escapes Dorcas's lips as they trace the line of Marlene's jaw, touch reverent and sorrowful.

“My love,” they whisper. “I’m going to save you.”

Coming closer still, kissing the salt off the rock, getting directions, before turning to the crippled shape of James on the sand. “Stand up, heartless boy. Pick up your heart from the sand, we’re going.”

The boy looks up from where he's kneeling on the sand, prostrate, clutching at his empty chest, looking on in confusion. Dorcas waves a careless hand, repeating, “Take your heart, boy. We have a plan, don’t we?”

The boy doesn’t look like he remembers the plan very well. He looks like he’s in pain, and keeps eyeing the red ocean boy, blood seeping into the sand like a halo around him. The chest he’s clutching hasn’t stopped bleeding.

Dorcas wishes they could be sentimental. Unfortunately, they don’t have any time to waste. “Pick him up.”

The same compulsion, and the heartless boy’s legs move on their own, kicking up and towards the red ocean, body bending and picking him up.

“What are you—”

“Quiet,” Dorcas orders the long-haired boy, the one with a far away look in his eyes. He's their bargaining chip, should it come to that.

The boy falls silent, because Dorcas ordered him to be so, and good. Distractions cannot be afforded. Dorcas turns to the monster and nods towards the boy they might use for barter. "Keep that boy on a leash.”

The monster’s eyes widen, and he scrambles up, eyes on the red ocean boy, who’s being hoisted up by the heartless one, what a pretty picture, before quickly making his way to stand by the bargaining boy's side.

“Let’s go.”

🌊 JAMES 🌊

James is carrying a bleeding boy who smells of salt and memories.

He feels so familiar in his mind, and yet.

Yet.

He is dewy like a morning flower, almost pruny from the water. His skin doesn’t feel soft and dry. It feels like a hand left too long in the bath.

He has the insane urge to wring him out. Twist him until he is dry, until he feels more human to the touch.

Dorcas called him the ocean boy. Holding him, James understands why.

The man is liquid like the ocean.

Still, isn’t it interesting?

James is clutching the tides, holding on to him.

The ocean.

He feels warm in his grasp.

🌊

The cave feels familiar, too. James feels a little too tight for his skin. Something assaulting him while eluding him all at once.

Something in a cage begging to be let out.

James looks at the cave, sees the chest full of gold.

Déjà vu.

He looks down to the red ocean boy in his arm, the bubbling, bloody chest no one can remove from his grasp.

He wonders if he has been here before.

“Put the boy down,” Dorcas orders, and James obeys. Doesn’t know how to do the opposite. Doesn’t know if he wants to.

The moment he gently puts the boy down, something lets loose in his chest, cluttering about, dropping into the bottom of his shoes.

Unsettled.

He looks down at the boy again and wonders who he might be.

Nothing comes up, nothing, and then—

Hands digging into the sand, looking for something, something, something in the sand looking for something fingers bleeding from digging too hard, a dog with a bone but he has nothing but empty hands and—

Dorcas closes their eyes, focusing.

Opens them back up to sky blue pupils.

“Regulus.”

James doesn’t know anyone by that name, though it does not take long for him to guess.

Sirius, Remus, Dorcas, James, and ocean boy.

Ocean boy’s name is Regulus, and his eyes open up into a hazy, cloudless blue.

Chapter Text

🌊 THE OCEAN 🌊

I rarely give.

I take, and exchange, and modify.

I do not do gifts.

What I do do well are curses and tragedies.

This is about to be both.

🌊DORCAS 🌊

Dorcas sees the ocean boy’s mind open like a corridor, their own mind digging into his brain like grape-hooks, taking up residence. The boy has been the Ocean’s for so long, he might as well have been Dorcas’s.

It’s gruelling puppeteer work, but the ocean boy stands up, mechanic limbs and sky blue eyes, launching into action like it comes from elsewhere—and it does. Dorcas wants it, and the ocean boy obeys.

“What are you doing to h-him?”

That’s the ocean boy’s brother. Dorcas imagines him fitting his hands around gleaming blades. Suiting up for battle. Seamlessly slipping into the ethereal form of the older sibling he once was. You never stop being a brother, do you? The essence of brotherhood, it endures.

Dorcas knows all about endurance. They waited ocean cycles for today. Full moons and receding tides for this moment. Dorcas, too, can endure…they can also crush.

They reply with a voice like the flow of water, unbreakable, “It is not for you to worry about it.” Turning to the monster and addressing him, because if they must, Dorcas will use precautions, will warn him not to mess up the plan. “If you want him alive when this is over, you’ll ensure he does not speak again.”

The brother turns wide eyes towards the monster, pleading, asking silent questions to the monster who’s looking back with something like desperation, the crush of responsibility, teetering between obeying them and him, loyalties fighting.

They do not need to check to know where the monster will swing. If he disobeys them, the brother will die. And that’s something Dorcas saw in the monster’s eyes—refusal to let it happen.

The monster will heed their order, and keep the brother from intervening, like a good pet.

Turning to the heartless boy, Dorcas assesses the risk. He is standing, rootless, watching the unfolding events in quiet contemplation. He looks out of place, unsure, but unmoving all the same.

So Dorcas turns their attention back to the ocean boy. Pointing to the large chest at the heart of the cave, the chest that is filled with gold, they give the ocean boy his orders. “Crack open the heartless boy’s chest and give the golden chest his heart.”

🌊REGULUS 🌊

His heart.

Crack open his chest, there is a heart.

Regulus sees it all from a distance, body there but mind gone. The golden chest is set on the flat surface of a rock, in perfect position for harvest. One could pick a golden coin from the chest so easily, take it home, never worry again. Regulus had one like this once, against his chest like a precious gem, left at the bottom of the ocean, it all comes back to this, doesn’t it? The Ocean takes everything, gold and flesh alike.

He is not worried.

He takes a step forward.

The cave is surrounded by jagged and uneven rock walls that seem to have been shaped over eons, worn and weathered over time. Stalactites hang from the ceiling like nature's chandeliers. Damp air, hinted at by the glistening surfaces of the rocks and the pools of water collected on the cavern floor.

He approaches the golden chest, feet wet, red hands and blue eyes.

His entire front is drenched in blood. He feels like a metallic ocean, crimson tasting of copper. It is nice, for a change. Not to feel his mouth full of salt.

He licks his lips and adjusts, removing the small blood-soaked chest from underneath his arm, and setting it in front of him, on the pile of gold. Lifting the metal flap.

Pulling.

Pulling again.

Once more, a little more forcefully. Struggling.

His impassive expression morphs, and something new takes its place.

Confusion.

It isn’t opening.

Regulus was created for this purpose. Left the ocean for this purpose. It is his purpose.

So why—

A breath, concentration.

Regulus brings the chest to eye level, bloody thumbs on either side of the box. The blood has turned black under his fingernails where it has dried. Crusted in the nooks and crannies of his plump skin. He feels if someone were to take a needle to his skin, he might deflate entirely, his entire being sifting through the opening. A tiny puncture and he’d expel all the remaining water in his body like an amniotic sac.

Blood drips down his pinky fingers, falling on the gold, erupting like mercury on metal before dissipating into steam.

Regulus does not pay it much attention, noticing it all in passing. Vague details entering his brain like water drops on a window, sliding away into nothing.

He turns the chest slightly to the left, then to the right.

He is looking for a mechanism, something that will pop the chest open.

Focusing.

His heartbeat is slowing down.

Focusing.

Slow.

He hears it, then.

The gentle lull of the heartbeat inside the chest, aligning with his.

As if they are singing to each other.

It feels silly to even think, but the thought crosses Regulus’s mind regardless.

Like a song, hearts speaking to each other.

He has the urge to bring the chest to his heart and rock in place, so he does.

It’s a language Regulus has forgotten, but his heart knows. His heart is singing to the one in the chest, it’s a lovely melody. Like speaking through walls.

Secret meetings, stolen moments and sunken treasures. Poetry read in foreign tongues, promises made at cliff sides, skin on skin in the sand.

Regulus rocks with the chest once, twice, five times.

An impatient voice, “Ocean boy.”

Regulus ignores it. ‘Ocean boy’ needs a moment, and it’s a vice. Patience is the virtue humans need to start abiding by. Rushing him will not make Regulus act faster. More rash, mistakes, that’s what impatience will cause. Regulus is awake, blood at the corner of his mouth and the small chest at eye level, and he’s looking. Patiently, figuring it out.

After all, everything has a mechanism. No chest, no boxcratecoffin no closed space has ever been created without any intention to be opened. For one, the thing must be put in in the first place, musn’t it?

The chest needs something, a push, something inviting, to open up. Regulus knows it is full of blood, and that is a sign in and of itself that the chest contains pain. Heartbreak, perhaps. Something decadent in its hurt, something overflowing.

These are emotions that have simple prescriptions for healing.

People speak of pain like it is incurable. Nothing is incurable, once you decide it can be cured. Even death, in its own twisted way, isn’t incurable, if you stop considering death as the end of life, and start considering it as the start of something else. What is painful isn’t the death itself, or the disappearance of something you used to love. What is painful is the knowledge that the gone thing will never look at you again. It isn’t empathy, it’s your own fear of missing something you’ve grown comfortable loving. It’s that created space you’ll have to fill out with something new. It’s the fear of the new.

This chest reeks of pain, that something like the inability to let go. The inability to accept what is gone. The selfishness of it, too.

And so, like mastering an unbreakable lock, Regulus starts applying pressure to the something. The remedy to heartbreak is love, and Regulus isn’t great at this, he doesn’t think, but he has a heart that beats with the rhythm of the Ocean, and that is enough.

Closing his eyes with the feeling, letting his heart sync with the vibrating, lonely, yearning something inside. Let the beat it contains open up to his own, filling that loneliness with a second heart. Filling that heartbreak with an, I’m here.Letting the chest flutter out of pain and into something it recognizes, something familiar.

Love.

He likes this, this synching. This echo. Thinks, in another life, this is something I get to have. Someone calling him something he does not understand.

The chest opens, and there is it.

Love.

Something he has never seen before. A beating, bloody, gorgeous heart.

Calling to him.

Love.

So, Regulus does what he was brought out of the Ocean to do.  He lifts the hasp over the staple, allowing the lid to be lifted up. The hinges do not creak, lubricated from the blood.

It’s a soft removal, chest opening, and Regulus sees it. The heart. Gentle, so gentle, he fits his fingers underneath the muscle and brings the warm, bloody, lovely heart to eye level.

It’s a magnificent centerpiece. Sculpted with precision by nature's hand, it is chambers and ventricles and atria, delicate valves flitting open and closed like butterflies wings. It is veins and arteries spiraling away like tendrils. It’s so beautifully crafted.

Instinct tells him, urges him, bring it to your cheek. He does, smearing blood, warm and lovely, smelling like hope somehow.

Regulus has not had a home in years. Doesn’t remember ever having one, truly.

If home was a heart, it would be this: his hand holding on to someone else’s heart. A tinge of bitterness in the corner of his mouth where the blood is dripping down.

Love.

🌊JAMES 🌊

There is an empty space in James’s chest, and he has spent entirely too much time digging, trying to remember—remember—

His chest is war-torn, scarred and ravaged, bristling with the echoes of cannons and gunfire. And still James dug, looking for a shape. It was there, and he was sure if he dug enough, it would come back—

Here’s the thing.

It doesn’t occur to James immediately. That the absence of something can be a catalyst for new. That empty space craves to be filled.

There is a hole in his chest but it feels full.

He’s watching it all happen, feeling like he’s half of it, removed but present.

He’s watching the boy lift the heart, and thinks—Yes. This is a painting. This boy with this heart in his hands, it’s a painting.

Thinks, I would touch the paint with dry fingers and smear it all over myself.

Thinks, this is the boy I would choose to love, if I knew what it felt like.

Love.

His chest is glowing, invisible to his eyes but warm all the same. James thinks, in another universe, my chest is bioluminescent, my blood is warm.

Love.

🌊REGULUS 🌊

He asks the heart all kinds of questions, and it replies.

“In another life, do you think we”—”Yes.”

“I’ve always felt lonely, but we’re beating in sync now, do you”—”Yes.”

Yes, yes, yes.

If Regulus didn’t know any better, he would have thought they had been speaking heart to heart for eons.

The voice coming from the heart—or is it from his own mind?—is soft and warm, gentle like handling porcelain, like when thunderstorms unleashed on the surface of the ocean and Regulus could hear the echoes of the droplets on the water. Like a cocoon. Like nothing bad could happen, as long as he kept listening to this heart.

An irrational thought, he wants the voice to be safe. Doesn’t want to let it go into the larger chest. Maybe he can leave with it. Take care of it. Whisper the voice back to soft, carefully extract its damning teeth and allow it to rest.

These are pipe dreams, of course.

The heart has been crying for at least an hour. It is running out of time—and out of blood. The beats are already extraordinarily slow, and slowing down still, as quiet and gentle as Regulus’s own. Different reasons, but perhaps this is why Regulus was chosen to open the box, and not someone else. Because his own heart, despite having never been broken, understands what it feels like to beat so slow, like they have all the time in the world.

It’s his purpose.

“I see you,” Regulus whispers to the heart that has been abandoned. “I would recognize you anywhere else, now,” like soothing a child.

And carefully, so carefully, he deposits the heart in the golden chest.

🌊 THE OCEAN 🌊

The heart of a man is an ocean, with its shore and its tides, full of secrets and pearls ensconced within hardened shells.

The truth is that a heart isn’t just an organ. It’s the way you feel when the person you love says, I love you. It’s the sensation of sand slipping through your toes and the thrill that races through your breath when someone looks at you like they look upon my shores. With abandon.

It’s the rhythmical beat of a drum.

There is a beat I’ve been missing. I hear it, now. It’s not in the right place, but it’s a start.

Isn’t that how it all begins?

With a simple, humble start?

🌊JAMES 🌊

There are realizations to be had that take time, of course. No one expects speed from the mind.

It’s only in slowness that truth comes out. No one sees any savage love from shaking a tree. You have to sit. You have to wait.

James is watching it all take place, quietly. His eyes are on the ocean boy—Regulus. There is ocean on his cheeks, falling from his eyes, as he looks. Witnessing something he feels a part of, despite his inability to explain why.

James’s empty chest has been feeling so warm. Warm and soft, gooey with something that cannot be named.

James doesn’t know what he is expecting as he observes the boy with blood-caked hands carefully place the spare heart into the chest. It certainly isn’t the final beats of the heart before it merges with the contents of the chest.

And it certainly isn’t the sudden realization that hits him.

He should have realized it, of course.

He should have known.

But it is only upon the violent, resounding beat of the heart against the golden coins, that James makes the connection.

This isn’t a heart.

It’s his.

This isn’t an ocean boy with blood-caked hands named Regulus.

It’s Regulus.

This isn’t a chest.

It’s a horcrux, and Regulus has just sacrificed James’s heart to it.

He sees it all happen in slow motion, knows what is about to happen. Instinct stomping its feet in insistence, nothing that can be done to stop it, the threads of the tapestry of the world are already in motion, and James damned himself five years ago.

He feels cold.

He has the foresight to look up at Regulus, just once. Just one last time.

“I recognize you, too.”

These are the last words he pronounces before the heart stops beating, and James stops breathing.

🌊DORCAS 🌊

Dorcas has never seen horcrux magic in motion.

They see it, now.

The heart melts, its edges softening as it drips like wax into the gold beneath it, like the sea going back to its root. Taking on its metallic color, gleaming and radiant, contracting and condensing like an imploding star. A golden heart birthed from a heartless boy, compacting itself into close-knitted atoms. It’s a heart but it’s a gem, dense and weighty. A drop of the deepest part of the sea, a fragment of the abyss.

It gleams.

The entire process is silent, world standing still. No sound of the waves crashing against the shore from beyond the cave, no distant calls of sea birds. Just an oppressive, almost sacred silence.

Dorcas takes a deep breath, the briny aroma of the ocean filling their lungs.

Instead of the now-transmuted heart, there is a levitating stone. Its dim glow casts dancing shadows on the face of the ocean boy, who stands rooted, gazing at it. The reflections paint his young features light and dark, his eyes a deep shade of grey, back to blue, back to grey, switching and gleaming.

The gem’s shadow dances on the now empty chest below, looking like a lost moon, adrift and searching, beckoningDorcas in with its mesmerizing allure.

Dorcas gently nudges the ocean boy aside with a soft push to his shoulder. He stumbles back, a look of surprise and confusion clouding his eyes. Like waking up from a dream.

They do not have time to explain, nor do they feel the need to. The product of sacrifice calls to them.

With a sense of triumph, Dorcas retrieves the gemstone birthed from the sacrifice. It pulsates to a rhythm—thump thump. Thump thump.

They turn to Marlene, waiting, always waiting, corals and salt. Without a word, Dorcas deposits the gem on the salt-rock.

This is years in the making, threads of fate unspooling.

Marlene opens her eyes, and Dorcas smiles.

For once, it isn’t calculated.

“Marlene.” Searching for an important truth to tell her, I’ve been waiting for you for forever. Dorcas opens their mouth, hand reaching out to catch Marlene’s cheek. “There is infinity between my bones. It’s dust but it’s yours.”

Marlene closes her eyes to the touch, leaning into Dorcas’ palm. Speaking with her eyes closed, “I want to go home.”

Dorcas nods. “Soon. Take your gift back, baby.”

And so, Marlene does.

🌊REMUS 🌊

There is a fault in the fabric of the universe, and Remus has been dropped right into it.

He sees it all happen like treading through glass, crystalline shards suspended, refracting and warping reality, bendingthe rules: Regulus taking the heart. Bringing it to his face, as though to eat it, only to draw it tenderly to his face, brushing his cheek against its softness. Speaking words to it. Leaving it to rest on the chest, and Dorcas removing the gem resulting from the horcrux transformation, heading towards Marlene. Marlene waking up, shaking the salt-rock from her body, looking like a wraith on shaky legs.

He has the distant thought that there are a lot of otherworldly beings in this cave, and then his thoughts stop entirely, because Marlene locks eyes with Remus and starts walking towards him with purpose. Instinct pushes him to pull Sirius behind himself, shielding, though she ignores Sirius entirely.

She reaches Remus, cold fingers cupping his face.

Movement behind him, protection, and Remus lifts a hand to stop Sirius from intervening.

Marlene looks into Remus’s eyes, and there's a moment of palpable tension before she leans in.

Whispers, “Like so many people steal hearts with kisses, I steal your curse with mine.”

Closes the distance.

The kiss is soft but chilling, acting like a decanter between two bodies.

There is something in Remus that moves up, from his gut to his throat, tentacles fingers climbing up his body to his mouth, transferring to Marlene, who opens her mouth to welcome it inside her own body.

The kiss ends, leaving Remus hollowed, a vessel emptied of its burden.

He reaches up. There are tears on his cheek.

For once, it isn’t from pain.

He is free.

FREE - transitive verb.

ˈfrē

: not bound, confined, or detained by force

Remus was a prisoner of his curse. He has been freed. Now, he can live

: to relieve or rid of what restrains, confines, restricts, or embarrasses

free a person from a curse

🌊DORCAS 🌊

Marlene moves like the echo of a dream, and Dorcas lets her go. They have eternity to look forward to. After all, the ocean never dies.

Turning their head toward the heartless boy, pale as death. Looking up at the ocean boy, who is slowly making his way to heartless boy’s body.

These men have destroyed the careful fabric of the universe with careless fingers, thinking themselves invincible. But, they have also given Dorcas Marlene back. And for that, Dorcas can help.

The Gods know better than to give back without taking something first, and these boys should have known better than to defy the Gods.

Dorcas cannot change Death’s mind. But the Ocean’s…

🌊THE OCEAN 🌊

This is a world full of secrets, and the Gods only listen to some of them.

I am a God.

My choices are arbitrary.

I do not do gifts.

I take, and I

Exchange.

EXCHANGE - verb.

/ɪksˈtʃeɪn(d)ʒ,ɛksˈtʃeɪn(d)ʒ/

: an act of giving one thing and receiving another (especially of the same kind) in return

the Ocean will give James his life back, if only a life is exchanged for it

See also, FATE

🌊DORCAS 🌊 

They approach James's lifeless body, gingerly kneeling by his corpse.

“Bargain boy,” they call out. “Come.”

Tilting the heartless boy’s head upwards without waiting for the bargain to make it to their side, the boy’s Adam’s apple to the cave ceiling, forcing his mouth open like a sacrifice.

Like they did on the boat to themselves, Dorcas inserts their finger into his mouth, and starts digging.

🌊SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius comes, knees weak and feet slipping, hurrying to James’s side and sliding on the wet ground.

Observes, shell-shocked, as Dorcas waves Regulus forward next. Eyes just as blue, Regulus follows their every direction like a puppet.

Digging in James’s cheek, Dorcas gives Sirius a smile that isn’t, for once, fake.

Digging in his cheek like James dug in the sand, like James dug in his own chest, like James dugdugdug.

His entire life, digging.

DIGGING - present participle of dig.

/dɪɡ/

transitive verb

: to break up, turn, or loosen (earth) with an implement

digging in the sand for buried treasure

: to bring to the surface by digging : UNEARTH

dig a heart.

: to bring to light or out of hiding

dig up feelings, unearth truth

: to hollow out or form by removing earth : EXCAVATE

dig a hole

: to drive down so as to penetrate : THRUST

The ocean dug their claws into Her subjects

: to advance by or as if by removing or pushing aside material, like skin and muscle, leading to organs

digging into his chest to remove his own heart

See also, EXCAVATION

“My sisters gave him something, years ago,” Dorcas tells him as they dig inside James’s cheek. It’s dark, everything is touch and feelings, figuring it out blind, and Sirius doesn’t know what Dorcas is looking for, what they’re trying to get from seeking inside a dead boy’s cheek, but he’s rooted to the ground regardless, eyes searching between Dorcas, his dead best friend, his ice-eyed brother—

“Your sisters?”

“Sirens,” Dorcas says carelessly. They open their mouth to say more but interrupt themselves—“Ah.”

Sirius remembers. Sirens on a boat.

Dorcas’s sisters.

Nails digging into James’s heart, ripping his legs to shreds, and—

Dorcas stops digging. Retrieves something, fingers closed, before they present it to Sirius. To Regulus.

Inside James’s cheek, there is a pearl. Lustrous and shiny, a stark contrast to the blood and saltwater surrounding them. Dorcas turns to Regulus, eyes filled with purpose.

"This belongs to you," they murmur, extending the pearl to him, and Regulus doesn’t question it. He takes it.

Impact of skin on pearl, organic matter on mineral compound.

Sirius watches as Regulus’s eyes lose the cool blue, finding grey again.

Oh.

Oh, Sirius looks up at his brother.

BROTHER - noun.

/ˈbrʌðə/

a male who has the same parents as another or one parent in common with another

: Regulus would recognize his brother anywhere

See also, INSTINCT

🌊REGULUS🌊

Regulus feels the weight of the pearl, cool and smooth in his palm.

He blinks, memories behind eyelashes, strikes of lighting against a thunderstorm-swollen sky. He’s the before and he’s the now, he’s who he used to be and who he is, blue mixing with grey.

He feels stronger than the Ocean.

Perhaps he’s just become God. Right now, pearl in hand, calcium carbonate body. God.

James resonates into the corners of his body like resonance, frequency matching his system. He feels his amplitude expanding, a bridge collapsing with the wind-induced resonance.

Dorcas hasn’t said anything else, but it seems evident, the next steps Regulus needs to take.

He blinks his desaturated eyes at the dead body at his feet, looking warm still, eyes open. The fallen boy has eyes like the dying sun, and Regulus had been wondering what must have happened to him to erase the rays of sunlight.

Now, he remembers.

It’s him.

He happened.

Took an eraser to James’s face by accident, was forced to drown, and rubbed off James’s smile like an abrasive material in the process.

It’s Bellatrix’s fault that he’s dead. It’s his family’s fault, the curse alive and kicking, destroying everything the Blacks ever touch. Ever love.

But Regulus Black remembers now, and Dorcas has given him a pearl.

He blinks up at Dorcas. At Sirius.

Dorcas rises with the grace of poetry. They incline their head at him, motion fluid like an ocean tide, understanding passing through. "James lacks a heart," they whisper softly, gazing down. "That doesn't mean you cannot offer him yours.”

Of course.

Of course.

It’s not like Regulus has a use for it. He isn’t alive. He’s been the Ocean’s for years now, ninety percent saltwater. He’s not meant to walk the Earth. He’ll decompose at the bottom of the ocean, that’s what he’s destined for. You cannot reverse something so permanent.

But James has just left. He could come back. Regulus has that power. To bring him back. To offer him a special gift. Something unique. Something that has always belonged to James.

Regulus remembers.

He has always belonged to James, and this is his opportunity. To give James something to remember him by. A part of himself James can always carry with him.

Slowly, almost ritualistically, he reaches in, into his own chest. Ready. To excavate.

EXCAVATION - noun.

ex·ca·va·tion

: the act of removing earth that is covering very old objects buried in the ground in order to discover things about the past

a heart was discovered during the excavation of his ribcage

: a cavity formed by cutting, digging, or scooping

he has taken part in no excavation of hearts in the past, but Regulus knows exactly how to proceed, regardless

See also, LOVE

Regulus doesn’t fear the process. There is no fear, no hesitation—it’s his brother who stops him with a warm hand on his own, angled towards his chest.

“Regulus.”

Regulus turns his eyes up to look at Sirius, hunched over James’s frame. He’s ashen. Confused. In tears.

It’s interesting to witness the dichotomy between brother then, and brother now. In Regulus’s eyes, Sirius had been a force of nature, unstoppable, bigger than Regulus, but also bigger than the entire world. Regulus wouldn’t have been surprised, years ago, if Sirius had reached out to eat a bite out of the moon. There had always been something powerful about him.

Sirius had been a hurricane.

He finds none of it now, landfallen.

Sirius looks tired. Human, dissolving.

He looks like a brother. Not big, not small.

Just a brother.

Simple. Broken. Whispering, “What are you doing?”, fear playing hide-and-seek between the words.

It’s the death of a hurricane.

Regulus gives him what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “My heart.”

“Your—what?”

Regulus’ smile goes gentler like an ocean lull, meant to soothe. “My heart,” he says. “He should have it.” Pausing as he reconsiders, adding with more conviction,“I want him to have it.”

Sirius is shaking, everything shaking, a faultline turning into a mountain, “No.”

And Regulus already knows the end of this story, knows Sirius needs to understand. Knows it’s reflexes, holding on to something that no longer exists. Regulus sees it clearly, the way Sirius clings to the memories and fragments of a past that has slipped through their sand-like fingers.

He understands. It's an all too human yearning to grasp the intangible, to hold tight to moments long gone, as if sheer force of will could reconstruct shattered dreams and rewind time. He understands the weight of nostalgia, the seductive allure of what was, the difficulty of letting go of someone who is here, still.

“Please,” Regulus murmurs, reaching out to tangle his watery fingers with Sirius's, bringing them to his chest.

“You’re my brother.”

And yes.

Yes, Regulus is.

If at all possible, his smile turns softer like the edges of sea foam. He nods, once. Acknowledging. Eyes boring into Sirius’s, spending decades talking to each other in the seconds their eyes catch and hold. Shared history, stories and secrets, ancient trees with intertwined roots, drawing sustenance from the same soil.

I have to go, you see?

I see, I see. I don’t want you to go.

I know, I know. You are my brother, I can never die.

And then,

“You’re my brother,” Sirius echoes, but it’s a blessing.

Regulus nods his head, so gentle.

There is no pain. It’s easy—simple even. There is something soft about the tissue, like touching a part of James’s memory. Then again, James did touch his heart in all the ways that mattered. Why wouldn’t he find echoes of him etched into the surface?

It doesn’t resist when Regulus pulls. He does it with love, and it’s easy to untangle, it’s a gift and it’s gentle. It’s wine and corks but it’s healing. It’s surgery to save someone, and that makes the whole difference.

When they slowly pull their joined hands away from his chest, pulling out together, Regulus’s heart is there, in their hand, beating.

With his other hand, he reaches out, taking hold of the pearl Dorcas is holding, and places it where his heart used to be, feeling a subtle shift in his very being. The newly empty filling up with something dead and delicate, another type of treasure.

But his heart, he places into the hands of Sirius, who holds it with an unspeakable mix of awe and trepidation, fear and horror.

Regulus’s forehead dips down to touch Sirius’s.

They’re both looking down at the heart they’re holding together over James’s frame, and Regulus feels himself leave.

It’s his purpose. He isn’t meant to stay, after. Still, he has one final request before he lets go.

"You won’t let him waste it?”

🌊SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius wants to refuse, to unleash a primal scream into the void, to undo everything that’s happening.

He clutches Regulus’s heart, feeling its fragile beat against his palms, the weight of life in his hands.

“If-if you give him your heart, you won’t have one anymore. Take it back. Take it back.”

Regulus meets his gaze, soft. "I have not been alive for years. James could be.”

“He could?”

His brother, who isn’t his brother anymore, who will never be anything but his brother, nods.

“He needs it more than I do."

And Sirius looks up at the boy in the shape of his brother, something too changed and metamorphosed to be his brother, too touched by the ocean to be anything but something else, God perhaps, something untouchable, and tells him, “I love you.”

Regulus nods. “I loved you, too. Together?”

Sirius nods.

Together, they carefully lower Regulus’s heart into James’s waiting chest.

Regulus looks up, eyes dimming, color muted, leaving.

“Thank you.”

🌊JAMES 🌊

One moment, a void; the next, a rhythmic beat in his chest, alien and familiar at once, paradoxical.

It is not his heart, but it brings life back to his veins.

Synching with the memory of the Ocean's lull, James opens his eyes.

He’s alive, and he feels.

It’s a soft kind of pain. He opens his eyes to bright blues.

“Sirius?”

A familiar smile, tinged with relief and sadness, greets him.

“Hey there, James.”

🌊THE OCEAN 🌊

Circles, circles, circles.

Everything is circular.

And so, I fill the cave with water, and drown everyone in it.

Some, for a moment.

Some, forever.

FOREVER - adverb.

for·ev·er

: for a limitless time

I will live forever through James’s heart, and forever through Sirius’s memory

: at all times : CONTINUALLY

Sirius and James will forever discuss me, allowing me to live on

FOREVER - noun.

: a seemingly interminable time : excessively long

The amount of years I will spend waiting for them to join me. But, I am patient, and I wait

🌊SIRIUS 🌊

Sirius's fingers dig into the soft sand as he wakes, fog slowly lifting, golden rays filtering through his eyelashes, painting his vision with hues of orange and red. Sand clinging to his skin, the scent of the ocean in his nostrils.

Beside him, Remus stirs, gentle movements to reacquaint himself with reality. There's the soft sound of fingers brushing through hair, dislodging grains of sand, and the quiet sigh of someone basking in the morning light.

James stares blankly at the horizon, gaze lost to the vast expanse of the sea, where the azure of the water meets the pale canvas of the sky.

Of Regulus, Dorcas, and Marlene, there is no sign. Only the relentless waves, their lull like the soft hum of a heartbeat crashing upon the shore.

"James?" Sirius calls out softly.

James turns to him. “They went back to the ocean, didn’t they?”

Sirius nods, swallowing hard.

James gets up. He approaches Sirius and without hesitation, wraps him in a tight embrace. They stand there, heartbeats synchronizing—Sirius feeling the echo of his brother's heart in James.

It’s the loveliest sound in the entire world.

Like loving two people at once, in the same exact body.

LOVE - noun.

/ˈləv /

: strong affection for another arising out of kinship or personal ties, based on admiration, benevolence, or common interests

I loved Sirius

: attraction, affection and tenderness felt by lovers

I loved James

LOVE - verb

/ˈləv /

loved; loving

transitive verb

: to hold dear : CHERISH

I cherished being your brother

Chapter Text

🌊 REMUS 🌊

It has been difficult for Remus to fall asleep. His hand bears the imprint of Sirius’ ankle and the drag down to the ocean bed.

It’s been days, but Remus is being eaten alive by guilt, by pleases, by forgive mes, by I never should have let you close, by everything I touch dies, by I love you, I love you, I love you, forgive me.

Still, he touches Sirius. Couldn’t bear not to. It’s in his essence matrix, etched into the fabric of his soul.

It defies logic and reason. There isn’t a universe, Remus thinks, where he and Sirius wouldn’t end up together. Leaving isn’t an option. It isn’t a true consideration Remus has, either. Couldn’t formulate it in his mind if he wanted to.

Remus strongly believes that every step away from Sirius cuts off pieces of Remus’s longevity.

It’s just the self-blame, eating at him like barnacles.

He’s used to cuddling Sirius. Tonight it’s the opposite, Sirius’s front against Remus’s back, arms belted around his chest, and whispers of comfort in his ears.

“I don’t want you to feel guilt over something you didn’t have any control over. It’s gone, it’s gone. You’re free.”

“There are nights where it feels present, still. Here.”

“Remus. Remus, it’ll never go away. My blame will never go away when it comes to Regulus, your own will never go away when it comes to me. We have to move on regardless.” And then, “I want to have a house on the beach.”

Silence.

“You’re terrible at handy things,” Remus says eventually, voice wet and tinged with something like the hopeful future.

Sirius shrugs, pulling Remus further against him. “I know. I can make it pretty, though.”

“Would you want to?”

Sirius nods. Buries his nose in Remus’s neck.

“I want to do everything with you.”

When Remus falls asleep, the tension escapes his bones and his body relaxes, finally.

He doesn’t hear Sirius’ wet exhale.

🌊JAMES 🌊

James goes back to the place where it all started.

There is a house in ruins, a mother in the ocean, and James fixes it.

Picks up the ashes and memories of a time long past, and molds them into something new.

He rebuilds.

Rebirth, transformation.

He feels Regulus's spirit in every corner, encouraging him, and he builds.

He feels Effy’s guidance, and he builds.

This used to be Euphemia’s house.

Now, it’s going to be his.

After all, James isn’t a legend. He’s just a man.

🌊SEVERUS 🌊

Severus’s life has taken a shape he never could have expected.

He divides his time between the ocean with Barty, Evan, and Frank, and the land with James, Sirius, and Remus.

It’s a dual family.

He’s taken to spending more time with James, recently. The house is small, but there’s a fire. It’s comforting, and Severus has never really had comfort before. He reads, and James makes mobiles. It’s quiet companionship, disturbed when Sirius and Remus come to interrupt.

Sometimes, James will stop what he is doing, his eyes taking on the quality of something far away, and he’ll say things.

Things like,

“There is something soft in my bloodstream.”

Severus will turn his head, eyes meeting James's.

“How soft?” he asks.

James will pause to consider the softness, gaze drifting back to the sand beneath his hands. He’ll dig his fingers deeper, appreciate the coolness underneath. "Like wet warm sand between your toes at the end of the evening, infused by the sun's lingering heat."

Severus’s eyes will wander back to the ocean. “Does it speak like the ocean does?”

"Yes," James will respond without hesitation.

And so, Severus’s gaze will find James's again. “And what does your blood say?”

"It sings his name with every breath."

🌊JAMES 🌊

There is a beach James finds himself on frequently. Evening walks and footsteps syncing with the rhythmic heartbeat he now carries, walking along the shoreline. It’s heavier but it grounds him, and that’s all James ever wants from life.

It’s on one of these walks that he notices it.

An oyster, half-buried in the sand, shell glinting softly, beckoning him.

There are signs, James has gotten good at noticing. Ignorance doesn’t bring peace, and James notices.

He bends down, picks up the oyster, startling when it blooms open in his palm.

In it, there is a pearl.