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Chapter Text

The year is 1979 and Regulus Black is about to die. 

If he were anyone else, he might think it poetic justice for the miserable choices he has made. But all Regulus can feel is resignation. 

It is, after all, finally a choice he made himself without outward influence in the form of his absentee father or suffocating mother.

But the resigned, dulled feeling of acceptance only lasts for a moment before the blinding presence of pain takes over. Swallowed by darkness he closes his eyes as the overwhelming ice cold water burns through his clothes and licks at his skin. He screams into nothingness, the absence of his own voice suddenly frightening.

Then, just as quick as it pulled him under, the ice melts away. He’s no longer weightless, the rocks beneath him no longer cold. There is light from somewhere, visible even through his closed eyelids. 

Carefully, he opens them and recognises the Slytherin common room. Except it’s not, because the dungeons are no longer grey and silver and green. They’re white, floor to ceiling. On one of the couches near the lakeview, a woman sits.

“You’re not supposed to be here.” She states, her eyes almost black as she looks at him in surprise.

“Where am I?” Regulus asks, scrambling to his feet. “This isn’t the common room as I remember.”

“My name is Selene.” The woman’s voice is melodic, her hand floating as she gestures calmly around her. “And this is not the real Slytherin common room. It is a place where I come to speak to lost souls. This is, for lack of a better word, the in-between. It moulds to what is most familiar to the soul who visits.”

“Selene?” Regulus looks down at his wet clothes and is acutely aware of the uncomfortable wetness of his socks. “Am I not…”

“Dead?” Selena smiles. “Not quite. Would you prefer to be?”

Regulus thinks of the cave, of the ice cold hands dragging him down, of Kreacher’s pain. He nearly answers yes. But there is something hopeful too, scared yet persistent, telling him to run the other way. If he dares to linger on the thought, it takes the shape of his brother pulling him into his arms.

“No.” He clenches his fists, his posture stiff.

Selene doesn’t answer, her smile still securely on her lips. She nods knowingly. 

“How do I?” Regulus dares, taking a step closer to her in his soaked shoes as they squeak on the marble floor. 

“Wake up and fight, of course. Your resignation brought you here, your perseverance will get you out. Greeting death only gets you so far.” She lifts a hand in front of her, her fingers wide and he can almost feel it on his chest from across the room. “Ready?” She asks. 

“Ready.” He answers. 

>>><<<

The pain is just as severe the second time around. His lungs are fighting with his mind, burning in his chest. He needs to breathe. Just below his ribcage, he feels his magic brightening again, his earlier resignation now morphing into desperation. 

Something bursts from his core and pushes away the bony fingers clinging to him like a wave of electricity. It crackles like a shield around him for long enough to move his arms. He pushes on an ice cold skull to return to the surface, kicks at another arm encircling him from below. His eyes can’t see past the surface of the water, but he knows it’s there. 

He finally breaks the surface and gulps for air only to be immediately pulled back under. The water splashes as he kicks again and again, another hand tearing his sleeve and cutting his skin. 

He struggles to move forward, his clothes heavy in the water around his thin frame. Finally, after what feels like forever, his feet touch unmoving solidness. He pushes off, feels the air fill his lungs again and feels the cold breeze on his shoulder where the fabric must have ripped. 

Some of the grip on his ankle loosens and he uses it to grab for his wand still laying on the shore. He casts an expulso under a laboured breath.

When he makes it to the cold rocks in the middle of the cave on his bloody hands and shaking knees, he turns to sit against the basin, chest heaving. The inferi slink back into the black water as he coughs, wand raised at them.

Regulus lifts his other hand to his chest, his cold fingers travel up to find his pulse just below his Adam’s apple. 

Alive. Alive. Alive. 

His heart beats. 

>>><<<

The second time Regulus Black is rescued, he is no longer wet and alone. But the one who rescues him is yet again a woman, this time less dreamy and more frazzled. Her long blonde hair frizzy from the cold winter air. 

“Here kitty, kitty.” She tries. She has visited him multiple times over the months he’s been in Hogsmeade, hiding. It’s been a lifeline, the only help he dares to accept.

“This time I only brought cat food.” She smiles apologetically as she unearths a metal can from her coat pocket. Regulus cringes and moves away, meowing haughtily. 

“Oh, Poppy.” The woman sighs, readjusting her woollen mittens. “If you don’t want me to treat you as a cat, you have to turn back.”

Regulus meows again. This isn’t the first time she guessed at him being an animagus either. He knows her from earlier, he thinks. They’d been at Hogwarts together, but in different houses. It’s all become a bit vague the longer he stays in his animagus form. 

“Poppy,” she tries again. “Remember what it’s like to be human, remember and I’m sure you can still turn back.”

He wants to tell her it’s too dangerous somehow, that he has nowhere to go. But he’s tired and hungry, and sleeping outside has taken its toll. He gives in. 

Focusing on the way his fingers feel around the cutting edge of his quill as he writes. The way magic flows from him through his wand and creates. A warm bath in the prefects bathroom when Evan would give him the password.

She’s still taller than him as he transforms back and she straightens from her crouched position. “You did it!” She laughs, clapping her hands together. 

All at once, his body crumbles again under the sudden weight of his larger bones. The cold stones of the alley floor bruise him as he falls. Why is it always cold, he wonders.

Her warm hands touch his face, the mittens dangling from her coat sleeves. Regulus has a moment where he judges her a little for her childish fashionsense.

“Hey, hey.” She whispers, eyes bright and happy. “Regulus, welcome back.”

“Pandora.” He remembers, before exhaustion takes him. 

>>><<<

To Regulus’s surprise, Pandora Lovegood turns out to be as annoying and clever as any other Ravenclaw. 

Her colourful whimsy might have fooled him before but after staying with her for all these weeks in the Ravenclaw prefect's room, he knows better. 

He’s lounging on her sofa near the window as she packs up her trunk, books sprawled all around him. 

“I’ll be in the paintings for a while,” She smiles at him as she closes her trunk. “I want to say goodbye to the mermaids before we leave.”

“You leave.” Regulus corrects under his breath, eyes flickering across the pages of his book. As she has done every time he reminds her, Pandora hums unconvinced and walks towards the empty painting above the hearth. 

He watches her from the corner of his eye, as she raises her wand and turns a few times on the spot. She sighs a high pitched sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly and then she’s floating, shrinking, and gone. 

The previously empty painting glows yellow with the colour of Pandora’s hair. Regulus sets down the book and walks towards her, rolls his eyes as she waves at him. 

“Be back soon!” She says excitedly. 

No matter how many times she does this, Regulus is still a little in awe of her fearlessness with experimental magic. Not that he’d ever tell her. Because he knows why she goes and visits the faeries and mermaids of course. Every time she returns she has many stories to share from Gryffindor tower and the Slytherin dungeons. 

He’s ventured out in his animagus form himself, after hearing of his old friends. He found his old dorm room, his bed empty and cold next to Evan’s. Even knowing it’s careless, he still couldn’t fight the urge to find Evan in the common room later, his tired eyes so different from what Regulus remembers.

This time, he’s only read a couple of pages when Pandora rushes back, nearly toppling over as she exits the painting. Her eyes are bigger and rounder, and for a frightening second Regulus fears the worst. 

“What?” He stands. 

“Evan.” She swallows and steadies her breath. “He saw me, he’s coming here.”

“Wh-” Regulus’ words are cut off by a sharp knock on the door. 

“Coming!” Pandora shouts and to Regulus’ horror, she walks up to the door and swings it open.

“Hello Pandora, you’re looking multidimensional.” 

“Thank you Evan, I do love an odd compliment.”

“I know.” Evan snides, then his eyes fall on Regulus. “Is the cat yours?” He asks. 

Pandora turns in surprise, squints at Regulus and hums instead of answering. 

“Regulus liked cats. Black cats.” He says, eyes narrowing. “With attitudes and dumb ideas.”

Regulus meows, for effect. 

The only effect it has though, is Evan putting a hand on his forehead. “I might be going mad.”

Seeing his friend this way twists something in Regulus’ stomach, and he has another dumb idea. 

“Evan…” 

At the sound of Regulus’ voice, Evan’s eyes shoot up and in one swift movement he walks into the room and slams the door closed behind him.

Silence lingers as they stare at each other. 

“You prick.”

Regulus can’t help but chuckle. Then Evan’s smiling at him, and Regulus rolls his eyes. 

“Care to explain then?” Evan asks, eyebrows raising. 

Regulus does. The following hour he tells Evan of the cave and what he found, about the strange in-between that he barely remembers and of his time as a cat with Pandora. With each story, Evan sits quietly to listen and by the end he has his head in his hands. 

“He can’t know,” Regulus sighs, “About the cave or me.”

“This is mad.” Evan shakes his head. 

“I know.”

“This is so dumb.”

“Well…”

“It is rather unprepared and callous.” Pandora chimes in, her tone not as biting as her words.

“Alright,” Evan stands. “Here is what we will do. You’ll spend the Easter holidays at Pandora’s and I will tell father I am ready to join to honour you.”

At once, Regulus is on his feet too. “No!”

“We need information, we need to know if He knows or not. You can’t live as a cat in the prefects rooms forever. We graduate this summer, we’ll be able to flee then.”

Regulus' head swirls as he looks from Pandora back to Evan. He had been so sure the worst had been that damned cave. And yet here he was, surrounded by his friends and more terrified for them than he was for himself. 

“I had a plan, this will be dangerous." He whispers. "I was going to research, lay in wait.”

“We’re in the middle of a war, Reg.” Evan says gravely, his posture stiff and guarded. “And we’ve made decisions that will affect the course of it.”

Regulus sighs heavily, rubbing at his eyes. “Alright. But, if you’re going to fight this with me, we will fight from the shadows.”

Evan grins at him. “Any other way wouldn’t be our style.”

Chapter Text

A small black cat attends the Potter’s wedding in the early spring of 1980. There are so many people, fussing and dancing and drinking, that nobody really notices it. When asked, James merely shrugs and says it’s Pandora’s date with a boisterous laugh. 

The cat, lean and moody, saunters through the groups and perches itself on the highest point of the large totems keeping the fairy lights up and watches the merriment. Pandora on the other hand, freshly graduated and magnificently free, seems most interested in dancing with an odd looking wizard in bright yellow robes. 

Regulus knows it’s a risk, but he hasn’t heard from Evan in weeks and he wanted to be sure. So there, from his spot up high, he looks at his stupid older brother and concentrates so hard his eyes hurt. He’s alive. Inappropriately drunk and clinging on to the scruffy looking scarred boy, but alive. They’ll have to go into hiding soon, Regulus thinks as he watches Remus grin at his brother. 

The two of them seem to be very fixated on each other, their movements intent and hazy from the drink, almost as if they did this all the time. Sirius’ fingers are clutched in Lupin’s shaggy hair as he pushes their foreheads together.  

Regulus gets distracted by Potter requesting another horrid song from the band, looking debauched already. His sleeves are rolled up, his jacket nowhere to be seen, as he dances alone to the upbeat music. His darling new wife huffs a laugh as she watches him sway in place. If cats could roll their eyes, Regulus would definitely find this the opportune moment to do so. 

Potter’s ease with all the attention should be annoying, but Regulus has long made peace with the fact that it only makes him… Skittish in a way. The boy that took his brother from home should be easier to hate, but even younger Regulus never managed to fight the warmth glowing over his skin whenever Potter glanced his way.

While he’s been watching Potter make a fool of himself though, his brother has managed to sneak away. On high alert, he jumps down and prowls around the moving feet to the outside of the tent. He thinks he can faintly hear Sirius voice trail off towards the house and follows. 

He stops dead in his tracks when he hears the breathy tone trail off. 

“Yes,” Remus’ voice nearly growls from around the corner. A loud thunk follows as someone is slammed against the wall. He can hear his brothers’ laugh trail off into something very different.

Frozen in place, Regulus tries to not hear anything more except…

“Moony, please.” his brother whines. 

Oh no.

Regulus turns as quick as he can and runs back outside, smacking into a pair of long legs in his hurry to escape. 

“Hi there, lovely little thing.” James cooes as he kneels next to him and picks him up in one fell swoop. “Did you run into those rowdy friends of mine?” He chuckles.

Too shocked to claw away, Regulus meows in horror as he lets himself be carried to the outskirts of the tent again. 

“Can you keep a secret?” James whispers, his reddened cheeks visible from the soft lights strung around. He’s beautiful like this, happy to the brim. He seems to take Regulus’ silence as a yes. “You see that wondrous redhead over there? She’s my wife now! But that’s not the secret.. You see, soon she’ll give me a child.”

>>><<<

Evan’s patronus is faded when it calls to Regulus on a stormy night in May. Pandora’s otherwise sunny disposition is muted as they hurry to the Rosier’s garden shed. They’ve done this a few times now, but the anxious pounding of his heart never goes away. 

They take shelter from the rain, quickly closing the heavy wooden door behind them. Morphing back to his human self, Regulus watches as Pandora lights a candle near a long line of brooms tacked to the wall. The howling of the wind seems appropriate now, as they wait in the dark for Evan. 

It’s only been a few minutes when Evan pushes open the door and joins them. His hooded face looks gaunt in the soft light of the candle, but his eyes are bright as he moves towards them. 

“I’ve news.” He speaks, panting from his run down the gardens. “It’s a jewel.”

Regulus frowns, “A ring?”

“An heirloom, something from Ravenclaw. He said something of the founders of Hogwarts, before I had to hurry away.”

“It’s okay.” Pandora puts a hand on his shoulder and Evan’s hunched shoulders relax. 

“I-” Evan begins, but he shakes his head. “Things are happening, people we know…”

Regulus nods gravely. “We heard. Pandora went into the paintings in Hogsmeade to visit the mermaids at Hogwarts. Severus Snape spoke to Dumbledore.”

Evan puts his hood down with a shaky hand, his cold fingers running through his tangled hair. “What? He talked?” He turns to Pandora. 

“We’re not the only ones fighting in the shadows now.” She answers gravely. 

“We have to move faster.” Regulus sighs. “We can’t risk being found out because others are careless. You’re already taking too much of a risk, don’t try to get closer to them now.”

Evan sighs at him, a tired and hollow look in his eyes. They’ve spoken about this multiple times as well. Regulus wishes he had a better solution to get them out of this.

“If we need to find an heirloom with a soul in it, isn’t it the same as finding a lost soul?” Pandora wonders, ignoring the tension between the two boys. 

“It’s not lost, it’s… torn.” Evan frowns.

“What are you thinking?” Regulus asks. 

“My mother, she has a connection to souls. Lost, or torn. Maybe she can help.” Pandora looks at them both. 

Evan is the first to nod, eyebrows furrowing. “Maybe…”

“It’s our best bet for now, let’s lay low until we find this jewel. We’re not the only ones with insight, but we’re the only ones who know about the…” Regulus gestures. 

“Here, take this.” Evan holds out a vial, his hand shaking. 

“What is it?” Pandora asks. 

“Gimby, mother’s house elf, brought a broken teacup and it nicked the Dark Lord’s finger. She-...” He swallows, emotion clear on his face as he shakes his head. “I got the cup afterwards, it’s diluted and not much…”

“Evan, that’s-” Regulus frowns at the vial in his hand, a small drop of blood at the bottom of it.

“Have you called for Kreacher?” Evan asks, interrupting. 

“No, I don’t know how to destroy it yet. I don’t want him to know I’m alive until we do. Besides, it’s safe with him and if there is more than one…”

A flash of lightning brightens the shed for a second, and all three of them straighten in surprise. The thunder that follows shakes them out of their little huddle and back to reality. Evan purses his lips, putting his hood back up. 

“I have to go.” He says, and Regulus watches as Pandora reaches a hand out to squeeze his arm. It brings a softer look on his face for a quick second. Regulus suddenly feels hollow and cold.

“Be safe.” She says, her voice nearly a whisper as she lets her hand drop again. 

Unwilling to say goodbye to his friend, Regulus nods at Evan who nods back. None of them seem able to speak as Evan turns and walks out into the storm again. The moment the door closes Pandora puts out the candle. Doused in darkness, Regulus finally finds his voice. 

“Be safe.” He echoes sadly, before he morphs back into his animagus and lets Pandora pick him up. She runs through the muddy patches next to the path towards the edge of the estate and disappears in a snap as soon as she’s able to apparate.

>>><<<

Regulus didn’t think he could be surprised by much anymore. He had seen horrors and magic most could only dream of—or rather, have nightmares about. But the moment he walks into Pandora’s familial estate, he freezes. The air feels different here, heavy with an eerie energy that sets his fur on end. 

Standing in the doorway is the woman from the in-between, the shadowy realm he had glimpsed before. Now, in the daylight, the likeness to Pandora is unmistakable. Selene, Pandora's mother, watches them with eyes that seem to see far beyond the present moment, her expression unreadable. She welcomes them inside with a nod, her gaze lingering curiously on the black cat now seated comfortably in Pandora’s arms.

"You came back, only to hide?" Selene asks, her voice soft yet filled with an odd intensity. She places a delicate porcelain teacup on a side table, the clink of it against the wood echoing in the silence. 

“We need help finding a soul,” Pandora explains, carefully placing Regulus down on the seat beside her. His feline form is tense, every muscle ready to spring into action if necessary.

A frown forms on Selene’s otherwise peaceful face, the lines around her eyes deepening as she listens. Pandora begins to recount the horrors of the locket, the sinister object that Regulus had risked everything to retrieve. He listens, his large, unblinking cat eyes fixed on the two women. Selene’s gaze shifts to him now and then, as if she knows there's more to him than meets the eye.

“Pandora, what you’re speaking of is outlawed, unnatural. No soul should withstand being torn apart even once, let alone twice,” Selene says, her voice tinged with both worry and disbelief.

“We fear there might be more,” Pandora says quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “We’re not sure yet, but we have to look for the Ravenclaw heirloom to know for certain.”

The name Ravenclaw sends a shiver down Regulus’s spine. He recalls the tales of the diadem, a lost relic said to possess immense power. His mind races, piecing together the fragments of Voldemort’s twisted plan.

Selene must do the same, as she no longer looks aloof as Regulus remembers. Her usually serene expression has hardened, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a thin line. Her fingers absently twist the ends of her hair, a rare sign of her inner turmoil.

“Maybe…” she murmurs, as if speaking more to herself than to them. She stands suddenly, moving with a grace that belies her years, and disappears into another room. When she returns, her arms are laden with an assortment of crystals, herbs, and small vials, each glowing faintly with its own light. 

Pandora rises to join her, her movements careful and deliberate as they begin to lay everything out on the floor in a meticulous pattern. Regulus watches intently, his curiosity piqued despite his fear. He recognizes the vial they had obtained from Evan Rosier, now placed carefully on a bed of herbs. It glows an ominous red, pulsating with a malevolent energy that makes his fur bristle.

Selene’s voice is a low hum as she instructs Pandora, her words a quiet chant that Regulus can barely catch. Their hands move in sync, arranging the crystals and herbs with practised precision, until finally, the ritual circle is complete. Selene sits in the centre, her legs crossed, her eyes closed as she takes a deep breath. Then, she begins to sing.

“Crone of night, in thy abode,

Touch the soul grown cold.

Hear my song, hear my plea,

Show its path to me.”

The melody is haunting, each note hanging in the air long after it has been sung. Regulus feels a strange tug in his chest, as if the song is pulling at something deep within him. The room seems to darken, the very shadows growing thicker around them as Selene’s voice fills the space.

Then, the room grows deathly quiet. Selene’s eyes snap open, but the warm hazel colour is gone. In its place, a white mist swirls, covering her irises like a veil. Regulus recognizes it from his brief encounter with her in that otherworldly space, the Slytherin common room that wasn't the Slytherin common room. 

For what feels like hours, Selene remains in that eerie stillness, her body unnaturally still, her eyes vacant. The only sound is the faint crackling of energy in the air, a soft hum around their little group. He glances at Pandora, who is watching her mother with a mixture of fear and hope, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.

Finally, the mist begins to clear from Selene’s eyes, dissipating like fog in the morning sun. She blinks rapidly, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. Her face is pale, her expression stricken as she turns to look at them.

Her next inhale is shaky, and her gaze is filled with a fear that Regulus has never seen in her before. It sends a chill down his spine, a sense of foreboding settling in the pit of his stomach.

“There are more than two,” she says, her voice barely more than a whisper, but the words hang in the air like a death sentence.

Regulus feels his heart drop, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a physical force. More than two. The enormity of what that means crashes over him like a wave, threatening to drown him in despair. Voldemort's darkness has spread further than they imagined, and now they are left to navigate a path that seems to grow darker with every step.

>>><<<

The first letter Regulus sends is to Remus Lupin.

It has nothing to do with the shagging - Merlin, the echo of Sirius’ whining is making him throw up in his mouth - but everything to do with what he needs from Lupin. 

Just as Snape had told Dumbledore, a prophecy has reached the Dark Lord. 

Now Regulus is sure that this news will reach his brother and friends soon too. The only two boys their little covert trio is aware of is the Potter boy and the Longbottom’s child. Neither born yet and already a target on their back. But something else has Regulus gripping his quill tighter. 

Evan has included a key into his latest message for them to send to the Potters; “a rat among the lions”. His brother would never dream of going back to their side, and after what he found out about him and Remus, there is only one little lion left who it could be. Regulus’ stomach clenches as he writes. 

Dear Moony,

A secret will have to be kept and who better than one who has kept the biggest secret of all? While a snake might stray carefully, a rat can live among the lions.

Hold the ones you love close and Beware the ides of March,

LK

Pandora walks to the post office with the cryptic letter in hand and her new faithful companion on her shoulder. Her questions and sunny smiles are just enough for the black cat to sneak into the back of the post owlery and bind the letter to one of the birds ready for flight. He’s back at her ankles before anyone’s the wiser.

The second letter comes to the Potter’s home on the 27th of July. 

Lily is the one to read it first, one hand on her round belly. 

Dear Potters, 

Congratulations on your son, born as the seventh month dies. Before the world colours orange, be sure to keep him away from any niffler's eye. 

Not all who seek riches find them as gold,

LK

>>><<<

What an idiot. 

They’re in the middle of an actual war, his best friends are in hiding, and yet. Sirius Black, pacing a hole into the earth beneath his tattered combat boots, outside in the open.

Regulus carefully trails behind the cover of the little stone gate on the other side of the road as he watches his brother in the garden path of Wisteria Lane. Home to the Pettigrews and only a street from the Potters. His brother’s wand is almost buzzing with electricity as he launches a spell at the seemingly empty house. But it bounces, and Regulus inhales sharply as he watches his brother seethe. 

So it is true; Peter Pettigrew has run and joined the Dark Lord. 

“Come out and fight me, you bloody rat!” Sirius yells, and Regulus shoots from behind the bins he’d been hiding behind, fearing for his stupid brother’s life as he makes a ruckus. 

A loud crack and James Potter appears only an inch from Sirius, immediately grabbing him by the shoulder. 

At the sight of him, Sirius’ eyes grow wide in fear. 

“Are you mad! I told you to stay-”

“And let you get yourself killed? We don’t know it’s Peter, they’ve been impersonating everyone we know, Sirius! We’ve known him since we were 13 years old.”

“They said a rat, James!" Sirius’ grabs a hold of James now, gripping tightly onto his arms. For a split second, Regulus fears Sirius might have lost his mind, his eyes frantic and his voice shrill. "They’ve hurt Alice and Frank to the point of madness.”

“We are still safe and we must remain so to keep fighting. We can’t risk losing more friends, trust in us Sirius!” James answers, and Sirius deflates, still gripping onto his friend.

Then, just as quick as it ebbed away, the madness returns and Sirius’ wand is pointed directly to James’ heart. 

“Who was my first crush?”

“You’ve got to be-. Fine, Remus Lupin. And mine?”

“Remus.” Sirius mumbles, lowering his wand again. 

“Go home, Sirius. Wait out this storm, keep safe and trust your friends as I do.”

Sirius is still holding tight onto his wand, but Regulus recognises it as the nervous tick it is. The wand’s runes swirling underneath his thumb calming. 

“Alright, you win.” Sirius growls, and with a last look at Pettigrew’s cottage he disapparates. 

There’s a quiet ringing in the air following it and Regulus dares to come out of the shadows to get a closer look at Potter. He wants to make sure, that’s all, that he really is alright.

He realises his mistake too late, as the silent padding of his claws on the sidewalk makes Potter turn towards him. He’s eyeing the black cat apprehensively, narrowing in suspicion. It only takes a fraction of a second for Regulus to catch onto what he’s thinking before the spell hits. 

Heaving, he’s stretched and pulled out of his animagus form. He screams just as the second spell hits him. He crumbles to the ground as his human form grows, the landing much more painful now. 

It’s all a blur as James towers over him. Then, a warm hand on his cheek. 

“Regulus?” James whispers in shock.

Chapter Text

The world is still barely swimming in view as James repeatedly shakes Regulus’ shoulders. His fight or flight response in the echo of the searing pain is unpredictably ‘freeze’, so his dark eyes are wide and his hands are shaking. 

Then, rather belatedly, his fight kicks in anyway.

“It is me so stop shaking me, you twat.” He pushes James off him, but the other man's fists are clenched around his shoulders. 

“Are all you Black’s utterly mad?” James bites through his clenched teeth. He shoots a frenzied look behind him. In doing so, his grip on Regulus loosens and in the next blink of his beautiful eyes, Regulus apparates back to Pandora’s.

He lets out a pained sigh as the room around him takes shape and he realises what just happened. From the other room, he hears Pandora humming.

Her back is to him when he walks in and she turns around. The humming stops.

“What on earth..” She starts, looking him up and down.

“Potter knows a spell to rip you out of an animagus form, apparently.” He groans, a hand to his throbbing head. “I went to check on my brother’s friends. Like we suspected it was Peter, he went into hiding and my brother was yelling at his front door. Long story short, we need to move. Potter will definitely run his mouth.”

At the end of his speech, he slumps into the nearest chair. 

“Alright.” Is all that Pandora answers.

In the silence, Regulus feels the weight of what they are supposed to do next. He sees the fear of it mirrored in Pandora’s eyes. But something else too, something determined.

“I have an idea.” She continues as she sits down next to him. “Evan said they’re using your aunt’s house as a base every now and then, maybe one of them is there.”

“With cousin Bella? Could be, she would do anything for him. But…” Pandora holds up a hand.

“I know, the wards.” She nods knowingly. “But those don’t include 2D people. So, how about you try some of my experimental magic with me?”

Regulus nods, not for the first time wondering how on earth he ended up here with a mad scientist as his right hand woman.

>>><<<

It only takes them another week before Regulus has to admit defeat and Pandora goes into the painting world alone because they’re running out of time. She bought a sister painting from Borgin’s that Regulus recognised from family tea times at cousin Bella’s and disappears into it alone to Regulus’ utter dismay.

She goes in three times, each time coming back a little sadder and a lot tired. She doesn’t tell him what she sees or hears, other than that it has nothing to do with the horcruxes. Then, on her fourth return, there is colour back into her cheeks.

“A cup!” She exclaims. “Just as we thought, it’s the founders of Hogwarts relics! They were sneering about Hufflepuff having a cup, and Bellatrix said it was ‘too easy to steal’ and that she found it to be too ugly for her vault.”

“So it’s in the house?” Regulus asks, dumbstruck.

“For now, I think so. I haven’t seen it yet but this is brilliant news.”

They get to work on their next step; polyjuice. Pandora has been brewing it from the beginning of their stake outs, and it should be almost ready. They’ve decided to gamble on the fact that the wards will recognise him as a Black, but not necessarily which one.

It’s only a few sleepless nights later when Regulus takes the potion and feels his hair go sleek, the blonde streaks of his cousin Cissy appearing before his eyes.

“Well then,” He says primly, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. “Here goes nothing.”

>>><<<

The black and white tile of the front hall thumps under Regulus boots as he makes his way into the dark foyer. The house should be empty, with its occupants on a mission for All Hallows Eve. Pandora hadn’t shared the details, her mouth a thin line as she repeated it was best he didn’t know.

His hands hover over the ornate pieces of furniture, what was once familiar now nothing but a distant memory. He hurries through the foyer, trying to quietly move towards the study on the ground floor.

He opens and closes the bookcases and cabinets that fill up the walls of the Rodolphus’ office. At the slightest touch on the History of Magical Families and Bloodlines, a spark zings Regulus’ skin. He backs up, then moves closer again to inspect it.

The book looks odd, as if incased. He searches for his wand in the folds of his robe and taps it against the spine. In its place, an utterly common looking cup.

“Merlin.” He frowns in confusion at it, sure this can’t be, but as he reaches for it again the dark magic takes his breath. The anguish from the cave is never far away enough, his own screaming in his ears. While the cup looks ordinary, it is definitely haunted just like the locket. 

He’s looking around for a way to carry it without having to touch it when a noise from outside the room reaches him.

There’s a scuffle, two voices. Male, he thinks. His heart is ringing in his ears and he looks around frantically. A scarf hangs over the visitor chair and he reaches for it, quickly wrapping the cup into it. He can’t apparate here, the house is too protected.

He creeps up to the door, trying to look into the hallway to see if he might make it past whoever showed up when clocks the curly black hair. He scoffs.

James is trying to help Remus un-entangle his fingers as the entrance curse pulls at his tongue. Regulus knows these curses well, and for once he’s glad for the blood running through his veins.

From between the crack in the doorway, he casts. The second he does, both men seem to relax and sigh.

“Whew glad that’s over.” James moves a hand across his jawline to ease his pain.

“That was nothing compared to what it could have been. Keep out for odd tiles or rug patterns.” Remus answers in a much quieter voice than James.

Regulus must hand it to them, he has no idea how they even got past the wards before triggering some kind of alarm.

The thought is barely in his head when the house becomes dark instantly. 

“Oh no.” Remus says, wand raised.

Regulus, against his better judgement, leaps out into the hall and pushes at them. Hurrying them forward, which is much harder as Narcissa as he thought it would be, he stops in front of the door to cast their families ward keys. 

Miraculously, the door opens, but outside is no longer the outside of the house.

Turning back around, he’s met with the ends of both Remus and James’ wands and he can’t stop himself from rolling his eyes.

James’ wand lowers but Remus seems less inclined to do so. Regulus feels the first curl of his own hair near his left ear and knows an hour has passed since he left Pandora behind.

“You again.” James doesn’t look all that surprised.

“I was just thinking the same. You two must have completely lost your gobstones.” He snaps at them, the cup burning a hole in his robe pocket.

“Stop this, we have to get out of here now. James, pull the chord.” Remus interrupts, his voice steady.

“The chord?” Regulus sneers. “Is that some muggle-”

“Hold tight.” James smiles at him, grabbing Regulus’ hand and putting it on his shoulder.

He sees Remus do the same on the other side of him, when James takes out a coin from his pocket and throws it in the air. The dark outside is opening up and there, in the distance that must be the walkway, the real Narcissa walks along her sister towards the house.

“Heads or tails?” He asks, pulling Regulus’ gaze back to him and winking obnoxiously. When the coin hits his hand, the shapes of his angry cousins are still too small to make out. He hopes, prays, that they think they see Sirius and not him.

>>><<<

The ceiling of James Potter’s guest room is invisible in the darkness of the night. Regulus breathes in slowly, back out. The ceiling still doesn’t hold any answers for him, and the stillness of the house around him feels emptier than it should. He’s not alone here, for one, but it feels foreboding. The quiet before the storm.

He is still spread eagle on the comforter of the duvet when the door softly creaks open and James walks in. The dark of the room is disturbed slightly by the light coming from another room across the hall. Regulus assumes it’s the married couple’s, and he feels even more trapped. 

“Have I been kidnapped?” He asks the lit up shape of James without moving from the bed. 

“Of course.” James answers. He sits down somewhere near Regulus’ right leg and taps it once. “So, what happened to hello? How are you? I’m not dead?”

“Because that would have worked so well.” Regulus scoffs.

“Alright then, since you know everything. How did you know they were coming for us tonight?”

Regulus shoots upright.

“Coming for you?” At his question, he sees James furrowing his brows in the soft light seeping into the room.

“Yes.” He answers. “Beware the Ides of March, we got a letter. Lily recognised it from Caesar, apparently muggles know of him too. We moved safehouses and Remus kept us here until we got the signal our old safehouse was being bombarded by You Know Who.”

“Bloody Pandora.” Regulus curses under his breath.

“It’s been quite the night, so let’s talk at breakfast.” James stands, turning one last time in the doorway. “Don’t get any more hero ideas Regulus, we can work together on this. And also you can’t apparate out of here anyway.”

Regulus throws one of the pillows at the door just as it closes behind James. Once he’s laying back down, the ceiling doesn’t look quite as daunting in the dark. He smiles.

As if it senses his improved mood, the cup still entangled in his robe vibrates in anger. Reminds him there is a war on, even in the perceived safeness of his brother's friends. His best friend is locked in his own home with the Dark Lord, risking his life every day so Regulus can try this silly plan of his.

He forces his eyes closed, but sleep doesn’t come without nightmares tonight. He’s running, but the dark is surrounding him. When he wakes up the next morning even more tired than the day before, the weight of the cup seems to have doubled.

He needs to leave, to get to Pandora soon. She has no idea what happened on his visit to his aunt’s house. More importantly, the damned cup.

Their quick getaway will have not only roused suspicion of why they were there, but Regulus still has no clue how to go about destroying these horcruxes. 

His fingers find his wand and he focuses on apparating. Nothing happens.

“Apparating won’t work.” Remus’ gruff voice sounds from the doorway, but Regulus refuses to acknowledge him. 

He feels on edge again, locked in. Closing his eyes again, he focuses on Pandora’s place. The house seems to shake slightly.

“Stop trying, you’re going to trigger the wards and give us away.” Remus continues, lazily walking into the room. He’s holding a tray with what looks like breakfast. But Regulus is stubborn enough to keep ignoring his gesture.

“I cannot be here.”

“We agree on that, at least. But James called his veto. You’re staying.”

“Why would I care about what you’ve decided amongst yourselves?” He retorts, rising from the bed and ignoring the food Remus is holding and marching past him into the hall.

Regulus marches down the hallway with determination, though he doesn't know where he's going. He just wants to get away from everyone—their pitying looks, their strange camaraderie, their blind hope. He’s used to the cold, isolating corridors of Grimmauld Place, where the walls are lined with dark portraits and darker secrets. Here, in the Potters’ safehouse, the walls are covered with warmth—photographs of laughing faces, painted landscapes, flowers in vases.

He hates it.

The smell of breakfast wafts through the air, and his stomach growls despite himself. He hasn’t eaten much in days, too focused on the cup, too worried about Evan and Pandora. Guilt gnaws at him again, the familiar ache of it deep in his chest. Every minute he’s here, he isn’t helping them. He isn’t doing anything to save his friends.

He rounds a corner and nearly collides with James, who’s holding a stack of plates in his hands.

“Whoa, easy there,” James says, stepping back just in time to avoid dropping everything. “Hungry?”

Regulus glares at him. “I don’t need your charity.”

James sighs and sets the plates down on a small table by the wall. He looks tired—dark circles under his eyes, hair messier than usual. But there’s a softness in his gaze that Regulus can’t quite understand.

“It’s not charity, Reg. It’s breakfast. You have to eat, or you won’t be able to think straight. And we need you thinking straight if we’re going to figure this out.”

“I don’t want to be here,” Regulus snaps, but his voice lacks the usual venom. He’s too tired, too worn down.

“I know,” James says quietly. “None of us want to be in this situation. But here we are. And we need to make the best of it.”

Regulus turns away, but James catches his arm gently, stopping him. “Hey, look,” he says softly. “I know this isn’t easy for you. It’s not easy for any of us. But we’re in this together, alright? We’re on the same side.”

Regulus wrenches his arm free, but he doesn’t leave. Instead, he stands there, staring at the wall, his breath coming in shaky bursts. The truth is, he doesn’t know how to do this—how to be part of a team, how to trust anyone who isn’t Evan or Kreacher or Pandora.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admits finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

James is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, his voice is kind. “None of us do. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

There’s that word again. Together. Regulus hates it, but there’s a part of him that craves it too—the idea of not being alone in this, of having someone to lean on. But he doesn’t know how to let himself trust, not after everything he’s done, everything he’s seen.

“Breakfast is in the kitchen,” James says, stepping back and giving Regulus some space. “Come join us when you’re ready.”

Regulus doesn’t move for a long time after James leaves. He stands there, staring at the spot where James had been, trying to sort through the tangled mess of his thoughts and feelings. Finally, he takes a deep breath and heads toward the kitchen.

When he enters, Lily is at the stove, flipping pancakes in a cast-iron skillet. The smell is intoxicating, and Regulus’s stomach clenches with hunger. He hesitates in the doorway, unsure if he’s welcome.

“Morning, Regulus,” Lily says brightly, as if there’s nothing strange about him being here, as if he’s just another guest. “Have a seat. I’m almost done.”

Remus is already seated at the table, sipping a cup of tea and reading the Daily Prophet. He nods to Regulus in greeting but doesn’t say anything, and for that, Regulus is grateful.

He takes a seat as far from Remus as possible and folds his hands in his lap, trying to make himself small. He doesn’t know how to do this, how to pretend everything is normal when it’s not. When he’s here in this strange, warm place, eating breakfast like he’s part of some... family.

James comes in a moment later, carrying a jug of pumpkin juice. “Ah, there you are,” he says with a smile. “I was beginning to think you’d gone back to bed.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “As if I could sleep with all the noise you lot make.”

James grins, and it’s infuriating how charming he looks, even with his hair sticking up in every direction. “Fair enough. But you know, you could always help out. Set the table or something.”

Regulus scoffs. “I’m not a house-elf.”

“Neither are we,” Lily says, sliding a stack of pancakes onto a plate and setting them in front of Regulus. “But we all do our part. Besides, it’s good to keep busy.”

Regulus grudgingly reaches for the syrup, pouring a generous amount over his pancakes. He takes a bite and nearly moans at the taste. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was.

For a few minutes, they eat in relative silence, the only sounds are the clinking of cutlery and the soft sizzle of the stove. Regulus feels strangely at peace, despite everything. There’s something comforting about the domesticity of it all, the normalcy. It’s something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Something inside him wants to rebel against it.

“Are you going to tell me about yesterday? Where’s my annoying brother?” Regulus breaks the silence.

James glances at Lily, who is still standing near the stove, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if warding off a chill. She turns, her eyes red and puffy, and Regulus’s unease grows sharper.

“It’s about Snape,” James begins carefully, moving his plate away. “Severus... he’s dead.”

For a moment, the words don’t make sense to Regulus. They hang in the air, detached from reality, impossible to comprehend. “What?” he breaths, setting his own plate aside and shifting in his seat. “What do you mean, he’s dead?”

Lily’s shoulders tremble at the word, and she presses a hand to her tired eyes. James seems to be the only one able to speak.

“It happened last night. Halloween,” James explains, his voice tight with controlled anger. “The Death Eaters attacked our safehouse. We had gotten a note earlier about Harry and didn’t want to take any risks so we followed Remus’ advice. Your brother is in a different safehouse, Remus is the only one who knows of our locations. We’re not sure why Snape was even there, but... they killed him. They left his body on the front steps. The Order found him.”

Regulus feels like the ground has been pulled out from under him. Severus Snape is dead. 

Snape, who had been his Potions partner at Hogwarts, who had always been so meticulous, so determined to prove himself. Snape, who had made the difficult choice to switch sides not more than a few weeks ago, who had risked everything to spy for Dumbledore. Gone, just like that.

Lily’s quiet sobs fill the room, a heartbreaking sound that cuts through the silence like a knife. Regulus sits frozen, unable to move, unable to process what he is hearing. He has known Snape would be in danger, of course. They all are. But somehow, he had never imagined this. Not Snape.

“Why?” Regulus asks, his voice raw, his eyes fixed on James. “Why would they kill him? He was... he was still one of them, wasn’t he?”

James shakes his head slowly, his expression dark. “I don’t know. Maybe they suspected something, or maybe he’d finally crossed a line he couldn’t come back from. But it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone.”

Lily wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to steady herself. “He didn’t deserve this,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Severus... he tried to make things right. He was doing everything he could to help us, to help Harry. And now...”

Regulus watches her, feeling a strange mix of emotions churning inside him. He has never been close to Snape, had never really understood him. But he has respected him, in a way. Respected his intelligence, his determination. And now he is gone, just like so many others. Just like he could have been, just like so many people he has lost to this cursed war.

“I’m sorry,” Regulus says, though the words feel inadequate. He isn’t even sure who he is apologising to—Lily, for her grief, or himself, for the life he has chosen that has led them all here.

Lily nods, her eyes filling with a mixture of sadness and something else—something like understanding. “I know you are, Regulus. I know.”

James finally stands and pulls her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple as he murmurs soft reassurances. Regulus quickly looks away, feeling like an intruder in this moment of grief. He has never been good at this, at comforting others, at knowing what to say. He feels out of place, as he always has in these situations, but he can’t bring himself to stand.

“How did it happen?” Regulus asked quietly, needing to know more, needing to understand.

James hesitates for a moment, then sighs. “The Death Eaters showed up out of nowhere, like they knew exactly where to find him. There were signs of a struggle, but... it doesn’t look like he had much of a chance. It was quick.”

Regulus nods, the weight of the news settling heavily on his shoulders. He tries to picture Snape in those final moments, tries to imagine the fear he must have felt, the realisation that his time was up. It sends a shiver down his spine.

“I wish I could have done something,” Regulus admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I wish I could have been quicker, or...”

“There was nothing anyone could have done,” Remus says firmly, his gaze locking with Regulus’s. “This war... it takes from all of us. But we have to keep going. We have to keep fighting, for the ones we’ve lost and the ones we can still save.”

Regulus nods again, but the words feel hollow. He knows Remus is right, knows that they can’t afford to give up, not now, not ever. But it is becoming ever so hard to keep that resolve, to keep believing that their efforts would make a difference, when death seems to be the only certainty.

Lily steps forward, her hand reaching out to touch Regulus’s arm lightly. “We’ll get through this,” she says softly, her voice a little steadier now. “Together.”

Together. There was that word again. The word that always seems to carry so much weight, so much promise. Regulus wants to believe in it, wants to believe that he isn’t alone in this fight, that he has people he can rely on. But trust is such a fragile thing, and he isn’t sure he can afford it, not after everything that has happened.

Still, he finds himself nodding, if only for Lily’s sake, if only because he doesn’t want to be the one to shatter whatever fragile hope they still have left.

James shifts closer and lays his heavy, warm hand on his shoulder, a gesture of solidarity, of camaraderie. “We’ll pay them in kind,” he says, his voice low and filled with determination. “For Snape. For everyone they’ve taken from us.”

Regulus doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods again, his throat tight with emotion. They stay there for a moment, a strange mismatched group bound together by grief and a shared sense of purpose, trying to find comfort in each other’s presence.

And for the first time in a long time, Regulus feels a flicker of something like hope. Not for himself, perhaps, but for the possibility that, together, they might be able to make things right. Or at least, die trying.

“So,” James says after a while, sitting back in his chair. “What’s our plan for today?”

Regulus looks up, surprised. “Our plan?”

“Yeah,” James says. “You must have found something at Bella’s horrid place.”

Regulus nods slowly, the weight of the task settling over him again. He doesn’t make eye contact when he finally admits what he is meant to do.

Lily joins them quietly as he explains. He doesn’t say where he has gotten this information, still careful not to implicate his friends, but as he talks of the horcrux and how he survived, James hand finds its way back to his shoulder.

 “I’ve tried everything I can think of. Nothing works. Not fire, not spells... It’s like it’s indestructible.” Regulus finishes, finally looking up.

Lily frowns, tapping her fingers against the wood of the table. “Horcruxes are protected by very dark magic. It’s not just about destroying the object, but the piece of soul inside it.”

James leans forward, his expression serious. “What about basilisk venom? I read somewhere that it’s powerful enough to destroy dark magic.”

Regulus considers this. “Maybe. But where would we get basilisk venom?”

“There might be some at Hogwarts,” Remus suggests. “In the Forbidden Forest, or maybe even in Slughorn’s old potions stores. He kept all sorts of things.”

“It’s a long shot,” Regulus says, but he can’t deny it’s the best idea he has found so far. “But it might be worth a try.”

James nods. “Alright, then. We’ll make a plan to get to Hogwarts. But we have to be careful. If You-Know-Who’s forces are on to us, especially after we were spotted last night, we can’t risk getting caught.”

Regulus feels a surge of gratitude, unexpected and overwhelming. These people—these Gryffindors, Merlin help him —are willing to help him, to risk their lives for him, for this cause. He doesn’t know how to deal with that, or how to accept it.

“We’ll figure it out,” James says again, and this time, Regulus believes him. There’s something about the way James says it, the confidence in his voice, the determination in his eyes.

For the first time in a long time, Regulus feels a glimmer of something he thought he’d lost forever: hope.

They spend the rest of the morning planning, discussing the best ways to get to Hogwarts undetected, what they’ll need, who they might encounter. Regulus is surprised by how easy it is to talk to them, to work with them. Even Remus, who’s usually so guarded, seems to open up a bit as they discuss their options.

James is at the centre of it all, leading the discussion with an easy confidence that Regulus envies. He’s always known James was brave, but seeing him like this—strategic, thoughtful, a natural leader—it’s something else entirely.

Regulus finds himself watching James more than he means to, noticing the way his eyes light up when he talks about their plan, the way his mouth curves into a smile that’s both reassuring and infuriating. He hates how much he likes it, how much he finds himself wanting to be near James, to hear his voice, to see that smile.

By the time they break for lunch, Regulus is more confused than ever. He excuses himself and retreats to the room he woke up in, closing the door behind him and leaning against it with a sigh.

He doesn’t know what’s happening to him, why he feels this way. He’s never been one for attachments, for feelings. He’s always been focused on his duty, on his mission. But now... now he feels something he can’t quite name. Something he’s afraid to name.

He sinks down onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. He can’t afford this—not now, not when there’s so much at stake. He can’t let himself be distracted, can’t let himself feel.

But even as he tells himself this, he knows it’s too late. The feeling is already there, deep in his chest, impossible to ignore. And for the first time in his life, Regulus Black doesn’t know what to do.

>>><<<

It’s only a couple of hours later when Regulus finds himself at the worn kitchen table, a thick, leather-bound book open in front of him. The dim light of the early evening filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the room. The house is quiet, the only sounds the occasional rustle of pages and the faint ticking of the clock on the wall.

He found the book in one of the many shelves lining the walls of the safehouse, hidden behind a few dusty tomes on advanced spellwork. It's an old text on magical artifacts, with a specific chapter on ancient defensive enchantments. Regulus hopes it might contain some clue about how to destroy the remaining horcruxes, to see if Basilisk venom could work, or at least give him a better understanding of the kind of magic they were dealing with.

He runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to focus on the dense text in front of him, but his thoughts keep wandering to his friends, out there somewhere alone.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching until they are right outside the room. He looks up just as James walks in, and his breath catches in his throat.

James is fresh from the shower, his dark curls still damp and tousled, droplets of water clinging to his skin and glistening in the dim light. He is wearing nothing but a pair of loose pajama bottoms that hang low on his hips, revealing the lean muscles of his torso.

For a moment, Regulus can’t think, can’t breathe. His eyes are drawn to the way the water droplets trace paths down James’s chest and over his abdomen, the way his skin glows with a kind of natural radiance that is infuriatingly mesmerising.

He watches as a single droplet of water travels from a wet curl down from James’s collarbone, over the curve of his chest, and disappears into the waistband of his pyjama bottoms. Regulus swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry, as a wave of heat floods through him.

James catches his eye and gives him a lazy, crooked smile, one that makes Regulus’s heart skip a beat. “Hello, Regulus,” he says, his voice purposefully husky, as if in playful mockery, what a jerk. “What are you reading?”

Regulus blinks, tearing his gaze away from James’s body with difficulty. He clears his throat, trying to steady his voice. “Just… a book on magical artifacts,” he manages to say, his voice sounding more breathless than he intends.

James moves closer, leaning over the table to get a better look at the book. His arm brushes against Regulus’s shoulder, and Regulus feels a jolt of electricity at the contact. He tries to focus on the book, on the words swimming in front of him, but it is impossible with James so close, with the scent of soap and fresh air filling his senses.

“What’s it say?” James asks, peering at the page with genuine interest.

Regulus struggles to remember what he had been reading, his mind still reeling from the sight of James standing so close, so unbearably handsome in the faded evening light. “It’s… about ancient defensive enchantments,” he says, forcing the words out in the most unbothered manner he can master. “I thought it might have some insight into how to destroy the horcruxes, or at least something about their magical properties.”

James nods, his damp hair falling into his eyes as he does so. He reaches up to push it back, and Regulus can’t help but follow the movement of his lean fingers, his gaze lingering on the way James’s arm muscles flex with the motion.

“Sounds like a good idea,” James says, turning his attention back to Regulus. “Any luck so far?”

Regulus shakes his head, trying to refocus. “Not yet,” he admits, though he isn’t entirely sure he would be able to remember anything useful now. Not with James standing so close to him, every fiber of his being aware of it.

James’s gaze is warm, understanding. “We’ll figure it out,” he says softly, and Regulus feels his heart swell at the confidence in his voice. “We always do.”

For a moment, they just look at each other. Regulus feels a rush of something he can't quite name—desire, longing, fear. He wants to reach out, to touch James, to feel the warmth of his skin under his fingers. But he doesn’t dare, doesn’t trust himself not to do something reckless. After such a long time in the cold alone, James looks like the warmest, most comforting source of heat.

James seems to sense his hesitation, because he reaches out and places a hand on Regulus’s arm, his touch gentle and reassuring. “You okay?” he asks quietly, his brow furrowing with concern.

Regulus nods, though his heart is still racing, and he can feel a blush creeping up his neck. “Yeah,” he answers, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m fine.” Then, righting himself, “Do you have to be so naked in the common areas, Potter?”

James’s hand lingers on his arm for a moment longer, and then he pulls back, giving Regulus a cocky grin. “Why hide all of this away under Remus’ clothes?” he smiles. “I’m gonna grab some tea. Want some?”

Regulus nods, grateful for the distraction. “Sure,” he says, his voice steadier now. “That would be great."

James turns and walks over to the kitchen and out of view, and Regulus indulges himself a little and watches him go, his gaze drawn to the way the muscles in James’s back move as he opens up the door. He is beautiful, in a way that is almost painful, and Regulus knows he is in deep trouble.

As James busies himself with making tea, Regulus tries to turn his attention back to the book in front of him, but it is no use. All he can think about is the way James had grinned at him, the way his touch had sent sparks through his skin, the way his heart seemed to beat faster whenever James was near.

He was falling for James Potter. His older brother’s very straight, married best friend. And he didn’t know how to stop.

>>><<<

The night is shrouded in an ominous silence as Remus, James, and Regulus creep through the hidden passages of Hogwarts, their footsteps barely audible on the cold stone floors. The castle is no longer the sanctuary it once was; now, under the looming threat of war, it feels more like a labyrinth of shadows and danger. Their mission is simple yet perilous: find basilisk venom in Slughorn’s private chambers, a key ingredient needed to destroy the Horcruxes. But as with everything in these dark times, simplicity is a luxury they can’t afford.

Their path winds through corridors long forgotten, secret passages known only to those who have spent years exploring the castle’s depths. Regulus leads the way, his determination fueling his every step. Behind him, James and Remus exchange tense glances, both aware of the high stakes and the uncertainty that lies ahead.

As they approach Slughorn’s office, a sudden chill sweeps through the hallway. The air grows heavy, and the temperature drops sharply. Regulus halts, his senses on high alert. The shadows seem to stretch longer, almost as if they’re alive, watching them.

James steps closer to Regulus, his wand at the ready. “Do you feel that?” he whispers, his voice barely audible.

Regulus nods, eyes narrowing as he scans the darkened corridor. “Something’s here.”

Before they can move, a ghostly figure materialises in front of them, her form faint and shimmering in the dim light. It’s the Grey Lady, the ghost of Ravenclaw. Her expression is unreadable, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that sends a shiver down Regulus’s spine.

“Who seeks knowledge in the dead of night?” she asks, her voice echoing softly around them.

Regulus steps forward, his voice steady. “We seek a part of a broken soul and ways to destroy it.”

The Grey Lady tilts her head, considering them for a long moment. “What was lost is a symbol of wisdom, but wisdom is not given—it is earned. To find what you seek, you must answer this riddle: ‘I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with wind. What am I?’”

James exchanges a quick glance with Remus, the riddle hanging heavily in the air. They’ve encountered riddles like this before, but with the pressure mounting and the urgency of their mission, the answer doesn’t come easily.

“A whisper,” Regulus finally says, the word escaping his lips with certainty.

The Grey Lady gives a faint, approving nod but says nothing more. Instead, she fades back into the shadows, leaving them standing there with nothing but the echo of her presence.

“Did she confirm it?” James asks, frustration seeping into his voice.

Regulus shakes his head. “No. But we can’t waste time.”

They hurry to Slughorn’s office, the door creaking ominously as they push it open. Inside, the smell of old potions and parchment fills the air. They search through the cupboards, rifling through ingredients and vials, but the basilisk venom isn’t there. Regulus’s frustration grows with every empty shelf, every failed attempt to find what they desperately need.

“Nothing,” Remus mutters, slamming a drawer shut. “We need to go.”

Reluctantly, they leave the office, the weight of failure pressing down on them as they make their way back through the castle’s secret passageways. The mission has yielded nothing—no venom, no information on another Horcrux. Just more uncertainty.

Back at the safehouse, the tension is palpable. Regulus heads straight to his room, the sting of failure burning in his chest. He feels the weight of the world on his shoulders, the burden of his past mistakes and the fear that they’re running out of time.

Later, the door to his room creaks open, and James steps inside, his presence a quiet comfort. He’s still dressed from their mission, but the fatigue is evident in his eyes.

“It’s normal to lose sometimes,” James says softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We’re not going to find a horcrux or a solution at every turn.”

Regulus turns to face him, the vulnerability he rarely shows flickering in his gaze. “But we’re running out of time. We can’t afford to fail.”

James reaches out, gently taking Regulus’s hand. “You’ve done more than anyone could have asked of you. Asking for help, leaning on someone—none of that diminishes what you’ve done.”

For a moment, they sit in silence, the weight of the war and their losses hanging between them. Then, slowly, Regulus shifts closer to James, finding comfort in his warmth. James wraps an arm around him, pulling him into a tender embrace.

“I don’t know how to stop,” Regulus whispers, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how to let myself.”

“We keep telling you Reg, you don’t have to do this alone,” James murmurs, pressing his forehead against Regulus’s hair. “We’ll get through this together.”

Regulus closes his eyes, allowing himself to lean into James, the weight of the past few years finally easing off his shoulders. With James’s steady heartbeat against his ear and the warmth of his embrace surrounding him, the tension that has held him so tightly begins to unwind. He hasn’t felt this safe in what feels like a lifetime. 

The exhaustion of the day, of everything, catches up to him all at once. Slowly, he drifts off, finding peace in the rare comfort of James’s arms. For the first time in a long while, Regulus feels safe enough to sleep.

>>><<<

Regulus feels it as soon as he wakes—the tension in the air, the sense that something is about to happen. The bed beside him is cold, the house is quieter than usual. He must have been asleep for only a few hours, as the world is still dark around him.

He decides to go downstairs in search of tea only to find James and Lily sitting at the kitchen table, speaking in hushed tones. They stop when they see him, offering tight smiles that do nothing to alleviate the dread curling in his stomach.

“What’s happened?” Regulus asks immediately, cutting through any pretence of pleasantries.

Lily looks at James, who nods slightly before turning to Regulus. “We’ve had news,” James says carefully. “Remus went to check in with Pandora now that we’ve decided to work together. She’s... she’s been taken.”

For a moment, Regulus can’t breathe. The room seems to tilt, and he grabs the back of a chair to steady himself. “What do you mean, taken?” he demands, his voice sharper than he intends.

“She’s been captured,” Lily explains, her voice soft, her eyes full of sympathy. “We don’t know by whom exactly, but it’s not good. Remus found signs of a struggle, and her wand was left behind.”

Panic seizes Regulus, squeezing his chest tight. Pandora is clever, resourceful. She wouldn’t let herself be caught—unless she had no choice. “I have to go,” he mutters, more to himself than to them. “I have to find her.”

“Regulus, wait,” James says, standing up and reaching out to him. “You can’t just—”

But Regulus is already moving. He sprints back to his room, his heart pounding in his ears. He has to get out of here. He has to find Pandora, to make sure she’s safe. He can’t let anything happen to her because of him.

Once inside the room, he grabs his wand, focuses, and tries to Apparate again. But just like before, nothing happens. The wards around the safehouse hold strong, trapping him inside. He slams his fist against the wall in frustration, feeling the sharp sting of pain shoot up his arm.

He hears footsteps behind him and turns to see James standing in the doorway, concern etched across his face. “Regulus, stop,” James says gently. “You can’t go out there. It’s the middle of the night.”

“I don’t care!” Regulus shouts, his voice cracking. “I have to find her! It’s my fault she’s in this mess. I dragged her into this, and now she’s—she’s—”

He can’t finish the sentence. The words get stuck in his throat, and he feels a surge of helplessness that nearly knocks him over.

James steps closer, his hands raised in a calming gesture. “I know you’re scared,” he says softly. “But running off on your own won’t help. We need to be smart about this. We’ll find a way to help her, but we have to do it together.”

There’s that word again. Together. Regulus feels a pang of something—gratitude, maybe, or something deeper. He’s not used to this, to people offering to help him, to not having to do everything alone.

He collapses onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. “I don’t know what to do,” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know how to save her. I don’t know how to save anyone.”

James sits down beside him, close enough that their shoulders touch. “None of us do,” he says gently. “You’re not alone in this, Reg. I’m here. We’re all here.”

Regulus wants to believe him. He wants to believe that he doesn’t have to carry this burden by himself, that he doesn’t have to be alone. And for a moment, he allows himself to lean into James, to take comfort in his presence, his warmth.

But then he remembers who he is, who James is, and he pulls back, his heart a tangled mess of fear and confusion. He can’t let himself feel this way. Not about James. Not now.

He stands up abruptly, putting distance between them. “I can’t... I can’t do this,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He feels like he’s coming apart at the seams, like the world is crumbling beneath his feet. “I need to—”

Without thinking, he pulls out his wand and calls the first name he can think of, “Kreacher!”

There’s a loud crack, and the old house-elf appears before him, bowing low. “Young Master Regulus!” Kreacher exclaims, his eyes wide with joy and relief. “Kreacher is so happy to see you safe!”

Regulus drops to his knees in front of Kreacher, gripping his small shoulders. “Kreacher, Pandora’s been taken. And Evan—have you heard anything about Evan?”

Kreacher’s expression darkens, and he wrings his hands nervously. “Oh, Master Regulus, Kreacher has heard terrible news. Mistress, your mother, she has been speaking to Master. She says the Rosiers’ house... it is on fire. The Dark Lord’s followers are hunting Evan.”

The words hit Regulus like a physical blow. He feels the air rush out of his lungs, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint. Evan, his friend, his ally, who has risked everything to help him... And now he’s being hunted because of it.

“No,” Regulus whispers, shaking his head. “No, this can’t be happening. Not both of them. I have to go, I have to save them—”

“Regulus, wait!” James grabs his arm, but Regulus wrenches free.

“They’re in danger because of me!” Regulus shouts, his voice raw with desperation. “I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

He looks at Kreacher, who’s trembling with worry. “Take me to Evan,” he orders. “Now!”

Kreacher hesitates, glancing nervously at James, who’s standing helplessly in the doorway. “But young master, the wards—”

“Damn the wards!” Regulus yells, grabbing Kreacher’s hand. “Just get me out of here!”

With a fearful nod, Kreacher closes his eyes and snaps his fingers. There’s a sudden wrenching sensation, and for a moment, everything goes black. Regulus feels like he’s being sucked through a tight tube, his body compressed and stretched all at once.

When he opens his eyes, he’s no longer in the safehouse. The air is thick with smoke, and the sky is lit with the orange glow of flames. They’re standing in front of the Rosiers’ garden shed, now so familiar to Regulus. But when he turns, the usually quiet house is roaring, engulfed in fire. The heat is intense, scorching his skin even from a distance.

“Kreacher, where is Evan?” Regulus demands.

Kreacher points toward the house, his eyes wide with fear. “But the fire—it’s too dangerous!”

Regulus doesn’t hesitate. He runs toward the house, heart pounding in his chest like a drum. The roar of the flames is deafening, a monstrous sound that swallows the night. He can feel the heat from here, a suffocating blanket that presses down on him as he stumbles over stones scattered across the lawn. The fire surges and twists, morphing into the shape of a dragon’s head, snarling and hellish.

“Evan!” he screams, desperation cracking his voice as he pushes himself forward. The flames, with their serpentine movement, seem almost alive, and they respond to his presence, twisting and roaring louder. 

“Fiendfyre,” James shouts as he catches up, grabbing Regulus by the arm and pulling him back. “It’s fiendfyre, Regulus, it’s too dangerous!”

“No!” Regulus yells back, struggling against James’s grip. “He wouldn’t! He has to be alive!”

“Regulus!” James’s voice is edged with panic. “There’s no countercurse! You must—”

But Regulus isn’t listening. He rips his arm free and bolts toward the inferno. The flames dance and churn, the dragon’s head lowering as if to meet him, its fiery eyes locking onto him with malevolent intent. He’s so far from the house, but the heat is unbearable, stinging his skin and bringing tears to his eyes. 

Amidst the chaos, something tugs at him, a pull at his waist that makes him falter. He clutches at his robes, fingers brushing against the cup that is twisted into the scarf. The metal is scorching even underneath the fabric, and then he hears it—a high-pitched screech, a wail that cuts through the roaring fire. It’s the cup. It’s reacting to the flames, reacting to the magic.

The dragon’s gaze remains fixed on him, as if waiting for him to make his move. His breath is ragged, lungs burning from the heat, but he forces himself to keep going. He can barely hear James shouting anymore, his focus narrowed to the fire and the cursed object in his hand. 

If Fiendfyre can destroy anything, if it’s capable of consuming magic, then it can destroy this. Even if he’s lost Evan, let this be his last act, his final stand against the darkness that’s consumed so much of his life.

Finally, he reaches the remnants of the Rosiers’ glass veranda, the greenery and furniture within it, charred beyond recognition. He stops, gasping for air, the heat of the flames and the oppressive weight of the cup bearing down on him. He yanks the scarf from around it, the metal burning, and with all the strength he can muster, he hurls the cup into the fire.

The dragon roars, the flames surging as if in triumph, and then it dives after the cup, disappearing into the blaze with a scream of pure agony. It’s then that James’s arms wrap around him, pulling him back, his grip firm and unyielding.

Regulus is barely aware of his feet leaving the ground as James drags him away from the inferno. The heat is suffocating, even from this distance, and his vision swims with tears that refuse to fall.

“The horcrux,” Regulus gasps out, the words barely audible as James sets him down on the ground, curling in on himself as he watches the fire consume everything.

James moves to stand in front of him, his wand raised, his voice low and urgent as he chants something in a language Regulus doesn’t fully understand.

“Niyantran rakhen,”  (दानव पर नियंत्रण रखें) James chants, and the dragon slows its circling, turning its attention to them once more. Its eyes narrow, the flames flickering with renewed interest.

Regulus struggles to his feet, moving to James’s side, placing a hand on his shoulder. “James, it’s enough,” he says, but James shakes his head, raising his other hand, his voice growing louder.

James shakes his head, then raises his other hand besides his wand as if reaching for the stars as he yells, “Jaadoo chheenane ke lie!”(जादू छीनने के लिए)

James commands, his voice strained, repeating the incantation over and over and over.

The dragon recoils, shrinking back as if struck. Regulus watches in horror as James’s dark curls start to lose their color, turning gray at the edges, his breath growing more labored with each repetition. And still James continues.

“Jaadoo chheenane ke lie!”(जादू छीनने के लिए)

“James, stop!” Regulus pleads, gripping his shoulder tightly, stepping into his space. “James!”

James’s eyes flutter towards him, and Regulus searches for any change in them. To his relief, the chocolate brown he’s become so used to, looks back at him. 

Behind him, the dragon has all but disappeared, the flames losing their shape and shrinking into a more ordinary blaze. The cursed fire has lost, its magic drained.

“It worked,” James whispers, his body sagging with exhaustion. Regulus is there to catch him, holding him upright as they both tremble with the aftermath.

“You’re impossible,” Regulus mutters, his voice thick with emotion. They collapse into each other, James’s arms coming around him as he buries his face in James’s chest, the tears finally breaking free. 

He doesn’t know how long they stand there, holding each other as the fire dies out. James holds him tightly, one hand cradling the back of Regulus’s head, the other gripping his wand with fingers that are starting to tremble.

Regulus feels James sag against him, his grip loosening. He pulls back slightly, alarmed, and sees the exhaustion etched into James’s features. His skin is pale, and his eyes are half-lidded, struggling to stay open.

“James!” Regulus gasps, his heart seizing with panic as he realises just how much magic James has expended.

James tries to smile, but it’s a weak, faltering gesture. “I’m okay,” he murmurs, though his voice is barely above a whisper. “Just… took a bit more out of me than I thought.”

But Regulus can see the truth. James is on the verge of collapse, his magical core nearly depleted from the strain of containing the Fiendfyre. He tightens his hold on James, trying to support his weight as James’s legs threaten to give out.

“Don’t you dare faint on me, Potter,” Regulus chokes out through his tears, fear and concern lacing his words.

James lets out a breathy laugh, though it sounds more like a sigh. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, but his voice is fading, and Regulus can feel him slipping. “What would you do without me?”

“James, please,” Regulus whispers, “just hold on a little longer.”

With what little strength he has left, James nods, forcing himself to stand upright, though his knees are weak. Regulus, still crying, pulls him closer, not willing to let him fall.

James leans heavily against Regulus, his breath shallow, and Regulus can feel his own heart pounding in his chest. He’s terrified that James might collapse any second, but he won’t let him go. 

“James,” Regulus choked out, his voice muffled against the fabric of James’s shirt. “You—you could’ve been killed.”

James’s arms tighten around him, drawing him closer. Regulus feels the tremor in his muscles, the lingering fear in his touch. “I know,” James whispers, his breath warm against Regulus’s hair. “But I couldn’t let you face that alone.”

For a long moment, they stand there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the crackling of the dying fire the only sound around them. Regulus feels James’s heartbeat begin to slow, his breathing steadying, and he takes comfort in that small sign of life.

Finally, Regulus pulls back, just enough to look up at James. “Thank you,” he said, his voice still raw with emotion. “For—for saving me. Again.”

James’s lips curve into a faint smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think we’re even now,” he replies softly. “You destroyed the horcrux. That’s one less piece of him in the world.”

Regulus nods, though the victory feels hollow. “I just wish it hadn’t come at such a cost,” he murmurs, his gaze drifting back to the smouldering remains of the Rosier house. “Evan...”

He can’t finish the thought, his throat tightening with grief. James seems to understand, his expression softening. “I’m sorry, Regulus,” he says gently. “I know he was important to you.”

Regulus swallows hard, tries to push back the tears that threaten to overwhelm him again. “He is my friend,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “One of the few I had left.”

James’s hand moves to cup the side of Regulus’s face, his thumb brushing away the tears that cling to his cheek. The touch is tender, comforting in a way that Regulus hadn’t expected. “You’re going to hurt my feelings, Little Black,” James says, smiling.

Regulus finds himself smiling back, despite it all. It is strange, feeling this connection to someone he had once seen as an enemy, someone he had been taught to despise. But here, in this moment of shared triumph, it feels like something more—something solid, something real.

The fire seems to have finally burned itself out, leaving behind only the charred remains of what had once been, but the ruins feel strangely calm now, the danger has passed.

Regulus opens his eyes, meeting James’s gaze. “We should go,” he says, his voice steadier now. “There might be more Death Eaters coming. We can’t stay here.”

James nods, reluctantly letting his hand drop from Regulus’s face. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Let’s get back to the safehouse. Lily will be worried.”

Regulus takes a deep breath, steeling himself for apparition. “Okay,” he says, giving James a small nod. “Hang on.”

>>><<<

The house is in uproar when they return. His brother is the first to wrap his arms around him and in his exhaustion, Regulus lets him. After they’ve reassured everyone they’re fine, although a little drained and exhausted, they all gather around the kitchen table. It feels oddly familiar to Regulus now, his earlier outburst and following escapade a distant echo here. As the morning dawns around them, they sit in its gradual clearness.

The fire had been a near disaster, but it had also revealed something critical—something that could be the key to destroying Voldemort’s horcruxes. With everyone huddling around the table, cup of tea in hand, the remnants of the Fiendfyre ordeal hangs heavy in the air.

James is pacing, his brow furrowed as he speaks. “It consumes magic, not oxygen,” he explains, his steps quick and restless. “If there is no more magic, the fire looks for the nearest source. If there is none, it dies. The opposite of a Patronus, in a sense. I remembered reading something about stopping magic, or draining magic, in one of my mother’s books.”

Sirius, sitting hunched over his cuppa, looks up at him with wide eyes, his expression one of wonder. “Indian magic?” he asks, his voice filled with awe, turning to Regulus.

Regulus nods, his gaze still fixed on the scarf that had been twisted around the cup for the last few days. “We heard the shrieking of the horcrux,” he says, his voice quiet but firm. “I think it’s one of the only things that could destroy them.”

There is a moment of silence as everyone processes what this means. The realisation that they might have discovered a way to fight back against Voldemort’s dark magic.

It is Remus who breaks the silence again, his voice thoughtful. “If the horcruxes can be destroyed by something that consumes magic… then maybe that’s why Voldemort hid them in places of great magical power.” He pauses, his eyes narrowing as if he is piecing something together. “The locket, the cup,… they are all connected to powerful magical objects. What if there’s another one?”

James, who has been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, straightens up, his interest piqued. “What are you thinking, Moony?”

Remus glanced around the room, his expression serious. “Ravenclaw had a famous diadem, didn’t she? A lost relic that was said to enhance the wisdom of the wearer. It was one of the most powerful magical artifacts of her time. Remember the Grey Lady’s riddle. What if… what if that’s another horcrux?”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Remus’s words sinking in. Sirius’ eyes are locked on Remus, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Merlin’s beard, Remus,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “That’s bloody brilliant.”

Regulus can’t help but roll his eyes at the look on Sirius’s face, catching James’s eye from across the room. The two of them share a knowing smirk, the kind of unspoken understanding that has begun to form between them in these past few days. There is a warmth in that look, a sense of camaraderie that hadn’t been there before.

James’s lips quirk into a grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Regulus feels a flutter in his chest, a mix of emotions he isn’t ready to examine too closely. But there is no denying the connection between them, the way James seemed to understand him in a way few others do.

The moment passes, and James returns his attention to the group. “If Remus is right,” he says, his tone serious again, “then we need to find that Ravenclaw artefact. It could be the key to ending this once and for all.”

Sirius nods, his hand resting on Remus’s shoulder in easy affection. “We’ll find it,” he says with a confidence that borders on cocky. “We’ve got the best minds in the wizarding world working on it.”

Remus smiles at that, a faint blush colouring his cheeks as he ducks his head slightly. Sirius’s eyes soften as he looks at him, and Regulus can practically see the unspoken feelings between them. It is almost enough to make him gag, but instead, he just shakes his head in mock exasperation.

As the conversation shifts to planning their next steps, Regulus finds his thoughts drifting back to James. He can’t quite shake the feeling that has taken root in his chest, the realisation that he is starting to care about James Potter in a way that is beyond dangerous, that is more than just reluctant allies in a war.

Later that day, as the others settle in or retreat to their rooms, Regulus finds himself drawn outside. The winter air is cool, a welcome relief after the heat of the night’s events. He wanders into the garden, the soft crunch of gravel under his shoes the only sound in the quiet.

He isn’t surprised when he hears footsteps behind him. Turning, he sees James approaching, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. There is a comfortable silence between them as James comes to stand beside him, the two of them looking out at the fog hiding the landscape.

“You did good, Regulus,” James says after a while, his voice soft but sincere. “What you did with the horcrux… it took guts.”

Regulus glances at him, feeling a warmth spread through him at the praise. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he admits, the words coming out easier than he expected. “If you hadn’t been there…”

James shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “We’re in this together, remember? We’ve got each other’s backs.”

Regulus nods, the weight of those words settling over him. They stand there in silence for a few more moments, the cold enveloping them in its quiet embrace. There is something peaceful about it, something that makes Regulus feel like, for just a moment, they could forget about the war, the danger, the losses they had suffered.

He turns to James, feeling the need to say something, anything to express the turmoil of emotions swirling inside him. But when he meets James’s eyes, the words die in his throat. There is something in James’s gaze, something warm and intense, that makes his heart skip a beat. The soft curl over his eyebrow, a dark grey instead of a soft black. The price paid for battling fiendfyre and coming out victorious.

And in that moment, Regulus realises with startling clarity that he is in love with James Potter. It’s a feeling that hits him like a Bludger to the chest, knocking the wind out of him and leaving him reeling. He hadn’t wanted this, hadn’t planned for it, but there it was—undeniable and overwhelming.

He is in love with James Potter, and it terrifies him.

James must see something in his expression, as his smile softens, his eyes searching Regulus’s face. “Regulus?” he asks quietly.

Regulus shakes his head, trying to force the words out, but all he can manage was, “I… I’m in trouble.”

James’s brow furrows in confusion, but before he can say anything, Regulus reaches up, his hand brushing against James’s cheek. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but it is enough to send a jolt of electricity through him.

James’s eyes widen slightly, a flash of understanding crossing his features. For a moment, they just stand there, caught in the tension of the moment, the air between them charged with something unspoken.

But then reality crashes back in, and Regulus pulls away, his fingers trembling. He steps back, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a thousand different thoughts.

“I—I shouldn’t have…” Regulus stammered, his voice filled with panic. “With everything…”

James looks at him, his expression a mix of surprise and something else—something that makes Regulus’s heart ache. “Regulus,” he starts, but Regulus shakes his head, stepping back further.

“I can’t,” Regulus whispers, more to himself than to James. “I can’t do this.”

Before James can say another word, Regulus turns and flees, vanishing into the shadows of the house, his heart hammering with the weight of what he almost allowed to happen. The truth crashes over him with brutal clarity: he is in love with James Potter.

But he won't allow it to destroy them both. He has sacrificed too much already—this, too, he will burn down if he has to. The war has taken enough from them.

Chapter Text

Regulus begins to shut out the world around him. The pain of losing Evan is too raw, too close, like a wound that refuses to heal. And now, the dread of losing someone else hovers over him like a storm cloud. It’s a fear that gnaws at him, leaving him breathless, anxious, and on edge.

Days pass in silence, locked away in the tiny guest room with only the horcruxes for company. He isolates himself, the weight of his decisions pressing down, as if the air is too thick to breathe. It’s only after several more days that he finally feels ready to call Kreacher, his voice barely a whisper as he asks for the locket. When the house-elf arrives with a crack, Regulus knows it alerts the others, but he has become so adept at ignoring their voices, their persistent knocks, their desperate pleas to enter. He can’t bear their questions, their concern. Not now.

The moment his fingertips graze the cold, cursed metal of the necklace, an insidious force coils tightly around him, suffocating him from the inside out. But this time, he doesn’t resist it. This time, he keeps one eye on his scribbled notes and lets the darkness in, lets it completely wrap around him, invading his mind like a serpent sinking its fangs into prey.

The pounding on the door fades to nothing, swallowed by the shadows. In its place, Regulus finds himself standing before a wall, one that seems strangely familiar. His surroundings shift, and with a jolt, he realises he’s at Hogwarts. The suddenness of it all leaves him breathless. Is this real? A hallucination? A vision? He can’t be sure.

A figure darts into view from around the corner—a man, but he doesn't acknowledge Regulus. He paces restlessly, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching for something that’s not there. Regulus reaches out, but his fingers grasp only air. It’s as though he doesn’t exist in this place, a mere observer trapped in a dream, or perhaps even something more sinister. The man’s green robes sweep the floor in intricate patterns, and a disturbing smile curls across his lips. Regulus follows his gaze, watching as a door materialises out of nowhere.

The man, filled with an unsettling glee, pulls out an ornate crown from within his robes and steps through the newly-formed door. Without thinking, Regulus trails behind, driven by a combination of curiosity and dread.

Inside, the room stretches into infinity, a chaotic landscape of forgotten magical trinkets, relics of times long past. A book flies by, nearly striking Regulus, and he ducks instinctively. The edges of the space blur, shrouded in thick, black fog, like parts of the memory have decayed with time. Or perhaps the dream is unravelling, whatever his guide doesn’t pay attention to disappearing into the mist.

The man in front of him moves with purpose. He finds a beautiful suitcase, and with a flick of his wand, transforms it into a delicate blue velvet hatbox. He stares at it, admiring his own handiwork with an unsettling sense of egotistic pride. Regulus watches closely as the man places the crown inside, the artefact fitting perfectly.

Something shifts. The man suddenly snaps the box shut and spins around, his face twisted in anger. His eyes lock onto Regulus. But why? Regulus turns quickly, expecting to see someone else behind him, but there's nothing.

A wave of fear crashes over him. The hallucination is no longer benign. The anger from the man feels palpable, overwhelming. His vision blurs, clouded by emotions that aren’t his own—rage, fear, desperation. His heart races, a fiery heat crawling up his skin, as though the dream itself is trying to push him away, rejecting him.

He tries to move, to escape, but his legs are gone. His body feels weightless, ghost-like, as if he’s slipping further into nothingness. Panic rises in his chest, his hands flailing as he tries to grab onto anything, something solid, anything to hold onto reality. But all he manages is to brush against the man as he walks right through Regulus toward the door. The moment his hand touches the doorframe, the vision shatters.

With a gasp, Regulus snaps back to reality. He blinks, disoriented, his skin clammy with cold sweat. James Potter is in front of him, kneeling, his face pale, his hands gripping Regulus’s shoulders tightly, shaking him as if to wake him from a nightmare.

“Hogwarts,” Regulus whispers hoarsely, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His heart pounds in his chest, fear still clawing at the edges of his mind. But beneath the fear, there’s something else—something more complicated. Love, unwanted and fierce, burns through him as he gazes at James, the one person who seems to care too much, and the one person Regulus can’t seem to shut out, no matter how hard he tries.

“The Ravenclaw artefact,” he says, the words barely escaping his lips.

>>><<<

The others hesitate, uncertain of what Regulus has seen or how much of it remains true. They question whether the memory he shared can be trusted after all this time. Remus is the most vocal, his arguments measured, as usual. "The Room of Requirement won’t open unless you ask for exactly the right thing," he explains, his brow furrowed in concern. "And walking into Hogwarts now, out in the open, would be suicide. It’s far too dangerous." There’s truth in his words, a clear logic that the others nod along with.

But Regulus has never been one to follow rules, and patience has never come naturally to him. He listens, or pretends to, waiting for the right moment. He knows that they want to protect him, especially James, whose watchful eyes never seem to leave him, but Regulus can’t allow himself to involve them any further. He’s already dragged them into his mess, and the thought of causing them more pain—of causing James more pain—makes his chest tighten. So he waits, biding his time until nightfall.

The door to his guest room hangs loosely on its hinges, a reminder of how close he came to abandoning them all the last time. He knows James would be quick to stop him if he made any noise now, if he tried to leave while they were awake and listening. They’re all waiting for him to make his next move, expecting it, but he’s not foolish enough to leave when they might catch him in the act.

When the house is quiet and the shadows of night settle thickly, Regulus slips out again. He finds his way to Hogwarts the same as before, when he was with the Order, moving through the dark streets under the cover of night, avoiding the patrols and slipping past the school’s defences. Last time, James had been right behind him, and the silence of the night had felt solid, reassuring. But tonight is different. The air feels heavy, suffocating, as if the night itself knows what he’s about to try.

He reaches the familiar wall, the one adorned with a tapestry of giants sleeping in a thick forest. Regulus steps carefully, his movements precise as he paces back and forth in front of the tapestry, his heart racing in anticipation. His mind is sharp, focused only on the memory of the locket’s vision, and sure enough, the door appears, just as it did before.

But as he extends his hand toward it, something grabs him. Startled, Regulus jerks back, thinking at first that it might be the locket, its dark magic fighting him from within his robes. He shakes his arm, trying to free himself, but then he sees it—an outline flickering into view, a hand tightening around his wrist. A hand that is all too real.

A sweep of fabric follows, and suddenly James Potter is standing in front of him, his face twisted in anger. His eyes burn with frustration, his grip unyielding.

"You insufferable idiot," James spits out through clenched teeth.

Regulus huffs, trying to yank his arm free, but James doesn't budge. His grip remains firm.

"There are people trying to keep you safe, you know," James continues, his voice edged with desperation, but Regulus cuts him off with a sharp elbow to the chest. The impact makes them both sway slightly, but still, James holds on.

“Stop,” Regulus snaps, his voice low and full of fury. “Someone has to make a sacrifice if we ever want the suffering to end. You Gryffindors think we can win this war by doing nothing or fighting in broad daylight, but I know better. I will not let what happened to Evan be the last of this. I know what it will take. I understand our enemy.”

James’s grip loosens, the anger in his eyes replaced with something else—something broken, almost hurt. Regulus doesn’t wait for him to respond. He pushes open the door, and as it swings wide, the sight before him makes him exhale in relief. It’s exactly as it had been in the dream.

Without a word, Regulus steps forward into the room. He moves quickly, weaving through the piles of discarded objects and ducking under a flying book, just like before. His breath quickens as he dodges stacks of chairs, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows James is following close behind, but Regulus doesn’t care. In fact, part of him hopes James won’t follow, that he’ll stay back and let him do what he needs to do alone.

Finally, Regulus comes to a halt. There, nestled among the clutter, is the hatbox. Untouched. As pristine as the last time he saw it. His fingers tremble as he opens it, and the second he lifts the lid, a piercing scream fills the air. It reverberates in his mind, clawing at his thoughts, a sound so harrowing it makes him flinch. It’s as if the diadem inside recognizes him—or perhaps it recognizes the locket in his pocket, its dark twin.

He grabs the diadem, a beautifully jewelled artefact, its surface shimmering faintly in the dim light. When he turns, James is still there, his eyes scanning the room, watching for threats. Regulus isn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed.

“Got it,” he mutters, stashing the diadem away. He makes his way toward the door, but pauses. A thought creeps into his mind. “If the room is impenetrable…” he murmurs to himself, pacing in front of the wall.

James watches him, his body tense, his eyes flickering with unease as he keeps scanning the surroundings. Regulus paces again, hoping for something, but the door disappears, and nothing takes its place.

"Seems like it can’t build you a fiendfyre oven,” James remarks dryly, his voice startling Regulus. His tone is casual, but Regulus knows better. James had been watching him carefully, knowing exactly what Regulus had been thinking. It fills him with an odd sense of connection, to be understood so easily.

Without another word, they leave together. The two magical artefacts, heavy with dark magic, weigh on Regulus’s soul like a physical burden. His body feels sluggish, drained, and more than once, he has to stop and take a breath. James is always beside him, never leaving, his face clouded with worry. They don’t speak until they’re through the secret path and back outside, the cool night air of Hogsmeade washing over them, the moonlight casting long shadows across the village.

It’s then that Regulus does what he’s been meaning to do.

With a sudden shove, he pushes James, making him stumble backward.

“What the—?”

“Take care of my stupid brother,” Regulus says, his voice thick with emotion he’s not used to showing. The weight of the locket burns against his skin, its dark magic seeping through the enchanted pockets where he’s kept it hidden.

And before James can respond, Regulus apparates away, leaving James alone under the moonlit sky.

When Regulus reappears, his feet land on familiar ground. The soft glow of a nearby Muggle town is a faint light in the distance, but he barely spares it a glance. His focus is on the overgrown gate in front of him—the gate he’s come to hate, the entrance to the estate that once belonged to his uncle. Now, the grand mansion is a crumbling ruin, forgotten and decaying, but that makes it perfect for what Regulus has to do.

He moves through the tall weeds and tangled vines, finding the small fountain that once stood proudly at the centre of the garden. It’s dry now, overrun with dead plants and moss. Without hesitation, Regulus sets both the locket and the diadem down into the basin.

With a deep breath, he steps back and casts the spell.

Fiendfyre springs to life, slow and steady at first, flickering through the weeds and the remnants of the garden. But then it grows, sensing the dark magic within the artefacts. The flames curl toward the diadem, and as they do, the screaming intensifies, as if the very soul trapped within it is begging for mercy. But Regulus shows none.

The fire takes the shape of a serpent, winding its way toward the locket now. The flames move hungrily, wrapping around the cursed object like a predator choking its prey. As the serpent coils tighter, Regulus feels a sharp, agonising pain tear through him. The magic of the Horcruxes fights back, lashing out at him, shooting through his veins. He collapses to his knees, clutching his head as the screams grow louder, echoing inside his skull.

Tears streak down his face, but he wipes them away, forcing himself to stand. His legs are weak, trembling beneath him, but he knows he can’t stop now. He fumbles for the notes he brought with him, pulling them from his robes with shaking hands. The pain is unbearable, but he pushes through it, muttering the incantations James had shared with him, repeating them over and over.

He’s barely holding on when he hears the crack of apparition nearby.

Despite everything, he’s relieved. James must have followed him.

The serpent of flames is smaller now, shrinking as the enchantments take effect. Regulus stumbles, nearly falling, but before he can catch his breath, a voice drips through the darkness, cold and malevolent.

“Well, well, well,” Voldemort says, his voice slithering like poison. "You have something of mine."

Regulus swallows hard, fear rising in his throat. "Not anymore," he says, his voice unsteady.

Voldemort’s eyes land on the embers of the fiery serpent, his expression contorting with fury. "You!" he snarls, rage seething beneath the surface.

Regulus tries to move, but it’s too late. The Death Eaters close in on him, and he’s too weak to fight back. Voldemort steps forward, his face twisted in a snarl. "You insolent boy," he hisses, his wand raised. 

"Death would be too merciful for a traitor like him." Regulus recognises that voice, but the masks all the death eaters are wearing makes it hard to attribute it to one of them.

“I will have my vengeance,” Riddle spits. “And it will be slow and agonising.”

To the others, he gestures, two strong hands grip at his shoulders and haul him up.

“Don’t put him with the others.” Riddle’s nasty grin is the last thing Regulus sees before the first hit of crucio blinds him. 

>>><<<

He cannot remember how many days, or weeks, he spends in the cold, dark cellars. Time loses its meaning in a place where the only constants are pain and silence. They move him from room to room, ensuring he never has the small comfort of familiarity, however dim and cramped it might be. The walls shift around him, indifferent to his suffering, and each new space feels as empty as the last. He counts the steps from corner to corner in each new cell, trying to make sense of it all, trying to cling to something solid, but it never helps. It only reminds him how trapped he truly is.

Riddle takes the most pleasure in his suffering. Every time Voldemort comes, it’s a new kind of agony. There is no pattern, no predictability to the torture, only the endless, gnawing fear of what will come next. Regulus braces himself for the curses, knowing they will come, knowing they will rip through him in ways he cannot prepare for. Voldemort’s spells are more than pain—they are designed to break him, to carve away at his will, to unravel everything that remains of the person he once was.

The others, the Death Eaters, are different. They don’t enjoy it the way Voldemort does. They carry out their orders with a cold efficiency, their curses sharp but not inventive, almost mechanical. Regulus can feel their fear radiating off them, a quiet terror that they might be the ones lying in his place one day. To them, this is a job, a cruel task they perform because they must. Their spells hurt, but he forgets the pain as soon as they’re gone. It's nothing compared to what Riddle does to him.

Sometimes, during the rare moments when the pain fades to a dull throb, or when one of them feels enough pity that they dare to heal him, Regulus wonders about the others who must be imprisoned here. He thinks of the prisoners he never sees but knows must be somewhere, buried in the bowels of this house. He imagines them, isolated like him, perhaps also fighting to hold onto themselves in the darkness. But he never sees them, never hears their voices. He is alone in his torment.

He had tried, once, to conjure something small, anything that might remind him that his magic still exists within him. A flicker of light, a whisper of air. But without his wand, it was useless. His magic had already been drained by fighting the fiendfyre serpent, the spell had consumed him just as it had James. That act of defiance, of courage, had taken more from him than he realised at the time. Now, Voldemort chips away at the remnants, sapping what little magic he has left, demanding answers.

"What did you steal besides the locket?" Riddle’s voice echoes in his mind, a relentless question that has become a constant refrain in his life. Each time Regulus refuses to answer, Voldemort’s fury intensifies. The Dark Lord doesn’t know, not fully, but he suspects something. He knows that Regulus has destroyed something precious to him, but he doesn’t know how much. And Regulus holds onto that knowledge like a lifeline.

It is his only solace in this nightmare. Voldemort doesn’t know about the other horcruxes he has already destroyed. He doesn’t know about the diadem or the cup. That ignorance, that blind spot in Riddle’s otherwise terrifying intelligence, gives Regulus hope. It proves that despite everything, despite the torture and the pain, he has succeeded. He has struck a blow against the Dark Lord that he can never take back.

He hopes it is enough. He prays, in his rare lucid moments, that it will be enough to tip the scales when the time comes, that his suffering will not be in vain. He holds onto that hope with everything he has, even as the pain washes over him again and again, even as his body weakens and his mind begins to fracture.

At night, when the cellars are at their quietest, Regulus lets himself think of those who might be fighting still—James, his brother, the Order. He imagines them working in secret, hunting down the remaining piece of Voldemort’s soul, finishing what he started. He imagines Sirius, reckless and furious, refusing to let his brother’s sacrifice go to waste. And he imagines James, with his stupid, infuriating courage, standing beside him, somehow knowing what Regulus has done, what he’s tried to do for them all.

If nothing else, he tells himself, the destruction of the locket, the diadem, and the cup has made Voldemort vulnerable. He may not live to see the Dark Lord fall, but he knows that the cracks are already there. They only need to be widened, and one day, someone—maybe even his brother—will strike the final blow.

That thought is what keeps him alive. That, and the knowledge that no matter how much pain Voldemort inflicts, no matter how many spells tear through his body, he will never give up the truth. He will never tell Voldemort about the horcruxes he has destroyed. He will die with that secret if he has to.

And if he does, he hopes they will remember him for it.

>>><<<

As a child, Regulus had always seen James Potter as sunlight personified—bright, untouchable, and blinding. Beautiful, yet too hard to look at directly. It was as if James existed in a world that shone just a little too brightly for Regulus to step into. The golden boy, full of laughter and life, untethered by the same burdens that weighed Regulus down. He had watched him from a distance, fascinated, resentful, and drawn to that light despite himself. James Potter had been everything Regulus wasn’t, everything his family wouldn’t allow him to be.

That is exactly how it feels when he sees James' face now, standing at the entrance to his cell, the moment the door swings open. A shaft of light spills in from the corridor, and for a brief second, Regulus can’t tell if it’s the light blurring his vision or the sight of James after so long in darkness. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust, and when they do, it feels almost unbearable. 

Sunlight personified. 

He is suddenly overwhelmed, not by fear or pain but by something more startling, something like relief. As if, for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, he can let himself feel again.

Behind James, Kreacher’s wails pierce the heavy silence. His loyal house-elf scurries in, his small, dirty hands immediately tugging at the magic ropes that bind Regulus to the cold stone wall. Kreacher’s cries of devotion, his frantic mutterings, reach Regulus through a haze of exhaustion, but it’s the sharp, biting cold of Kreacher’s touch that jolts him back into the moment. The ropes are too tight, cutting into his skin where the magic thrums against his wrists, and his body feels too weak to resist them.

For a split second, Regulus thinks he’s dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s imagined rescue, his mind conjuring fantasies to distract him from the endless days of pain and solitude. He’s dreamed of freedom, of the war being over, of seeing familiar faces that no longer haunt his memories. But this moment, this warmth, feels too real.

A warm hand cradles his cheek, and Regulus, without thinking, lets himself lean into it. The touch is gentle, tender in a way that sends a tremor through his exhausted body. It feels like comfort, something he hasn’t felt in so long. The fingers against his skin are rougher than he remembers, calloused from battle maybe, but the warmth is unmistakably real.

“Regulus…” James’ voice is soft, careful, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile moment they are sharing. His thumb brushes lightly across Regulus’ cheekbone, wiping away a smudge of dirt. “He’s dead.”

Those two words, simple and devastating, cut through the haze like a blade. Regulus freezes. He knows instantly who James means. There is only one “he” that matters. Voldemort. He can feel it in the air, the shift in the world he thought he’d never live to see.

For a second, everything stops. Regulus pulls at the ropes again, a sudden burst of adrenaline rushing through him. He yanks hard, feeling the tension snap as his wrists finally come free. The restraints fall away from him, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but his mind is too caught up in what James has just said. The weight of those words crashes over him, and for the first time in what feels like years, hope flickers in his chest, fragile and terrifying.

“He…” Regulus can barely form the word. His throat feels dry, his voice hoarse from disuse. He swallows, trying to steady himself, but his heart is pounding too fast, his thoughts racing too wildly. “He’s dead?”

A smile blooms across James' face, a smile so brilliant, so full of life, that it takes Regulus' breath away. That same reckless joy, that unshakeable courage that seemed so foreign to him, is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. James’ eyes, though still shadowed with the weight of war, are bright with triumph, with something close to happiness.

“He’s dead,” James repeats, his voice stronger now, more certain. There’s a lightness in his tone, a disbelief that matches Regulus’ own shock. “It’s over. Voldemort is dead.”

Regulus stares at him, the words sinking in slowly, piece by piece, until the full weight of them crashes down on him like a tidal wave. Voldemort is dead. The war—everything—it's over. All the suffering, all the fear and endless nights of wondering whether he would survive another day, whether there was any point to his sacrifice—it’s all ended in a way he never dared hope for.

For a moment, Regulus doesn’t know how to respond. The silence stretches between them, broken only by Kreacher’s mutterings as he finishes untying the last of Regulus’ restraints. 

Regulus tries to pull himself to his feet, his legs shaking under him, still too weak to fully support his weight. James’ hand never leaves him, gently helping him up, his touch grounding Regulus as he fights to steady himself. 

He should feel elation, joy, something more than just numbness. But all he feels is the overwhelming exhaustion that comes with survival, the ache in his bones that tells him he has endured more than he should have.

He stares into James’ face, searching for something—anything—that will make this real. That will prove that he’s not dreaming, that this isn’t some cruel illusion conjured by his broken mind.

“James…” he breathes, the name strange on his lips, like an old memory returning from the distant past. “I didn’t think…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, because he doesn’t know how to. He didn’t think he’d survive. He didn’t think James Potter would ever look at him like this, with such care, such tenderness. He didn’t think there would ever be a moment like this—where the world was quiet and the war was over.

But James only smiles again, that same infuriating, beautiful smile that once seemed to mock him, but now feels like salvation. “You’re alive, Regulus,” he says, and there’s something in his voice, something like awe, as if he can’t quite believe it himself. “We’re both alive.”

And for the first time in as long as he can remember, Regulus allows himself to believe it.

He is alive. And Voldemort is dead.

>>><<<

The air is thick with smoke, dust swirling in the aftermath of battle, as James helps Regulus stagger through the dungeons. Every step is painful, a sharp ache shooting through Regulus' ribs with each movement. The weight of exhaustion and injuries presses down on him, but James’ arm around his waist keeps him steady. The daylight ahead is blinding after so long spent in the dark, and when they finally emerge into the open, Regulus instinctively raises a trembling hand to shield his eyes. The brightness is disorienting, almost painful after the oppressive gloom of the dungeons.

His vision slowly adjusts, revealing the familiar faces of the Order scattered around the grounds, their weary figures tending to the wounded, exchanging quiet words of comfort, or standing guard in case the fight resumes. The battle seems to have only just ended. The air is charged with lingering tension, the stench of blood and burning debris surround them. He sees healers moving between bodies, some still and lifeless, others barely clinging to life. Regulus clutches at James' arm tighter, the warmth of it the only anchor keeping him from collapsing under the weight of it all.

His breath comes in shallow gasps, each one a struggle against the searing pain in his ribs. He knows they’re likely broken, each movement sending a new wave of agony through his chest, but he doesn’t let go of James. He can’t. His grip on the world feels too fragile, too tenuous, like if he loosens his hold on James even for a second, everything around him will dissolve into the nightmare he has lived for weeks.

“Pandora?” The name escapes his lips in a pained whisper, barely audible over the sounds of groans and footsteps. He winces as he speaks, the effort of forming words making his ribs burn even more. The last thing he wants is to hear that another person he cares about is gone, but he must know.

James glances at him, his voice calm and reassuring despite the chaos around them. “Healthy. Healing others.”

Relief floods Regulus' chest, cutting through the pain for a brief moment. He manages a faint, crooked smile, one that feels too small for the emotions bubbling inside him. His head swims, but the thought of Pandora being safe, still out there helping people, keeps him grounded. Just for a moment, he allows himself to feel something close to contentment, though it's fleeting in the haze of exhaustion and suffering.

But that small respite shatters when the sound of fighting echoes across the grounds, reverberating through the walls like a distant thunderclap. The calm is gone, replaced by a sharp sense of dread as the familiar sound of spells colliding fills the air once again.

Regulus’ heart lurches in his chest. His grip on James tightens instinctively, and they both turn toward the noise. Without a word, they, along with several other Order members, begin moving cautiously through the rooms, following the echoing shouts and clashing spells. James holds Regulus up as they press forward, his strong arm supporting Regulus as his weakened legs struggle to carry him.

And then he hears it—his name, spoken in a voice he hasn’t heard in so long it feels like a dream, a ghost from his past coming to life before his very ears.

“I don’t want to fight you, I came for Regulus!”

Regulus stumbles, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. James catches him just in time, steadying him with an arm around his shoulders. Regulus’ head spins, but he knows that voice. He knows it as well as his own.

Evan.

He hurries to see and there he is—Evan Rosier, his Death Eater mask is gone, his face pale and strained, but unmistakable. The shock of it makes Regulus’ breath hitch in his throat. He wants to call out, but the words stick in his throat, tangled in disbelief.

“Evan!” Regulus tries to shout, but his voice is nothing more than a hoarse whisper. He feels as though the air has been knocked from his lungs. But Evan hears, his wand lowering ever so slightly as he looks for Regulus.

Alastor Moody doesn’t stop. He casts another spell, and Regulus watches in helpless horror as it streaks through the air, hitting Evan squarely in the chest. Evan crumples to the ground, his body folding in on itself, his wand slipping from his hand.

His legs give out, but he forces himself forward, stumbling toward Evan, desperation driving him. He crashes into Moody, barely noticing as the Auror steadies him, too focused on the sight of Evan lying motionless on the ground.

With trembling hands, Regulus kneels beside him, cradling Evan’s limp body as best as he can. His limbs feel weak, shaking from the toll of imprisonment and torture, but he doesn’t care. All that matters is Evan. His heart hammers in his chest as he searches Evan’s face, terrified of what he’ll find.

But then, Evan’s eyes flicker open. His breathing is shallow, laboured, but he’s alive. 

“You made it,” Evan rasps, his voice barely audible. Each word seems to take monumental effort. His lips curl into a weak, trembling smile, a shadow of the confident smirk Regulus remembers. “You were… always… the best of us.”

Regulus’ throat tightens, a sob threatening to break free as he shakes his head in disbelief. This can’t be happening. He can’t lose Evan again, not after everything. James is beside them in an instant, frantically casting healing spells.

“I thought… the house… fiendfyre…” Regulus chokes out, his voice breaking with the weight of the words.

Evan manages a weak chuckle, a sound so familiar it breaks Regulus’ heart. “Fooled… them all.”

Regulus bites back a sob, shaking his head. “You moron,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. “You could have been killed. You still could be.”

Evan chuckles again, though it’s clear the effort is taking its toll. “Wouldn’t… be the first time we cheated death.”

James lets out a frustrated sigh but keeps casting, muttering under his breath as he works to stabilise Evan. 

Slowly, gradually, the colour returns to Evan’s face. His breathing becomes less laboured, his eyes more focused. Regulus watches in disbelief as his friend starts to come back to life before his very eyes. He doesn’t know how, but James’ spells are working. Evan isn’t going to die—not today.

When the worst of it has passed, James finally sits back, wiping the sweat from his brow. “He’s going to be fine,” he says, his voice thick with relief. “Stubborn bastard.”

Regulus lets out a shaky breath, his hand resting on Evan’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. He closes his eyes, letting the relief wash over him in waves. Evan’s alive. He’s going to be okay.

“You’re… really unbelievable, aren’t you?” Regulus mutters through a tearful laugh, looking down at Evan with a mixture of exasperation and fondness.

Evan grins, weak but genuine. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

>>><<<

Everyone retreats to safehouses, hospitals, anywhere far from the remnants of the fight, seeking refuge and healing. The chaos has passed, but the weight of the battle still lingers. Regulus stays close to Sirius, who hugs him tightly, as though afraid to let go. The embrace nearly breaks his ribs all over again, but Regulus doesn’t mind. Sirius, who is usually so aloof, so careless, is doting on him in a way that would have annoyed Regulus any other time. But now, he finds it almost comforting. There’s something warm about it, something he missed all these years. And though he’d never admit it, he’s enjoying it more than he ever expected.

Evan has joined him in the guest room, the large bed now their shared cocoon of healing. The two of them, side by side, recovering from the horrors they’ve faced. When their strength returns enough for conversation, they confirm each other’s stories. Regulus speaks of the horcruxes, of the Indian magic that allowed him to destroy them, and when he dares to, he talks of James. But there are things he leaves out—things he can’t bring himself to say aloud. The torture, the imprisonment, it all feels distant now, like something that happened to someone else, some other body. Not his.

Evan listens in silence, his gaze soft but understanding, as if he knows that Regulus is keeping something back. But he doesn’t push. He just stays by Regulus’ side, their bond stronger than words, forged in the fires of everything they’ve survived.

James checks on them constantly. At first, Regulus thinks it’s just James being James—overprotective, always needing to make sure everyone’s okay. They read together, sometimes share meals, but there’s something more. Regulus can feel it, unspoken, but he brushes it aside, confused by it.

Slowly, surprisingly, they all heal. Together. The house feels like a sanctuary, a place of quiet recovery amidst the remnants of war. The wounds, physical and emotional, start to mend.

All of them, together, are finding their way back to some semblance of normality.

Evening has fallen by the time Regulus finally manages to pull himself out of bed, careful not to wake Evan, who is snoring softly beside him. His limbs still ache, and his head feels heavy, but the thirst drives him to look for a glass of water. He slips out of the room and moves quietly down the stairs, hoping not to disturb anyone.

But as he nears the kitchen, he falters. He can hear voices—James and Lily, their tones hushed and serious. Curiosity tugs at him, and he moves closer, pressing himself into the shadows of the hallway, listening despite himself.

“James?” Lily’s voice is soft, filled with the kind of patient strength Regulus has come to associate with her. He can hear her shifting, moving closer to James.

James’ voice, when it comes, is rough, raw with emotion. “Hi.”

Regulus feels his heart pound in his chest as he listens, knowing he shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be eavesdropping on this conversation. But something keeps him rooted to the spot. 

“What’s happened?” Lily asks, her tone gentle. She knows something is wrong; it’s clear in her voice. Regulus can imagine her sitting beside James, taking his hand, her eyes filled with concern.

James lets out a shaky breath, and Regulus can hear him trying to hold back his tears. “I’ve… I’ve not been fair to you.”

Lily doesn’t respond right away, but Regulus can almost feel the shift in the room, the way her understanding settles in the air around them. “Why would you say that?”

“These past weeks… I’ve been running away,” James admits, his voice thick with guilt. “From you. From everything.”

“I know,” Lily says softly, and Regulus can hear the sadness in her voice. “In more ways than one.”

James exhales shakily, and Regulus feels a pang of guilt twist in his gut. 

“I’m sorry, Lily,” James says, his voice breaking. “I love you. I do. You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever known. But…”

“You’re not in love with me.” Lily finishes the sentence for him, her voice calm but tinged with pain.

Regulus’ heart races. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be hearing this.

James lets out a soft sob, and Regulus can hear the raw emotion in his voice. “I’ve loved you, Lily. I still do. But I can’t keep pretending. Not after everything.”

“Is it Regulus?” Lily’s voice is small, almost resigned, as if she already knows the answer.

Regulus’ breath catches in his throat. He presses himself further into the shadows, trying to make himself invisible, trying to disappear.

James doesn’t answer right away, but then he nods.

Regulus feels like the air has been knocked out of him. He’s not sure if he’s imagining it, if this is some fevered dream brought on by exhaustion. James… likes him? James Potter ? He stands in the shadows, stunned, his mind racing. It’s impossible. How could it be him?

Lily lets out a quiet sigh, and Regulus can almost hear the weight of understanding in it. “Have you told him?” she asks, her voice gentle, like she already knows the answer.

James shakes his head, and Regulus can hear the regret in his voice. “No. I’ve been oblivious. And then Evan… I didn’t even realise it, not fully. Not until… everything.”

Lily nods slowly. “You’ve been there for him. More than anyone. I could see it.”

James lets out a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” Lily says softly. “But it’s okay. I’ve seen how you look at him, James. It’s different.”

Regulus is still in shock, standing there, listening as if the world has tipped on its axis. He doesn’t know what to think. How could James feel that way about him? How could he have missed this? He’s confused, overwhelmed, but there’s something else too—a warmth spreading through his chest, a flutter of something unfamiliar but hopeful.

“I didn’t want it to be this way,” James says, his voice full of guilt.

Lily smiles faintly. “It’s okay, James. We’ll figure this out.”

Lily is silent for a long moment, and Regulus feels like his heart might stop in his chest. Then, finally, she speaks, her voice quiet and steady. “Have you… have you two…?”

“No!” James says quickly, his voice filled with urgency. “Nothing’s happened. I don’t think he even… No. I swear it. I just… I think I needed to tell you for it to feel real.”

Lily nods slowly, her voice still calm, though Regulus can hear the hurt behind it. “Thank you for telling me.”

Regulus’ chest tightens as he hears her words. She’s stronger than he is—stronger than any of them. 

“I want to move forward,” she continues, her voice steady. “Now all of this is over… when the war and the healing is done… I want to move forward. I don’t want to stay stuck in this place. And I couldn’t do that with this hanging over us.”

“Harry…” James starts, his voice filled with concern for their son.

“Will know his father,” Lily says firmly, “as the man he is. Strong, brave, and yes, foolish at times. But always loving.”

James lets out a shaky breath, and Regulus can hear the relief in his voice. “I don’t deserve you,” he says softly.

“That’s true,” Lily says with a small, trembling smile. “But we’ll figure this out. We always do.”

Regulus feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He never wanted this. He never wanted to be the reason for James and Lily’s pain. 

Lily stands up, her movements slow and deliberate. “I’m going back to bed,” she says quietly.

“I’ll sleep in the living room,” James offers, his voice still thick with emotion.

Lily nods, her expression soft but tired. “Thank you.”

Regulus hides as she walks away, disappearing down the darkened hall, leaving James alone.

Regulus doesn’t move, his heart pounding in his chest. James likes him. His mind is reeling, but there’s a strange sense of happiness blooming inside him, a quiet joy he never expected. He’s confused, unsure of what this means, but for now, he just lets himself feel it. James’ words echo in his ears, hard to make sense of, as if he was still unsure of how Regulus feels. Which is ridiculous, he’d been obvious, hadn’t he?

He’ll have to face James soon. And when he does, he’ll have to figure out what to say, how to respond. But for now, he hurries back to bed in the shadows, a quiet smile creeping onto his face, stunned and quietly elated by the revelation.

>>><<<

Regulus can’t sleep that night, an unfamiliar energy buzzing under his skin, restless and sparkling. The silence of the room feels heavy, and he’s wide awake when the first signs of dawn break through the windows. As the morning slowly creeps in, he listens to the soft sounds of Evan stirring awake in the bed next to him.

Evan yawns and stretches, lazily throwing off the blankets. Regulus watches him sleepily pad toward the bathroom. He follows suit, feeling like he's moving on autopilot as he showers, pees, and brushes his teeth, but his thoughts are far from these mundane tasks. His mind is only filled with one thing—James.

The thought of James is a constant hum in his head, refusing to quiet down. By the time he makes it downstairs to the kitchen, the scent of breakfast fills the air, but there's no sign of James among the familiar faces gathered at the table. Regulus hesitates for a moment, until Evan, already grinning mischievously, catches his eye and nods toward the garden door.

Without a word, Regulus moves quietly, slipping out before anyone else notices. The garden is bathed in the soft morning light, the air cool and crisp against his skin. As he steps outside, the sound of gentle rustling draws his attention, and he spots James a few feet away, picking berries from a low bush. It’s such a simple, domestic scene that it catches Regulus off guard. His heart gives a familiar tumble in his chest.

James must sense his presence, because he turns without needing to look up, his face lighting up with a smile. It’s one of those amazing smiles—the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, genuine and filled with warmth.

“Good morning!” James says brightly, his voice light and full of joy. It’s a version of James that Regulus hasn’t seen in a while, and the change is heartwarming. The happiness that comes from James’ recent confession to Lily, and her acceptance, seems to radiate from him, and the sight of it makes something in Regulus soar. He feels a happiness so intense that words seem inadequate to express it.

Oblivious to Regulus' inner turmoil, James keeps talking, motioning to the berries in his hands. “I’m not very good at this, you know. I always end up bruising them. Remus insists I don’t use magic—says it’s good practice for me. Ha! Can you—”

“I love you.”

The words escape Regulus before he can stop them, as if they’ve been locked inside for far too long. Now they hang in the cool morning air between them, suspended, raw, and vulnerable. James looks stunned, the berries in his hands completely forgotten as his gaze fixes on Regulus.

“You…”

Regulus’ heart thuds painfully in his chest, fear clawing at the edges of his composure. “I know this is mad,” he blurts, his voice shaky as he tries to make sense of the overwhelming feelings that are spilling out of him. “This is mad. But from the moment you took Sirius in, I’ve always—”

“You hated me,” James interrupts, still dazed.

“Never,” Regulus shakes his head, the words spilling out faster now, desperate to be understood. “I was supposed to. I never could. And then, the war, the pain…” His voice falters, memories of everything they've been through catching in his throat. But the words come back, more insistent. “I never hated you. Not once.”

James blinks, processing, his lips parting as if to speak but no words come. Instead, he stares at Regulus, something shifting in his expression.

“But Evan…” James finally manages, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought…”

“No!” Regulus nearly shouts, raising his hands as if to physically clear away the misunderstanding. “He’s… He’s my Sirius. We’re nothing but friends. You…” He steps closer, his voice softer as it trails off.

James' stunned expression begins to morph, his eyes slowly brightening with each repetition of the truth. “You love me,” he says again, almost as if testing the words. Then, with more certainty, “You love me.”

“Unfortunately, increasingly so,” Regulus replies with a small, crooked smile, though his heart is racing.

The next moment, the berries tumble to the ground as James surges forward. Their lips collide in a kiss that's eager and clumsy, years of unspoken emotions pouring into that single moment. Regulus’ hands bury themselves in James’ messy hair, pulling him closer, as if he’s afraid that if he lets go, this will all disappear like a dream.

“I thought,” James manages between kisses, his voice filled with a breathless awe, “I thought love was supposed to be easy… familiar.” He presses another kiss to Regulus' cheek, his voice softening as he speaks, his lips brushing Regulus' skin with each word. “But you…” His mouth finds Regulus’ neck, and he inhales the scent of him, nuzzling the sensitive spot just beneath his ear.

“You’re the most unexpected, wondrous, incredible thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Regulus feels like he might melt into the earth beneath him, James’ words sinking deep into his heart. He wants to take them, every single one of them, and build a home out of them—a place where he can keep this feeling safe forever.

“I love you,” Regulus repeats, his voice almost a whisper now, the words as natural as breathing.

James grins against his skin, pulling back just long enough to look into his eyes before diving back in for another kiss. It's warm, passionate, filled with everything they've never said until now.

Before either of them can say anything more, the door to the house swings open, and Remus’ voice echoes across the garden. “Oi! Breakfast is getting cold—get inside, will you?”

Regulus pulls away just enough to see the mischievous grin on James’ face, both of them breathless and flushed. He glances over his shoulder toward the house, where the rest of the group must be waiting, and then back at James, who looks positively glowing.

As they walk hand in hand back to the house, the cool morning air swirling around James' curls, Regulus realises with a sense of peace that life—his life, their life—has only just begun.

Chapter Text

There are nights, quiet and still, when Regulus wakes with a gasp, his heart pounding in his chest, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. His breath is shallow, ragged, as the echoes of torture fill his mind, the memories too vivid to be just dreams. The ice cold water, the inferi, the ropes, the cruel, insistent voice of Voldemort demanding information, the sharp sting of each spell, each curse. 

His body trembles as if the pain is still there, still lingering, and for a moment, it feels like he’s back in that cold, dark cellar, the weight of his isolation pressing down on him like it always has.

But then, through the haze of fear and confusion, he feels it. Warmth. Strong arms around him, pulling him close, anchoring him in the here and now. Regulus doesn’t have to open his eyes to know it’s James. He knows that touch, that comfort, the steady rhythm of James' heartbeat that somehow calms the erratic beats of his own.

"You're safe," James whispers softly, his voice low and soothing in the dark. His fingers move in gentle circles against Regulus' back, a quiet reassurance that’s as familiar as the steady pulse of the life they’re building together. "You’re here with me."

Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the tears that sting at the corners of his eyes. 

In James' arms, Regulus allows himself a moment of peace, even if it’s fleeting. He doesn’t have to speak, doesn’t have to explain, because James understands. He always does.

Slowly, over time, the nightmares become less frequent, the nights spent in terror begin to fade. But they still come, sometimes, like ghosts in the dark, reminding Regulus of the things he can’t forget. Yet, every time, James is there. His arms are always around him, pulling him back from the edge, cocooning him in warmth and love until the storm passes.

With each morning, with each gentle reminder from James that he’s not alone, Regulus feels himself heal. It’s slow. It’s messy. But it’s healing, all the same. 

There are days when he laughs with James, when they share a moment of pure joy, and for a few fleeting seconds, the past doesn’t seem quite so heavy. But James is healing too, of losing a friend, of discovering a part of himself he hadn’t known.

Regulus knows he is also struggling too sometimes, as he notices James leaving the house and coming back tired. Affectionate, and careful, but tired nonetheless.

One night, as Regulus is awakened by soft footsteps, the moonlight spilling softly across the room, he hears James sigh. He turns, eyes still heavy with sleep, to see James standing by the window, his back turned to him.

“James,” Regulus calls softly, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Where do you go when you disappear?”

James turns, a startled look crossing his face before his expression softens. He sits beside Regulus on the bed, a hesitant but sincere look in his eyes. For a moment, neither speaks. Then James, as if weighing his words, finally opens up.

“I’ve been looking for a house,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “For Lily and Harry. Trying to get things ready.”

Regulus feels a sudden sting, like a sharp inhale of cold air. For a brief moment, the room feels smaller, the space between them wider. He feels like an outsider, like he has no place in James’ future. But before he can voice the doubt in his mind, James continues, his voice softer but just as filled with meaning.

“I’ve also been looking for a place for us,” James says, his gaze unwavering, “for you and me. I figured we can’t stay at Remus’ house forever.”

Regulus' breath catches at the sincerity in James’ words. There’s a warmth in them, something that settles in his chest and chases away the cold feeling that had threatened to take root.

“You really want that?” Regulus asks, his voice thick with emotion.

James looks at him, his eyes softening, and nods. “More than anything.”

Before Regulus can process everything, James leans in, pressing his lips to his with an urgency that takes them both by surprise. The kiss is messy, eager—months of unspoken words and emotions crashing into that single moment. 

Regulus pulls James closer, his hands burying themselves in his messy hair, as if afraid that if he lets go, this will all disappear like a fleeting dream.

The kiss deepens, growing more intense, more desperate. James shifts over him, grinding against Regulus, the heat between them building with every touch, every breath. 

Regulus feels himself lose all sense of time, caught up in the passion and the sensation of being with James in this way. His heart is racing, and he can hardly think straight, caught up in the moment, in James.

As their bodies press together, James pulls back just enough to look Regulus in the eyes. His voice is teasing, low and almost playful. “You sure about this?” he murmurs, a grin tugging at his lips.

“I would love nothing more,” Regulus nods, breathless. Then, because he too can tease, “than to live with you.”

James’ grin widens, the challenge in his eyes lighting up as he leans back in, their bodies reconnecting with an eager urgency. 

His grin turns cheeky, and I feel his lips brush against Regulus’ ear. “That too, huh?” he says, his tone light but filled with a challenge that only makes the moment more electrifying. Regulus feels his lips nipping at his neck, a hand lowering into his pyjamas.

Regulus moans, desperately, pushing up into James hand. 

And then, in a blur of heat and desire, he pulls at the fabric in between them and they move together, the world narrowing down to just the two of them. He loses himself in him, in the weight of his touch, the words they've only just begun to say. 

It’s not just about the passion, though that burns like fire between them. It’s about the promise, the quiet certainty that this—whatever this is—is the beginning of something beautiful, something real.

The pleasure builds, his tongue in James mouth and his hands finding purchase anywhere, as he realises that he is no longer just surviving. 

Mutterings of love float into the air as James' warm palm around him keeps moving, urging his orgasm to spill out of him. He feels his body as his own, his hands gripping the sheets below him tense as he climaxes. There is warm honey in his veins, his sated body pushing James on his back and climbing on top of him in a daze. 

“Regulus,” James sighs, almost breathless, as Regulus kisses a path down his softened belly, his nose dipping into the dark curls below. He kisses James everywhere, licks a line up his hardness and moans as he does so.

He can still vaguely hear James’ muttering as he licks again, but he’s guided by love and desire now and doesn’t hear what it is, as he takes James in his mouth and sucks.

He works his mouth up and down, until his nose is nuzzled into James' dark curls and everything around him tastes, smells and feels like James.

The noises don’t stop, not from him or James, as he sucks and licks at the tip before going down again. It feels victorious, being able to do this with the man he loves.

A warm hand weaves through his hair, careful yet tugging, as if to warn him of what’s coming. But Regulus wants it, all of it, and he moans wantonly as he sucks James to the root one last time. 

“You–” James tries, but his breath is coming in gasps. 

“Mhm.” Regulus hums as he swallows loudly, grinning at James as he kisses his hips softly, before moving up and settling into the crook of his arm.

James shifts slightly, adjusting so they’re both nestled more comfortably under the thick blankets. His fingers brush lightly through Regulus’ hair, a soothing gesture that makes him feel more at home than he ever thought he could.

"I found a place," James says softly, his voice full of something Regulus can only describe as pure joy. "A small house, just on the edge of town. Nothing fancy, but it’s perfect."

Regulus turns his head slightly to look up at James, his eyes soft with affection. “A house?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips. “What kind of house?”

James chuckles, the sound warm and rich in the quiet room. “It’s modest. Not too big, but just right. A little place to call our own, you know?” He pauses, his gaze turning distant for a moment as if he’s picturing it. “It’s got a big kitchen, and a cosy little living room. Perfect for family dinners or just… being together.”

Regulus presses a soft kiss to his chest, his voice almost a whisper. “Does it have a garden? For Harry to play in?”

The question hangs in the air, but it’s one Regulus has already known the answer to, even before James smiles, his face lighting up with pride and love.

“There’s a garden,” James says, his fingers brushing gently across Regulus’ cheek. “A small one, with space for a swing, maybe a little treehouse one day. I can already see Harry running around, chasing after the sun, laughing like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

The tenderness in James’ words, the way he dreams so freely, fills Regulus’ chest with something unfamiliar but wonderful. He smiles, the warmth of James’ love wrapping around him like a blanket.

And before Regulus can say another word, James leans down, his lips finding Regulus’ with a sweetness that takes his breath away. The kiss is slow, tender, and unhurried.

When they finally break apart, James rests his forehead against Regulus’, his breath warm against his skin. “I can’t wait to be there with you,” he murmurs. “To build our life together.”

Regulus smiles, his heart full. “I can’t wait either,” he whispers back.

They settle back into each other’s arms, the world outside fading as they fall into a peaceful, shared dream. 

The weight of the past is light here, and the only thing that matters now is the present, and the love they’ve found in each other. They close their eyes, holding on to that quiet joy, and drift into sleep, together.

>>><<<

The sun is bright, the morning air crisp as Regulus steps out of the door, his hand slipping easily into James’. Their fingers intertwine, an effortless connection that feels as natural as breathing. 

Today, they’re going shopping, but not for food, not for supplies. Today is about the little things, the pieces of a life they’re building together—furniture for their new home.

James looks over at Regulus with a grin that hasn’t left his face for days. “You ready to pick out our future couch?” he teases, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Regulus chuckles, shaking his head. “I never thought I’d be this excited about furniture,” he admits, his voice warm with the kind of happiness he never expected to feel. He’s not the type to get giddy over things like new curtains or coffee tables, but with James by his side, it feels like the most important thing in the world.

The day passes in a flurry of laughter, shared decisions, and playful bickering over the smallest of details. They argue over shades of wood for a dining table, with James insisting on a more rustic look while Regulus fights for something sleek and modern. 

In the end, they compromise, the small moments of disagreement only brief and unimportant. 

By the time they’ve picked out a couch, a coffee table, and a new lamp for the living room, they’re both grinning like fools, so in love with the idea of their future home that it almost doesn’t matter what it looks like. 

Regulus never imagined that buying furniture could feel so fulfilling, but with James, it’s different. Every moment is tinged with meaning, every choice an investment in the life they’re about to start.

>>><<<

The next day, the three of them—Regulus, James, and baby Harry—are in the city, walking through the bustling streets as if they’ve all done it a thousand times. Harry’s tiny hand is tucked securely in James’ as they make their way toward an ice cream shop that James had promised would be the best they’d ever have. 

Regulus watches the way James looks at Harry, so full of love and joy that it makes his chest ache in the best way. It’s a feeling he’s never known—this kind of family, this kind of belonging.

Harry babbles happily, his baby voice sending tiny bursts of laughter between them as they order. James gets two cones—one for himself and one for Regulus—and Regulus can’t help but smile at the way James eagerly takes a bite of his own before handing the other cone to him with a wink. 

“You’re going to love it,” James promises, and Regulus believes him without a second thought.

They walk along, enjoying the ice cream and each other’s company, the sound of Harry’s giggles echoing in the air. Regulus feels like he’s floating, like the world around him has shifted into something brighter, more full of hope than he ever thought possible. 

Harry’s delighted squeal as a bit of ice cream drips onto his shirt only makes it more perfect. Regulus laughs, bending down to wipe it off, while James watches them both, his heart full.

Later, they sit on a park bench, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. James leans his head on Regulus’ shoulder, and for a moment, everything is still. 

>>><<<

Before they know it, time has passed, and it’s moving day.

The house is almost ready, the last of the boxes stacked in the corner of the living room, the furniture arranged just so. 

Regulus is sitting with his brother Sirius at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in his hands as they share one last breakfast before the big move. The air is thick with the smell of scrambled eggs and bacon, the sound of voices rising in laughter as the others bustle about, packing and organising.

Sirius is practically bouncing in his seat, excited about everyone leaving and him and Remus finally having the place to themself. 

“Can you believe it?” he says, his grin wide and bright. “I’m actually living with Remus. It’s—” He pauses, eyes shining. “It’s perfect.”

Regulus watches the two of them, the joy on his brother’s face impossible to ignore. He’s happy for Sirius, he really is—especially after everything they’ve been through. 

James, ever perceptive, gives him a knowing look across the room. “You okay?” he asks quietly, his voice soft as he watches Regulus.

Regulus nods quickly. “Yeah,” he says, forcing a smile. “Glad to see him happy, just…” He hesitates, “Remembering walking in on them and trying to keep breakfast down."

James laughs loudly, his eyes sparkling with affection. He reaches across the table, his hand brushing Regulus’ briefly before pulling back. The touch lingers in Regulus’ mind, the simple connection a settling warmth.

They finish breakfast together, the sounds of the others filling the room, and start making their way outside.

They load James’ stuff first, then the few boxes of things Regulus has managed to save or buy. All of them pitch in, excited and happy to be making plans for the future that didn’t feel certain only a few weeks ago.

Later, as the group gathers back inside for lunch, their voices fading in the distance, James steps closer to Regulus. 

“So, what now?” he asks, closing up the truck and resting an arm around Regulus.

Regulus smiles, the last remnants of fear melting away. “Now,” he says, his voice steady, “we live.”

And as they stand there, hand in hand, watching the sun rise higher in the sky, Regulus knows that this is just the beginning. Whatever comes next, he’s ready for it—with James by his side, everything feels possible.

>>> The End <<<