Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Thanks for listening. I’ll be back next week with a new episode. This is Prongs, signing off! ”

Just like that, he had wrapped up his seven-part series on the notorious Greyback case. James clicked off the microphone with a sense of extreme uneasiness. Studying Fenrir Greyback, was not something he would wish upon even his worst enemy. In the 90s, Greyback had been a cannibalistic serial killer who liked to prey on young boys… not exactly light reading.

“Jesus Christ, that was dark.”

Peter exclaimed from his spot across the room, finally able to voice his opinions aloud. The things Greyback had done to children were inconceivable, and would unsettle even the most seasoned true crime junkie, so James wasn’t surprised at all by Peter’s outburst.

Looking down at his desk, he realized just how much of a mess he had created. He liked having his notes as a structure before he flung himself into a recording session, but that didn’t mean his “structures” were organized. Papers had been strewn everywhere and tossed haphazardly to the floor to be dealt with later. All it did was add slightly more chaos to 77 Godric Avenue. Neither Peter nor James were particularly tidy, so their living quarters were remarkably similar to the aftermath of a hurricane. But the two of them wouldn’t have it any other way.

“You know, that was probably one of your best episodes.”

“You think so?”

He settled down onto the couch across from where Peter sat. Despite the mess, their little townhouse was really quite comfortable. It was quaint, but well adorned with family photos and bits and pieces that represented the history of their friendship. Their living arrangement was actually pretty perfect. Splitting rent meant Peter could get away with only part-time hours at the office, and James could pursue an unconventional career path.

“Yeah, I do. I could tell how much work you put into it.”

That was all he ever wanted to hear. He had a tendency to throw himself head first into his passions. If Peter had been able to see the amount of effort James had put into that episode, then surely, his listeners would too.

Outside, the first few raindrops of the incoming storm were beginning to fall. The month of May often brought upon torrents of rain to the grey streets of Toronto. James found comfort in the sun, the rain made his bones feel cold. James pulled a blanket over himself and dug his phone out of his so he could check the statistics on his last episode, Frenrir Greyback: Part Seven. Every time he saw just how many people were following his podcasting journey, he was filled with a deep sense of pride. Thousands of people genuinely enjoyed hearing him talk about something he loved. He just wished he could share that feeling.

“I still think you should do an episode with me.” .

“Well, I mean maybe…”

Peter sputtered, but the expression on his face betrayed how he truly felt about the idea.

“Oh, don’t worry, you don't have to. Podcasting isn’t for everyone. I’m sure you’d be a great co-host, but only when you feel ready.¨

He supplied in a hurry, hoping he hadn't made him too uncomfortable with his proposition.

Peter sank back into his chair in relief. His friend had always been a bit painfully shy around people he didn't know, so it was understandable why having thousands of people listening to you talk could be anxiety-inducing.

Still, James needed something memorable for his next series. His spot in the Top 10 charts had to be solidified. Many successful podcasters had co-hosts, but it looked like he would have to veto that idea. Instead, James had to find a case that would reel listeners in; hook, line, and sinker. The Greyback episodes had caused his numbers to skyrocket, but it had taken too much of a toll on his mental health. The way James viewed the world had been permanently altered. There was no way he could handle a case like that again. Besides, no matter what he spoke about, somebody, somewhere, had already spoken on the matter. Originality was seemingly dead. But what really drove James crazy, is that those channels covered cases better than he ever could.

“Pete, who do you think I should cover next?”

“What about the Crouch family? Before you settled on Greyback you seemed to be considering that.”

He had a point, the Crouch family were very interesting. They were a regular suburban family living a seemingly normal life until their youngest son looked under a loose floor board and found a corpse. Turned out, their perfect politician of a father had been killing prostitutes for years. There was certainly enough content to make a series out of it. The only problem was, it was incredibly overdone.

James nodded pensively, even though he was certain that case wasn't the one.

“True, that’s definitely a possibility. Everybody knows of them, so it would be popular with listeners,”

He made his way back over to the desk to collect his notebook and pens.

“I was also considering covering Igor Karkaroff, the Russian serial killer? It’s morbid, but maybe not popular enough,”

Flipping to a fresh page, he began to create a list.

“Antonin Dolohov is another one that could work…or maybe Marvolo Gaunt is a better option…”

There was too much to consider. Too many terrible people. Too many stories that needed to be told. Too many people anxiously awaiting his next series.
James promptly scratched out the three names he had written down.

¨ I don’t know anymore…these just aren’t good enough.”

His voice trembled as he sat the notebook aside on the coffee table. The pressure was unbelievably heavy. One wrong move, and he could set back all the progress he had made with the last series. What he needed, was something groundbreaking.

“Prongs, you have to relax. You’ll drive yourself crazy at this rate. C'mon, sit down. I’ll grab some snacks, you can kick your feet up. What do you want to drink?”

Peter asked, tossing the TV remote in his direction.

“Coffee.”

The giant scowl on his friend’s face was frankly impressive.

“It is 7pm, and you are anxious enough. I’m not getting you coffee.”

“Fine, root beer.”

He nodded and left to go rummage through their cupboards. James flicked on the TV to keep himself occupied. Unfortunately, he was greeted by the face of Rita Skeeter on a CNN broadcast. She was wearing a serpent green suit, and looked miserable as per usual. Her deadly grip on the microphone drew special attention to her razor sharp nails. James shuddered just thinking of the damage they could do.

“Is that Rita Skeeter?”

Peter came back holding a glass of ice-cold root beer in one hand, and a bowl of chips in the other. He paused to observe what the menace of a reporter was saying before settling down on the couch next to James.

That woman had a habit of putting her nose where it didn’t belong. All reporters occasionally had to be intrusive. But she was blunt to the point of rude, and didn’t have an objective bone in her body. Opinions rolled off her tongue at light speed.

“For the love of god, turn it off. I can’t stand that woman.”

Before James could grab the controller to change the channel, a red breaking news banner was flashing across the screen.

Black Brothers Spotted in Downtown Toronto.

He read the banner again, just to make sure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

“No fucking way…”

James trailed off, still in complete and utter shock. The two were looking at each other, eyes incredulous.

“And now a word from our lead detective…”

They cut cameras to show the detective standing outside the stony entrance of the Toronto Police Headquarters. Everything about him was meticulous, from the pressed uniform suit to the way he held himself in front of dozens of cameras. But James could recognize a tired soul when he saw one. If the scars swiping across his face were any indication, this man had been through some shit.

“Thank you, Rita. It is with great urgency that we tell you to lock your doors tonight. This morning, the Black brothers were seen outside The Black Dog, a local pub on Bathurst street…”

CNN had placed photos of the Black brothers in the sidebar of the broadcast. Sirius was easily recognizable. The crazed look in his eyes and his wide smile were unmistakable. It was a mugshot from years ago, when he was arrested in Paris. The mad man had escaped within days of incarceration and had been on the run ever since. The other photograph was a still shot from security footage. Even through the grainy pixelation, Regulus Black was magnetic and carried himself in a way that emanated danger. His sharp cheekbones and inky black hair drew James´ attention in a way he couldn't quite explain. If Sirius Black was madness, Regulus Black was mystery.

The detective was still speaking on the matter, his face grave with the impact of what he was saying.

¨ The Black brothers have only ever killed members of their family, and we have no reason to suspect they may stray from this pattern. However, it is still crucial that we take every possible precaution to stay safe. The presumed target of their next attack has been taken into protective custody. If you have any information, please call 519-171-311, or leave an anonymous tip at crimestoppers.org. That is all. Stay safe, and thank you.”

The broadcast cut back to Rita Skeeter, and Peter scrambled to turn it off.

James was happier than he had been in weeks. It was a true crime podcasters dream, and a Canadian's worst nightmare. This was perfect, so incredibly perfect. It was just what he needed: dangerous, popular, and new. Here he was, in the exact same city as two of the most brutal murderers his generation had seen.

¨ Holy shit Prongs…”

Peter was still staring at the blank screen, processing what the two of them had just heard.

“Are we in danger? Could we get hurt? We won't, right? The police guy said they only hurt family.”

James had done some research on the Black brothers before. It was when Sirius had been all over the news. Albeit, the research was light, and it was a while ago, so his memory was a bit hazy. He only remembered the truly terrible things.

James took a deep breath to collect himself before replying,

“Yes…and no. They’ve killed fifteen people, all of which were family members. But they're still seriously disturbed. Regulus and Sirius butchered their mother at 17 and 16. They brand snakes into people's forearms before they kill them, then they write on the walls with their blood. Like the police chief said, it’s just better to take every precaution possible. They are dangerous. But as long as we don't meddle, we should be safe.”

Peter still looked like he was about to throw up.

“What do they…write?”

“On the walls?”

Peter nodded, wringing his hands with anxiety. Thankfully, this was one of the details James did remember.

“R.A.B. Some people think the letters are for Regulus Black’s initials. Others think they could either have a double meaning or mean something else entirely. Either way, it's the same at every crime scene.”

“Oh.”

“You’re safe. Hell, you're a tech developer for Canadian Security Professionals. This house is as up-to-date and secure as it gets. Trust the victimology. We are not in danger.”

He tried his best to sound as reassuring as possible. But god was it difficult.

“I know. This stuff just stresses me out. I should probably lie down or something...”

“Good idea, Pete.”

He gave James a quick hug before grabbing his phone and trudging up the stairs to the second floor. As soon as he left, it felt oddly empty without him. Now it was just James, with the company of his spiralling thoughts against the soft patter of rain. The presence of Sirius and Regulus was the key to his podcasting problem, he would cover them next. Peter would not know about his plan, it would frighten him too much. He had never done an active case before, but there was a first time for everything, and that was exactly what made this concept unique. Podcasters have had breakthroughs in cases before, James very well could be the next. This idea let loose a torrent of overwhelming emotions.

The televised image of Regulus Black flashed in his mind: those eyes, those curls, the complete mystery that shrouded that man was infuriatingly curious. He wouldn't stay a mystery for much longer. James wanted to see inside his mind, to dive deep into his psyche, then present it to the world on a silver platter.

James grabbed the notebook from where he had placed in on the coffee table and began to write a title.

The Black Brothers: Part 1

Chapter Text

James had always thought that the world was a better place in the morning. The sun poured in through his shutters, warming the room with a golden glow. Throwing the covers to the side, he slipped out of bed. His floor was buried in an array of discarded papers and biographies, so every step he took was precarious. Even though he slept in his boxers, Peter always appreciated when, in his words: “he put a damn shirt on”. So, he expertly dodged the mess and changed into some sweats before padding down the stairs to make himself breakfast.

Peter was conked out on the couch, right where James had left him last night. His body was concealed by a mountain of pillow and blankets, but the faint sound of his snores could be heard from underneath the pile.

“Peter!”

“Hm?”

He stirred, blinking groggily in the harsh sunlight.

“You have to go into work today.”

“Shit.”

In the blink of an eye, Peter was up and running. He didn’t need to go into work often, he spent the majority of his time updating software from home. Being required to physically go into the office threw a loop in both of their schedules.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

James shook his head with amusement. Peter darted into the office to grab his briefcase and laptop, then sped up the stairs to get changed into something more presentable than the plaid pyjama pants he had on. While he waited for his friend to collect himself and leave for work, James padded into the kitchen to get a pot of coffee going. Their fridge was thankfully still well stocked with pastries from his stress baking. It had been that way ever since he had decided to cover the Black brothers. Only five days had passed since he had made that decision. But those five days had been filled with brutal research, pure confusion, and unfortunate self reflection. He figured that some good had come from the arduous process. He now had a decent enough file of information that was ready to share with his listeners. And of course, some fuck ass cinnamon rolls.
Peter sped back down the stairs. His suit jacket was wrinkled and his tie was thrown around his neck haphazardly, but he was ready, and surprisingly with two minutes to spare.

“Okay, okay. I’m ready. Shit, I should leave now, shouldn’t I? Okay, okay, I’m going.”

“Bye!”
He closed the door behind him, leaving James alone in the house’s unsettling silence. That was one of the reasons why James loved listening and producing podcasts so much; somebody was always speaking.

Now that Peter was gone, it was a perfect opportunity to actually record the first episode. Likely his only opportunity for a while, he figured. His roommate was still unaware that he would be covering Sirius and Regulus Black, and James intended to keep it that way. Anxiety was something his friend had always struggled with, there was no need for Peter to become a nervous wreck over a podcast episode.

He took a few bites from the cinnamon roll, then wrapped it in a napkin for when he returned. James headed back upstairs to his room to grab his research. Whenever anybody walked in, they were always bouleversed with the chaotic nature of his research. His walls were covered in sticky notes, there were images push-pinned into corkboards, crumpled maps, and research charts with the legibility of a third grade assignment. The few significant others he had had in the past had always hated how much his job consumed him, but his beloved process was a part of him. After he wrecked his room, he always compiled a summarized file. That file was all he really needed for a successful recording, and what he planned on grabbing. After locating it, retrieving his cinnamon roll, and pouring himself a glass of water, he retreated to the small makeshift studio he had created months back when they had first moved in. Thankfully, the buzz of Toronto traffic was dulled inside the walls of the studio. James took a seat, collected his thoughts, then switched on the mic.

“Hello, hello, everyone! I'm your host, James Potter...or more popularly known as Prongs. We are back with a new series. I hope you're excited. I know I am. If you don't know about this case, you must be living under a rock. In fact, if you're French, it was probably all you heard about for months. This series will cover the past, present and ever-so-relevant crimes of the Black brothers.

Now, here in Toronto, reporters have been having an absolute field day for the past week. Why? It probably has something to do with the fact that just last week, there was a confirmed spotting of Sirius and Regulus Black. The public has questions, though. What the fuck are they doing in Canada, of all places? Who exactly are they coming after? Just how dangerous are these two? And what the hell did they get up to in Paris that has given them such a blood soaked reputation?”

So far, so good.

“If you're a regular here, then you know I like to start off from the very beginning.

Walburga Black, born Walburga Black, was born in France. Yes, you heard that right, she married her second cousin. It explains a lot. She was the youngest of three children, and the only daughter. She attended an all-girls private school, and excelled at a prestigious ballet academy. She did well in school, but had a quick temper and a hatred for the other girls in her year. Just like her brother Cygnus, even at a young age, she rarely displayed signs of empathy or remorse. She remained at the private school until her eighteenth birthday. When she left, it was because an engagment was arranged.

Now, a little about Orion. Orion Black was the second, youngest and only male child of Arcturus Black and his wife Melania. His elder sister was named Lucretia Black, and the two of them together were poster children for a traditional wealthy french family. One thing you have to understand, is that the Black family was filthy rich. The family had its own crest, five vacation homes in the south of France, owned a manor in Paris which was staffed by over 20 workers. And so, the two second-cousins were unhappily married. What better way to avoid signing a prenup? Simply marry someone who already shares your family fortune. When they married, Orion Black was gaining a reputation in French politics. His family was already incredibly powerful and influential in Paris’ social scene, but he was influencing the political climate as well. His whole campaign was built off of resisting the legalization of gay marriage.

Their manor was heavily staffed. Thankfully, this provided many witnesses who eventually came forward to speak about the pattern of abuse in the Black household. Unfortunately, it also meant that the wrath of Walburga, Orion, Sirius, and Regulus was felt by dozens of the working-class. When Walburga Black gave birth to her first son, Sirius Black, on November 2nd, 1995, she gave him to a maid and refused to see or speak to him until he turned five. A year after the birth of Sirius, she gave birth to Regulus Black, October 25, 1996 with the exact same requirements. As infants, the two grew up under the supervision of a woman named Poppy Pomfrey, and were by all accounts lovely children.

As they grew older, their mother gradually paid more attention to them. Albeit, unwanted and unhealthy attention. She would lock them in rooms without food or water for days to teach them “discipline”. On several occasions, a fire poker had been used to jab and injure the children. Walburga Black slapped, hit, and screamed. If you're anything like me, you must be wondering: how the hell did nobody think to say anything? She paid off her servants to keep quiet. If they didn't, she then paid off the police and fired the servant.

Regulus and Sirius attended a prestigious private school for quite some time. Around the age of 15, Sirius began acting out and was pulled from the school by his parents. Sirius was expected to marry a girl named Estelle Goyle, but he was openly against the arrangement. Who would've thought? A 15-year-old boy not wanting to marry a 13-year-old girl that his parents picked out for him? Shocking. The abuse continued into their teen years. Sirius generally fought back, yet Regulus bore the punishment from Walburga. Regulus never fought back, but he also never cried or flinched. Several of the staff said that as a boy, and even as a teenager, he never let his mother have the satisfaction of seeing the pain on his face. Several teachers also remembered seeing bruises, gashes, black eyes, and burn marks on his hands, face, and neck during Regulus´ time at the private school. Sirius was shut up in the mansion, but snuck away when he could to unknown whereabouts.”

What really got to James, was the fact that no natural justice came of it. No teacher reported what they saw, no neighbour spoke out, and no legal actions were taken against Walburga and Orion Black. If only the world was braver, then maybe Regulus and Sirius would never have been driven to kill.

“The summer of 2012, involved a very suspicious visit to the Emergency Room. At this point in time, Sirius was 17 and Regulus was 16. Regulus Black was brought to the hospital soaking wet and unresponsive. Sirius had been the one to bring him, without any signs of Walburga or Orion. Sirius told doctors that Regulus had fallen asleep in the bathtub. Medical professionals immediately noticed a stab wound to the stomach, so his brother’s explanation was rendered void. They were able to resuscitate Regulus Black, and he was sent into urgent care and underwent a 12-hour-long surgery to repair damaged internal tissue from the stab wound. After several evaluations, he was stable but the presence of ligature marks along his wrists and ankles were noted, along with dangerously low vitals. Many of the doctors who were there that day have spoken out about the impossible odds Regulus beat.

Since Sirius and Regulus were both minors, the hospital was legally required to contact their guardians. When Regulus was informed that his parents were coming, he went non-verbal for quite some time. Sirius pleaded with the doctors to hold off on calling their parents. Due to the suspicious circumstances, they complied and extended the period of time before reaching out. Regulus was scheduled to be released in his parent's custody after two weeks. Within eight days, Regulus and Sirius had vanished from the hospital entirely. A missing person's report was issued, but since they ran away voluntarily, there wasn’t much else to be done. The hospital never filed a police report. An investigation regarding the state of Regulus Black upon his arrival was never pursued.”

How the fuck does that even happen? James thought to himself, taking a sip of water before continuing on.

“Instead of reporting the incident to the police, or informing child services, the brothers stayed with their Uncle Alphard in a villa on the south side of France. They stayed there for months, but not much is known about their visit. In the spring of 2015, something shifted. Nobody knows exactly what triggered them to return to Paris, but they did. When they did, they brought upon a storm of violence that nobody was suspecting.

Now that I’ve filled you all in on some history and shit. I think it’s time for the actual true crime portion...the part you’ve all been waiting for: the Black family killing spree.”
James truly did try his best to remain objective. The trauma the black brothers had endured as children made his heart heavy. No kid, no human, should have to be hurt on that level. But the sheer amount of violent acts the two would grow to commit, could taint his perception of even the most saintly child. Feel bad for the child, not for the killer, he reminded himself. To have sympathy for the brothers caused guilt to fester in his heart. He couldn’t help but see their reasoning. All the hurt they had endured? Was it justifiable? Was he portraying them in too much light? He couldn't in good conscience hate on children solely because of what they grew to become. Besides, this case was odd. Odd in the sense that it was an act of vengeance, a vendetta. Unlike other serial killers, the motive of the Black brothers was evident. Was it justifiable? To kill the people who stabbed, drowned, restrained, and starved you? James hated his own answer.

“It was April 17th, 2015, 11pm, when Regulus and Sirius returned to the Black manor. The brothers knocked on the front door, and were greeted by one of the Manor’s staff. Now, her name was Kathryn Jones, and everyone in her life says that she is a very genuine, lovely girl. She had been working there for the past two years. Regulus and Sirius told her that the two of them had returned from a very long trip, and wished to rest before reuniting with their parents. It’s important to note that while quite a few of the servants had guessed about what had gone down in the weeks before Sirius and Regulus ran away, none of them were told explicitly. Kathryn Jones let them into the estate, and welcomed the two brothers home. She then made her way back to the kitchens, where she set about preparing a pot of tea upon the request of Sirius and Regulus. When she returned to the lounge with the tea pot and china, the two had vanished once more. Jones figured they just had retired to their rooms. However, that was far from the reality.
The two brothers entered their mother’s bedroom first. A pillow was pressed to her face to muffle her screams. On her forearm, they burnt a skull/snake symbol into her skin with a white-hot iron. Her throat was then slit, right through the carotid arteries. No fingerprints were left at the scene at all, so it is assumed that Sirius and Regulus both wore gloves. The bed was soaked with blood, and the walls were absolutely covered in blood spatter. Afterwards, they moved to their father’s bedroom and repeated the exact same crime. They smothered him with a pillow, branded a skull into his forearm, then slit his throat, nearly slicing his head clean off. The way they chose to murder their parents was intentionally overkill.”

Everything the two brothers did was premeditated. They had backup plans for backup plans. Purely from studying, James knew that if the Black brothers hadn’t wanted to make a mess, then they wouldn’t have. Regulus and Sirius wanted their parent's blood to stain their clothes. They had wanted a complete, and utter massacre.

“They fled, and the bodies of their parents were discovered in the morning by a maid who chooses to remain anonymous. I can't imagine walking into such a scene. The death of two public figures like Orion and Walburga shook the city of Paris to its bones. Police officers everywhere were hunting down Sirius and Regulus, but to no avail. It was common knowledge who had killed them, Kathryn had delivered a statement that left no doubt that Walburga and Orion had been killed by their children. Kathryn submitted herself for a polygraph examination and even underwent hypnosis at one point in time. It was a complete man hunt, and the right side of french politics was livid. No matter how much or how long they searched, they never found them. Sirius and Regulus didn’t resurface until January 2016. When they did, it was at the doorstep of their grandparent's place with a sharpened knife.

That’s all for part one, my friends! Thank you for sticking with me through this case, I’m thinking it will be a four-part series. For my Canadian friends, stay safe and take care of yourselves. Thanks for listening. I’ll be back next week with a new episode. This is Prongs, signing off!”

James clicked off the microphone, before slumping deep down into his chair. It was done. Sometimes it took him, two, three tries. But this time, he was satisfied with the initial recording. Editing was by far his least favourite part of his profession. Listening to the finished product was worth it, but the process of polishing audio clips was repetitive and frankly, boring. James busied himself adjusting the volume dials, and cloaking any external city noise that had managed to slip through the walls.
Unbeknownst to him, two hours had flown by, suctioned away by the arduous process. Finally, in front of him, his laptop displayed a finished product. It was ready. But was he ready? It was certain to gain attention. He could only pray it would be positive. Without a second doubt, he selected the red button at the very bottom of his screen: publish.

Chapter Text

“There’s no way teg is a valid scrabble word.”

As soon as Peter laid his wooden tile on the board, James protested. They were in the kitchen, nearing the end of their second round of Scrabble. Peter was once again, trying to worm his way around the technicalities of the game. Turned out, if you got creative, there were quite a few bogus words the Scrabble dictionary allowed.

“It is so! I swear it is, James. Look it up if you don’t believe me.”

The game was getting tough, the lacquered tiles covered almost the entire board, and the maroon baggie that held the coveted letters was nearly depleted. But if there was one thing James Potter was, it was competitive.

“I will look it up.” Defiantly, he searched for his phone so he could plug the word “teg” into a search engine. However, the google results that stared back at him were less than preferable. Somehow, “teg” had been deemed acceptable.

“Fuckkk.”

“See!”

Peter’s face bore a shit eating grin as he nestled an “e” between “tooth” and “gore”.

“Okay, but what does it mean? I bet you don’t even know.”

The silence was palpable before his friend relented with a shoulder shrug.

“I actually don’t know…”

“AHAHA!”

James jumped up to remove the letter, his chair sliding out from under him with a grating squeal. He plucked the letter off the board and slid it back to Peter.

“Fine…fine…you’re right. You can have this one.”

As much as they could pretend to argue, it was never anything substantcial and it was always good natured. James didn’t think Peter had a genuinely mean bone in his body. The two of them had known each other for so long, they simply coexisted.

James wandered over to peer into the fridge. Its content was dismal at best. Over the past few days, the two of them had finished off all the cinnamon rolls and cookies. Now, the shelves only held cans of pop and the loose ends of their expired takeout

“Fuck, I’m starving, you wanted pizza tonight right? I don’t think we can salvage anything here.”
He shuffled the cans and brown paper boxes to the side, double checking the very back of the fridge.

“I want pizza every night.”

Peter quipped. Before James could respond, his friend had already picked up his phone and was dialing to place an order.

“Hi…yes…two medium pizzas…one pepperoni…one Hawaiian…” His voice drifted off as he left to wander around the house aimlessly, in an attempt to occupy himself while he spoke to the person on the other end.

While waiting, James grabbed two clean glasses and cracked open two cans of Diet Coke as his friend did a loop around the second floor of their townhouse. As the carbonation fizzed, he slid one glass to the other end of the table for Peter.
“Okay, done, pizza is on its way,” Through the doorway, Peter wandered back in with a renewed sense of determination. He settled back down into his chair, and furrowed his eyebrows while examining his remaining letters. “What about…tig?”

“Is that a word?”

“Who knows?”

James sighed, unfortunately, it probably was.

“You’re supposed to know. I swear Pete, sometimes this feels more like a guessing game than-“

The chiming of their doorbell abruptly cut him off.

“Shit, is that the delivery guy already? I can’t grab it.”

He gestured to his yellow SpongeBob SquarePants pajamas. It was barely six o’clock, but time was simply a social construct for Peter when it came to comfortable clothing.

“Yeah I got it, don’t worry.”

It had barely been a minute since he had placed the order. It struck James as unlikely that a pizza could be made, and delivered within that short span of time. Maybe it was his Amazon order? But that wasn’t scheduled to arrive until tomorrow.
Once he cracked the door open, confusion sank in. There was no pizza, nor Amazon package. Instead, laid before him, was an enormous bouquet of black roses. Their thorny stems were bunched together with a thick black velvet bow. The arrangement, was abnormally sized and frankly, awkward to hold as he cradled it in his arms to examine it further. He found that the petals were soft under the pad of his thumb, and it was undeniably beautiful.

A couple wandered by, giving James an odd look as they strode down the street arm in arm. That was warranted, he thought. It’s not every day you see someone clutching a monster-sized bouquet.
He was still standing, relatively frozen in the doorway when he noticed something nestled in the middle of the bouquet. It was a crisp white envelope that was slowly sinking into the arrangement of black petals. Maybe it could provide some form of context, he prayed. After unfolding the paper, his breath caught. In decadent silver calligraphy, the letters R. A. B spanned across the width of the card.

Cold dread washed over his body like a tidal wave. It had to be a prank. The trembling of his hands forced him to set the flowers back down.
He had received mail from listeners in the past, but this was disturbed to an incomparable degree. Pretending to be a Black brother, just for a laugh? It was jarring that somebody who listened to his podcast could be capable of that.

He knew damn well that his newest episode had gained traction online. His listeners had doubled overnight, and over the past three days, he had received countless live show requests and sponsorships. Everything had gone exactly to plan. Covering Regulus and Sirius Black had sent him on a trajectory to top podcasting charts. While the attention he was receiving was immense, and the characters of his target audience were dubious: it was still surprising that a listener would do something so sick and twisted.

He wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. The unlit streetlights loomed above, the grass was trimmed to the suburban standard, and the neighbourhood dogs were silent. He surveyed his street for anything odd but everything was seemingly in its proper place, minus the black flowers. At least, he thought so; until he noticed the discreet parking job of a sleek black car just around the curve in the road.

It was unusual for there to be cars on his street. Many people, James included, simply bussed or took the metro wherever they needed to be. If they did own a car, James would recognize it: like the Weasleys silver van, or the Prewett’s Hyundai. He had never seen this car before, he was certain of it. It was tucked away so neatly in the crescent a few houses up. Only the tail-end was visible through the trees.

James ditched the bouquet, but held onto the note. He passed by manicured gardens, chipped white fences, and crumbling driveways as he made his way up the street. His street was a series of townhouses, stacked neatly in parallel rows like two sets of dominoes. They continued straight until one branched off into a roundabout. He rounded the curve in the road, and the crescent opened up before him.

A few houses to the right, the Weasley’s five year old came bursting out the front door, his little hands clutching a beat-up hockey stick. Behind him, trailed a very pregnant Molly, and a very tired Arthur who shut the door behind their son.

“Oh hello there, James.”

She greeted him warmly. Arthur nodded in his direction as he popped open the trunk of their van to shove the hefty hockey bag inside.

“Hi Molly, Arthur. Hockey practice?”

She sighed, before nodding. Bill, her son, nodded too, very enthusiastically.

“We’re on our way to pick up Charlie from camp, then we are off to the rink.”

“Oh, really? Well I’ll let you get going then. Score some goals, yeah?”

Bill grinned ear to ear before replying, his smile missing a few important teeth.

“Will do, Mr. Potter!”

James winced at the formality, it made him feel quite old.

He reminded him of himself when he was younger: always getting into trouble, and always breaking one thing or another. Bill’s wrist was wrapped in an electric blue tensor bandage and yet the kid was still jumping to get out and play.
Once the Weasleys had left for the game, James redirected his attention back to the black car. Unease stirred in his gut as he drew closer, and closer.

As he stood by the car, he realized a few key things. The double bug-eye headlights was an undeniable trademark; it was a Bentley. Not only was it an expensive, coveted car…he could tell by the license plate that it was also a rental. James fished his cellphone out of his back pocket so he could snap a quick photo of the six digit license plate combination; just in case.

Much to his frustration, the windows were tinted. Setting aside all of his reservations, he gave the passenger seat window a gentle knock. Nothing came of it. What had he expected? Some drugged up true crime junkie to burst out of the car yelling “I left the flowers!”? No, that wouldn’t happen.

Defeated, confounded, and plagued by uneasiness, he made his way back down the street. It was all so odd. Bentleys were common in the wealthier ends of Toronto, but had no business being on his street. Not to mention, renting a Bentley was insanity. What purpose could that honestly serve? What purpose could tinted windows honestly serve? And most importantly: why the hell would a listener pull this crap?

He lugged the bouquet inside, careful not to squash any of the flowers in the process. Through the front hall, he carried it, wondering the entire time how the hell he was going to explain himself. It felt like a waste to throw them out. Despite the creepy circumstances, they were still beautiful.

Thankfully, their kitchen table was large enough to host the Scrabble game while leaving enough space for the roses. He let the bouquet tumble to the table and quickly realized that there were too many flowers to fit in a singular vase. He dug around in the cabinet and pulled out one vase, and one…oddly shaped glass jar that would have to do. He brought both of them over to the sink, and filled them with tap water.

“What took you so damn long, where’s the-“ Peter paused, taking in the sight before him, “-pizza”

James switched off the tap, and discreetly slipped the card he had found in the flowers into his back pocket.

“Before you ask, I don’t know…”

He wasn’t even lying. Were they likely from a listener? Yes, but Peter couldn’t know that. In any case, James wasn’t even entirely sure.

“You sure it’s not a special someone? Looks like a special someone.”

“I would've told you if I was seeing someone.”

“Maybe it’s a secret admirer?”

“I don’t know,” In an effort to change the conversation topic, he continued, “The flowers are nice. A bit…dark, but nice.”

“Not really your style.”

“No, not really my style.”

The ringing of their doorbell sent a shock through James. It was fine, it was fine, it was probably just the pizza guy. His breathing pattern steadied as he rationalized the circumstances. To his relief, on the other side of the door, stood a regular Domino’s Pizza delivery guy, clutching two greasy cardboard boxes. James handed over a wad of cash in exchange for the pizza, then shut the door; making sure to lock and secure it behind him.

Later that night, James did everything he could to fall asleep. Three pots of chamomile tea had been made, he didn’t even like chamomile tea. He thought it was disgusting, but his mother swore by it. A headache pulsed behind his eyes as he laid in bed, cocooned in the warmth of his blankets. He had shut off his phone to mute the incessant buzzing of excited fans. If only he could shut off the feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

Chapter Text

It was eleven in the morning when James Potter realized Peter had gone missing. He was elbow-deep in his research, perusing website after website on his laptop. Even the dullest mind could see that the Black family was a tragedy; a series of increasingly unfortunate events that could not be judged by the scales of justice. James firmly believed that he could read the books sprawled out before him a million times, and still never fully grasp the endgames of Regulus and Sirius Black.

It was way too early in the morning for this, he thought to himself. Researching, locked away in his office, was tedious and certainly not how any sane person would choose to spend their morning. But James was hardly sane when it came to his podcast. However, the early hours of the morning were as good of an excuse as any to take a short break. Hell, Peter hadn’t even woken up yet. It wasn't unusual for his friend to sleep through the day like a tabby cat, but James found himself missing the distraction of his roommate’s insipid and untimely commentary.

James closed up his laptop with a click, and set down his papers in defeat. A break from the research it would be; analyzing the killer psyche was an afternoon topic.

“Peter!”

His voice echoed through the little house, but it was met with silence. It was about time he woke up. He passed through the kitchen, eying the two vases of roses and empty takeout scattered across the table. Folding up and throwing away the empty pizza boxes, he made a considerable effort to not think about the odd circumstances of the night before.

“Peter! Wake up!.”

He called again, but to no avail. And so, he trudged up the narrow stairs to knock on his friend’s door. Upon entering, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. The room was dim, and the shutters were closed: the sole source of light was a toppled lamp. His covers were in a mangled state, as if he had thrashed beneath them for quite some time. Pillows littered the floor, and the bedside table lying on its side did not escape James’ notice. He rushed around the room, anxiety rising. He threw the doors of Peter’s closet open, but he wasn't hidden in its depths. Something terrible had happened.

Where was he? He couldn’t have left, James had been up since six in the morning. His heart sank as he approached Peter’s desk. His laptop was shattered, the glass from the screen littered the tabletop. Along the left side, the side closest to the door: scratch marks dug into the wood, made by human fingernails.

James wasn’t okay. It was real. It was real. It was oh-so-real. Everything was.

The flowers had never been from a crazed fan. The note wasn’t forged. The bentley had indeed been out of place. The cold gazes of Regulus and Sirius Black had been tailing him ever since he had published the first episode. Now, Peter had vanished; likely at their hand. Was he dead? Tortured? Strangled? A mutilated sob wracked his body. Peter hadnt even known that he had covered them.
Collecting himself, he rose from the floor and forced himself to breathe. Rationally, Peter wasn’t dead. The Black brothers had a method: slitting their victims throats inside their bedrooms. The fact that there was no blood was a small comfort, something positive to cling onto. Killers hardly strayed from what they were used to. Although, the brothers hadn’t exactly kidnapped anybody before.
That wasn’t his only growing concern. Peter was a grown adult, if there was one thing his career had taught him, it was that law enforcement doesn't do shit when an adult disappears. Not to mention, it had not been more than twenty-four hours. Looking around at the state of his room, he knew what his next step would be. He fumbled for his phone in his pocket, and cleared his throat before dialing a familiar number.

“Frank? Hi, it’s James….listen, I have a favour I need to call in.”

- - - - - - - -

Frank’s car slowed to a stop outside the police station.

“Here we are…”

Frank was an old friend from high school. The two of them still spoke occasionally, sometimes they went out for a few drinks. While they were no longer two acne ridden teenagers obsessing over DC comics together, they had a certain unspoken agreement to help eachother when in need. James was certainly in desperate need. He gathered his stuff from the backseat: a beige duffel bag carrying a ziploc baggie with the signed note, a handful of the roses from the bouquet, and his phone carrying all the photos he had taken from the license plate to the state of Peter’s room.

“Thanks, Frank, I owe you one. See you soon.”

He shut the door to Frank’s car closed behind him with a click, and stepped out into the street. He noticed a few things quickly. Primarily, he noticed the endless rush of police cars, sirens blaring as they dashed down the street. Directly in front of him stood a crowd of reporters. Their presence blocked the granite steps leading up to the revolving doors of the department. It was an old building, consisting of grey brick and littered with cracks in the foundation.

Frank sped off, and James set upon approaching the staircase. He squared his shoulders, and barrelled through the storm of reporters. They pushed, and they shoved. There was something downright animalistic about the whole ordeal. The sound of pens clicking, microphones buzzing, and bodies colliding; it was brutal. Gradually, he shoved reporters to the side. His situation was far more dire than their hunger for insider intel.

The rotating doors opened up into an expansive waiting lobby. A balcony lay overhead. Folding chairs lined the front of the lobby, all increasingly uncomfortable in appearance. A lengthy desk spanned the width of the room with the station crest ingrained in the middle. Behind the desk, stood a woman in a white cardigan with a full head of glossy black curls. She smiled at him warmly as he approached.

“Hello there, how can I help you?”

She was typing away at her keyboard furiously as she spoke, there was a permanent expression of boredom spread across her face.

“I need to speak with Detective Lupin.”

She raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Detective Lupin is head of homicide. You are aware that he is rather occupied at the moment?”

“Yes. That’s exactly why I need to talk to him.”

“Very well. Name?” “James Potter.” “What should I tell him brings you here?”

“Regulus Black broke into my house last night and kidnapped my best friend.”

She froze, her fingers paused above the keyboard.

“Yeah, right,” She rolled her eyes, “Look, we don't take kindly to pranks here. It is entirely disrespectful, and irresponsible to mess with an ongoing investigation.”

“No! Wait! I can prove it. I promise. I don’t know what to do. Not only that, but I’m not safe at home. My friend has vanished, my house has been ransacked, and Regulus Black has been following me. I need to speak to Detective Lupin. I can help you guys. This is probably your only lead. I’m not lying, I can take a polygraph. Let me speak to Detective Lupin. Five minutes of his time - that’s all I ask.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she rose and walked briskly through the navy door to her right. He stood alone, his foot tapping the clicking rhythm of the clock just above the desk. Eventually, the sound of the door reopening brought his attention back. Trailing behind the front desk lady, was the detective. He was taller in person than on screen, and his eye bags had deepened significantly. The jacket he wore was vintage tweed, and his shoes were scuffed from years of usage. His composure was excellent, but there was a tired energy to him that James picked up on immediately.

“James Potter?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you, James. If you could follow me this way?”

He beckoned him into the hallway, through the blue doors. They walked past the honourable plaques and dozens of portraits that had been hung in memorial. All that history, all those lives - compiled into one hallway. Their destination was an isolated room to the left. A part of James had been expecting an interrogation room, but what lay before him was quite the opposite. There was a set of chairs and couches with matching upholstery and a dark wooden coffee table. Bookshelves lined the walls, stacked with the thickest case files James had ever seen.

“Would you like some water?”

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” He settled down into the largest chair, and slid three individually wrapped chocolates across the coffee table. “Still, eat those; you’ll feel better.”

Lowering himself onto the couch, he slowly unwrapped the gold foil and popped the chocolate in his mouth. Lupin dug around in his pocket and produced a cigarette and a lighter. This made James pause, but he didn’t particularly mind. With a flicker and a puff, the smell of cigarette smoke floated through the room.

“Now, I imagine you've had quite the scare. Why don’t we start at the beginning? Take your time, I’m listening.”

“Okay…I run this podcast…a true crime one-”

Taking a deep breath, he broke into a recount of the cases he had covered, the feedback he had received, and the success of his last episode. Detective Lupin just kept nodding gently, urging him to elaborate when necessary. Putting voice to the events that had transpired was a gut punch; it felt all the more real. Seated in front of him, Lupin was the epitome of calm as he scribbled a few notes down on paper while nursing his cigarette in the other hand. He barely faltered at the idea that Regulus Black had sent him flowers. He pulled up the photos of the license plate, and scrolled through the dozens of photos he had taken of Peter’s bedroom. Finally, when James decided he had provided sufficient detail, he sighed and sank into the couch once more.

Detective Lupin simply clapped the files together, shut his leather binder with a click, and tucked his fountain pen back into his breast pocket.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. You did the right thing coming here. A phone call wouldn’t have sufficed. Your circumstances are…unusual, but I believe you, James. As inconceivable as your story sounds, you have provided us with a huge lead. Regulus Black has seemingly taken an interest in you; this is something that I fail to comprehend, but he wants you alive and well. We will send officers over to your home in the next hour to cordon off Peter’s bedroom, and forensics will go along as well. Unfortunately, I cannot yet issue a missing person's report for Peter, considering he is not a minor and has been missing for less than twenty-four hours. But, I promise you, I will do everything in my power to find him. For now, I am requesting that you stay at the station, while I introduce you to somebody. I am recommending we station an officer at your home for at least the next few days. Your safety is a priority-”

The door to the lounge swung open as he spoke and a woman dressed head to toe in uniform stepped through. She was tall, yet not quite as tall as Detective Lupin. Her shaggy blonde hair was tousled, and James could tell by her stance that she had incredible strength. She shot him a smile before wandering over and taking a seat on the couch next to him.

“Detective,” She nodded firmly in his direction before extending her hand for a polite handshake.

“I’m Officer Mckinnon. You’re James Potter, yes? You're all the force has been talking about for the last hour. Let’s hope you’re our key to catching this son of a bitch…”

Despite himself, James laughed at the idea. Him? Being the key? A few years ago it would have been a dream. Now, it was something he wouldn’t wish upon his worst enemy.

Lupin rose, and began to speak once more.

“Officer Mckinnon will be stationed outside your house at all hours. She will be there for your protection. Her qualifications are nearly better than my own, and she has lengthy experience in this field. You will be safe under her guard. I am hoping that you can rest well at night. I do not believe you to be in immediate danger. The Black brothers had the opportunity to kill you, and let you survive for a reason. This measure is more for Peter and also so you can rest easy at night.”

James didn’t have the heart to tell him that there was no way he would be able to sleep under any circumstances. Marlene wouldn’t be able to keep him safe. It was at no fault of hers, her presence was intimidating enough to scare off anybody. Even in protective custody, James wouldn’t feel safe from the peering eyes of the Black brothers. The thought of them was unsettling, yet exhilarating. Their motivations were even more unclear; the risk made him shiver, and the attention made his mind spin.

He stayed at the station for a few more hours, wrapped up in conversation with the detective. A cognitive interview was performed, with minimal success. James remembered everything perfectly fine, he simply couldn’t make sense of it. He wasn’t the only one - simply by glimpsing the files, spreadsheets, and graphs the force had collected on the Black family, it was obvious that they were equally stumped.

Officer Mckinnon drove him home, and the time spent inside the cruiser was slow and uneventful. Officer Mckinnon was certainly talkative. The issue was - she spoke about everything James couldn’t care less about. She skilfully dodged any dark or stressful topics like it was second nature. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the mental capacity to make small talk about the dreary weather, or the god-awful weather conditions, or how her sister adopted a Bernese Mountain dog. Instead…images of Peter, bloody and tortured, flashed through his mind. How could someone be expected to speak casually when their entire life had changed within twenty-four hours?

“And his coat is this adorable chestnut brown…”

She trailed off, sipping on a small cup of coffee as she drove.

Normally, James found joy in getting to know people and hearing what made them happy. He just couldn’t dismiss the cold grey eyes he had seen on that news broadcast. He hadn’t thought about them since that day, but now they swam in his conscious; haunting every thought he had. He needed answers, any shred of information could satisfy the tangle of emotions brewing in his stomach. Some of the answers - not even the police knew; only Regulus Black kept close to his chest. However, there was one question Officer Mckinnon could answer.

“Who do you have in protective custody?”

“That is classified information.”

“It’s Bellatrix Lestrange, isn’t it?”

He had a hunch, during his research. She was notoriously involved with drug and trafficking rings back in France. James honestly had questioned why she hadn’t been one of the first to die. Officer Mckinnon’s reluctance and stiff silence gave him all the response he needed.

“Am I really safe?”

It took her an uncomfortably long time to answer.

“As long as the Black brothers are in Toronto, nobody is.”

Upon arriving back at his house, the sky had dimmed and reached dusk. He found it was a pain, dodging the taped off quarters of his home. The smell of antibacterial would linger for days to come. He managed to settle down and curl up underneath his duvet, praying for his eyes to shut on their own accord. Sleep came to him fitfully; in episodes of grotesque dreams and cold sweats. Knowing Marlene was downstairs brought a small sense of comfort to him; but it didn’t ease his subconscious.

At the foot of his bed, he felt a soft shift. The movement sent him barrelling upright and scrambling to gather his covers; but a weight held them down. Sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed, was a shadow of a man. The twinkle of the streetlights caught a sparkle in his eye, and his mouth was twisted into a wicked grin.

“Hello, James.”

Chapter Text

“You fucking monster-”

Before James could fully process the situation, he found himself barrelling forward with his fists raised. Abandoning any sense of self-preservation, he wanted to make Regulus Black pay. He wanted to make him pay for taking Peter, for abolishing his privacy, for all the lives he took, and for the absolute audacity he held. His lunge towards Regulus was slowed by the gentle touch of a hand on his shoulder. The softness and affection of the gesture took him aback, it brought him back down from the adrenaline high that was urging him to fight. He stilled, and tilted his head carefully to confirm that it was real; it was the ungloved hand of a killer that touched him so gently. Regulus Black’s eyes bore into him. There was something so intense, so violating, so inescapable about the way he looked at James.

“Breathe,” Despite the danger, the intention behind his words was genuine. “Don’t be afraid. I just want to talk.”

He assessed his circumstances; they were unfortunate to say the least. There was no way for him to physically escape. The silver glint of sharpened blades poked out from the belt wrapped around Regulus Black’s waist. He was significantly smaller than James, but the second the other man gripped a knife, it would be the end of him.

His room was still hazy with darkness, the only source of light was seeping through the blinds from the streetlights. He hadn’t made any sudden movements, he remained perched at the end of James’ bed. He was dressed in all black, head to toe. The way it clung to his body was downright sinful. Strands of black hair curled slightly below his ears, James wanted to wrap it around his fingers and tug ruthlessly, brutally, eternally.

James could stay, listen, and pray that the violent man before him was honest in his disclosure that he only wanted to talk. The idea sent a shiver down his spine, god knows what would happen to him if he didn’t at least try to get out. It dawned on him then, exactly what could save him.

“Mckinnon!”

He shrieked, his throat burning from the effort. Regulus looked at him once more, unimpressed and unaffected.

“She is preoccupied.”

Regulus rose from where he sat perched on the end of his bed and slunk over to the lamp situated in the corner of James’ bedroom. With a yank of a cord, the light from the lightbulb swashed the room in a warm yellow. James unabashedly stared at the intruder. His sharp cheekbones were deep enough to drown in. He slunk around like a cat, lithe and cunning in every executed decision and movement. It sent James spiralling. At least it would be a beautiful end to a mediocre life.

No, he couldn’t think that way. Peter was at stake. Honest, loving, good-natured Peter Pettigrew - his closest friend who deserved to survive.

“What do you want?”

He spat viciously, yet Regulus only hummed in contemplation before uttering a singular word with a sickening smile.

“You.”

The implications were not lost on James. God, it could mean so many things, but time could not be lost ruminating. He sat up properly to refocus his efforts.

“Where is Peter?”

“Safe.”

The way he replied was dismissive, it made James seethe. How could Peter be safe? If he was safe, then he would be home. He waited for an elaboration, but he knew deep down that he would never receive one. Instead, Regulus Black casually leaned back against his bedroom wall, smug and deadly. He drew a knife from his belt, it was thin and curved and bore a striking resemblance to a crescent moon. James’ heartbeat quickened, blood rushed to his head. His body screamed, and ached for him to get the fuck out. This was it. This was the end.

The blade was small, but wielded an inexplicable amount of power as Regulus Black twirled it expertly between his slender fingers. James could feel tears welling. He didn’t understand the thunderstorm raging in his head. He wanted to sob, and beg for his life. He wanted to punch Regulus Black, and leave him screaming out in pain. James Potter wanted to live. Yet, another feeling simmered underneath. Regulus Black was feeding a desire he had been hellbent on burying.

“I listened to your little podcast, it was quite interesting.”

The silence was broken abruptly. It was the first time James had picked up on the elegance and precision of his French accent.

“Your perspective on my personal life was not warranted. Nobody has the right to speak on what I feel, because nobody else has lived the life I have. But - if you are going to tell my story, you are going to do so correctly.”

From what Regulus was saying - he wanted James alive. He felt the weight on his shoulders and soul lessen. His hands still shook, and his heart pounded like a rabbit trapped in an iron cage; but he now held a figment of hope in his palm.

“My mother was a cruel woman. Your facts are right, but you are a poor analyst if you believe someone’s history and character can be fully conveyed through simple fact. She wasn’t a disciplinarian. The pain she brought upon her household was not out of motherly devotion. The bitch hurt us, because she liked it. She trained us into who we are today, bred us to be cold and calculative. You may hold as many personal judgments as you would like. You probably wonder: how could anybody kill so many people? It’s simple - those people had it coming. The hell I brought upon them was deserved, under every circumstance.”

He spoke with such raw power and venom, it enraptured James. The way Regulus never hesitated - it drew his attention magnetically. How could someone be so sure of their actions?

“I have been molded as cold and vindictive. My mother told me that psychopathy was in all of us; every single member of the Black family. I remember it distinctly - that was the moment that I made up my mind: the Black family line would die by my hand.”

James couldn’t find it in himself to empathize, but he understood their motivations with a newfound clarity. From the moment they were born, Regulus and Sirius hadn’t stood a chance.

“Back then…in that house… I was an animal; kicking and screaming for revenge. I was a broken child, and I still am a broken man. I am what my mother created; albeit one thing…I do not take pleasure in the act of killing. My mother held me underwater until my lungs nearly gave out. My father stabbed me, my cousins beat, tortured, sought, and wrecked for the sake of their own happiness. I do not claim innocence, but what I do claim is a sole motivation - revenge; nothing more and nothing less. I kill because it is my purpose. I know no other life.”

He slid the knife back into its respective sheeth. They fell into silence, as the other awaited a reply.

“Why are you telling me this?”

It confounded him more than anything. He was a struggling podcaster, living in a shabby townhouse with his best friend. This man had committed acts so violent they could make the devil cry. Yet, here James was: unharmed, sympathizing, and inexplicably turned on. Regulus had stalked him, kidnapped his best friend, and broke into his house, solely because he needed someone to talk to about his shit childhood? There had to be more to it.

“I told you what I did, not because I need acceptance - but because I will be needing your tolerance. I have a proposition for you; a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Mutually beneficial? What could I need from you?”

“My story. All of it. Every morbid, dreaded detail. I want to help you tell my story on your podcast, but not the version in the press. You want authentic? I’m offering my services.”

At the moment, the success of his podcast was the last thing on his mind. What he was suggesting was so bizarre, it left him speechless. He considered himself a self-taught expert on the criminal mind, and he could not think of a singular case that included a request as abnormal as what Regulus desired. Never before had something of this calibre been done in the world of podcasting. To accept his offer, would mean implicating himself. It would also been undeniable fame and reputation. If only James still cared about that sort of thing. No, what he cared about was being brave enough to get out of the situation and get his best friend back. Maybe there was more to what he cared about, maybe there was a certain undeniable attraction rearing its head.

Peter. Peter. Peter. Focus on Peter.

“If you want your roommate back - you should want to remain on my good side, yes?”

Regulus Black could read him like a book, cover to cover. It terrified him to his bones, the way he could reach inside the depths of his mind and dissect exactly what to say in order to persuade him.

“What do you need from me?”

“In seven days, I need you to publish a part two, with my assistance. Do not ask why, that is something I will not be sharing. All I will say...is that my time is running out to set the record straight,” He stood up from where he had been leaning precariously against the wall in order to make his way back over to James. The closer he got, the more the knot in his stomach tightened. Before he could process just how close he had become, James was face to face with Regulus Black. He smelled like roses, amber, and leather. His skin was spotless, pale as snow against his black attire. James wanted to change that. He wanted to dig his teeth in and leave bruises as red as roses. Regulus’ breath was hot against his neck as he continued, “the second thing that I want - is for you to give in.”

Despite their proximity, he made no attempt to touch him. Simply the act of speaking to him on his level was enough to send James into a crisis. Morally, this was terrible, awful, inconceivably fucked up. He needed the man before him to keep speaking his beautiful words. He needed them inscribed on his skin. He needed Regulus on his skin. He hated himself for it.

“I know you. I know that your hands are shaking because you can hardly keep them to yourself. I know that you’re curious and want to know what it would be like. I know that spark in your eye isn’t innocent, and don’t think I haven’t noticed your gaze drifting. I also know that if I told you to get on your knees right now - you would.”

James choked, his mind void of everything except for the imagery those words had planted in his head.

He drew away from James, and collected himself whilst straightening his clothing. With a thump, he sat down directly beside him, sinking into the soft cushioning of James’ comforter. “I will leave and never come back, but only on one condition. You have to look me in the eye and tell me you aren’t at least a little bit curious. Don’t you want to know what the brush of my lips would feel like against your skin? Now, I would never suggest such a thing if I wasn't certain that you were interested. It is not a requirement, but if you are interested - then I suggest you opt for me to stay.”

God, James was screwed. He was so fucking screwed. The illusion of choice hung over his head like a shroud. Regulus Black had rewired his brain. Damn the curls, damn the lips, damn the fact that James could not bring himself to say no. He was expecting an answer, but James could hardly focus on moving his mouth when there was another mouth so perfectly pink and vicious before him.

“So what will it be? Look me in the eyes, sweetheart, and say it with your chest.”

A concoction of self-hatred, desperation, and desire was hard to stomach under any circumstance.

“I think you're a desperate man, Regulus Black.”

His body wanted Regulus Black, and his heart wanted his best friend back.

“Do we have an agreement?”

The words slipped from his mouth before James could stop himself.

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

One simple word. That was all it took to change the trajectory of his life forever. There was a hunger in Regulus’ eyes. It had been there before, but now it pinned James in place; like a deer in headlights. The other man leaned in so close that James could feel his breath hot against the side of his neck. He was where he needed him, close in proximity and murmuring sweet violent nothings into his skin.

“You made the right choice, follow me.”

And so he did, into the hallway and past Peter’s bedroom. The sight triggered a horrible feeling in his stomach, only worsened by the presence of the caution tape cordoning off the door. It served as a much-needed reminder of exactly what was at stake and how dangerous his current predicament was. Regulus pressed forward, not bothering to accommodate the way James lingered by his best friend’s bedroom. In his wake and with his back turned - James was able to examine him head to toe without consequence.

After descending the stairs, and passing through the living room, James noticed that he had paused at the entrance to his kitchen. It was bathed with candlelight, and the smirk on his face told him everything he needed to know; this was all one big performance, a spectacle, all for him.

“Well?”

He was impressed. Nobody had ever bothered to put in the effort quite like this before. However, nobody had been keen to persuade James to do something he didn’t want to do before. The surface of his kitchen table had been draped with a silky black tablecloth that he couldn’t help but run it between his fingers. Two decadent wine glasses sat waiting to be filled, accompanied by an expensive bottle of wine.

Knowing that someone as vicious as the man who stood studying him carefully could put together something so elegant and meaningful was chillingly beautiful. Regulus was chillingly beautiful.

“It’s…”

James couldn’t find the words, they alluded him entirely. What he was burning to say, was that it was romantic, but to perceive this as some form of fucked up romance would be destructive beyond measure. It was nothing more than an arrangement, with a few additional benefits, he reminded himself, knowing full well it was futile.

Frank’s voice rang through his mind. He would say something along the lines of: ”James, is this healthy?” or “Find some self worth.” The issue was that the man with the inky black hair and a sharp tongue made him feel inordinately alive. James had been through healthy relationships, and nothing compared to the feeling he got when Regulus bothered to spare him a moment; it was electrifying.

“Now, let us be productive.”

He settled into the furthest chair, gesturing for James to join him at the table. He then proceeded to withdrew a stack of loose papers from his pocket. Hesitantly, he sat down, and eyed the documents suspiciously; they were all neatly folded into crisp quarters, and he jumped, utterly taken aback when he recognized his own handwriting scrawled across the margins. They were his notes, every single piece of research on Regulus Black was being held by Regulus Black. He took to shredding the loose papers and in six quick tearing motions, the stack had been reduced to bits and pieces of true crime confetti.

“You won’t be needing this,” The statement was strange considering James had been under the impression that Regulus had wanted him to perform extensive research. In order to properly create a sequel, he would in fact be needing those. “Tomorrow, you will start over.”

“I need to at least know what the objective is. ”

After he poured the cherry red wine from the bottle into his glass, Regulus hummed gently, ruminating over the request. A long sip was taken before he spoke, James thought that the way his fingers wrapped around the glass so elegantly should be studied.

“I want you to defend me. Your objective is to share my story, but it doesn't end there. I need you to be on my side. An important lesson in life and history: is that the side the author is on, becomes the side public opinion is on. Media can sway society in any way the wind blows, it entirely depends on who is calling the shots,” He let that sink in, before continuing with increased intensity. “On your podcast, you call the shots. Everyone always settles for telling the easy side of the story: court rooms, police departments. But what about the road less traveled? I am referring to the side of the story that includes human nature. The way that I think…it cannot be accurately depicted by the ramblings of a law-abiding officer. The way I act should not be dictated by judges who would likely commit the same atrocities under the same duress. I am asking you to make this episode - because you have the platform, the empathy, and the knowledge. This is your objective.”

If only it was that easy. The unadulterated yearning that brewed for Regulus was undeniable. To follow him to the ends of the earth would be second nature, his grip on James’ sanity was too tight for anything lesser.

Yet, while his desire wrought havoc upon his mind, he could not bring himself to preach a violent ideology.

“I don’t know if that is something that can be faked.”

“Then find a tablespoon of truth. It deserves to be heard nevertheless.”

The two sat opposite to each other in a heated stalemate, the scales of power were tipped too far in Regulus’ favor for James’ liking. All he could do was poke and prod until he unearthed enough power to trump the other man indefinitely and get Peter back.

The digital clock on the oven flashed: 3:05 am. God, it was too early for him to process the pressure. His eyes were flickering shut against his will, and his limbs felt heavy with sleep deprivation. He rubbed his sleepy eyes with his sleeve, grateful that he hadn’t bothered undressing before slipping into bed. That would have been awkward and would have made an already dire situation increasingly horrific.

The man before him set down his glass of wine without a sound, before reaching forward to cradle his face with one hand. His thumb slowly brushed over a flushed cheek, the contact sent a torrent of shivers down his spine.

“Do you think you can do that?”

James nodded, intoxicated by the gentle caress, but it plummeted down to defeat when Regulus withdrew his hand. A thunderous crash abruptly broke the silence. It came from the basement, the loud boom quaking a few floor boards and leaving his ears raw and ringing.

“It’s about time…”

His chair slid out against the tile floor, and he rose to his full height.

“I will be leaving now. Tomorrow you will make my episode. Tomorrow night you will receive news. Do not publish the episode until you have heard directly from us,” James immediately noticed the plural pronoun. “Do not tell the cops, I will know if you do and you will come to regret it.”

“No kiss goodbye?”

A sharp tug sent him stumbling forward, and before he knew it, he was face to face with Regulus once more. He could see everything so clearly: the stone-cold gray eyes, the cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass, and the way his lips pursed in a seemingly permanent sneer; it was all so heavenly. He needed him like an addict, stumbling over his own feet for a fix. At that moment, it felt like Regulus was daring him to do it; kiss him then cry himself to sleep.

An unexpected icy sharp sting induced a strangled cry from the back of his throat. In a matter of seconds, Regulus had drawn a blade from its sheath and pressed it to his neck. It had been so quick, James hadn’t even had the time to breathe. His other hand was buried in James’ unruly hair and his fingers sank in and tugged ruthlessly. He hadn’t known what to expect - but this certainly was not it. Regulus wouldn't kill him, and with this knowledge in the palm of his hand, he let himself bask in the adrenaline rush. The pain was searing, yet bearable, and the urge to push Regulus to his breaking point was irresistible.

“Oh, so you like like me?”

Regulus’ grip on his hair relaxed as he released James from the immediate threat of his knife.

“Behave.” He snapped.

A bead of blood still rested on the knife, it was a cherry red; just like the wine that James could still smell on his breath. He licked the droplet off the glinting silver blade, and fuck, the way Regulus’ tongue moved made him see stars. It burned his lungs, his heart, and his mind with such fervent desire.

“Goodbye, James.”

The dismissal pained him, but it hadn’t been without forewarning.

As Regulus left him, closing the front door behind him with a sense of finality, the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs shook the very foundation of the townhouse. It was thunderous, and aggressive in both pace and volume. The door that opened up into the kitchen was thrown open with force capable of waking the dead. Officer McKinnon stood in the doorway, utterly distraught and looking as if she had just been dragged through the deepest pits of hell. She clutched a pistol with two hands, both of them equally coated in what James assumed was her blood. Her blonde hair was matted with dirt and blood, and the skin around her left eye was searing red and shining underneath the kitchen lights.

“Where did he go?”

All James could do was point a shaky finger towards the front door, still too elated from Regulus’ touch to process the situation in its entirety.

“Motherfucker…stay right here, do not move."

She shoved a pistol into his shaking hands. He nearly dropped it in shock. It was heavier than he had been expecting, and the gesture was rather pointless considering he would rather die than take a life.

"Take this, don’t be afraid to use it. Backup is on its way. I’m going after this son of a bitch.”

Once Marlene took off at an alarming speed, James was all alone in his house once more. It was unbearably empty without the presence of a distraction. The table was still set, his glass was still full, and the flowers still bloomed, but he could no longer think of himself as a good person. Without realizing it, he had held himself to such a standard his entire life, it was a defining trait that he took pride in. What he felt was shame; shame because the choices he had made over the past few days had been questionable at best.

As he drifted into the living room, he sat down on his couch and stared at his television; the place where it had all begun. The cozy life he had envisioned for himself was slowly crumbling before his eyes, and nothing was certain anymore.

Something Regulus had said stuck out to him: something about who says that you wouldn’t commit the same atrocities under the same duress? Well, Peter being kidnapped was one hell of a stressor. It didn’t excuse how guilty he felt for harboring such a deep attraction to someone so terrible. His feelings could not be helped, he simply had to coexist with the facts of his desire while pushing for Peter’s return and creating the dreaded episode.

Armed with a new sense of purpose, a semi-automatic, and sheer hope, he pried himself off the couch and opened his laptop with a click.

Chapter Text

It had been exactly seven hours since Regulus Black had fled, and James couldn’t afford to sit and contemplate it at the risk of his own sanity. Instead, his time was spent making a poor attempt at self-discipline at home in his studio, hunched over his papers and pens. Shockingly, researching under extreme mental distress was not a productive choice to make, and he soon found himself throwing his pen down in defeat.

Maybe a change of scenery was in order? Yes, that made sense. The surrounding walls were a constant reminder of Peter, to escape them would be good for him. Looking at the state of himself, some things had to be fixed before he stepped outside.

He took solace underneath a torrent of cold water, sequestered in the corner of his shower like a coward, scared of his own voice and mind. The water cascaded down his spine and rib cage, and as he scrubbed furiously, he pictured the lathered soap washing away the hurt and the conflict that raged beneath his skin. After thoroughly rinsing his hair, he stepped out onto the water-soaked bathmat and twisted off the tap, letting the water trickle to a stop.

The air on his bare skin was jarring, and the clinical light of the bathroom drove a piercing headache into the front of his skull. It was a small bathroom, barely big enough for a person of average height and build - but nevertheless, James managed. He wrapped a soft towel around his waist, then patted his back and chest dry absentmindedly.

In the mirror, he saw himself a bit blurry around the edges. But despite that, much was still noticeable: the eye bags sinking below concern, dark skin spanning his body, and his spiky black hair shiny with moisture.

Carefully, he applied shaving cream to cover any stubble by his chin, and brought a razor to his cheek with a shaky hand. It slid across the angles of his face, collecting the shaving cream and smoothing the skin as he dragged it across, but the pressure applied, and the unsteadiness made him reel back and hiss with pain. He let the razor clatter into the sink as he brought a hand to clutch the right side of his face and noticed the thin line of blood that was drawn across his cheek unceremoniously.

“Fuck.”

Clamping a hand over the cut, he dug around the drawers for a bandage. If the thick trickle of blood steadily forming was any indication, face wounds bled quite a bit.

In his search, as he pulled out drawers and inspected cupboards, he came across an unopened box of Spider-man themed Band-Aids. They had been Peter’s idea of a stupid comedic bit. He had picked them up during an outing in June, and of course the one time they served a purpose, Peter wasn’t there to see it.

This was catastrophic news.

Despite the fact that it was small, and seemingly insignificant, it wasn’t to James. Such an important part of their friendship had been built from inside jokes. Just thinking about it made his eyes water.

Stupid fucking Spider-Man Band-Aids.

Of all things to cry over, he thought to himself. Folding a thick wad from tissues, he patted his face dry. He could taste the salt, it stung both his eyes and the fresh cut. Dragging himself off the floor of the bathroom would be no small feat.

“Put two feet on the ground…” He muttered to himself.

After managing to stabilize himself by clutching the edge of the sink, he rose to his feet and kicked the stupid fucking box of Band-Aids in question to the other side.

In his room, he pulled on a pair of loose fitting jeans, a boxy white shirt, an old flannel, and for once in his life: his glasses. His corduroy messenger bag was slung over a bed post, contents half packed from his last trip to the library. Three books were nestled at the bottom: The Theory of Cannibalism, The Predator of Old London, and The Life & Crimes of Fenrir Grayback, were all left over from his last case. Merely reading the titles made him sick to his stomach - if there was one thing he was grateful for - it was being done with that one.

Unlike most true crime junkies, James didn't love reading. He often did it out of necessity, but Wikipedia Pages and other podcasts were always preferable. Lately, he had been visiting the library at an increasing rate. Yes, it was a bore, and it left him feeling thoroughly drained and occasionally dead inside. But he was always at his most productive; no doom-scrolling or television to pull him from his studies. Besides, it was close by, a brisk ten-minute walk, perfect.

****

It was one of those old buildings from the 70s. The architectural integrity of St. Rowena’s Library was questionable, but undeniably beautiful with its cherry red brick and blinding white pillars. Four windows graced each side, a perfect picture of symmetry. James had always thought it was exactly how libraries should look like.

At the entrance, one of the librarians was occupied applying stickers and barcodes to what James assumed were new books. He shot her a wave, but it went unnoticed as she stamped books on the top of their pages at record-breaking pace. Her tortoise-shell spectacles slid to the tip of her nose as she worked in a flurry; the woman was a machine.

“How may I help you?”

“Do you have anything on the Black brothers?”

She sighed petulantly before punching in a few keywords into her computer. The name tag on her knit sweater read “Minerva G. McGonagall - Library Clerk”

“That’s all anybody is talking about these days. It’s got everyone in hysterics; we haven't had this much interest in true crime since Riddle in 2008,“ She stood from her chair, and he couldn’t help but admire her impeccable posture as she beckoned him to follow her directions. A short few strides and shelves down, she paused. “Well, to answer your question - we do, right here.”

The selection was decent enough, and he was certain he could find at least three books to flip through. Minerva was already pulling books by their spines, carefully inspecting the titles and others. If they passed the test, she tucked them into the crook of her left arm. If not, back to the shelf they went.

“Two options to consider…Crime in the 21st century and A Study in Black. Unfortunately, it is a rather modern case, so you won’t be able to find much else.”

“Still, thank you. I appreciate it,” He said, accepting the stack of books with two hands.

“You enjoy your reading.”

With a terse smile and quick nod of the head, she turned on her heel to return to her desk. From where he stood in the true crime section, he could see that the tunnelled shelving opened up into a common study area, warmly lit with vintage lamps and long rectangular tables.

Books and bag in hand, as he walked towards the room he realized that he had completely forgotten to return the previous books, but he figured he could do that before checking out the new ones.

He settled into a plush chair, laptop cracked open and a book splayed before him. Its glossy pages depicted the faces of so many monsters. A few girls wandered in, huddled around each other, shoulder to shoulder, the ends of their scarves swung as they walked, and the sharp chatter filled the otherwise silent library.

His finger slid across the pages of A Study in Black, tracing the words and lines like they were delicate. The book was divided in many parts; each section was either dedicated to a family member or victim, or to the grim history surrounding the case. Flipping through the pages, he spotted head titles for Walburga Black, Orion Black, Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, and so many more. It was a graveyard of people scorned and cursed to never heal from the traumas of their upbringing - only to die at the hand of someone they likely had perceived to be a child - also in the midst of his own upbringing.

Crime scene photos littered the pages: white and gold floral sheets soaked through with blood, fresh white pillow cases turned gory and macabre, and close up shots of the dripping red lettering left behind at the crime scene were all documented on pages one hundred through one hundred and eleven. A few family photos littered page thirty, poised and regal, stiff and sordid; the Black family was terrifying to behold. The photos were all in black and white, a few were even taken presumably before the birth of Regulus or Sirius.

The black and white became blurry, his head lowering to the table despite his best efforts. The flicker of his eyelids was his last warning before he found himself succumbing to an involuntary fit of sleep from the hours of exhaustion.

****

“Miss me?”

James’ hand were pinned above him, pressed into a pillow by the strong grip of a trained killer. With his unoccupied hand, he traced a finger down James’ neck, teasing along the fabric of his neckline, leaving a trail of shivers in his wake.

“More than you know.”

He wasn’t sure where he was. It wasn’t his bedroom, but it was familiar. All that really mattered though was that he was right where he wanted to be; hanging on by a thread and on the verge of seeing stars.

“Then what are you waiting for,” He tilted his head to the side cheekily. “Ah, scared you might like it?”

“Scared I might love it, actually.”

He released his clutch on his wrists, and moved underneath the hem of his shirt, his cold hands exploring the new expanse of skin.

“Hardly a reason not to indulge,” At the contact, James found himself unable to control the movement of his body. He pressed into Regulus, chasing release without a second thought. “Besides…look at yourself,” His hands travelled up, then they travelled down, and down, and down. “Such a mess…a beautiful, lovely, mess; and you’re all mine for the taking. I’d be insane to decline”

“Then why wait? Take me.”

He paused. “I don’t know…are you going to be good for me, James?” That small string of words drew a restrained cry from his mouth. “ I know you’re going to be so, so, good.”

Unexpectedly, Regulus’s hands never did slip below his hips. Instead, he hooked his mouth to his neck and dug his teeth in. His tongue travelled down his neck, leaving small bite marks as he went.

“Do you feel it? The way we were meant for each other? I feel it,” Drawing away, Regulus sat up to admire him. “So, so strongly.”

James wasn’t satisfied. He was breaking, slowly yet surely, and matters had to be taken into his own hands. Holding him by the shirt collar, he sent him crashing into the mattress, flipping their positions before Regulus could realize what had happened. His eyes were incredulous, staring up at him in a sick twist of rage and desire.

“I’ll….” He sputtered.

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I’m counting on it.”

****

Jesus Christ.

Shaking himself awake, he brushed off the pencil shavings that had managed to fall into his lap. He blinked groggily, adjusting to reality slowly but surely. After repositioning the strap of his messenger bag and collecting his things, he wandered back towards the entrance of the library, set on checking out his books and decidedly not thinking about what had transpired in his mind minutes earlier. Clearly, the change of scenery hadn’t done its job.

Minerva waved at him, beckoning him over with a warm smile, but just as he approached the desk, his ringtone buzzed from his back pocket. An unknown number was calling his cellphone. His heart jumped at the possibility that it could be Regulus.

When he swiped accept, a level and calm voice was on the other line; a voice he immediately recognized as belonging to Detective Lupin.

“Hello, Mr. Potter.

“Hi…”

“You are at St. Rowena’s, yes?”

“Yes, why?”

“In my hands, I am holding a videotape; addressing the police force and seemingly…you.”

“Oh.”

“How long do you think it would take you to get to the police department?”

He quickly pulled up a bus schedule, hastily selecting routes on Google Maps.

“Twenty-five minutes tops?”

“Good. I’ll see you then,” He paused briefly. “Oh, and James-”

“Yes?”

“Be careful.”

Chapter Text

The police station was even busier than it had been two days earlier. He had been ushered inside by the firm hand of the front desk lady. She led him past the drunks and teenage delinquents squatting in the blue plastic waiting room chairs. Her face was grim, steeled in a way that made him wonder what exactly awaited him down the hallway.

“They are waiting for you down there. Not in the room where you were last time, further. You have to go all the way. Headquarters will be on your left.”

“Oh, okay.”

He replied, rather shook by her serious tone.

Just like she said, once he reached the end of the hallway, he found himself standing in front of a glass door that led directly into a large office space. He peered through the glass, fully aware that snooping at a police station was a terrible idea. But he wasn’t really snooping, was he? He had been told to intrude. From what he could see there were three floor levels, each one of them swarming with officers, agents, and the occasional belligerent journalist following closely on their heels. They huddled around desks, and walked so quickly between labs and stations, James could hardly catch a single face. Upon entering, it was clear that exactly none of them had slept; the seven cups of coffee in a singular cubicle was the first indicator. The wide-eyed shaky hands of the people rushing around him was the second.

After a quick survey of the third level, he spotted the detective stepping out of the conference room to examine his wristwatch; his forehead wrinkling with worry until he spotted James amongst the chaos. Lupin straightened the collar of his jacket before beckoning him over with urgency. James hurried to greet him, unfortunately fully aware of the way people eyed him curiously. It was odd to be inserted into a world he had devoted his life to researching in theory. No learning from his crime documentaries, podcast, or reading could prepare him for seeing the system in practice.

“Mr. Potter… I cannot tell you how glad I am that you made it here safely. We have much to discuss. Please sit, the others will join us shortly.” He followed Detective Lupin inside, grateful for the chance to take a seat. He drummed his fingers across the end of the table, shifting anxiously back and forth. It was a simplistic set up, just a stark white table with fifteen chairs and two large whiteboards covered colour coded maps and papers.

“How is McKInnon? The last time I saw her, she was in rough shape.”

“Oh, Marlene is fine. Healing in hospital but eager to return. Of course, that won’t be for a while. She will likely have to jump through a few hoops before she is able to be out in the field.”

They weren’t alone for long. A flood of people entered carrying briefcases and taped off cardboard boxes that were promptly set to the side. James was drawn to a certain few, notably the woman with the slicked back red hair and warm smile. Remus stood abruptly and joined her at the head of the table. Next to him, her quiet confidence was impenetrable as she stood and surveyed those before her as every last one of them sat down.

“Hello everyone. Before we begin, I would just like to thank all of you for your consistent effort and understanding during this difficult time. We are all officers of the law, but you have all demonstrated your determination and your care for the community we protect. This will not be overlooked.“ Detective Lupin began, addressing the crowd. “First and foremost, I would like to introduce somebody who will be working closely with us. This is Agent Evans: former crown attorney, and current INTERPOL agent, who has followed the Black case closely through Europe.”

“Thank you, Remus. I am hoping we can successfully work together towards a common goal.”

It was brief, but just like the detective, her words held weight.

“As many of you are aware, we received a rather concerning message this morning. It is imperative that this news does not leave the station, so only a select few of you will be briefed on the full situation. After all, press involvement at this stage could be catastrophic. In this tape, Regulus Black references his cousin and his only surviving victim, Bellatrix Lestrange,” He pointed to a blown up image tacked to the whiteboard. Despite having seen photos of Regulus’ and Sirius’ cousin, her deranged energy sent a chill up his spine; and not of the pleasant kind. “She is currently in custody for her own protection. We managed to charge her for illegal possession of a firearm to prolong her stay, but really all that matters is making sure Regulus and Sirius Black never come in contact with her. She is the target, and all of their efforts and violent acts will be focused on finishing what they started.”

Remus said, while Agent Evans nodded along in agreement.

“Remus…the tape please.”

The expressions clouding the faces of Toronto’s Metropolitan Department were strained, dreading what they were about to hear. With the click of a mouse, the room was filled with the sound of a voice James had grown all too familiar with.

“Hello, Lupin. I have a proposition, and it starts with a little friend of mine. His name is Peter Pettigrew. If you want to see him drawn and quartered like a pig, then you can stop the tape now. Believe me, hostages are exhausting, it would bring me pleasure to end his life right here, right now. But if you prefer him alive, you will listen and comply with my demands. I’m not asking for much, all I want is to talk. After all, we have much to discuss; like our pending arrangement where you will inevitably hand over my cousin in exchange for poor Peter Pettigrew. First, you must join me for a dinner. I have a reservation for four at 11pm, 34 Oak Street. Oh, and in case it wasn’t implied: if you send anyone other than Lupin and Potter, my brother will shoot your officers. If Lupin and Potter do not attend, my brother will shoot Peter Pettigrew. Send my love to James…that is all.”

Absolute silence settled over the crowd. James didn’t know what to think, in fact he momentarily forgot how to think. His heart beat a million miles per second as he pictured Regulus recording the clip. What had he been wearing? What had he been doing? How did he manage to find the time to record what was essentially a ransom note without leaving a trace? Between breaking into people’s houses and kidnapping their best friends, James doubted that left one with much free time.

It hit him then; he really would be face to face with Regulus Black once more; tipping on the edge between giving in and fighting the urge to jump his bones. Maybe this was his chance? To not only feel the thrill of it all, but to get his best friend back. There was a hole in his heart without him. Despite what he had said, James was positive that he wouldn’t hurt Peter. Regulus had to be aware that the loss of Peter’s life was not part of their arrangement.

“We have 3 hours to prepare for something we are wholly unprepared for,” Lupin continued, hands clasped together in front of him. “After some serious deliberation, we have decided to comply with the demands of Regulus Black. There is no precedence that indicates he will kill Peter Pettigrew, but we have decided to err on the side of caution. Be ready in three hours, we have two killers to catch.”

Chairs scraped against the ground as they all gathered their affairs and filtered back out through the door. He looked to the detective and Agent Evans expectantly, itching for an explanation.

“James, please stay a moment.”

Lily Evans provided. The officers had cleared out, presumably delegating themselves with newfound tasks and fears. All that remained was the three of them, and James wasn’t planning on wasting a single second.

“I’m going. I know you are probably going to try to stop me, but I-”

Lupin extended a hand to his shoulder, urging him to breathe deeply before continuing.

“Slow down. It is not that simple.”

James knew logically this was true. He just couldn’t bring himself to care because to him, it truly did seem that simple. The decision was second nature; he couldn’t and wouldn’t accept any alternatives.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he needed to help so badly. Maybe it was the complete and utter helplessness he felt at the mere mention of his best friend, or maybe it was for far more shameful reasons. All he knew, was that he needed to see Regulus Black again. The timing wasn’t ideal, hell, James hadn’t even recorded the episode. But if it meant being subject to that blood-curdling glare once more - he was willing to suffer the consequences.

“Unless you were to choose to go of your own volition. Which would mean consenting to every risk, and understanding that the force is not liable.”

His heart leapt. It was actually happening, and he would be ready. Not only for the reception of the onslaught of searing touches and delicately spoken words, but this time around, he would also be ready for rebuttal.

“Yes! Of course. There’s just one thing I need from home.”

Something that was black, fully loaded, and belonged to Marlene Mckinnon.

Chapter Text

Sitting inside a cop car was not his idea of a perfect Friday night. Instead, he wouldrather be sitting on his living room couch next to Peter, indulging in a true crime or sports documentary with his mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies. James had passed that point in his life long ago. Maybe he had jumped at the chance to join Lupin prematurely. He tended to do that; not think things through carefully enough before leaping into action. The heavy weight in his pocket was only further proof of that. When he had suggested they make a stop at his home, it had been out of some guttural survival instinct; a need to defend himself for what was to come. As he tapped his fingers along the dashboard anxiously, the sheer stupidity of illegally possessing a firearm in the direct presence of law enforcement had begun to sink in.

From the passenger seat, he peered out the window. People milled about the sidewalk, umbrellas brushed past each other as puddles splashed up pant legs. The rain was coming down hard, pummelling against the window and dripping down the car windows in teardrops. Remus sat stoic in the driver's seat. He stared into the distance, unblinking. James could tell he was off in his head somewhere, running through the endless list of scenarios they were about to face. The cigarette dangling from his fingers lazily was the only thing at ease about him. He glanced at the time on the dashboard, and hastily unbuckled his seatbelt before rolling the window down to toss the cigarette out with a flick of his wrist.

He turned to James, his brow creased with worry.

“You don’t have to do this.”

He was well aware of that fact, and yet - it would feel wrong to be anywhere else. He had been drawn here, tugged along by some invisible string that was strong as steel. Lupin was digging for a withdrawal. He wanted to hear James withdraw his consent and scurry back to the comfort of his own home; leaving no room for legal debate or dispute about the methods of his renowned department. If he had half an idea of who James Potter was, he would know better than to expect him to back down.

“I want to.”

It was the truth. If he was being honest with himself, the desire to be subject to Regulus’ affection was ruling his decisions. He had been itching to take action for days - sick of sitting around playing cat and mouse while loosing his best friend in the process. The podcast still wasn’t ready but hell, if Regulus wanted it to be, then James would have it done and recorded by the end of the night.

He looked down at his clothes. It was hardly appropriate for the establishment they were about to enter. Even from the car window, the building, which he now recognized as a hotel, was enormous; at least fifty stories. Valet parking was the only option presented at the doors, but he supposed travelling in a police car could be the exception to the rule because Remus simply pulled over to the side of the curb before parking.

“Do you remember the ground rules?”

The two of them had gone over any and all important information about how the night would go several hours before stepping into the vehicle. Really, it was less of a discussion and more of a lecture delivered by the detective.

“Never let it get personal. Under no circumstances should you let him direct the conversation. Our priority is Peter. And if I tell you to get the hell out of there, you get the hell out; no questions asked.” He reiterated from their earlier conversation while exiting the car, and James had no choice but to nod empathetically and follow suit.

He trailed behind him, trying to copy Remus’ casual professionalism instead of giving in to his normal fast-paced caffeine induced jitters. It was certainly ostracizing to walk amongst people in suits, ties, and what James perceived to be expensive dresses. Seeing the men and women who did much more important things with their lives then produce half baked true crime episodes for a living bruised his ego to an extent. But then again, none of them had Regulus Black wrapped around their pinkie finger, he thought to himself smugly.

The entrance was a revolving glass doors that opened up into an expansive ballroom-style reception hall and lobby. If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought he was dreaming. Despite the incredulous expression on James’ face, Lupin seemed unperturbed and hastily whipped back around to drag James forward through the crowd with him.

“Can your face be any more expressive?”

“Yes, actually. Where are we going again?”

All he got in response was a half-hearted grumble of frustration as the detective continued to shove his way through the endless sea of socialites and businesspersons. The front desk came into their view, and Lupin pushed right past the line - displaying his badge in explanation. James trailed behind, apologizing profusely to the large family stuck waiting behind them.

Propping his elbows on the desk, Remus launched into detail.

“Hello, my name is Detective Lupin with the Toronto Metropolitan police department, and we have reason to believe two wanted individuals have been staying at this location for the past five days. We can get a warrant, but unless you want the blood of an innocent man on your hands, I suggest we keep this simple. All I need is to access your logs from the past week.”

James basked in the attention that was being drawn to them as people peered over shoulders to get a better look.

The man at the front desk leaned forward to examine the badge skeptically, but after a few moments of consideration, he replied in a hushed whisper.

“What are the names of the individuals you are looking for?”

“Regulus and Sirius Black.”

He froze momentarily before clicking a few keys and flipping the large computer around for the two of them to see for themselves.

“Two persons under the initials R.A.B and S.O.B checked into room 375 on Sunday, 7am.”

“Thank you.”

James offered, but Remus quickly interrupted with an additional question.

“And where might the hotel bar be located?”

“Excuse me?”

“The bar.”

He furrowed his brows and looked between the two of them in utter confusion. James was equally concerned about the line of investigation.

“That is a separate establishment. It’s down the hall to your left.”

He shot an arm out to indicate where they should head off and returned to address the growing line of impatient hotel guests.

“Thank you.”

James called after him once more as he was dragged by the sleeve of his jacket to the…bar?

Was it strange that Lupin was inquiring about bars during a sensitive criminal ambush operation? Yes. His gut still told him to trust his judgement. He really didn’t have any other option.

“Have they been here this whole time?”

James leaned in to whisper to Lupin as the two of them strode down the busy hallway filled with rushing couples and thundering suitcases.

It made sense logically that they had been. How the two brothers could stay undetected anywhere in the densely packed streets of Toronto was beyond him. A part of him had thought they were sequestered in some shady run down motel no worse than a jail cell - passing their days away in misery and boredom. He had seemingly been mistaken though. Instead of misery and boredom, they had hotel room service and nightly champagne while they toasted to killing their parents. At least - James envisioned it that way. It was disappointing to think that nobody had said anything - but money is power and if those library biographies had told him anything it was the Black’s valued nothing more but power and money; and they had loads of it.

“I wouldn’t put it past them.”

They stalled upon reaching a new sign in big gold lettering. Spanning the overhead, it read “The Gold Sparrow”. Even with James’ apparent minimal observation tactics he knew this was the bar in question. It had Black brothers written all over it. His only question was how Remus had deduced to come there.

Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit with the orange cadence of candle and lamp light. The couches and chairs were royal blue and red, and velvet soft to the touch. It was a curated space from the jazzy instrumental music to the maximalist framing of dozens of painting along one wall.

It was decently packed too. James scanned the full tables and his heart sank. If they really were here, this many people didn’t bode well for any party involved.

“Hi, we have a reservation for four, under the name R.A.B.”

“For sure, follow me please.”

While passing, James reached for the bowl of lollipops but Lupin swatted his hand down immediately.

“Focus.”

He reprimanded him sharply, but not unkindly.

‘Follow me this way, please.”

They trailed behind the hostess at a fair distance, taking in every emergency exit and suspicious looking persons.

As they walked, his heart beat in rapid succession with the anticipation of being next to Regulus Black again. The last time he had seen him, it had been slow and seductive but quiet. But god, all James wanted was full throttle. He wanted that knife pressed to his throat again, and again, and again. He could just picture it: he would kneel in front of him, render him speechless, make his sweet eyes grow wide as he would gasp in between thrusts into-

Patience wasn’t a strength for him, and neither were mind games. Regulus had teased him so suggestively that he get stupid for doubting his chances. But the fire underneath it all could just be a ruse to string James along, and he had to keep that in mind. There was no certainty that it was real, but if it really wasn’t an act then James woulds aside any inhibitions, publish that intrepid useless episode, and finally succumb to the promises Regulus had made days earlier when they had first met.

In hindsight, he should have known better than to expect the expected because it was certainly not Regulus Black who was leaning against the table, casually flicking a lighter on and off sequentially.

The hostess gestured politely to the table, then ran off to attend to some other client on the other side of the bar.

“Hi boys.”

Even in a room full of people, Sirius Black demanded attention like a true showman. Of course, there were striking similarities between him and his brother; that was what he made it obvious. But other than their uncannily similar features, they could not be any more different. Sirius wore only a black mesh shirt as a top, presenting a series of large patchwork tattoos that covered his chest in its entirety. His jeans sagged at his hips in a way that would absolutely look terrible on anyone other than him, and his hair was messily secured in a knot at the top of his head. Regulus had a polished air to how he presented himself, primarily to disguise his cold behaviour as professionalism to the onlooker. Meanwhile, Sirius reminded James vaguely of a wild animal from the way he was looking Lupin up and down in a way that could be considered downright lewd.

Lupin didn’t bother replying to the greeting. He just slipped into the booth opposite to Sirius with a stern glare fixated on the other man. He sat down beside the detective, wringing his hands out anxiously underneath the table.

The silent game they had begun was unnerving to James. He was itching to do something, say something. Sirius was inspecting him from across the table. It was a knowing look because of course he knew. He probably knew everything from his mother’s name to his favourite colour. Regulus would have surely told him every weakness, every act, every slip up, and every detail his sharp mind had perceived from their time together. With that knowledge eating at his conscience, he steeled himself for what would come next.

“I’m sorry-am I making you nervous, detective?”

Sirius teased.

“Hardly.”

He retaliated. Except James knew better than to believe that.

“Hm.”

Nobody passing by their table detected the animosity in the air. They were too busy rushing by with dishes and cocktails to notice anything unusual. Nobody inside the establishment knew what kind of danger they were in, and it made his stomach knot and twist with guilt and unease; at the minimum they deserved a warning.

“Wonderful! Let’s begin.”

Sirius clasped his hands together, eagerly addressing the other two with an expression that could only be described as gleeful.

“Very well. I have a question,” Lupin began. James noted how he was trying to lead the conversation in a direction that would be productive to their cause; it restored the slightest bit of faith in his heart. “Why Peter? Out of everyone in this town, why him?”

“People do things without motive all the time, darling.”

While that may be true, James knew what he was doing. Just like Remus had warned him, he was answering every question cryptically as a blatant attempt to kill time and provoke a reaction; just like his brother did so frequently.

“You are not one of those people. So I am going to ask again: why, and where is he?”

Sirius frowned petulantly.

“Normally, men buy me drinks before asking where I keep my hostages.”

His complete indifference was infuriating, and he could tell that Lupin was bordering on loosing his collected facade.

“So you are keeping him hostage then?”

“Yes, we are,” He leaned forward and propped his elbows up on the table to get even closer. ““Would you like me to keep you hostage too, detective?”

Unbelievably, Lupin’s cheeks flushed a deep red and he sputtered to muster an answer.

“You’re sick.”

He finally replied with restrained astonishment.

“I know,” Casually, Sirius uncorked the top of the water jug and poured out three waters before continuing. “I would like to play a game with the two of you. Do you like games?”

He ran a finger distractedly along the rim of his glass as he spoke.

“No.”

Lupin answered, staring Sirius down with fervour.

“Oh, that’s too bad. Do you know why?” His pout twisted into a grin. “‘Because I have a bomb.”

James felt like sobbing. The last five words Sirius had spoken lingered in his head and sent a cold wave through his body. It was a feeling of complete hopelessness, and the weight of this new knowledge was crushing. He knew it would be dangerous, but this kind of risk had been overlooked and for good reason; there was no precedent. He knew enough about criminal behaviour to understand that a vigilante killer does not become a bomber overnight. They had been hopeful, and foolish, and now an entire building would pay for it. He knew deep down in his chest that he would rather die than be partially responsible for the loss of innocent lives, and it wasn’t a hardship to solidify in his mind that he would be prepared to resort to and sacrifice nearly anything to prevent that from happening.

“Here is a little…preview of how tonight is going to go. You can listen right detective? You can be a good boy and follow all the rules for me?

Sirius preened eagerly, twirling a lock of hair around his finger.

“We are listening.”

Lupin replied, serious as ever. James could see the wheels turning in his head once more.

“Excellent. You have one-hour to call your friends and bring Bellatrix Lestrange to me. By 11:00, she must be let inside, alone, and given to me,” His demands struck James as peculiar. There was something dramatized about the way they were going about pursuing Bellatrix, it was completely unlike them. “Oh! And here’s the fun part: If you can’t make that happen - then I will set off the bomb, blow this place to the fucking ground, kill everyone here, and slaughter your best friend like a pig,” James felt like he could hardly breathe. “ I suggest you start with the phone call.” He whispered cheekily and shot Remus a quick wink.

Everything had escalated so quickly, James felt like everything was collapsing around him. A bomb was absurd, uncalled-for. There was truly nothing in their past that indicated that they would harm anyone other than family. They had never used bombs before. It all felt like a performance. He assured himself that Lupin was calculating every risk they were going to have to take to get out of there alive, keep the people inside safe, and still get Peter back; but he could not envision a way that the night would work in their favour.

Lupin dug out his cellphone and turned over his shoulder to make the call. James was fairly certain that he remembered James attaching a mic to his person before they left so hopefully the department had found out when they did and the call was just to stall and please Sirius. Ideally, they would send out RCMP special agent bomb technicians and evacuate the building was James wasn’t certain they had the time, or opportunity to do so.

After several minutes of hushed whispering, Remus withdrew the phone from his ear and turned back around.

“We will comply. My officers are bringing her as we speak.”

Was that the truth? James felt blindsided by it all. It was plausible that there were no other options, and in his heart he almost felt like it was the just thing to do. Prioritizing the life of a mad woman over the safety of hundreds was illogical - but he was also aware that there was a legal responsibility to balance the odds and resolve every loose aspect; Bellatrix Lestrange included.

“Wonderful. Now that we have that settled, can you tell the redhead over by the bar to get lost?”

James hadn’t even noticed her presence, but sure enough, Agent Evans dressed in plainclothes had been stationed at the bar nursing a drink in one hand and propping up a newspaper in the other.

“Evans, stand down.”

There had indeed been a mic because she gathered her jacket under one arm and her clutched her purse with a white-knuckled grip. She stared straight down the aisle, not sparing a single moment of hesitation. The woman was a wonder, James marvelled.

“Thanks for playing, darling.”

Sirius blew her a kiss as she passed on her way out, and James couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose with contempt. She was not darling, and neither was she a piece of meat worth ogling at.

“So, while we wait for my cousin and her entourage, why don’t you tell me about yourself, Remus,” He took a long sip of water before elaborating. “Is it true that you are the youngest detective in Canada?”

James actually hadn’t been aware of this fact. It wasn’t exactly surprising, but it seemed like a title that was worth boasting about, and yet Remus had done no such thing.

“Yes, that is true.”

“Fascinating!”

Sirius exclaimed.

“Tell me about your boyfriend.”

Despite the personal inquiry, Remus remained unaffected. James didn’t like the direction the conversation was going. It was too closely related in subject to the secret infatuation he had been keeping from the detective.

“Don’t have one.”

“Tell me about your girlfriend, then.”

Sirius was obviously gunning for a reaction. He thrived off of watching Lupin squirm with discomfort.

“I don’t have one of those either.”

“Tell me about your ex-girlfriend.”

Just like his brother, this man was unspeakably perceptive and intelligent. In all honesty, James had to admit that the stories and rumours of him being insane and raddled from years of drugs, jail time, and abuse, seemed to be somewhat unfounded. He was intrusive and obstructive, barrelling down the subconscious walls of a detective with the same ease Regulus did. Except, Regulus was more discreet in the way he went about dissecting the mind, while Sirius basked in it.

“Hit a soft spot?” He grinned ruthlessly. “Fine, we can move on. Although, I personally believe that whatever she had to offer, I am tenfold. But I rest my case. After all, we still have…” He checked the chunky silver watch that hugged his wrist. “Fourty-five minutes. Let’s talk about something different: something intriguing and interesting.”

“Excuse me a moment-”

Lupin pushed past him in a rush and disappeared into the back of the bar at astonishing speed. James hardly had time to process he was leaving before he was out of sight. His heart plummeted, and alarm bells were sounding in his head like never before. Remus had told him that he wouldn’t be left alone. All that faith he had placed in him was circling down the drain, and he just couldn’t grasp why the detective had chosen to excuse himself. Sirius seemed relatively unaffected and unfazed, but what if he hadn’t been? Now, he was alone, fending for himself in a loosing battle. James didn’t want to know what Remus was doing, he just prayed that it would be worth the ordeal of facing the fear that coursed through his body.

“‘Where is Peter-”

It was a desperate reach to regain control, and it failed miserably.

“Oh, would you shut up? This isn’t about Peter. Hell, it isn’t even about bringing Bellatrix here.”

Sirius lazily popped a mint into his mouth and let himself sink into the bench. James was taken aback by the sudden shift in demeanour. He had always been relatively relaxed and unbothered, but he was behaving like they were sitting in a theatre instead of a bar catering to socialites and business owners.

Is the podcast ready?”

He asked, lowering his voice ever so slightly.

“No but-”

“Oh good lord. Finish the fucking podcast and release it in the morning. Just don’t-”

Before he could finish his counselling, the sound of a gunshot rang out through the bar. Shrill screams were quick to follow, along with numerous heads whipping around to get a glimpse before they were pushed to the exit by the growing crowd elbowing each other to be amongst the first out the door and away from danger.

“Take that gun out of your pocket.”

“What-”

“Put it on the table and I promise I won’t lay a finger on Peter Pettigrew.”

He hesitantly placed the revolver on the table, unsure where this was going.

Sirius and James sat unmoving in the midst of the chaos, gun sitting abandoned on the table. His mind was on the brink of jumping to numerous horrific conclusions when Remus came darting around the corner, sweat dropping from his face while blood poured from his left eyelid. A scar had split open, revealing a grim wound that sliced across his right cheek. Initially, James was too shocked by the pressure of holding an automatic weapon and being greeted with a sight like Remus Lupin: bloody and unhinged, but he soon realized that he was not only seething with rage, but he was clutching Regulus Black by the neck and hauling him forward with sheer brute force. Regulus was limp like a rag doll,l and for a fleeting moment he let out a choked cry, thinking that he had been the one shot at. However, the closer Lupin dragged him, the more clear it became that he had just given in. Regulus was submitting himself to being dragged across the floor like a dead man, and Sirius was laughing. The way he cackled was manic and disturbed on too many levels. All James knew was that Sirius Black's laugh would haunt his sleep.

“A bomb needs a detonation device if you’re playing with dependent variables.”

Lupin dug around his jacket pocket and produced a small switch.

“It also needs somebody to set it off.”

Regulus let himself fall completely slack, slipping out of Lupin’s loosened grip. With lethal speed, he grabbed a glass bottle from the trolley parked just inches away, and smashed it over Lupin’s head - glass flying everywhere from the impact of the collision. Despite the glass embedded in his forehead, Lupin was still two times his size and quickly restrained him once more.

It was at that moment that he realized that the demonic laughing had subsided. He whipped around, but the older Black brother had completely vanished along with Marlene’s gun.

“Shit. Lupin…”

James warned, rising to approach the detective.

“Lupin!”

Regulus was still thrashing violently, trying to throw Remus off his balance.

“Sirius is gone.”

“Don’t care. Somebody else will handle it.”

Lupin wrenched Regulus’ hands free and secured them behind his back in cuffs. He grunted with the effort of shoving him out into the hotel lobby.

“Help me bring him outside.”

Through the rainy drizzle the police cruiser lights flashed, illuminating the streets of Toronto in a sea of red and blue, accompanied by the sharp whine of sirens and harsh skidding of firetrucks and ambulances coming to a stop. They lit up Regulus’ face in a way that was stunningly beautiful, and James couldn’t help but stare in awe as he was being dragged away. The noise was deafening: voices shouted curses in his direction, sirens wailed, and the rain poured. They wrapped people in warm blankets and ushered them to sit in the back of paramedic vans.

Something was not right. The soft smile that played across Regulus’ lips, the arched brow that he had grown so accustomed to seeing when a truly wicked idea had crossed his mind - it was there once again. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but it did not bode well. The arrest had been too easy and frankly, his heart felt like it had been beaten with a sledgehammer. All fiery hope of a love affair had been extinguished in one fell swoop. Now all he had to do was publish the episode. Sirius would get caught. The two of them would be extradited to Europe, then charged and convicted for life. It could very well be the last time he would ever see him, he thought to himself.

Just metres away, Regulus Black was ducking inside a cop car, grinning ear to ear. James couldn’t bear the sight of it. All’s well, he reassured himself, but it did nothing to quell the somber feeling emanating from his gut. Acting on a whim, he sprinted over to where Regulus was being held and wrenched the door open. Regulus’ eyes grew wide, and at that moment James knew that this was the plan all along. He seized the collar of his shirt and yanked him upright into a blur of a kiss.

“Reggie-”

He gasped against his lips, pulling him closer until the two were tangled in a mess of limbs. It was wonderfully fucked up, and James couldn’t get enough of it. The outside world didn’t exist to James when he was being kissed with enough fervour to kill a man. His body craved more, but his heart could hardly handle a single kiss, knowing that it might be the last. It didn’t last long. As soon as Regulus drew away, James could feel his heartbreaking.

“Publish the episode.”

He kissed his cheek and ducked back into the cop car, leaving James standing stunned in the rain; soaked to the bone from the rain. The feeling of the kiss still lingered on his lips, but without a doubt James knew that the rain would wash the memories away like a dead man to shore.

“

Chapter Text

James slept fitfully that night. His body tossed and turned with such intensity, there was hardly any room for sleep to creep in. Under no circumstances could he shut his eyes when his mind was the most active it had been in ages. The horrific conclusions and devastating consequences it was drawing left him feeling hollow and dull with a slow, achy heart alone in a darkened bedroom; the first place he had been struck by the peculiar beauty of a particular monstrous man in black.

His thoughts were as follows:

1. The podcast just wasn’t fucking good enough. The moment James had arrived home, he had sat down in his office and worked diligently over his notes and microphone until his voice was hoarse from a two-hour-long recording session. The file was uploading on his desktop and after quickly stealing a glance at his alarm clock, he figured it would likely be ready within the hour. He was frankly ashamed of what he had produced. At its core, it was the original episode, content-wise at least, but it was dripping with pity and the most bullshit philosophical questions on morality and life an amateur could muster. He tried treating the matter of blatant psychopathy and sociopathy with delicate empathy and kindness instead of cold facts and truths. It made him want to hurl into the microphone. And yet, it had to be done in order for Regulus to fulfill his promises; for the sake of Peter, and James’ libido. How he could fulfill his promises in a jail cell - James wasn’t certain, but instinctually he was compelled to follow the stupid fucker’s instructions.
2. James was no longer a good person. He should be thankful that a mass murderer had been arrested, after all, it was for the greater good that Regulus Black would be locked up away from society in some french maximum security prison. The man was not stupid, he should have known he couldn’t keep offing his family for the rest of his life. It struck James as curious how he couldn’t even name another family member the brothers could possibly go after. They had annihilated nearly every member of their family. Finally, after all the tears, blood, and gore, had their purpose been fulfilled?
3. He wondered what Sirius Black was doing.

“Probably something illegal,” He muttered under his breath petulantly before rolling over to his left side.

Now, that man was unpredictable: a loose cannon ready to fire at the very command of his brother. He was nothing if not a loyal man, James begrudgingly had to respect that. That was partially why he couldn’t comprehend why he had fled. Then there was the fact that he now had Marlene’s gun in his possession. James cursed under his breath, he would be beating himself up over that for years to come; if he even managed to survive up until that point.

He pulled on a fresh set of clothing, grateful to be shedding the old ones with a scent so strong of berries, wine, and smoke it clung to his skin. It would take years to wash Regulus from his life, no matter how much he scrubbed or chucked items of clothing in corners. No, it would take a lifetime. He sat down to reposition is already wonky glasses and stared blankly into the middle of his bulletin board. He ripped off the pins like bandaids - but the wounds were still wide open. Hastily gathering the previously pinned loose papers under one arm, and shoved them into the depths of one of several discarded dust ridden bins.

James brushed his teeth, slowly and methodically, then scrubbed his face clean and patted it dry in a daze. The touch of even his own skin reminded him too much of the way his face had been cupped, the way their lips had crashed together in a hot mess.

It was all too cold without him. His home was freezing - even colder than usual. Slipping on an old varsity hoodie, he set about going downstairs and facing the consequences of the previous night. It would be splattered all over the news.

James didn’t quite feel alive. There was a physical presence he could sense within himself, but his conscious was floating on a storm cloud far out of reach.

The stairwell creaked under his feet with every step he took. He was more than accustomed to the noises sudden pressure triggered on the weak old wood. What he wasn’t accustomed to, was the high-pitched voice of a woman coming from his living room. Immediately, he was overcome with a deep and ominous dread.

Maybe he had forgotten to shut off the television last night? Except, that couldn’t be because he had worked for hours in his office then crashed into his bed without sparing the TV or the remote a single glance. He has been afraid to witness what they were saying about the bomb threat and arrest at the Black Sparrow. Surely, the TV must have turned itself on - a miraculous fluke! Yet, he stood frozen in the middle of the staircase just in case; his ears alert to detect the slightest rustle but none came.

When he turned at the bottom of the stairwell, his heart jumped inside his chest as he sputtered in total disbelief. His vision was spotty and his stomach coiled unpleasantly at the sight before him. Oh, he was pissed: frustrated, enraged, and terrified out of his mind to see Sirius Black taking up space in his living room. Apparently, the Black brothers had a thing for making themselves at home after breaking and entering.

He was dressed in a simple black tee and lounged across the sofa as if the place belonged to him. His legs were slung over one arm of the couch, and he clutched a large copy of the newest “Daily Prophet”; a paper James had long discontinued his subscription from.

The other man peeked out from the side of his newspaper to observe James’ presence and flashed him a grin.

“Well, don’t just stand there.”

He could feel his own heart pounding, but he forced himself to maintain a brave face.

“Hi, Sirius! How are you? I’m wonderful, thank you so much for asking,” He mocked him, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Honestly, James. Where are your manners?”

He carefully made his way over to the eldest Black brother, walking purposefully and slowly, as if he was treading on broken glass. Sirius was absorbed in the newspaper once more, making faces of varied levels of displeasure and disgust. The TV was still droning on, and Sirius made a point of gesturing at Skeeter.

“Miserable woman, she is,” James just nodded silently in agreement. “All of them are.”

Before he could muster a rebuttal, the other man kept going.

“But they won’t all be for long. Isn’t that right, James? You’re going to change that for us. What are you at now? 6 million followers? That ought to do just fine.”

He had to rip the band aid off and get it over with. He was looking at him expectantly, as if this was his cue to go on and publish the damn thing. Truth be told, James wasn’t sure what it would do other than tear his reputation to shreds. It was maybe enough to gain local public sympathy in a trial by jury, but the two of them were so set in their vision it couldn’t be that simple, could it? They wanted their story told. They wanted to be the heroes for a change. James supposed he could understand that.

“Let me grab my laptop.” Was all he managed to say.

After rushing into his office and retrieving it, he returned to the shut-off television and Sirius’ full attention.

“Publish it.”

With a click of a mouse, the file was uploaded on all platforms, and James has never felt so unsettled in his own identity before. A simmering self-hatred was becoming ever so present in the coming days: something a James two months ago, all smiles and dad jokes, could and would never dream of.

“Congratulations, you have fulfilled your side of the bargain,” He dug around in his back pocket momentarily before withdrawing a set of car keys and jangling them in a manner that he supposed was intended to be enticing. “All that’s left is Peter. Come with me.”

When he noticed that James had not moved an inch, he raised an eyebrow unenthusiastically and sighed dramatically.

“I’m sorry, did I not mention the part where you don’t have a fucking choice? Let’s go.”

So James did. He followed him out the door, abandoning any common sense or logic. Thinking things through had never been his strong suit, but if it meant getting Peter back then following a maniac was hardly too much to demand.

The black (presumably stolen) Bentley was indeed parked in his driveway. Although, parked was a very kind word for it. Never before had James seen such a poor parking job. It must have been Regulus behind the wheel because his chances of survival at the whims of Sirius Black in a moving car were looking suspiciously low.

“Um, Sirius? Do you have - a license?”

He blinked at him stupidly and rolled his eyes petulantly.

“A motorcycle one? Yes. Car? No,” He waved his hand dismissively. “But technicalities are annoying.”

“Don’t the police have this plate?”

He perked up.

“Yes, sir, they do. Are you scared?”

It was a challenge. Despite his batshit crazy first impressions, Sirius had a certain quality that if he wasn’t a killer - James would find quite fun. So naturally, he scoffed, shook his head, and cracked open the door to the passenger's seat.

Once the two men settled inside and Sirius sped out of the driveway, James began to grow antsy. The drive should have been smooth on the paved road, but instead it was a never ending series of lurches that could be accredited to Sirius’ casual approach to manning the wheel.

In retrospect, distracting him may not have been the most intelligent choice he could make - but James was too curious to not take advantage of the prolonged silence.

“Can I ask you something?”

The other man made a right turn without activating the blinker.

“If you have to.”

He rolled his eyes petulantly.

“Why go through all the trouble of last night?”

This time around, the car veered left so sharply he could feel his body lilting to the side along with it.

“Oh! Well,” He shrugged. “That’s the brilliance of it.”

James peered at him inquisitively, urging him to elaborate.

“It was so stupidly complicated! It was quite brilliant, actually. Nobody was ever in any actual danger. It was all just show business, honestly. We didn’t have a bomb.”

He chuckled lightly and relaxed against his seat, removing his hands from the wheel without taking notice. James hands shot forward to catch and realign them.

“Really, we had no fucking idea what we were doing! I wanted to see Officer Hot Stuff - and Reggie was all pressed about you, so we figured that if we needed to find a way to get my brother arrested, then it wouldn’t be too shabby of an idea.”

“You wanted him arrested?”

“Oh yes,”

He nodded emphatically.

“How else was he supposed to kill our cousin?”

“Obviously,” He drawled, while James still fumbled at the wheel. “They weren’t actually going to bring Bellatrix to us.”

“So he brought himself to her?”

“Mais, oui.”

“Jesus Christ, Sirius. Fucking drive please? Where are we even going?”

Sirius took over, but not without first giving him a look that, oddly enough, made James feel like he was shit on the bottom of his shoe.

Through gritted teeth, he replied as he narrowly avoided going over the curb. “We are taking a quick detour.”

James spun wildly in his seat, thoroughly pissed off.

“You said you were finally going to give Peter back.”

“You’re a real piece of work. Fine. Here’s what’s going to happen,” James was beginning to recognize the pattern of streets and turns they had been making. “In…” he checked the time on the dashboard, “…five minutes, Regulus will be waiting for us outside the police station. Second, we are, in fact, going to get Peter. Our cousin, Andy, has a small lakeside cottage on the outskirts of town; that’s where we have been keeping him and if you stop being such a fucking headache - we will head there right after we pick up your boyfriend.”

Choosing to ignore his bruised ego, he couldn’t even wrap his head around the idea that Regulus, who was in custody trying to gain access to Bellatrix, could be waiting for them. How could Regulus be waiting for them? Even if he had miraculously managed to succeed and kill his cousin, he couldn’t possibly have evaded and escaped an entire police force? If anybody was cunning and capable enough, it was Regulus Black, but it was baffling even to imagine.

“And then what?”

Sirius seemed taken aback, but it had been on his mind ever since he had first dived into the long and winding Black family history in the confines of his study and tucked away in the library. What would happen next? The two brothers could hardly go about killing their aunts, and cousins twice removed, for years to come. Surely, there would be a stop to the vengeance.

The other man slowed the car to a stop before fixing James with a weighted expression. It struck him as curious to see a man so estranged and crazed, stone-cold and practical for once.

“Nothing.”

Nothing? He let the words sink in.

“No more killing?”

A shuttered breath, and exhale, and then…

“No more killing.”

The two men sat in silence, absorbing the impact a simple three words could jar. If Sirius was to be trusted at his word, then Regulus would step out of those doors like a god amongst men, defying any predictable consequence and obstacle within two minutes. If he could be trusted, then the two brothers could retreat into a quiet life after fulfilling what they saw as their purpose; they could be content knowing the world was rid of sexual abusers and business moguls whose names belonged on the Black family tree. But Bellatrix had to die first. He knew they wouldn’t go on without righting that particular wrong and finishing what they had begun.

And so James waited, with his hands folded in his lap, fingers drumming along his thighs.

“You might want to get in the back, lover boy.”

Sirius smirked and nodded to the backseat in a tone that made it seem like the two of them were just two close friends sharing an inside joke. He cracked open the door and was surrounded by the familiar street and the large vintage station with its red brick and busy roads. Except, this time, the silence was deafening. Not a singular other car darted by, no sirens wailed, and no reporters swarmed the front stairs begging for a press conference.

As he moved into the back, a shiver crept up his spine. Despite the predictable unease of his situation (being cooped up in a stolen car with a wanted criminal right by a hoard of law enforcement), there was still something unsettling in the air; like the smell of smoke before a fire.

The car door slammed shut behind him, but at that moment the station doors burst open with a force so fierce it made him look twice. The sound of the doors clapping open was enough to grab his attention, but the lithe figure of a man descending the stairs was what James was truly unable to draw his eyes away from. No amount of distance could cause him to mistake Regulus Black from anybody else. As James watched fixated, it felt like the whole world had stopped to watch this monster of a man walk out of prison with his head held high and covered in blood. No, not just covered; Regulus was drenched and dripping, leaving a trail of blood behind with every step he took.

James had never seen anything so beautiful.

The look he bore was sinful, his deep hooded eyes were filled with violence and an overwhelming sensation of plain dark and dirty lust. God, it was magnetic.

When he noticed James in the back, a small smile crept across his lips. He should be scared, but he wasn’t; he was utterly enthralled and delighted by the way it tinted his skin crimson red and highlighted the shocking steel grey colour of his eyes.

Regulus opened the seat adjacent to James and the iron smell of blood was overwhelming, but James welcomed it because it meant two things:

1. Bellatrix was dead.
2. It was over now.

The two brothers could indeed live a quiet life, and maybe the guilt that festered inside James would change its tune, knowing that all was well and right.

He looked exhausted, like a shell of a human. The cheekbones James had so admired no longer looked sharp enough to cut skin in that light, they simply looked unhealthy. Nevertheless, he possessed a tragic kind of beauty, just like the very star he was named after.

“She’s dead.” He declared to his brother, then turned to address the man next to him.

“How did you get out-”

“You don’t want to know.”

James knew the look on his face was pathetic; transparent with yearning and desperation, but when Regulus grabbed him by his shirt collar and pressed their bodies together, he could hardly care. There was no anticipation, just sheer self-indulgence in the way teeth clashed and breaths stuttered. The feeling of Regulus’ lips against his own built-up an intensity in James that groveled for more.

“Oh yes, do go ahead and have sex while I am present. That’s totally fine.” A choleric Sirius piped up from the front seat.

James pulled away with a gasp, his hands had made their way to Regulus’ chest, and he realized that they had turned red from clawing at the other man’s blood soaked shirt.

They were still parked just outside the station, and the world truly had slowed to a stop.

“Espèce de connard.”

He grumbled under his breath, presumably addressing his brother, who had resorted to fake gagging. Despite their thick accents, James had begun to forget that the brothers had been born and raised in France. Without sparing Sirius another moment, Regulus pressed a button overhead and triggered a partition dividing the front and back halves to slowly rise and block any access or view he had before.

“Are you sure-”

James began to ask, uncertain about whether leaving Sirius in control was reasonable. He was promptly cut off as soon as he was thrown on his back by a swift push that knocked the air out of his lungs. Sirius was already driving again, with miraculous improvements from the first time around. His eyes grew wide as he stared up at the other man who had wrapped his legs around his hips in a straddle position began press kisses along his jaw line; trailing all the way down his neck. The way his head was thrown back and the whine that escaped him was beyond his control. Regulus sucked and bit at the sensitive skin, digging his teeth in, then soothing it with his tongue.

James slipped his hand under his shirt and explored every panel of smooth skin, soaking in the feeling of Regulus’s smooth skin under his calloused hands. He hissed at the sudden contact but continued marking his jaw and neck with gentle kisses and glaring red bruises.

“Fuck, Regulus.”

“You’re beautiful, James,” He praised, visibly enraptured by the quiet moans and the needy exploration of hands against his body. “So beautiful, and all mine,” Those few words sounded heavenly. “You’ve waited so long and sacrificed so much. Tonight I’ll hold up my end of the bargain and oh fuck…” James had gathered his wits and reversed their position. It was exhilarating to see someone so powerful diminished to being tossed around in the back of a car waiting to be fucked. Expecting a snarky retort, he braced himself for the way Regulus would hate their current turn of events. Surprisingly, he simply stared up at him through thick eyelashes and swiped a trickle of blood away from his mouth. “Do you think you can wait until then, darling?”

He shook his head desperately; seconds away from tearing off his clothing with his teeth.

“Maybe you should be rewarded before tonight.”

Nothing had ever sounded so wonderful.

Minutes ticked by, clothing was shed and tossed to the sign, and when Regulus began to sink to his knees in the space between his legs - he had never been more grateful for tinted windows. He pried his legs open and ducked enough to hook both of James’ legs over his shoulders; watching and letting James squirm and moan for release as he angled and pushed his hips even closer to Regulus’ face.

“So eager…”

The way he licked his lips in anticipation sent him spiralling into a state of pure bliss. His hands found solace in the curly black locks of hair. He twisted the loose curls and god - the moment he felt Regulus’ hot tongue swipe across his length, he was gone in a mess of hoarse moans and arousal. Looking down on this tortured mess of a man, blood slowly flaking from milky white skin and cheeks flushed red like poppies, was overwhelming. He wanted to commit it to memory; carve it on the back of his hand and carry it wherever life may take him.

Without warning, he took James into his mouth. He started with just the tip, slowly swirling his tongue just to tease the other man. He gasped erratically, letting his hips jut forward and chase more. The sound of Regulus moaning around his dick drove him wild. He took him into his mouth all the way to the base of his cock, and James bucked with reckless abandon; feeling the tight bundle of intensity grow until it was nearly unbearable

“Regulus…oh god.”

His legs trembled, and he knew he was seconds away from release.

“Fuck, Regulus, please!”

He swallowed hard around James as he let out a strangled cry, letting him chase the feeling to the bitter end.

Regulus pulled himself up, and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips; letting him taste himself on the very tip of his tongue. Their breathing was still heavy, hearts pounding in a dangerously high rhythm.

“You were so good for me, darling,” He whispered closely, lips barely brushing the curve of his jaw. “Just relax for me,” They pulled on their clothing sluggishly, still dazed from the sheer intimacy they had shared moments earlier. When James rested his head on his chest, all Regulus could tell him was this: “Don’t worry, my angel, the end is near.”

Outside the windows, he could see the cityscapes had faded to dense seas of evergreen trees and long expanses of rural farm land. The wide open blue sky was miraculous to behold after years shuttered in the downtown streets of a skyscraper city.

Time passed. James grew weary.

It was too good to last.

They pulled into a hidden cobblestone driveway, following the winding curve of the path through the forest. This was presumably “Andy’s Rural Cottage”, tucked away in the middle of nowhere far enough north that the locals probably wouldn’t recognize Regulus Black even if he pressed a knife to their throat. With a click of a button, the divider rolled down to reveal Sirius Black; yawning in a dramatic fashion with that classic twinkle in his eye.

‘Did you two have fun? I know I sure did,” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, but promptly ditched his train of thought for a much more exciting one. “I think I broke maybe…fifty municipal laws, give or take a few? But I mean, hey, that road closure sign was asking for it.”

He had been so lost in Regulus, he hadn’t even noticed the alleged incidents Sirius boasted about.

The three men left the car to take in the freedom before them. It was quaint, sure; but promising beyond belief to know that Peter was somewhere within the walls of that tiny lakeside cottage. He could see the soft waves of the lake from the driveway, lapping over the rocky sand.

When Regulus came up behind him and wrapped his arms around his middle, he hardly even flinched; he just sank into the touch like a golden retriever puppy.

Despite the warmth radiating from his embrace, he was itching to see his best friend. No amount of recent happiness could rectify a world where Peter was not okay. Sirius trudged ahead, combat boots sticking and dragging in the mud. The house was indeed boarded up, but it wasn’t evident whether that was done before or after its previous occupants had vacated the premises.

A quick passcode unlocked the door, and James had never run so fast in his entire life. He whipped around door frames, scouring every inch of the place but came back panicked, looking like a wounded animal.

“You won’t find him here.”

Before James could yell at the oldest Black Brother, Regulus pointed a singular finger upwards; gesturing towards what he could barely make out to be a latch. He clasped the handle and tugged, unfolding a rather rickety wooden ladder that he promptly hoisted himself up on. When his head poked up into the crawl space, he chocked back a sob.

Sitting on a moth bitten couch, fully absorbed in a thick dictionary (a dictionary of all things!) was Peter Pettigrew.

He dragged himself all the way through and threw his whole body at his closest friend. They tumbled together, and James was not ashamed to admit that he cried furiously; embracing him in the tightest hug he had ever given him.

“I can’t believe it. Fuck, James. They’re crazy. You won’t believe it. How are you here?”

He swiped a tear from his cheek and simply replied with a soft smile.

“Aren’t we all a little crazy, though?”

They returned down to the main floor, whispering in hushed voices to convey their detailed accounts of the past few days. Sirius had left to gather firewood, and James later found Regulus perched on the end of his cousin’s dock staring into the water with a pained expression painted across his face. They carried out the rest of their day in mutual understanding, Regulus left James alone to find comfort in his best friend until night fell. But when Regulus tugged him into an empty bedroom, he could hardly say no.

After worshipping Regulus like somebody he could actually vow to love forever; he laid awake with his eyes glued to the window. Even the stars couldn’t tell him if he had made the right choice.

Chapter Text

The stars had fallen, and the sun had risen, just as it always does every twenty-four hours. The bedsheets enveloped James’ naked form, his thick head of curly hair fanned across the pillow underneath him. He knew damn well where he was and what had happened, his mind was clear as day. The cottage bedroom was painted a deep green - the colour of a rich dense forest, and the door was carefully painted with soft yellow sunflowers. From his spot curled up in the mattress, he admired the brushstrokes while slowly coming to life from a sleepy lightness one could only feel after a particularly exciting night.  Peter had been reluctant to wait a single second more, but after James had walked him through the full story, he had agreed to stay the night and discuss it in the morning. Well, tomorrow morning had arrived, but James still wasn’t ready to think about the soft life he had found disappearing. Was it ridiculous to call loving a murderer soft? Maybe. But James never did anything in moderation, and love was no exception. 

He extended a hand to wrap around his lover curled against him, but all it grasped was air. He shot up, gathering the covers in his lap in surprise. Beside him, a thick pillow had been wedged where Regulus had slept so soundly hours earlier. He had been the one to fall asleep first, and he actually snored in his sleep; a fact that James couldn’t wait to tease him about. But that wasn’t possible when his lover had been replaced by a pillow. Admittedly, he was a bit of hurt... What could he possibly be doing so early? 

It hadn’t struck him as peculiar before, but as he scanned the room for their shedded piles of clothing - a piece of paper James had not seen the previous night caught his attention. It was very purposefully centred in the middle of the artisan wooden desk that was lodged in the corner of the room. Even from a distance, he could tell that the large piece of paper contained a lengthy message penned in dark ink, so he slipped his old clothes back on to get a closer look. 

It was featherlight, but it gained an inexplicable weight the second he read the opening line. 

Dearest James, 

You deserve nothing but love, and the truth. I am leaving you with these words so you can find closure, an explanation, and forgiveness. I have been planning to die since I was fifteen years old. 

I am not a good person, my love - and for that I deserve an eternity in hell. Every morning, I wake and I think about dying. Do not fight this, I want to end my life - I was born to. I made a promise to myself: the Black family line would end by my own hand - including myself for I am no better than my mother. I was abused as a child: violently and cruelly. The woman who gave me life tried to take me out of it. She held my head underwater until I stopped breathing. And whether I like it or not, I am my parent’s child - a product of my upbringing. I do not cry for myself, I cry for my brother. He could have been a wonder under different circumstances. It was his choice to join me - loyal until the bitter end. 

I am not leaving you. I am leaving this life. I will always be with you, even if I don’t deserve you. I wanted to experience one chance at love before I ended my life. This is where you came in - so blindly good and kind. The podcast was admittedly an excuse - but I am sure it will serve as a lovely eulogy.  I’ve been told falling in love feels like a breath of fresh air - but love, you were a forest fire. I’m not sure if I am capable of love, but I would like to think I loved you. You are as pure as the ocean and everything that is good in the world - which is why you won’t miss me when you finish reading this letter. What you are about to read is not something I am proud of and has only affirmed my intention of leaving this world. 

I killed them. I killed them all. 

As you read this letter, there are 30 bodies lying on the floor of Toronto’s police department. I destroyed them all, because that is all I am capable of. 

Forgive me, for I’ll be dead before you wake, 

With love, 

Regulus Black 

The world was spinning. A headache pounded in his ears as he tripped over his own feet stumbling to the door, clawing at the wood like a wild animal. Killed them all? Dead before you wake? The dark green walls were suffocating him, sucking the air from his lungs before he could take another breath. His chest pulsed with panic, rising and falling at the speed of his own heartbeat. He raked his fingers through his hair, digging them into his scalp until they came away bloody. Gone. Gone. Gone. 

His heart plummeted as every piece of the puzzle slowly fell into place until he could see it clearly. 

Regulus had slaughtered every single police officer just so he could escape. 

Regulus was going to kill himself.

He threw the door open with brutal force and crashed through the door to Sirius’ bedroom, desperate for help. It felt impossible to bear the wight of the discovery alone.  He needed to run, fight, scream. He needed to get to Regulus before it was too late. 

The bedroom was a bloodbath. Panic rose in his throat, choking him slowly. Only a few steps away, a pattern of blood spray so obscene and grotesque painted the white walls a furious red. It was aggressive and explosive, fanning across the width of the back wall. His eyes sank to the bed. Sirius was laying completely limp against the bed frame; dead. James had never seen a dead body before, but god, it was gut-wrenching. Within seconds, James noticed the glaring red bullet hole through his forehead, dripping blood down the bridge of his nose. The gun had fallen from his grip, nestled a few centimetres away from where his hands lay limp; Marlene’s gun. Na

He was spiralling. Down and down he went until his vision was fading in and out. He crawled back out the door, hands grasping for something to hold him upright and hold him as he heaved. It was horrific and even with his eyes shut, he knew he wouldn’t be able to forget the sight of blood and brain matter on the wall. He clutched his mouth and stomach, begging the nausea to subside. 

Where, in the name of god, was Regulus Black? Images of Sirius Black were replaced with his brother’s face - a sight James didn't think he could survive seeing.  If only James had fought, held him a little closer, or loved him a little more. How could he have not seen this coming? The beautiful, wretched man he loved was dead or dying, and he could do nothing but ransack the small cottage screaming out for Peter, and throw up in horror. He couldn’t do this alone, he heaved, tossing and overturning the furniture. He was throwing closets open with such intense rage and sadness,  he could hardly think straight. He couldn’t think about the face of a certain dead police offer, not when another man was on the brink of death or dead. Despite his cries of anguish, Peter did not surface from wherever he had sequestered himself for the night and the small sliver of hope he held was shrinking with every minute that passed. 

Even though the man was ruthless and would burn in hell for what he did - Regulus Black had carved out a part of his heart. Knowing a man he loved had massacred 30 people who had sworn themselves to making the world a better place was a nightmare. He hated that monster. But oh, how he loved him. The way he could command a crowd with a glare, the wicked smirk he bore, the twist of a glinting knife in the light of a lamp, the soft smell of booze and roses. Someone, so lovely, had become somebody he no longer knew. How could he have killed Remus? Lily? Marlene? Their souls were made of pure gold, faithful to the sole purpose of bettering the lives of others. It should have been James. He should be dead. Maybe if he had offered himself as a sacrifice, Regulus would have been satisfied. 

Deep loathing was all he could feel for himself. How dare he still pray and hope that Regulus was alive and breathing when so many worthy and loved people had been slaughtered without reasoning. It was so out of character for somebody who had become so predictable and had seemingly wanted nothing more than to retreat into a private life. Maybe all he had wanted was to commit one last act of terror and inhumanity before he died. After all, he didn’t want James to go after him. But it did beg the question: could Regulus have killed 30 people, just to make it easier for James to hate him. 

His conflicting storm of thoughts and agonizing emotional pain gave him deja vu. It felt so familiar - this feeling of utter hopelessness over racing to the man who had done so many wrongs or nursing his own wounds of the heart and the soul. He had to make the right choice; he knew that much. 

But where could he be? Regulus never would have gone out the way his brother did; a final act of careless violence? No, Regulus was more sentimental; a boy born to be a lover who had been trained to be incapable of love. Oh, it pained him to think of what he could have been under different circumstances. Perhaps a poet, or a singer, an artist. The sadness in his heart was heavy, bogged down by the tears that streamed down his cheeks steadily. All he wanted was to wind back 12 hours to when Regulus had sat quietly on his cousin’s dock - free from the shadow of death. He vowed to remember the wind whipping through his hair, the beautiful grace of his lithe body perched precariously, the way he gazed so longingly into the glistening water. 

Oh. 

“My mother held me underwater until my breath gave out.” 

Oh. 

Maybe the shadow of death had been there after all. He wanted to scream at him, scream for him. He ran out onto the balcony facing the water, and bolted down the stairs towards the shore, his legs burning with exhaustion and effort when he realized that Regulus not being visible could only mean one thing: he was too fucking late. 

The lake rolled in dark waves, as smooth and gentle as a living, breathing creature. He could hardly think straight. All he could picture was Regulus, weightless and suspended in the water,  like a puppet with cut strings.

When he reached where the grass and stone dropped into frigid water, he didn’t think twice before diving in. The cold plunge stole his breath away, biting into every inch of exposed skin. He flailed violently before finding his bearings and pushing to the surface. Breathing in and out in rapid succession, he was prepared to sacrifice himself at the mercy of the violently rocky waters if it meant Regulus could live to see another sunrise. Sucking in a harsh breath, he dove back underwater and began to thrash desperately; scouring the depths for any sign or movement, but all he could see was the murky bottom layer and twisting seaweed that hugged his ankles as he kept pushing through the water. His arms were growing tired, and his lungs were on fire. It wouldn’t be long before they forced him back to the surface, or gave out entirely. A strand of seaweed had crept up his thigh and scratched a long and thin cut across his leg before he could yank free from its clutches. 

This couldn’t be it. He refused to believe it was the end. No, he wouldn’t let it be the end. He would rather die trying. 

The murky bed was becoming more jagged and rocky, large rocks appeared that had been previously disguised by the reflection of light. James wouldn’t be able to explain how he had known Regulus was there when the Royal Mounted Police asked hours later. Maybe their fleeting love had connected their souls until death, or maybe it was a lucky guess; but when James followed his gut instinct to look on the other side of a particularly large rock - he came face to face with what he had been looking for all along. 

And oh, it was heartbreaking. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and tugged, pulling, and praying.

Stone-cold. Deathly pale. Unmoving. 

And dead to the world. 

Just like he had promised in the letter. 

When he felt as if his limbs were going to give out and send them sinking back to the lake bed, he broke the surface in a fit of violent coughs and sputtering. But that didn’t matter. All that mattered was Regulus. It was like James was being stabbed in the same place, over, and over again; the knife just kept on twisting. When he dragged him to land, he didn’t waste a single second before curling his hands together and pushing on his chest rhythmically in a desperate attempt at compressions. Tears were rolling freely down his cheeks, that were so raw from sobbing - it stung like acid. He pressed his lips to Regulus’ and administered shaky breaths before returning to the compressions. 

“Regulus,” It went on like this for what felt like hours; James on his knees, sobbing, and pushing so hard on his chest it surely broke ribs. “Fuck. Please. No. No. Don’t leave me.”

It took three hours of James over exerting himself, supplying a dead man with pressure and oxygen that could not save him- before James could admit that he was dead. A warm hand rested on his shoulder and he blinked up through watery eyes. For a second, he let himself lean into the touch, imaging it was Regulus, despite knowing that the real man would never be able to touch him again. He blinked up through watery eyes to see Peter; accompanied by a slew of officers James had never seen before. 

Even in death. Regulus Black was beautiful. 

When James took Peter’s hand, the soft touch of another human only made him sob uncontrollably. How could he not have seen this coming? Why couldn’t he have stayed? Peter pulled him into a tight embrace, and his choked weeping and wet clothing soaked his shirt as James leaned on him like a crutch: incapable of looking back to see Regulus’ empty eyes. 

James hadn’t been able to save him. It was agonizing. He hadn’t been able to save any of them. 

Lily Evans. 

Remus Lupin. 

Marlene Mckinnon. 

Sirius Black. 

Regulus; the man who had changed everything. James couldn’t go on, not like this. He was a shell of a human, hollow and exhausted - and he predicted his future would be just as unbearable. 

“It isn’t fair,” He sobbed into Peter’s arms, letting his friend usher him away, “He might still be alive. It’s not over yet.” 

“Shhh,” Peter whispered in his ear, barely managing to keep the distraught man upright. “You’re okay.” 

No, he wasn't okay. He never would be again, because in a corrupt world: there is no good or evil, only the living and the dead.