Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(the ink smudges slightly, like the writer paused too long with his hand against the paper)

I don’t remember when it started.

Maybe it was the moment I first realized that silence can be louder than words. Or maybe it was when I began noticing the way certain things linger longer than they should - a laugh, a scent, a glance that burns instead of fading. Maybe it was always there, humming quietly beneath the surface, waiting to be named.

I think I’ve always known I was meant to fall apart quietly.

They raised me to be composed. Clean-cut. Sharp. A perfect silhouette, cast in ice and obligation. I was taught how to hold a wand before I learned how to hold a conversation. I was taught to speak like my words were weapons, not invitations. I was told what to believe before I had the chance to question it. They never taught me softness - only how to destroy it.

Our world doesn’t make space for uncertainty. It crushes tenderness before it ever learns to bloom.

And yet.
Something bloomed anyway.

Not all at once. No.
Slowly.
Painfully.

Like something wrong curling in my chest and refusing to die. Like sunlight creeping in through cracks I didn’t know existed. Like breath in lungs I didn’t know had stopped working.

Like him.

James Potter was never supposed to mean anything to me.

He was everything I was warned against. Reckless. Loud. Bright in a way that was blinding. Kind in a way that was dangerous. And kindness, I’ve learned, is lethal when you’ve been raised to fear it. Cruelty is easier. Cruelty makes sense. If he’d been cruel, I could’ve hated him. I would’ve known what to do with that.

But he wasn’t cruel.
He was good.
And I never stood a chance.

I didn’t want this. I still don’t - not really.
Because love, at least the kind I’ve found, isn’t sweet.
It’s not warm music and quiet rooms and held hands in the dark.

It’s a quiet ache in my ribs that never goes away.
It’s staring across the Great Hall and pretending not to care.
It’s hearing his voice and feeling like I’m unraveling from the inside out.
It’s hating myself for wanting something I was taught to fear. Something I was told could never belong to me.

I used to think I could contain it.
That if I was careful - precise - if I followed the rules exactly, it would pass. Like a fever. Like something weak.

But it hasn’t passed.
And now, it’s everywhere.

It’s in the way I can’t sleep without seeing his face behind my eyes.
It’s in the scent that lingers even after he’s gone.
It’s in the guilt that gnaws at me every time I imagine what Sirius would say if he knew.
It’s in the way I still flinch when someone touches me - and it’s in the way I want him to.

And the worst part?
He doesn’t even know what he’s doing to me.

James Potter, with his ridiculous hair and his stupid l augh and his voice that sounds like spring after a long, brutal winter. He talks to me like I matter. He looks at me as if I’m not broken. And I hate him for it. I hate how much I want him to keep looking.

This is not a love story.
This is a catastrophe in slow motion.
It’s glances that last too long and conversations that say too little.
It’s the space between what I feel and what I’m allowed to say.
It’s me - a boy with a name too heavy, a history too cruel - trying to survive in a world where softness gets you killed.

And him - the boy who gave me that softness anyway.

I don’t know how this ends.
Maybe with silence.
Maybe with fire.
Maybe with nothing at all.

But if I could go back - if I could undo the moment I first noticed the way he laughs, or how his hand brushes mine when he walks too close, or the way he said my name like it wasn’t something to be ashamed of-

I wouldn’t.
I’d let myself fall, again and again.
Even if it ruins me.

(the handwriting shifts slightly, as if written on a different night - or after something broke)

I keep asking myself if I was ever really in control.
If the restraint, the rules, the cold composure - if any of it was ever truly mine, or if I was just clinging to whatever shape I thought survival required.

Because it’s all unraveling now.
Everything I built to keep him out has turned to ash.

There’s a moment I keep returning to - not because it was grand, or dramatic, or something worthy of a memory - but because it was quiet . He said my name once. Just my name. Like it was the only word he wanted to say.

And it felt like forgiveness.
For what, I don’t know.
Maybe for everything .

That moment cracked me open in ways I still don’t understand.

He saw me.
Not the name. Not the mask. Not the Black heir with perfect posture and a war in his mouth.

He saw me .
And for a second - a single, terrifying second - I believed that was enough.

But that’s the thing about softness:
It doesn’t come without consequences.
Not for people like me.
Not in this house. Not in this name.

I told myself I could survive it.
That I could carry it carefully, in secret, tucked between pages no one would ever read.

But you don’t carry James Potter like a secret.
You carry him like a burn.
Raw. Constant.
Forever a part of you.

I think I loved him before I had the words for it.

And I think, in some impossible way, he loved me too.

But love isn’t always salvation.
Sometimes it’s a door you walk through knowing it’ll never open again.
Sometimes it’s a boy standing at the edge of something beautiful, too afraid to jump.
Sometimes it’s silence between two heartbeats.

Sometimes it’s leaving.
Sometimes it’s staying.
Sometimes it’s both.

This is not a happy story.
It was never meant to be.

But gods, I think it was real .
And that matters.
Doesn’t it?

Chapter Text

Tuesday 8th October, 1976

Regulus couldn’t move. The ornate wallpaper of the Black family’s drawing room, with its forest-green patterns and gold-trimmed edges.

“Crucio!”

It was a word he never wanted to hear again, but in this dream - or memory, as much as he hated to admit it - it echoed loudly in his mind. Sirius was on the floor, his body convulsing in agonized jerks as though he were but a puppet with tangled strings. Walburga’s wand was steady, unwavering in her grasp. Her face was stern and emotionless, save for the faintest flicker of fury in her eyes. Beside her stood Orion, silent as always, his mere presence a reinforcement of her authority.
Regulus wanted to scream. To yell. To do anything but stand there and watch his brother suffer. Yet his voice was trapped in his throat, a phantom sensation of words that refused to form. His fingers twitched at his sides, wanting to reach for his wand, but he knew what would happen if he did. This wasn’t the first time.
The room shifted, the edges of the memory blurring slightly, but the scene remained painfully clear. Sirius let out another cry, raw and guttural, as his body twisted under the weight of the curse. Regulus could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away before they could fall.
Boys don’t cry. That lesson had been drilled into him long before he’d even known what tears were.

“Do you see, Regulus?” Walburga’s voice rang out, loud and firm, addressing him now. Her eyes snapped to him, and he felt himself shrink beneath her gaze.
“This is what happens when you defy the family. When you disgrace the name of Black.”
Her words reverberated in his skull, louder and louder until it was almost unbearable. The memory shifted again, as if it were trying to consume him. He tried to look away, to turn his head, but his body refused to obey. He was forced to watch as Sirius, barely older than fifteen at the time, gasped for air between screams. His skin was slick with sweat, and his usually sharp features twisted in pain, but his grey eyes burned with defiance even as his body betrayed him.

“It’s your fault.”
The accusation didn’t come from Walburga, though. It was his own voice that rang out, quiet but certain. It echoed in the corners of his mind, repeating itself over and over again. It’s your fault. You should have stopped her. You should have done something. It’s your fault.
“I-” Regulus tried to speak, but his voice cracked, breaking apart into silence.

The room warped again, shifting into an even darker tone. Now, the memory seemed impossibly large, every shadow exaggerated, every corner filled with menace. The sound of Sirius’ cries faded, but the image of his crumpled form lingered, burned into Regulus’ mind like a scar.

Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder, and he was wrenched out of the nightmare with a force that left him gasping for air. Regulus sat up in his four-poster bed in the Slytherin dormitory, his chest heaving as he tried to separate dream from reality. His hands trembled as he pushed the blankets away, his skin damp with cold sweat.
The dorm was silent, save for the occasional rustle of bedding from the other boys. The greenish light from the enchanted lake outside the window cast eerie shadows across the room, but it was far less oppressive than the darkness of his dream. Regulus ran a hand through his hair, his fingers catching briefly in the knots. His heart still pounded, the ghost of his mother’s voice whispering in his ears.
It had been over a year since that moment, yet it haunted him still. No matter how hard he tried to bury it, to shove it down into the deepest recesses of his mind, it always found its way back to the surface. He exhaled shakily, his breath visible and chilly in the air of the dormitory. For a moment, he considered waking Barty or Evan, but he dismissed the idea almost as quickly as it came. They wouldn’t understand. They couldn’t. Instead, he slid out of bed, careful not to make a sound as his feet touched the cold stone floor. Pulling on his robe, Regulus made his way to the common room, the quiet hum of the Slytherin dungeon offering a small sense of solace. He sank into one of the leather armchairs by the fire, staring into the flickering flames as his thoughts churned.

Why couldn’t he have been stronger? Why did the memory still have this power over him? He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he tried to ground himself in the present. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of Sirius on the ground, broken and defiant, and the terrible, gut-wrenching certainty that it was all his fault.
And now, with his fifteenth birthday behind him, the pressure from his parents was mounting. His mother’s latest letter had been filled with thinly veiled expectations, reminders of his duty to the family and the legacy he was meant to uphold. The shadow of the Dark Mark loomed ever the closer, and Regulus felt its weight pressing down on him like a vice.
For a brief, fleeting moment, he envied Sirius. Envied his ability to rebel, to escape. But that envy was quickly replaced by bitterness. Sirius had left him behind to deal with it all - the family, the expectations, the fallout. He’d abandoned Regulus to fend for himself.

The fire crackled softly, and Regulus stared into it, his jaw tight and his thoughts swirling. Somewhere, deep down, a small voice whispered that he still had a choice. That he didn’t have to follow the path laid out for him. But it was drowned out by the louder, more familiar voice of his mother, reminding him of who he was and what was expected of him.

Regulus sat there for what felt like an eternity, lost in the push and pull of his thoughts, until the fire began to die down and the faint light of dawn crept into the dungeon. Only then did he rise, his body stiff and his mind heavy as he made his way back to his dormitory. Sleep wouldn’t come again that night, but he didn’t care. It never did. not after dreams like this.

He entered the dormitory as quietly as he could, the soft snores of his dormmates filling the space. Slipping into his bed, Regulus stared at the canopy above him, his thoughts churning. The weight of his nightmare lingered, every detail etched into his mind, refusing to fade with time. He replayed it over and over: Sirius’s screams, the cold sneer on his mother’s face: his own paralysis. His chest tightened as guilt wrapped around him like a vice, stealing his breath. He clenched his fists, the tension in his muscles the only thing grounding him.

Minutes turned to hours, and still, he lay there, his body unmoving, his eyes wide open. The shadows of the night began to retreat as the first rays of dawn seeped into the room, casting long fingers of light across the floor. His alarm clock finally broke the silence with its shrill ring. Regulus reached out mechanically to silence it, though he hadn’t been asleep to be woken.
He sighed, sitting up and running a hand through his disheveled hair. The day had officially begun, whether he was ready for it or not. Shrugging off the heaviness in his chest, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and forced himself to stand. There was no point in lingering.

By the time he descended to the common room again, the fire had been rekindled, its soft glow now warm and inviting. But Regulus felt none of that warmth. His mind was still a battlefield, though he hid it well behind a mask of stoicism as he prepared to face the day. He took his time in the bathroom, savoring the quiet that came with being the first one awake. The faint hum of the castle’s enchantments was the only sound, a soothing white-noise that contrasted with the turmoil in his head. He stared into the mirror, barely recognizing the tired boy looking back at him. Shadows clung beneath his gray eyes, and his hair was slightly mussed from lying awake for hours. With a deep breath, he splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it pulling him momentarily into the present.
The ritual of getting dressed helped. His movements were precise as he fastened his robes and adjusted his tie, the small acts of order offering a semblance of control. By the time he returned to the dormitory, his roommates were stirring, their groggy voices grumbling about the early hour. Regulus slipped past them without a word, heading back to the common room. The low murmur of voices indicated a few other students were already awake, though most were likely first or second years too nervous to sleep in. He found a seat near the window, gazing out at the dark waters of the Black Lake. The morning light shimmered on its surface, broken by the occasional ripple of movement beneath.
His thoughts drifted as he waited for time to pass. He could already feel the weight of the day pressing down on him. Breakfast would be loud, filled with chatter he didn’t want to join in on. Classes would drag, though he would excel in them as always, if only to avoid scrutiny. And tonight, there would likely be the owl from home, with words carefully chosen to remind him of his obligations.

Regulus pulled a book from his bag, more out of habit than interest. The familiar scent of old parchment and ink was comforting, though the words blurred together as his mind wandered. A soft laugh from across the room caught his attention, and he glanced up to see two second-year girls sharing a joke. Their smiles were bright and carefree, a stark contrast to the weight that sat heavily in his chest.

He sighed, shutting the book and tucking it away. For a brief moment, he envied them.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was a masterpiece of ancient wizarding craftsmanship, its high ceilings enchanted to reflect the sky outside. This morning, the ceiling shimmered with hues of pale gold and soft blue, and the sunlight filtered through wisps of drifting clouds. Four long, wooden tables stretched from end to end, each laden with an abundant array of breakfast foods. Plates and goblets gleamed, magically spotless despite the constant activity. Students sat shoulder to shoulder, their voices a medley of conversations that blended into a low hum.
The Slytherin table, positioned to the far right, was draped in its signature emerald and silver. Its students, dressed in crisp black robes embroidered with green accents, exuded an air of calculated composure. Near the head of the table Regulus slipped into his usual spot, flanked by Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr. Despite the lively atmosphere, he felt a leaden weight settle over him, a stark contrast to the cheery clinking of goblets and the occasional bursts of laughter echoing across the hall.

Regulus reached for a piece of toast, his movements mechanical. The smell of warm bread mingled with sizzling bacon and freshly brewed tea was clear, but his appetite was non-existent. He kept his gaze fixed on his plate, hoping to avoid the attention of his friends.
“Merlin, you look dreadful,” Evan’s voice cut through the din, sharp yet tinged with amusement. His blonde hair was neatly combed, his demeanor as polished as ever, but his blue eyes betrayed genuine concern as they narrowed at Regulus.
“Did you sleep at all, or were you up plotting world domination again?”
Regulus smiled, though his exhaustion was written all over his complexion. Dark circles clung beneath his gray eyes, and his usually pristine posture had a slight slump.
“Just couldn’t sleep,” he replied, shrugging as if it were of no consequence. He tore the toast in half, his fingers trembling slightly. “Wasn’t tired, that’s all.”
Across the table Barty leaned forward, his sharp features scrutinizing Regulus with unsettling intensity. Barty was always quick to pick up on weaknesses, even in his closest friends.
“Not tired?” he echoed, his voice laced with skepticism. “You look like you’ve been dragged through the Forbidden Forest and back. What’s really going on?”
Regulus’ jaw tightened for a moment, the memory of his nightmare flashing behind his eyes. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to meet Barty’s piercing gaze.
“It’s nothing,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Drop it.”
Evan raised an eyebrow but leaned back in his seat, clearly unconvinced.
“Alright, if you say so. But if you fall asleep in Potions, don’t expect me to cover for you. Slughorn’ll have our heads if you mess up Veritaserum.”

The mention of Potions sent a flicker of unease through Regulus. Normally, he excelled in Professor Slughorn’s class, earning accolades and a reputation for his skill. But today, the thought of brewing anything more complicated than a cup of tea filled him with dread. His mind felt sluggish, as though wrapped in fog, and the weight of his sleepless night pressed down on him like an anchor.
As Evan and Barty continued their banter, Regulus tuned them out, his gaze wandering across the hall.

The Gryffindor table was as lively as ever, its students talking animatedly with one another. Laughter erupted from a group of third-years near the center, the sound ringing clear above the general murmur. At the Ravenclaw table, several students were already nose-deep in books, their quills scratching furiously on parchment. Even the Hufflepuffs, seated at the table closest to the doors, seemed brighter and more cheerful than usual.

Regulus exhaled quietly, his chest tight with the weight of his thoughts. His gaze drifted upward to the enchanted ceiling, where clouds drifted lazily against a backdrop of pale blue. He used to find solace in the ever-changing sky, a reminder of the world beyond the castle walls. But today, even that felt distant, unreachable.

“Earth to Regulus,” Evan’s voice snapped him back to reality. He turned to see his friend smirking at him, one brow raised.
“Come on, mate. Let’s at least try to survive the morning, yeah?”
Regulus forced another faint smile and nodded.
“Yeah,” he murmured, though the words felt hollow. He pushed his untouched plate away and rose from the bench, his movements stiff. “I’ll see you in class.”

Barty and Evan exchanged a glance, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity, though neither pressed further.
Regulus made his way out of the Great Hall, his robes trailing behind him like a shadow. The cheerful chatter of his peers faded into the background as he ascended the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

* * *

The Potions classroom was tucked away in the dungeons, its cool, damp air a sharp contrast to the warmth of the Great Hall. The walls were lined with shelves brimming with jars of ingredients: dried roots, pickled animal parts, and shimmering liquids in every imaginable hue. A faint, acrid scent hung in the air, one that seemed permanently embedded into the stones.
Regulus arrived early, slipping into his usual seat near the front. It was a position he preferred - not out of ambition, though that was what his peers believed, but rather because it allowed him to focus without the distractions of whispered conversations behind him. His cauldron sat on the desk, polished to a gleam, and his potions kit was neatly arranged beside it. Normally, this was a place of quiet confidence for him, a refuge where precision and control ruled. Today, however, his hands shook as he unrolled his parchment, the tremor slight but persistent.

The classroom began to fill, the low hum of chatter growing louder as students filed in. Evan and Barty took their places beside him, both appearing far more relaxed. Evan leaned back in his chair, tossing a quill between his fingers, while Barty scanned the day’s instructions with a critical eye.
“Veritaserum,” Barty muttered, his tone laced with interest. “Tricky stuff. Guess we’ll see who’s worth their salt today.”
Regulus barely responded, his focus splintered between the nightmare lingering in his mind and the daunting task ahead. He glanced at the board in which Professor Slughorn had neatly written the steps to brew the truth serum. Veritaserum was an advanced potion, requiring exact measurements and perfect timing. One misstep could render it useless - or worse, dangerously unpredictable.

Professor Slughorn entered with his usual jovial demeanor, his round face beaming as he greeted the class. His emerald-green robes swished as he made his way to the front.
“Ah, good morning, everyone!” he said cheerfully, clapping his hands together.
“Today, we’ll be tackling something quite challenging, but I have no doubt you’re all up to the task. Now, Veritaserum is a potion of utmost delicacy. Precision is key! Follow the instructions exactly, and you’ll do just fine.”
As Slughorn began his lecture, Regulus forced himself to focus. He set up his station meticulously, measuring out the first ingredients with a practiced hand. Powdered moonstone, crushed valerian root, and a sprig of aconite - all carefully added in the exact order specified. His cauldron bubbled softly, the potion gradually shifting from a pale blue to a silvery hue.
At first, it seemed as though muscle memory would carry him through, but as the steps grew more complex his fatigue began to take its toll. His thoughts wandered, his mind replaying snippets of the nightmare: Sirius’ screams, his mother’s piercing gaze. The room felt stifling, the weight of expectation pressing down on him as he struggled to maintain focus.

“Regulus,” Evan whispered, nudging him lightly.
“You’re supposed to stir counterclockwise now.”

Regulus blinked, realizing he’d been stirring in the wrong direction. He cursed under his breath, quickly correcting his mistake, but it was too late. The potion let out a faint hiss, its surface turning murky and uneven. He gritted his teeth, trying to salvage it, but the damage was done. His usually flawless brew now bore the marks of imperfection.
From across the room, Professor Slughorn noticed the mishap and began to approach. Regulus’ heart sank, his pulse quickening as the professor peered into his cauldron.
“Ah, Mr. Black,” Slughorn said, his tone far gentler than Regulus had expected.
“A bit of a rough start, hmm? No matter, no matter. These things happen, even to the best of us. Just be sure to watch your timing and technique. You’ve got the talent, my boy, no doubt about that.”
The words were meant to reassure, but they only deepened the pit in Regulus’ stomach. He nodded mutely, his gaze fixed on the potion as Slughorn moved on. Beside him, Evan and Barty exchanged a glance but said nothing, their silence speaking volumes.

As the class progressed, Regulus managed to stabilize the brew, but the end result was far from perfect. When Slughorn came around to evaluate, he gave a small nod of approval, though it lacked his usual enthusiasm.
“A decent attempt,” he said with a smile.
“But I know you can do better.”
Regulus forced a polite response, but inside, his frustration churned. Potions was his strength, his solace, the one place where he could always excel. To falter here felt like a betrayal of everything he’d worked to uphold.

As the class ended and the students began packing up, he lingered at his desk, staring into the dregs of his potion with a sense of defeat.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Evan said as they walked out of the dungeon, his tone unusually kind. “Everyone has an off day.”
“Yeah,” Barty added, though his grin was sharper. “Just don’t make a habit of it, or I’ll have to start carrying you through class.”
Regulus chuckled, the sound hollow even to his own ears.

Chapter Text

Thursday 10th October, 1976

The Great Hall was alive with its usual symphony of chatter, the clatter of goblets, and the warm, golden glow of candlelight suspended overhead. The enchanted ceiling reflected the night sky, dotted with stars that seemed close enough to touch.
Regulus sat near the center of the Slytherin table, surrounded by the familiar faces of his housemates. Evan and Barty flanked him as always, their conversation drifting between their upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts essay and the latest antics of Peeves. Regulus nodded along, feigning interest, though if he were honest he couldn’t give a damn about DADA, or Peeves for that matter.
Dinner had barely begun, and already the tension in his chest was unbearable. It felt as though something unseen was pressing down on him, each breath slightly harder to take than the last. He hadn’t received an owl from his mother that evening, but the absence of her usual correspondence was almost more unnerving than the letter itself.

“Reggie, you good?,” Evan asked, nudging him gently. “You seem kinda out of it.”
Regulus glanced up from his plate - roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and a medley of vegetables. The meal looked appetizing enough, though the mere thought of eating made his stomach churn.
“I’m good.” he replied softly, smiling at Evan as he poked at the potatoes with his fork.
Barty tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion.
“This is about the letter, isn’t it?” he asked in a low voice, ensuring only their small circle could hear. “The one she hasn’t sent yet?”
Regulus’ grip on his fork tightened, the metal biting into his palm. He hadn’t mentioned his mother’s looming expectations in detail, but Barty and Evan knew enough to understand the weight he carried.
“It’s nothing,” Regulus lied, though even he didn’t believe it.
Before either of them could press further, the Hall quieted slightly as the doors creaked open. Regulus turned his head instinctively, and his breath caught in his throat.

Sirius had entered.

The eldest Black strode confidently into the room, his Gryffindor tie loosened slightly and his dark hair falling across his sharp features in an artful mess. His very presence commanded attention, drawing whispers from both Gryffindor and Slytherin tables alike.
Regulus’ heart sank. It had been weeks since he’d seen his brother properly, and the sight of him now - so carefree, so unapologetically himself - sent a pang of resentment and longing through his chest. He quickly looked away, focusing instead on the pattern of the tablecloth in front of him.
“Speak of the devil,” Barty muttered, his tone dripping with disdain.
“Don’t,” Regulus snapped, sharper than he intended. Barty raised an eyebrow but said nothing more.

Sirius didn’t approach the Slytherin table, of course. Instead, he sauntered over to the Gryffindor table, where James Potter greeted him with a loud, theatrical cheer that made several professors glance over disapprovingly. The two of them were laughing, their heads bent together as they exchanged what was undoubtedly some ridiculous inside joke.
Regulus bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to react. He didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping his goblet until a loud crack echoed through the Hall.

It wasn’t the goblet. It was a letter.
A scarlet envelope soared through the air, its wax seal bearing the unmistakable crest of the House of Black. Multiple heads in the Great Hall turned as the envelope hovered above Regulus, quivering slightly before it burst open with a deafening roar.

“REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK!”

The voice of Walburga Black boomed throughout the Hall, amplified tenfold by the magic of the Howler. Regulus froze, every muscle in his body locking in place as his mother’s furious tone reverberated against the stone walls.
“You dare to ignore my letter?! Have you forgotten who you are? Have you forgotten the duty that comes with your name? How dare you bring shame upon this family with your silence! Are you planning to follow in the footsteps of that-”
Her voice twisted into a venomous fury. “-TRAITOROUS BROTHER OF YOURS!?”

Gasps rippled through the Hall, students glancing between Regulus and Sirius with wide eyes. Sirius’ easy grin vanished, his face hardening as he kept still. His grey eyes burned with anger, though whether it was directed at Walburga or the situation itself, Regulus couldn’t tell.
Walburga’s voice continued, each word a dagger.
“You will respond to me, Regulus, or you will suffer the consequences of your insolence. I will not have another son disgrace the noble name of Black. Do not test me.”
With a final, thunderous crack, the Howler disintegrated into ashes, leaving the hall in stunned silence. All eyes turned to Regulus, who sat motionless, his face pale and his hands trembling slightly on the table.
“Reggie…” Evan began, his voice cautious, but Regulus didn’t hear him. He stood abruptly, the scrape of his chair echoing loudly in the quiet. Without a word, he turned and strode out of the Hall, his footsteps quick and purposeful. The murmurs began as soon as he was gone, whispers and speculation spreading like wildfire.
Sirius was the first to move. Ignoring James’ attempt to stop him, he pushed back his chair and followed Regulus, his expression unreadable.

Regulus didn’t stop until he was far from the Great Hall, the cold air of the dungeons biting at his skin. He leaned against a wall, his breaths coming fast and shallow as he tried to steady himself. The humiliation burned in his chest, mingling with a deep, aching anger.
“Regulus..?”
The voice was quiet, almost hesitant. Regulus didn’t need to look to know who it was.
“What do you want, Sirius?” he asked, his voice cold but trembling slightly.
Sirius stepped closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his robes.
“I-” He hesitated, his usual confidence faltering. “I didn’t know she’d do that.”
Regulus laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and humorless.

“Didn’t you? It’s exactly her style.”
Sirius didn’t respond immediately, his jaw tightening.
“Look, I… I tried to stop the letter. I thought if I intercepted it, maybe…” He trailed off, his words hanging awkwardly in the air.
Regulus turned to face him, his expression hard.
“Maybe what? That she wouldn’t find another way to remind me of my place? That I wouldn’t feel her wrath one way or another?”
Sirius flinched, the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit.
“I was trying to help.”
“Well, don’t,” Regulus snapped, his voice rising slightly. “I don’t need your help, Sirius. I never have.”

The two stood in silence, the weight of their shared history and unspoken words hanging heavily between them.

“Reggie,” Sirius started again, his voice unusually soft, “I didn’t mean for it to go like this. I just… I thought-”
“Don’t call me that,” Regulus snapped, his tone sharp and cold. He turned on his heel, fully intending to leave, though Sirius followed, his steps hurried.
“Just listen to me for a second! I didn’t want her to- I was trying to protect you, alright?”
“Protect me?” Regulus spun around, his pale face flushed with anger. His voice dropped to a low, venomous whisper.
“You stole my letter. You interfered in something you don’t understand. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I know exactly what I’ve done!” Sirius hissed back, his grey eyes blazing with frustration. “I’ve seen what happens when you follow their orders. You think I wanted to sit back and watch them pull you into the same madness?”
Regulus stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw something raw and genuine in Sirius’ expression - a mixture of fear and regret - but he pushed it aside.
“This isn’t about you,” Regulus said, his voice quieter now, laced with bitterness. “Not everything is about you, Sirius.”
Sirius flinched as if he’d been struck, but he quickly recovered, his defiant smirk sliding back into place like armor.
“No, but this is about her. Do you think you can keep her happy forever? Do everything she says? You’ll still end up just like me one day, Reggie. The difference is, I chose to leave before she could ruin me.”
Regulus’ chest tightened at the words. For a moment a part of him wanted to shout back, to tell Sirius he didn’t understand what it was like to be the one left behind. But instead, he just shook his head, his face hardening into a mask of indifference.

“Unlike you, I’m not a coward,” Regulus said flatly, the words cutting through the air like a blade as he shook his head softly.

Sirius froze, the insult hitting its mark. His jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond, didn’t try to stop Regulus this time as he turned and walked away, his strides quick and purposeful. His green converse were heard behind him, the sound echoing in the silence that followed.

For a long time, Sirius stood there, staring after his brother. When he finally let out a breath of defeat, his smirk was gone, replaced by a quiet, unreadable expression.

* * *

Regulus wasn’t sure where his feet were taking him. The corridors of Hogwarts were a maze of flickering torchlight and shifting shadows, but he moved through them on instinct, as though his body was seeking refuge before his mind could catch up. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor as he descended deeper into the castle, away from the lingering whispers of the Great Hall and the suffocating tension of Sirius’ words.
Eventually, he found himself in the Astronomy Tower, the cool night air brushing against his face as he stepped out onto the open terrace. The vast expanse of the night sky stretched above him, clear and infinite, the stars glittering like a thousand tiny diamonds. For a moment its beauty was enough to dull the ache in his chest. He leaned against the stone balustrade, his fingers curling around the cold edge as he stared out into the darkness.

It was quiet here, save for the faint rustle of the wind and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance. Regulus closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he tried to push back the whirlwind of emotions churning inside him. Anger, humiliation, shame, and - beneath it all - a deep, aching sadness that he couldn’t quite name.

“Unlike you, I’m not a coward.”

The words he had thrown at Sirius came back to him now, sharp and biting. He clenched his jaw, hating the way they echoed in his mind. Sirius’ face had been so open, so vulnerable for a fleeting moment, and Regulus had struck where he knew it would hurt most. But wasn’t that always how it went between them? Each of them trying to wound the other before they could be wounded themselves?
A flutter of wings drew his attention, and he glanced up just in time to see a barn owl swoop past, its white feathers almost glowing in the moonlight. For a brief second, Regulus wondered if it carried another letter for him, another reminder of his family’s expectations. The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he gripped the balustrade tighter.
“They don’t understand,” he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible. “None of them do.”
Not Sirius, with his reckless defiance and foolish belief that running away could solve everything. Not his friends, who treated his mother’s control as a distant, abstract concept. And certainly not his parents, who saw him as little more than a tool to uphold the Black family’s legacy.

Regulus let out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping to the distant treetops of the Forbidden Forest. Somewhere, deep down, he knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. The constant tug-of-war between duty and self, the suffocating weight of his family’s expectations - it was only a matter of time before something gave way. But for now, all he could do was endure.

The sound of footsteps behind him made him tense, his hand instinctively moving toward his wand. He turned quickly, his heart racing, only to relax slightly when he saw who it was.

Evan.

“There you are,” Evan said, his tone casual but his eyes sharp as they took in Regulus’ pale face and trembling hands. “I figured you’d be hiding somewhere up here.”
“I’m not hiding,” Regulus replied, though the words felt hollow even as he said them.
Evan raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the point. Instead, he leaned against the balustrade beside Regulus, his gaze flicking to the stars. For a long moment neither of them spoke, the silence between them comfortable in its familiarity.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Evan began finally, his voice quiet.
“But… if you want to talk, I’m here.”
Regulus didn’t respond immediately. He stared at the stars, the weight of his emotions pressing heavily on his chest. Part of him wanted to open up, to let someone, anyone , see the cracks beneath his carefully constructed facade. But another part of him, the part shaped by years of Walburga’s icy glares and Orion’s cold indifference, refused to let him be vulnerable.

“I’m fine,” he said at last, the words coming out as a whisper.
Evan gave him a long, searching look but didn’t argue.
“Alright,” he said simply, though his tone suggested he didn’t believe it for a second. “But don’t forget what I said.”
As Evan turned to leave, Regulus found himself hesitating, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides. The words were on the tip of his tongue, a confession he didn’t even fully understand himself. But in the end, he said nothing, letting the silence speak for him.

When Evan’s footsteps faded, Regulus let out a slow, shuddering breath. The stars above him continued to shine, indifferent to the turmoil below. And for the first time in a while, he allowed himself to wonder if Sirius had perhaps been right.

Chapter Text

Friday 11th October, 1976

The morning sun was hidden behind a thick shroud of heavy, gray clouds, casting the sprawling Hogwarts grounds in a dull, muted light. A thin mist clung stubbornly to the hills, wrapping the castle in a veil that made it seem even more isolated from the world beyond. Inside the Slytherin dormitory, Regulus woke with a pounding headache, the remnants of his restless night clinging to him like an unwelcome second skin. The emerald green canopy of his four-poster bed swayed faintly in his blurred vision, the ornate serpentine designs twisting and shifting as though mocking him.
He lay there for a moment, his body aching with a deep fatigue that extended far beyond the physical. His muscles felt leaden, and his thoughts swirled like storm clouds in his mind, an endless torrent of doubts and frustrations that refused to let him rest. The sharp words of his mother’s Howler from the night before still echoed in his ears, each syllable searing into his memory like a brand.
"Have you forgotten the duty that comes with your name? Are you planning to follow in the footsteps of that traitorous brother of yours?!" the voice had bellowed, the parchment practically smoking as it delivered its poisonous reprimands. "I will not have another son disgrace the noble name of Black. Do not test me." The memory tightened his chest, and he pressed his palms against his temple, as if he could will the words away.
Sirius’ absence was another weight he couldn’t shake. Every glance at the Gryffindor table during meals was a bitter reminder of the gulf between them - of what had been lost.
Finally, he forced himself to sit up, the cold dungeon air biting at his skin as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He ran a hand through his disheveled black hair, smoothing it out in a feeble attempt to pull himself together. The stone floor was cold and unwelcoming beneath his bare feet, but he ignored it, moving to change into his school robes. Each motion felt like a struggle, as though invisible chains were dragging him back down.

By the time Regulus made his way out of the dormitory and into the winding, torchlit corridors of the castle, the halls were already starting to come alive with the soft murmur of students preparing for breakfast. He kept his head down, his pale complexion and unsteady gait enough to deter anyone who might have been inclined to stop him. The low fever that had taken hold only added to his discomfort, making the walls seem closer and the sounds sharper.

When he pushed open the heavy oak doors to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey looked up from her work, her sharp eyes narrowing in instant appraisal.
“You look dreadful, Mr. Black,” she said without preamble, her tone hovering between concern and exasperation.
Regulus hesitated under her scrutiny, unsure whether to admit to the truth or offer some vague excuse. In the end he opted for a tired shrug, his usual composure buried beneath the weight of his exhaustion.
“I’ve just had a rough night,” he mumbled, his voice low and rasping.

Madam Pomfrey’s frown deepened as she stepped closer, her clinical gaze taking in his pallor, the dark shadows under his eyes, and the faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. She pressed a cool hand to his temple, then quickly checked his pulse, her movements brisk but not unkind.
“You’re running a low fever,” she noted, her voice softening slightly. “What’s the matter? Feeling unwell, or is it stress?”
For a moment, Regulus struggled to respond, his mind racing for an excuse that wouldn’t invite further questioning. He settled on a simple answer.
“Didn’t sleep well,” he said, his words carefully measured. “Headache, maybe the start of a cold.”
Pomfrey raised a skeptical brow, but didn’t press him further. She turned to her medicine cabinet, retrieving a small vial filled with a pale blue potion. The faint, soothing scent of chamomile and mint wafted from it as she handed it to him.

“Well, you’ve certainly looked better,” she remarked, her voice now laced with gentle concern. “Rest is what you need. This will help with the fever and headache. And I suggest you lie down for a while.”
Regulus’ stomach twisted at the thought of lingering in the hospital wing where students might come and go, their chatter grating on his already frayed nerves.
“I’d rather rest in my dormitory,” he said quickly, offering a faint, forced smile. “Less noise there.”
Madam Pomfrey studied him for a moment before nodding, her expression softening. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, the rare gesture of warmth catching him off guard.
“Very well,” she started. “But make sure you eat something. Your body needs fuel, especially if you won’t be doing anything else to get it started.”
Regulus muttered a soft ‘thank you,’ clutching the vial tightly as he turned to leave.
As he stepped back into the corridor, the faint clink of the potion against the glass jar echoed in the space around him. His heart felt heavier than the vial in his hand, but at least for now, he had a reprieve - a moment to retreat and gather his fractured thoughts.

As Regulus made his way back through the labyrinthine corridors, the muffled sounds of the castle began to rise around him. The chatter of students heading to breakfast echoed faintly, blending with the occasional burst of laughter or the rhythmic tapping of footsteps. Regulus kept his head down, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He didn’t want to be noticed - blending into the shadows felt safer.
The vial of potion was cold against his palm, its surface slick with condensation. He clutched it tightly, his thoughts swirling with the same restless energy that had kept him awake the night before. His mother’s words still stung, their barbed edges tearing at the carefully constructed mask he wore.

"I will not have another son disgrace the noble name of Black. Do not test me."
The words felt like a shackle around his throat, heavy and unyielding. His brother’s defiance had lit a spark within him once - an ember of rebellion - but now it only smoldered quietly, buried beneath the crushing weight of duty.

As he rounded the corner leading toward the Slytherin common room, he nearly collided with a familiar figure lounging against the cold stone wall.

“Regulus,” Barty greeted him, his voice light. He pushed off the wall, his tie undone and his hair slightly mussed, as if he hadn’t bothered to fix himself up after rolling out of bed.
“I was wondering when you’d make your grand entrance. You look like death warmed over.”
Regulus let out a tired sigh but couldn’t help the faint flicker of amusement that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Barty always had a way of deflecting tension with his irreverence, even when Regulus wasn’t in the mood for it.
“Good morning to you too, Barty,” Regulus replied dryly, slipping the vial into his pocket. Barty’s sharp eyes followed the movement, but instead of prying, he raised a playful eyebrow.
“Skipping breakfast, are we? Not like you to miss an opportunity to remind the Gryffindors how much better our table looks.”
“I’m not skipping anything,” Regulus said, brushing past him with a deliberate slowness. “Just heading back to the dorm. Long night.”
Barty matched his pace easily, falling into step beside him.
“Oh, I can tell,” he said with a smile, gesturing toward Regulus’ disheveled appearance. “You’ve got that haunted look about you. Very dramatic. Maybe you’ve been sneaking out to the Forbidden Forest to commune with the ghosts of your ancestors?”
Regulus shot him a pointed look, his tone laced with mock severity.
“Yes, Barty. That’s exactly what I was doing. Thought I’d invite you along next time, since you seem so fascinated.”
Barty grinned, the corners of his mouth curling with genuine amusement.
“Ah, but you know me - I don’t get out of bed for anything less than a full-blown catastrophe.”

For a moment, the two walked in companionable silence, the usual sharpness of Barty’s humor tempered by an undercurrent of concern. Finally, Barty glanced sideways at him, his voice softening.
“Seriously, though. You alright?”
Regulus hesitated, his steps faltering slightly. He could feel the weight of Barty’s gaze, but the words didn’t come easily. Instead, he gave a slight shrug, his expression carefully neutral.
“Just tired,” he said at last. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
Barty hummed thoughtfully but didn’t press further. Instead, he reached out, clapping Regulus lightly on the shoulder.
“Well, if you decide you can’t handle it, you know where to find me. Or at least leave a cryptic note for me to decipher. I live for the drama, you know.”
Despite himself, Regulus let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“Noted.”

They reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, and Barty paused, his smirk back in full force.
“Alright, go get your beauty sleep, Black. Merlin knows you need it.” Regulus rolled his eyes, but the faint smile lingered as he murmured the password and stepped inside.

The familiar cool air of the common room wrapped around him, the soft glow of green light from the enchanted windows casting shadows across the polished stone walls. A few late risers were scattered about, speaking in hushed tones or poring over textbooks, but Regulus barely registered them. His steps carried him toward the dormitory staircase, each movement deliberate, as if to anchor himself in the present.

As he pushed open the door to his dorm, the quiet enveloped him. For a moment he simply stood there, his gaze drifting over the neatly arranged space. He didn’t move to sit or lie down, instead lingering in the doorway as his mind tugged at the threads of the morning’s events, each one a frayed edge of something far larger.
The vial in his pocket felt heavier now, its weight a reminder of something he couldn’t quite name.
With a slow breath, Regulus closed the door behind him, the faint click echoing in the stillness.
The quiet of the dormitory felt oppressive, pressing down on Regulus as he lingered near the door. He slipped the vial of fever potion from his pocket and placed it carefully on his bedside table, its pale blue glow catching the dim light from the enchanted sconces. For a moment, he stared at it, his fingers trailing over the cool glass.
Madam Pomfrey’s words echoed in his mind.

"Make sure you eat something. Your body needs the fuel."

His stomach twisted, not with hunger but with unease. The thought of food felt heavy, burdensome even, like it might only add to the weight he was already carrying. He had barely eaten at dinner last night. His appetite had vanished somewhere between his mother’s Howler and the cold silence of the common room, but it didn’t feel important.
Sitting on the edge of his bed, Regulus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. The sharp angle of his jaw pressed against his knuckles as he cradled his head in his hands. He felt restless and hollow at the same time, a contradiction he couldn’t quite understand.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and Regulus straightened instinctively, his usual composure snapping into place. Evan stepped inside, his robes slightly rumpled, a book tucked under one arm. He looked surprised to see Regulus but offered a casual smile.
“Thought you’d still be in the hospital wing,” Evan said, tossing the book onto his bed. “You looked half-dead when you left this morning.”
“I’m fine,” Regulus replied, his tone clipped.
Evan raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. Instead, he flopped onto his mattress and stretched out, his head propped against the headboard.
“Barty said you were out of sorts. What’s going on?”
Regulus hesitated, searching for a moment before replying.
“Just tired,” he said finally, repeating the same thing he had previously said to Barty. “Rough night.”
“Hmm,” Evan hummed, his gaze flickering over Regulus’ face. “You look like you could use some breakfast. Didn’t see you in the Great Hall.”
“I wasn’t hungry,” Regulus said, a little too quickly. The words hung in the air, and Evan’s expression shifted, faint concern creeping into his otherwise casual demeanor. But before he could say anything, Regulus stood abruptly, smoothing the front of his robes.
“I think I’ll lie down for a bit,” he said, his voice steady but distant.
Evan nodded slowly, watching as Regulus moved toward the window instead of the bed. The enchanted glass showed the Hogwarts grounds in their muted morning haze, the heavy clouds swallowing the sun entirely. Regulus stared out, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture stiff.

The faint sound of Evan flipping through the pages of his book filled the silence, but Regulus barely registered it. His thoughts were elsewhere, fractured and disjointed, circling back to the same uneasy truths he couldn’t quite face.

"You’ve always been so reliable."

Barty’s teasing words resurfaced, and Regulus exhaled slowly, his breath fogging the enchanted glass. Reliable. Dependable. Perfect. The weight of those expectations felt crushing, yet he clung to them, unwilling to let even the smallest crack show.
Food felt like such another demand, another expectation he couldn’t quite meet right now. He’d eat later, he told himself, when he felt less... unsettled. For now, it was easier to ignore the faint gnawing in his stomach, to push it aside along with everything else.
The faint clink of the potion vial against the table drew his attention, and Regulus turned back toward the room. Evan was absorbed in his book now, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Regulus moved to his bed, sliding under the covers and turning onto his side. His back was to the room, and he kept his breathing steady, feigning sleep. The heaviness in his chest didn’t lift, but he told himself it would pass. It always did.

As he finally calmed down, his breathing met the one of a sleeping teenager, and but one thought lingered in his mind.

The emptiness is easier to bear when I don’t eat…

Chapter Text

Sunday 20th October, 1976

The morning air by the Black Lake was crisp, carrying the faint scent of wet earth and autumn leaves. The glassy surface of the water mirrored the overcast sky, its stillness disturbed only by the occasional ripple as a lone duck paddled lazily near the shore. Regulus sat on a flat, cold rock close to the edge, his posture stiff, his school robes drawn tightly around him to ward off the chill. In his hand was a crust of bread from breakfast, its edges frayed where he’d torn at it absentmindedly. He hadn’t eaten any of it, and the dry, slightly crumbled piece now felt useless in his grasp.
His gaze drifted over the lake, unfocused, his thoughts a tangled web of obligations and uncertainties. The scene before him felt like a mockery of the chaos in his mind - too calm, too unbothered. The memory of his mother’s sharp voice still echoed faintly, a spectral reprimand that refused to let him be. He sighed, the sound lost in the gentle rustle of leaves behind him.
“Better use for you, I suppose…” he muttered, breaking the bread into smaller pieces and tossing them one by one into the water. The ducks approached eagerly, bobbing their heads as they nipped at the floating fragments. There was a hollow satisfaction in watching them. At least someone was benefiting from it.

“Never thought I’d find a Black feeding the ducks,” came a voice from behind him, light and amused. Regulus stiffened, his hand frozen mid-throw. He turned his head just enough to catch the familiar unruly hair and easy grin of James Potter. Of course, it had to be him. Regulus’ jaw tightened, but he kept his tone steady. Cool.
“Shouldn’t you be off terrorizing first-years or charming your fan club?”
James chuckled, unperturbed, and stepped closer.
“Terrorizing first-years is more Sirius’ thing, isn’t it?” He came to stand a few feet away, his hands stuffed casually into his pockets. “Besides, I was curious. You’ve been looking more pale than usual these days. Something going on?”
The question, though asked lightly, struck a nerve. Regulus turned his attention back to the lake, his shoulders stiff.
“I didn’t realize you’d taken up stalking as a hobby,” he said flatly, flicking another piece of bread into the water more forcefully than necessary.
“Not stalking,” James replied, his tone still infuriatingly good-natured. “Just… noticing. You know, keeping an eye out. You’re not exactly subtle, sitting here like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders.”
Regulus’ fingers tightened around the remaining bread crust. He fought the urge to snap back, to tell James to mind his own business. Instead, he exhaled slowly, trying to keep his composure.
“I didn’t ask for your observations.”

“No, you didn’t.” James crouched down, his expression softening slightly. “But you’re getting them anyway. Call it Gryffindor stubbornness.”

Regulus glanced at him, his expression guarded.
“I’m fine,” he said tersely. “You can save your hero complex for someone who actually needs it.”
James tilted his head, studying him.
“You’re really not, though. Fine, I mean. And before you tell me to shove off, just… look, I’m not trying to pry. I’m just saying that if you ever need someone to talk to…” He trailed off, his grin returning, though it was gentler now. “Well, I’ve been told I’m an excellent listener.”
Regulus’ lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t respond immediately, the offer hanging in the air like a challenge. Finally, he looked away, his gaze fixed on the rippling water.
“Noted,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. James stood, brushing off his robes.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to it. But don’t think I won’t check in again.” He turned to leave, pausing after a few steps. “And maybe try eating something yourself next time, yeah? Hate to see you wasting away.”
Regulus didn’t dignify the comment with a response, waiting until James’ footsteps faded before releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His chest felt tight, and for a moment he stared at the remaining bread in his hand. Then, with a quick, almost angry motion, he tossed it into the lake and stood, brushing off his robes.
The ducks squabbled over the last crumbs as Regulus turned and walked back toward the castle, the weight of the encounter settling uneasily in his chest. James’ words lingered, unbidden, in the back of his mind.

“Maybe try eating something yourself.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, his expression hardening. He didn’t need James Potters' pity. He didn’t need anyone.

* * *

The common room’s green glow reflected dimly off the polished stone walls, shadows pooling in corners where the firelight failed to reach. Most of the other students had retreated to their dormitories, leaving Regulus alone in a quiet corner near the hearth. He stared at his open book, though the words refused to align into anything meaningful. His quill rested idly between his fingers, the ink dried on its tip from inattention.
The sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention, though he didn’t look up. He recognized Barty’s gait before the other boy even spoke.
“Well, this is a mood,” Barty said lightly, flopping into the chair across from Regulus. He sprawled in his usual careless way, one leg draped over the armrest. “Honestly, you brood so much, I’m starting to think you enjoy it.”
Regulus sighed, his gaze fixed firmly on the page before him.
“What do you want, Barty?”
“Entertainment, mostly,” Barty replied with a grin. “You’re wasting a perfectly good fire by sitting here like some tragic gothic hero. What’s so fascinating in that book, anyway? Dark curses? Forbidden knowledge?”
“It’s Charms theory,” Regulus muttered.
“How thrilling.” Barty leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “You’ve been like this all day, you know. Quiet. Thoughtful. It doesn’t suit you.”

Regulus finally looked up, meeting Barty’s gaze with a sharpness that could cut glass.
“And what exactly does suit me, then?”
“Drama,” Barty said, gesturing flamboyantly. “You’re a Black. Even your misery should come with theatrics. You’re practically royalty, Reg. Brooding in a corner? That’s beneath you.”
Regulus hesitated, his jaw tightening as he debated whether or not to respond. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, the words slipping out as though against his better judgment.
“...Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”
The statement hung between them like smoke, curling and filling the space in a way neither could ignore. For once, Barty didn’t have a quip ready. He studied Regulus carefully, his smirk fading into something softer, almost curious.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say,” Barty replied after a moment. “You’re supposed to love it, you know. The name, the legacy, all that blood-purity nonsense.”
“Maybe I’m tired of what I’m supposed to do,” Regulus said, his tone sharper now, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of vulnerability.
Barty tilted his head, a sly smile creeping back onto his face.
“Careful, Reg. Talk like that might get you disowned.”
Regulus didn’t smile. He closed the book in front of him with deliberate precision, the sound loud in the quiet room.

“Maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Barty whistled low, leaning back in his chair with an exaggerated stretch.
“You’re full of surprises tonight. What’s gotten into you?”
Regulus didn’t answer. Instead, he stood and gathered his things, the tension in his shoulders betraying more than he intended.
As he turned to leave, Barty called after him, his voice laced with something between humor and sincerity.

“You know, if you ever decide to quit this whole ‘perfect Black heir’ act, let me know. I might have a few ideas.”
Regulus paused for just a moment before heading toward the dormitory stairs, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone floor. Barty’s words trailed after him, sticking to his thoughts like burrs. For once, the silence felt heavier than the noise ever had.

Chapter Text

Friday 25th October, 1976

The Transfiguration classroom buzzed with the usual pre-class hum, students filling the air with low chatter and the occasional burst of laughter. Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, casting warm, golden beams onto the stone walls. The atmosphere felt almost serene, if not for the undercurrent of mischief that always seemed to follow certain students like a shadow.
Professor McGonagall hadn’t arrived yet, and The Marauders took full advantage of her absence. James sat perched on the edge of his desk, his tie slightly loosened and his trademark glasses glinting in the light. He leaned toward Sirius, his best friend and partner-in-crime, whispering while gesturing with his hands. His wand, tucked carelessly behind his ear, looked as if it might fall at any moment.
Sirius lounged in his chair with effortless grace, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he smirked at James’ enthusiastic explanations. He flicked his wand idly, as though testing out an invisible spell. Peter Pettigrew sat between them, his small, round face lit up with eager anticipation as he nodded along, occasionally chiming in with a suggestion. Across from them, Remus Lupin leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. He watched the unfolding scene with a mix of amusement and exasperation, his worn textbook open but entirely ignored on the desk in front of him.

On the opposite side of the room, Regulus sat flanked by Barty and Evan. The trio cut a contrasting picture to the lively chaos of The Marauders, their movements more measured and their tones hushed. Barty was flipping idly through his Transfiguration notes, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. Evan leaned back lazily, drumming his fingers on the desk, his expression a blend of boredom and thinly veiled disdain.
Regulus, in contrast, was trying - without much success - to focus on the notes in front of him. His quill hovered over a half-finished diagram of human-to-object transformations, but his thoughts kept drifting. Across the room, The Marauders’ animated whispers were impossible to ignore, their energy filling the space like an electric charge.
“They’re up to something,” Barty murmured, breaking the silence at their table. He leaned closer to Regulus, his grin taking on a conspiratorial edge as he tilted his head toward the Marauders.
“Ten Galleons says it’s something ridiculous.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching with faint amusement.
“You think? It’s not like they’re ever not up to something.”
Evan snorted softly, his fingers still tapping a steady rhythm.
“I don’t know why you’re surprised. Potter and Sirius practically radiate chaos.”
“They’re like overgrown children,” Barty added, his tone dripping with mockery. “Still, it’ll be amusing to see what they’re plotting this time. Maybe they’ll finally blow something up for real.”
Regulus hummed noncommittally, his gaze drifting back toward his parchment. He wasn’t in the mood for speculating about The Marauders’ antics. The energy in the room felt suffocating, and his mind was already crowded enough. Still, he couldn’t entirely ignore the flicker of curiosity stirring in his chest. James was gesturing wildly, his grin infectious even from across the room.

Before anyone could continue, the sharp sound of the door opening silenced the room like a snapped thread. Professor McGonagall strode in, her emerald robes swishing as she made her way to the front of the class. Her sharp gaze swept across the students, taking in every detail with hawk-like precision. She paused for a fraction of a second, her eyes narrowing slightly at James and Sirius, who immediately sat up straighter but exchanged a cheeky grin nonetheless.
The class fell into an obedient hush as McGonagall sat her stack of books on the desk and turned to address them.
“Today, we will continue our study of advanced human-to-object transfigurations,” she began, her voice brisk and no-nonsense. “By now, you should have completed your reading on the theoretical applications and begun practicing the foundational spells. Open your textbooks to chapter thirteen.”
The class rustled with the sound of parchment and pages turning. McGonagall moved to the blackboard, her wand poised as she began to write out key concepts in precise, looping script. Meanwhile, James and Sirius exchanged subtle nods, their movements small but unmistakable to anyone paying close attention. The Marauders were up to something, and the faintest of a smirk tugged at James’ lips as he pulled out his wand.

Regulus, seated with his back straight and his hands folded neatly on the desk, noticed the flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t react, but he couldn’t help the small flare of irritation that sparked in his chest. Whatever they were planning, it would undoubtedly disrupt the lesson - and that meant more chaos he didn’t want to deal with.
Across the room, Remus sighed audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“You lot are insufferable,” he muttered under his breath, though there was no real venom in his words. Sirius grinned, his gray eyes twinkling with mischief.
“And yet, you love us for it.”
“Debatable,” Remus shot back, though his faint smile betrayed him.
As McGonagall turned back to face the class, her gaze sharp as ever, James twirled his wand discreetly between his fingers. The atmosphere in the room seemed to crackle with anticipation: the quiet before the inevitable storm.
Regulus, his quill suspended in midair, allowed himself one last glance toward The Marauders before focusing once more on the open textbook before him. Whatever prank they were about to unleash, he’d prefer not to be caught in the crossfire. Yet, despite himself, a tiny part of him couldn’t help but wonder - just for a moment - what it would be like to be on the other side of the room, swept up in their chaotic orbit.
For now, though, he stayed in his place, silent and observant, as the lecture began in earnest.

The lesson centered on animating objects, a notoriously tricky branch of Transfiguration that required precision and focus. Students paired off, muttering incantations as they practiced charming various items to move independently - quills skittered across desks, goblets wobbled uncertainly, and textbooks flopped open and shut like clumsy birds attempting flight.
McGonagall paced the rows with her customary sharp eye, occasionally stopping to correct a grip or adjust a student’s wand movement. Her calm, measured instructions were a stark contrast to the bubbling energy of the classroom.
On one side of the room, Lily Evans had her quill gliding smoothly across the desk in elegant loops, earning a rare nod of approval from McGonagall. On the other side, Peter’s goblet was quivering ominously, emitting a faint whistling sound as if ready to explode.
The Marauders, predictably, had set their sights on a far grander target. James and Sirius exchanged gleeful glances, their hushed whispers carrying the unmistakable tone of mischief. Beneath the table Sirius gripped his wand tightly, his gray eyes gleaming with anticipation. James leaned back, his arms crossed casually but his gaze fixed on the front of the classroom.

Their chosen victim: McGonagall’s lecture podium.

It started subtly. As McGonagall turned to address a question from Lily, Sirius flicked his wand with practiced ease. The podium gave a faint shudder, as if waking from a long nap. Then, slowly but surely, it sprouted legs. At first, the podium’s movements were tentative - awkward little shuffles like a foal learning to walk. But within moments, it gained confidence, its newly formed legs carrying it across the front of the room in a series of exaggerated tiptoes. The effect was absurd.
The class erupted into laughter, the sound ricocheting off the stone walls like a cannon blast. McGonagall spun around, her sharp eyes narrowing instantly at the sight of her fleeing podium. Her lips thinned into a line as the podium attempted a clumsy pirouette, one leg kicking out theatrically before it toppled over with a resounding crash.
“Mr. Black, I presume this is your doing?” McGonagall asked, her voice icy but calm as she leveled Sirius with a piercing gaze.
Sirius, ever the picture of dramatic innocence, placed a hand over his heart.
“Professor, I’m wounded by the accusation!” he declared, his tone dripping with mock sincerity.
James, trying and failing to contain his laughter, snorted loudly, the sound disguised poorly as a cough. Even Remus, who had spent most of the lesson attempting to feign disinterest, couldn’t suppress a faint grin.
McGonagall sighed, the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth betraying her amusement. With a wave of her wand, the podium righted itself and shuffled back to its rightful place.
“Five points from Gryffindor,” she announced briskly, though her tone lacked its usual sharpness. “And if I see any more antics, it will be detention for the lot of you.”
The Marauders exchanged smug glances, clearly pleased with the chaos they’d caused. James leaned toward Sirius, muttering something that made both of them snicker.

On the other side of the room, the reaction was markedly different. Regulus sat stiffly in his chair, his expression carefully neutral as Barty leaned over with a mischievous grin.
“See? Ten Galleons was a safe bet,” Barty whispered, nodding toward the Gryffindor side.
“Hardly a gamble,” Regulus replied dryly, his quill scratching steadily across his parchment.
Evan, seated beside them, seemed more interested in the conversation than the lesson. He glanced up from his half-hearted attempts at animating a goblet, his brows furrowing slightly.

“You know who’s new in your year?” Barty asked suddenly, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial murmur. “Pandora. Don’t think we know her last name - she seems pretty secretive.”

Regulus shrugged, uninterested, but Evan’s head snapped up, his attention caught. Barty grinned, his expression teasing.
“She’s cute, don’t you think?”
“Not my type,” Regulus muttered, flipping the page of his notes.
“Oh, come on,” Barty urged, his tone playful as he elbowed Evan. “Back me up here. Reg, you should ask her out. Or at least say something charming. You’re good at brooding - girls love that.”
Evan groaned audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Shut up, Barty.”
“Why? She’s got that dreamy look, like she’s in another world,” Barty continued, undeterred. “Totally your vibe, right?”
The next sound was a sharp crack as Evan slammed his quill onto the desk. He fixed Barty with a glare that could have frozen water.
“She’s my sister, you absolute idiot.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Regulus froze, his quill hovering mid-air as he glanced between the two. Barty, for once, was speechless, his expression a perfect mix of horror and disbelief.
“Oh,” He finally managed, his voice croaking. “Well… this is awkward then.”
“Awkward doesn’t begin to cover it,” Evan snapped, his ears glowing red as he picked up a crumpled piece of parchment and hurled it at Barty, who dodged with a grin.
Regulus, despite himself, let out a quiet snort of laughter.
“Serves you right for trying to rope us into your nonsense.”
Barty slumped back in his seat, still grinning.
“Still think she’s cute, though.”
“Unbelievable,” Evan muttered, shaking his head as he returned to his notes.

As the lesson wrapped up, McGonagall assigned homework - three feet of parchment on the principles of animating objects - and dismissed the class. The Gryffindors exited first, The Marauders’ laughter echoing down the corridor. Regulus and his group trailed behind, Evan still grumbling under his breath.

“I can’t believe you,” Evan muttered, though Barty merely shrugged, unapologetic.
“What? I’m just saying. You’ve got good genes,” Barty said with a wink.
Regulus rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a small smile. Moments like these - ridiculous and absurd - were rare breaks in the relentless weight of expectations that seemed to follow them everywhere. For now, at least, they were just students in a classroom, stealing a few fleeting moments of normalcy.

Chapter Text

That night, the stars burned cold and distant, scattered across a vast, inky sky. The grounds of Hogwarts stretched out like a shadowy canvas, the faint hum of voices from the Great Hall muffled by the wind. Regulus stood by the stone pillar of the courtyard, his gaze fixed on the shimmering cascade of a small waterfall feeding into the Black Lake.
The night air carried a biting chill, but it was nothing compared to the weight pressing on his chest - heavy and unrelenting.
The words echoed in his mind again, unbidden: You will fulfil your duty. His jaw tightened. He could feel his parents' expectations like an invisible hand gripping his throat, squeezing tighter with every passing day. The mark they wanted him to bear - the one they believed was his birthright - loomed over him like a specter. It wasn’t physically on his arm yet, but it may as well have been so mentally. The decision had already been made for him, carved into his future long before he could make sense of what it truly meant.
The thought turned his stomach.
It wasn’t just the expectations: it was the lessons that came with them. The ones that told him to bury his doubts, to hide his pain, to carry the weight of their world without complaint. Those lessons seeped into his blood like a slow poison, threading themselves into the very fabric of who he was. He tried to shake it off, but the stillness of the night only gave his thoughts more room to echo. His mind turned inward, spiraling through anger, frustration, and fear, until they built into a silent, suffocating storm.

“Oi, Reg, you look like a statue!”
Barty’s voice broke through the haze, sharp and insistent. Regulus blinked, looking up to see his friend approaching, his usual irreverent grin firmly in place. Evan and Pandora followed close behind.
“We’re going to the lake,” Barty announced without preamble. “Don’t argue - just come on. You need it.”
Regulus frowned.
“I have work to do,” he muttered, though it was less of an excuse and more a reflex.
“Work? It’s Friday night.” Barty scoffed, already grabbing him by the sleeve. “Trust me, mate, the weight of the world will still be there tomorrow. Tonight, you’re coming with us.”
Regulus hesitated, the protests forming on his lips fading as he looked at them. For a moment, the thought of refusing flickered in his mind - curling back into the cocoon of his thoughts seemed easier. But then he let out a quiet sigh, letting himself be pulled along.

By the time they reached the edge of the lake, the air had grown sharper, biting against their skin as the water stretched out before them, dark and mirror-like. Barty kicked off his shoes without hesitation, his laugh breaking through the quiet as he tossed his robes somewhere on the grass, waded into the shallows. Evan and Pandora followed, shedding their robes in a flurry of movement.
Pandora lingered at the edge, her usual calm demeanor contrasting with the others’ chaotic energy. She crouched, running her fingers over the water’s surface, her expression unreadable. There was always something about her presence that felt detached but deliberate, like she existed just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world.

Regulus hung back, crossing his arms as he watched them.
“What’s the point of this?” he asked, his voice low, more curious than critical.
“To remind you you’re alive, obviously,” Barty shot back, flailing his arms around in an attempt to overthrow Regulus’ thoughts, shaking water from his hair in the process. “Now come on. Don’t be boring.”
With a reluctant exhale, Regulus peeled off his robes, his black boxers a contrast to the see-through water. It bit at his skin, but he pushed forward, the absurdity of it all almost enough to take the edge off his thoughts.

For a while, they swam and splashed like children, their laughter rippling through the stillness of the night. Even Regulus couldn’t entirely resist the pull of the moment, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he let himself float on the surface. The water cradled him in a way that felt almost comforting, almost normal. Almost.

But then, the air shifted.

Evan’s voice rang out, high-pitched and theatrical.
“Jaws! It’s got me!”
Regulus rolled his eyes, his lip curling in mild amusement as Evan thrashed dramatically.
“Idiot,” he muttered, prepared to mock him - until something changed.
Evan’s thrashing became erratic, his movements jerky, panicked. His breath hitched, breaking through the laughter with a sharp, raw sound.
Regulus froze, his blood running cold. Evan wasn’t playing anymore.

The water churned violently around him, his arms flailing as if fighting against some unseen force. Regulus’ heart lurched, the realization slamming into him with a terrible clarity:

He’s drowning.

For a split second Regulus couldn’t move, his body locked in place as fear clawed up his throat. The lake felt heavier now, darker, like it had swallowed him whole.
Then Pandora was there.
She moved swiftly, cutting through the water with a grace that belittled the urgency of the moment. Her hands found Evan’s arm, steady and sure, and with Barty’s help, they began pulling him back toward the shore.
Regulus followed in a daze, his legs trembling as they reached the shore. Evan collapsed onto the grass, coughing and gasping for air, his chest heaving with each desperate breath.
“Merlin, that was awful,” He muttered weakly, his voice strained but alive.
Regulus stood over him, his hands shaking, his breath uneven. He felt the anger rising before he could stop it, raw and unfiltered.

“You think?” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended. He turned away, his hands gripping his knees as he fought to steady himself. The aftershocks of fear still pulsed through him, his chest tight and his head spinning.
“It was a joke,” Evan said quietly, his voice laced with guilt. Regulus didn’t look at him. His throat felt tight, his jaw clenched.
“Yeah,” he muttered after a moment, his voice barely audible. “A joke.”

The words fell flat, heavy in the air between them, as the lake’s dark surface rippled softly behind them.

* * *

Hours passed, though it felt like mere moments. Regulus remained by the lake, the stillness of the water mocking the whirlwind inside him. The image of Evan - his frantic face, the desperation in his eyes - kept flashing before him, over and over. The fear, the helplessness, the raw, gut-wrenching terror that had gripped him when he’d thought he might lose someone he cared about - it wouldn’t leave him. It clung to him, burrowing deep into his chest.

He sat on the damp grass, knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them. A few hours earlier he had gone to his dormitory to grab a sweater, though it did little to shield him from the cold that crept in from the lake now. He didn’t care. The chill felt deserved, a fitting punishment for the chaos inside him.

The rustling of footsteps behind him barely registered, and he didn’t bother to look up until a voice broke through the stillness.
“Didn’t think I’d find you here..”
Regulus turned sharply, his hand twitching toward his wand, but his defenses faltered when he saw who it was.
James stood a few feet away, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie. His usual cocky grin was nowhere to be found. Instead, his face held an unfamiliar softness, almost hesitant.

“What do you want, Potter?” Regulus asked, his voice flat, weary.
James shrugged, stepping closer.
“Saw you crying in the hallway a few hours ago when you went out here. Thought I’d check if you were okay.”
“Stalking me now?” Regulus’ words were sharp, but the venom was missing. He hadn’t thought anyone had seen him leave.
James, to his credit, didn’t bite. He stayed where he was, hands still in his pocket, his right leg crossed in front of the other, his gaze steady but unintrusive.
“It seemed… off,” he said simply. “Figured I’d see if you needed someone to talk to.”
Regulus scoffed, shaking his head.
“I’m fine.”
James arched an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, he took a seat on the grass a short distance away, his movements careful, deliberate. He didn’t crowd Regulus, didn’t push him for anything, just sat there, staring out at the lake. The silence stretched between them, heavy but not oppressive.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” James asked softly after a moment.
Regulus stiffened, his fists clenching in his lap. He wanted to deny it, to snap at James, to drive him away. But the words wouldn’t come. The weight of everything pressed down on him, suffocating, and his shoulders slumped under the pressure.

“I thought he was going to die,” Regulus whispered, his voice cracking. The admission tore out of him like a wound being reopened, and he quickly covered his face.
“Evan– he was choking, and I couldn’t reach him. I thought…” He swallowed hard, his throat tight.
“I thought I was going to lose him.”
James didn’t respond immediately. He let the words hang in the air, their rawness cutting through the stillness of the night. Regulus’ breathing was uneven, his chest heaving as he fought to keep himself together.
“I’m not used to…” Regulus started, his voice cracking. He paused, struggling to find the words. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him. Or Barty. Or…” His voice broke completely, and the dam he’d fought so hard to maintain finally gave way. Tears spilled down his cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands as he wiped them away, trembling.

James shifted beside him, hesitating for only a moment before moving closer.
“It’s okay,” he said softly. “Let it out.”
Regulus wanted to push him away, to tell him to leave, but he couldn’t. The vulnerability, the rawness of the moment - it was too much to hold in any longer. And so, for the first time in what felt like forever, he let someone see the cracks in his armor.
He felt James’ hand rest gently on his shoulder, solid and grounding. The touch wasn’t invasive, wasn’t demanding. It was just there, steady and comforting. Regulus didn’t pull away.

Eventually, as his sobs subsided into uneven breaths, he lifted his head slightly, his face red and puffy. He glanced at James, his guard still partially up, but there was something else now - a flicker of trust, hesitant, but there.

“Why do you care?” he asked, his voice raspy from crying.
James met his gaze, his expression earnest.
“Because I know what it’s like to feel like the world’s falling apart,” he said softly. “And sometimes, you just need someone to sit with you while you figure out how to hold it together.”

Regulus looked at him, searching for any hint of mockery or insincerity, but he found none. James’ words were simple, honest, and they cut straight to the core of him.
Without thinking, Regulus shifted closer. The motion was hesitant, unsure, but when James didn’t move away, he let himself lean against him. His head came to rest on James’ shoulder, the action uncharacteristically vulnerable. Regulus closed his eyes, focusing on the steady rhythm of James’ breathing, letting it anchor him.
James tensed for a moment, clearly startled, but then he relaxed, leaning slightly into the contact. He didn’t say anything, didn’t draw attention to the moment. He just sat there, solid and steady, letting Regulus take what he needed.

“...I don’t know how to stop feeling like this…” Regulus admitted after a long silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “Like I’m drowning.”
“You’re not,” James said gently. “It feels like it, I know. But you’re not. You’ve got people who care about you, whether you believe it or not. I’m one of them.”
Regulus’ throat tightened again, but this time it wasn’t just from the weight of his pain. There was something else - something warm, tentative, and unfamiliar. He didn’t respond, but he didn’t move away either.
For the first time in years, Regulus allowed himself to simply be. To feel. To let someone else shoulder the weight, if only for a little while. But in that moment, it was enough.

Chapter Text

Saturday 26th October, 1976

The light filtering through the dormitory window was unforgiving, piercing through the thick velvet curtains and splintering into harsh golden shards across Regulus’ face. It was the kind of light that demanded to be felt, a merciless herald of a new day he wasn’t yet ready to face. He squinted against it, turning his head into the pillow as if he could hide, but the dull throb in his skull reminded him that rest had eluded him once again.
Sleep had been an impossible task, chased away by the memories that unraveled in vivid, merciless detail. The trembling of his hands as they clung to James’ robes. The way his voice cracked under the weight of things he hadn’t meant to share. The raw, unfiltered confessions that had spilled forth like a dam bursting under years of pressure. He could still feel the warmth of James’ steady presence beside him, the inexplicable comfort of being seen - and not judged.
The relief had been overwhelming, but it was fleeting, quickly smothered by the icy grip of regret. Why had he let his guard down? Why had he said so much? And why, of all people, had it been to James Potter?

Regulus dragged himself upright, his body heavy with the weight of exhaustion. The stone floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his movements slow and deliberate, like a man wading through quicksand.
He avoided looking in the mirror across the room, unwilling to face the reflection of a boy he barely recognized - a boy who had let himself unravel in front of an enemy.

The clothes he pulled on felt heavier than usual, its stiff fabric clinging to his skin like an iron shackle. He loosened the cuffs of the sweater before he’d even put it on, his fingers tugging at the hem as though it might hurt him.

Around him, the dormitory was beginning to stir. Barty was sprawled across his bed, his limbs hanging over the edges in a dramatic display of sleep, while Evan sat up groggily, his hair sticking up in chaotic spikes that somehow suited him.
Evan’s gaze landed on Regulus, his lips twitching into a smirk.
“You look like hell,” he said, his voice rough with sleep but laced with the usual teasing edge as he let out a soft laugh.
Regulus didn’t respond. He moved with mechanical precision, his hands reaching for his bag, as if on autopilot.
Evan’s smirk faltered, his head tilting slightly as he watched his friend.
“Not even a snide remark? Merlin, you really are in a mood.”
The teasing tone softened, replaced by a flicker of concern. Regulus felt the weight of Evan’s gaze on him, but he refused to meet it. His fingers tightened around the strap of his bag as he swung it over his shoulder, his voice flat and distant when he finally spoke.
“I’m just tired.”
Evan opened his mouth to say something else, but Regulus was already moving, the door swinging shut behind him before the words could form.

Out in the corridor the air was cold, and the silence pressed against him like a second skin. His footsteps echoed faintly against the stone floor, a metronome to his chaotic thoughts. He felt hollow, as though some vital piece of himself had been left by the lake, entrusted to someone he wasn’t even sure he could trust.
The regret clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting, but beneath it lingered something softer - something dangerous. It was the memory of James’ voice, steady and sure, as he’d told him it was okay to let go. It was the way James had stayed, silent and solid, while Regulus unraveled. For the first time in a long time, he had let someone see beyond the armor he wore so carefully. And that terrified him.

* * *

Breakfast in the Great Hall was alive with the usual cacophony of clinking cutlery, muffled laughter, and the occasional burst of chatter that echoed off the high ceilings. The smell of sausages, eggs, and warm bread hung heavily in the air, but instead of enticing, it turned Regulus’ stomach. Still, he forced himself to cross the length of the Slytherin table, which was much less full now that it was the weekend, his steps deliberate, his expression carefully composed. If he skipped breakfast all together, Barty and Evan would notice, and questions would follow - questions he didn’t have the energy to answer.

When he reached his usual seat and caught sight of Barty already seated, Regulus stopped short, blinking in surprise. For a moment, he thought he might’ve been mistaken - how could Barty have gotten here before him? Regulus had left the dorm before Barty had even been awake.
The realization hit him slowly, his tired mind piecing it together: he must’ve slowed his pace without realizing it, his steps dragging as the weight of sleeplessness bore down on him. A small pang of frustration tugged at him, but he shook it off, sliding into the seat beside Barty as if nothing had happened. Barty didn’t seem to notice Regulus’ brief hesitation. He sat with one leg tucked beneath the other, absentmindedly twisting the silver bracelet Evan had given him around his wrist. His other hand flipped through the pages of a well-worn ‘No Longer Human’, the corners of which were frayed and smudged with dirt.
“Morning, Reg,” Barty murmured without looking up, his voice soft but edged with a quiet concern that wasn’t lost on Regulus.
Regulus hummed in response, his throat tight as he reached for a piece of toast. The bread was warm, its surface rough against his fingertips, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat it. He set it back on the plate with deliberate care, his hands trembling faintly. His chest ached, a tension spreading from his ribs like a band pulled too tight, threatening to snap.

Across the room, the Gryffindor table was a blur of scarlet and gold. His gaze drifted, unbidden, settling on James. He was laughing, his head thrown back as Sirius gestured animatedly beside him, no doubt recounting some ridiculous story. The sound of James’ laughter didn’t carry across the hall, but Regulus could imagine it - warm and rich, the kind of sound that filled a space and left no room for shadows.

The memory of James’ concerned gaze, steady and unwavering under the moonlight by the lake, clawed its way to the surface. His words, soft but certain, echoed in Regulus’ mind.
You’re okay. It’s okay.
The twist in his stomach became unbearable. What had he been thinking, letting his guard down like that? Why had he allowed himself to lean on someone who wasn’t supposed to matter? And why had h-
“Reg?” Barty’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. When Regulus turned, Barty was watching him, his arctic blue eyes sharp and searching. “You’re pale. Did you sleep at all?”

“I’m fine,” Regulus replied quickly, avoiding the question, as the words snapped out of him. He pushed back his chair with such force that the legs scraped loudly against the stone floor. A few heads turned toward him, curious and questioning, but he kept his gaze downcast.
“I just- forgot something in the dorm,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his bag  from underneath his seat and strode out of the Great Hall, his footsteps quick and purposeful. The sound of the bustling hall faded behind him, replaced by the quieter, cooler air of the corridor. He didn’t stop walking until he was far enough away that the walls seemed to close in, the echo of his hurried steps the only sound accompanying him.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. The ache in his chest hadn’t eased: if anything, it had grown worse. James’ face lingered in his mind, bright and open, a stark contrast to the heavy, guarded mask Regulus wore. He pressed his hand against the wall, letting the coolness seep into his skin, as if it could anchor him. But it couldn’t - not against the kind of storm that was brewing inside him.

Chapter Text

The Great Hall was alive with its usual chaos, a swell of voices that rose and fell like waves crashing against the stone walls. Regulus slipped into his seat with the kind of quiet precision that ensured he wouldn’t draw attention. Around him, the world moved as it always did - an endless cacophony of laughter, clinking goblets, and animated chatter. Yet, it felt distant, muffled, as though he were sitting behind glass.
The plate before him gleamed under the enchanted ceiling’s pale light. He reached out, his hand moving with the kind of hollow automatism that came from years of rehearsed normalcy. A slice of roasted chicken. A spoonful of potatoes. A crust of bread. Arranged neatly but untouched, as though this tableau of sustenance were more performance than nourishment. He pressed his fork into the chicken, the tines sinking deep, yet he couldn’t bring himself to lift it to his lips. Instead, he dragged it across the plate, the scrape of metal against porcelain a sound swallowed by the din around him. His chest tightened with a familiar ache, a weight that spread through his ribs like vines growing too fast, too sharp.
Across the table, Barty’s voice broke through the fog.
“Reggie,” he said, his tone light but edged with something firmer, something close to worry. “You’ve been playing with that for ten minutes. Planning to eat it or just auditioning for a still life?”
Regulus didn’t lift his gaze. His fingers tightened around the fork, and he shifted a piece of chicken to the far side of the plate, as though that might be answer enough.
“Come on,” Barty pressed, the teasing edge softening into something gentler. “You can’t fool me. You’re not eating.”
Evan, seated just beside Barty, tilted his head, his bright eyes narrowing with concern.
“You look pale, mate. Are you feeling all right?”
Regulus swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the goblet of pumpkin juice sitting beside his plate. Words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but they felt too heavy to speak. The truth was a stone he couldn’t bring himself to lift, not here, not now. Instead, he let the silence stretch, his lack of response speaking louder than any excuse could. He could feel their eyes on him - Barty’s sharp with frustration, Evan’s softer, tinged with quiet understanding - but he didn’t meet either gaze. His fork clattered against the plate as he set it down, his hand trembling faintly.
The air around them seemed to still, the laughter and chatter of the hall fading into a low hum. Barty sighed, the sound heavy, like he was giving up on something important.
“Whatever it is you’re not telling us,” he said, his voice low and quiet enough that only their corner of the table could hear, “it’s going to catch up with you, Reg. Just… don’t make us stand here and watch it happen.”
Regulus froze, his breath catching in his throat. For a moment, the weight of their concern pressed against him, suffocating in its sincerity. He wanted to snap back, to deny it, to assure them he was fine - he was always fine - but the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, he stood abruptly, the bench scraping against the stone floor with a sharp screech. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look back as he gathered his bag and left the hall. The warmth of the room faded with each step he took, the cold, empty corridors outside wrapping around him like a second skin.

He walked until the sound of his own footsteps was all he could hear. Then, leaning against the cool stone wall, he let his head fall back and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the hollow ache inside him.
The cold corridors were silent, save for the faint echoes of students’ distant chatter filtering through the stone walls. Regulus walked aimlessly, his steps measured but without purpose, as if the act of moving might somehow calm the tempest brewing inside him. The weight in his chest hadn’t lessened - it never really did - but he could ignore it better when he wasn’t confined by walls and scrutiny.
Eventually, he found himself at the library. It wasn’t surprising: the library had always been a refugé, its quiet corners and towering shelves a welcome escape from the chaos of the outside world.
He slipped inside, the heavy oak doors groaning softly as they swung shut behind him.
The air was different here, cooler and tinged with the faint mustiness of old parchment. The familiar scent wrapped around him, comforting in its constancy. He moved toward the back of the room, his steps careful to avoid the creaky floorboards that might draw attention.

As he rounded a corner, his gaze landed on an empty table tucked into a shadowed alcove. He sank into the chair, letting his bag drop to the floor with a dull thud. The ache in his chest pulsed, a rhythmic reminder of everything he’d been trying not to think about. He opened a book - not because he planned to read it, but because having something to stare at would make him look busy. Safe.
The words blurred on the page, their meaning lost in the haze of his thoughts. His fingers grazed the edge of the table, tracing the grooves worn into the wood by years of restless students. He hadn’t noticed how cold his hands were until now, the chill sinking deep into his skin like frost spreading across a windowpane.
For a while, the quiet soothed him. The muffled whispers of other students, the soft rustle of turning pages, the scratch of quills against parchment - it all blended together into a low, lulling hum. He almost felt still. Almost.

“Regulus?”

The voice startled him, sharp against the softness of the library’s sounds. He looked up, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as his gaze landed on James Potter standing a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concern.
Regulus blinked, his mind scrambling for a response, an excuse - anything to explain why he was here, why he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, why the plate of food back in the Great Hall had remained untouched. But James spoke before he could say anything.
“You left in a bit of a hurry,” James said, his voice quieter now, as though he didn’t want to disturb the library’s peace. He stepped closer, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robes.
“Barty looked worried. Hell, I’m worried. Are you okay?”
Regulus stiffened, his shoulders squaring instinctively.
“Why do you act like you care?” The words came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t try to soften them.

James didn’t flinch. If anything, the concern in his expression deepened.
“Because I do,” he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He pulled out the chair across from Regulus and sat down, his movements slow and deliberate, as though he were trying not to spook him.
Regulus looked away, his gaze fixed on the open book in front of him. His chest tightened, the ache growing sharper under the weight of James’ attention.
“I don’t need your pity,” he muttered, his voice low.
“It’s not pity,” James said, leaning forward slightly. His elbows rested on the table, his hands clasped together as he studied Regulus with a quiet intensity. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. Whatever it is you’re carrying, you don’t have to do it alone.”
The words struck something deep within Regulus, a fissure forming in the carefully constructed armor he’d spent years perfecting. He clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the edge of the table as he fought to keep his composure.

“You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Then help me understand,” James replied, his tone steady but gentle. “I’m not going anywhere, Reg. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
Regulus held James’ gaze for a moment too long, the weight of the question hanging heavy in the air between them. The vulnerability pressed at the edges of his resolve, threatening to crack the facade he’d spent years perfecting. But then, like a shield snapping into place, his expression hardened.
“It’s nothing,” Regulus said, his tone clipped. “I’ve just been... stressed. Classes, Quidditch, you know how it is.” He shrugged, forcing a nonchalance that felt foreign on his tongue.
“It’s not a big deal.”
James didn’t look convinced. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of doubt crossing his face as he leaned back in his chair.
“Stressed,” he repeated, his voice laced with quiet disbelief. “Right. Because I haven’t seen Sirius pull the same stunt a hundred times before.”
Regulus stiffened at the mention of Sirius, his grip on the edge of the table tightening.
“This has nothing to do with him,” he said sharply, the words escaping before he could stop them. His chest heaved with a shallow breath, the sudden surge of defensiveness catching him off guard.
James raised his hands in a placating gesture, but his expression remained pointed.
“Alright, it’s not about Sirius. But that doesn’t explain why you look like you’re about to pass out or why you didn’t touch your food at breakfast - or lunch.”

Regulus’ stomach twisted at the mention of food, but he forced a hollow laugh.
“Merlin, Potter, you’re worse than Barty. Are you stalking me now?”
“Maybe I should be,” James shot back, his tone sharpening. “If you think this excuse is fooling anyone, it’s not. You might be able to brush off your mates, but I’m not an idiot, Reg.”
The use of his nickname sent a jolt through Regulus, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the sudden heat building behind his eyes. He looked away, his gaze darting to the window, where sunlight streamed through the glass in fractured rays.
“What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice quiet but tight with frustration. “To spill my darkest secrets? To cry on your shoulder? Sorry, but you’re wasting your time.”

James studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less firm.
“I just want you to stop lying. To yourself, to me, to them.” He gestured vaguely, as if referring to Barty and Evan. “Because whatever you’re doing, it’s not working. And you don’t have to go through it alone.”
Regulus flinched at the last word, the weight of it sinking like a stone in his chest. Alone . It was a word he’d clung to for so long, a state he’d resigned himself to, even in the midst of friendships that felt fleeting and fragile. The thought of letting someone else in, of trusting them with the truth of his unraveling, was terrifying. But the conviction in James’ voice, the quiet determination etched into his features, made it harder to cling to the lie.
“I’m fine,” Regulus said finally, the words brittle and unconvincing. “I don’t need your help.”
James exhaled slowly, his gaze unwavering.
“Maybe not now,” he said, his tone measured. “But when you do, I’ll still be here. And for the record, I’m not buying your excuse. Not for a second.”
Regulus didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Instead, he shoved his chair back with a scrape that seemed to echo in the quiet library. His movements were brisk, purposeful, as he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“Thanks for the concern, Potter,” he said, the words laced with sarcasm as he brushed past him. “But I can handle myself.”
He didn’t wait for a response. The door swung shut behind him, the sound reverberating in the silence like a final punctuation. But as he walked away, the weight of James’ words lingered, pressing against the cracks in his armor.

Chapter Text

Tuesday 29th October, 1976

The wind howled through the Quidditch pitch, the chill biting against Regulus’ exposed skin and creeping beneath the layers of his uniform. The sky loomed heavy above him, a thick blanket of grey clouds that seemed to press down on the players below. The rhythmic sound of brooms slicing through the air filled his ears, but it did little to drown out the relentless drumbeat of exhaustion pounding in his head.
Regulus gripped his broom tightly, his fingers pale against the polished wood. The world around him felt wrong - blurred at the edges, like a painting smudged by careless hands. His head was light, the pitch shifting and tilting with every small movement, but he pushed through it, biting down on the ache in his ribs and the hollow, gnawing emptiness in his stomach. He couldn’t let anyone else notice.

“Black!” The captain’s voice cracked like a whip across the field. “Get your head in the game!”
Regulus barely registered the shout before a Quaffle came hurtling toward him. He blinked hard, shaking the haze from his vision as he darted to intercept it. His movements were sluggish, his muscles screaming in protest as he extended his arm. The Quaffle grazed his fingertips but slipped through, tumbling away into the waiting arms of another player.
“Damn it, Black!” the captain bellowed, his frustration echoing across the pitch. “You’re playing like a bloody first year!”
The sting of the words hit Regulus harder than he expected. His jaw tightened, a flash of heat rising to his face, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t trust himself to. Instead, he nodded stiffly and realigned his grip on his broom, ignoring the way his hands trembled faintly.

The next few minutes passed in a blur of commands and sharp turns, his body moving on autopilot. He could feel the captain’s eyes on him, sharp and scrutinizing, but he forced himself to stay upright, to keep going. The ache in his chest had deepened, spreading like a slow poison, but he told himself it didn’t matter. Out the corner of his eye he noticed as the captain walked away from the pitch.

Another Quaffle came his way, this time with a brutal spin. Regulus dove for it, the rush of air against his face sharp and biting. For a moment he thought he had it. But then the world tilted - his vision swam, the ground beneath him shifting in a way that wasn’t natural. His fingers closed around empty air, and a sudden, searing pain shot through his side.
His heart pounded, each beat reverberating in his ears like a warning drum.

And then, it happened.

A wave of dizziness crashed over him, so violent it felt like the ground itself had lurched. His fingers slipped from the broom’s handle, and he instinctively scrambled to grab hold again. His left hand caught the wooden shaft, his body swinging beneath the broom like a pendulum.
The strain was immediate and excruciating. His grip was weak, his arm trembling violently as he hung there, his legs dangling over the pitch below. Panic surged through him as he tried to pull himself up, but his strength had drained completely, leaving him clinging to the broom by sheer willpower.
“Regulus!” A voice - James’ - shouted his name somewhere above the chaos. His chest heaved, his lungs burning as the cold air tore at his face. His fingers slipped further down the handle, and just before his hand gave away entirely he managed to consume a thought.

‘Why is James here?’
He gasped sharply a moment later as he fell, the wind whipping against his body in a rush of cruel cold.

The ground came fast.

The impact was brutal, a jarring collision that sent pain radiating through every nerve in his body. A choked moan escaped him as he crumpled against the hard grass, his limbs twisting awkwardly beneath him. For a moment, the world was nothing but pain, sharp and unrelenting, filling every inch of his consciousness.
And then, it dulled - fading into a heavy, aching numbness that spread like a shroud over his body.
Distantly he heard the hurried thud of footsteps, the frantic pitch of James’ voice slicing through the haze.
“Regulus! Stay with me now! Bloody hell - someone get help!”
But Regulus couldn’t answer. His head lolled to the side, his breaths shallow and uneven. The pitch spun around him one final time before the darkness closed in, swallowing him whole.

* * *

The Slytherin common room felt suffocating. The dim, greenish glow of the enchanted lamps pressed in on him, the murmur of distant voices grating against his frayed nerves. He had spent too much time here since waking up in the hospital wing - a day, maybe two, he wasn’t sure. Everything had blurred together in an exhausting haze of forced rest and whispered questions he didn’t want to answer.
The concern in Barty’s eyes, the curious glances from others, the knowing silence from James, it was all too much.

Regulus needed air.

Ignoring the sharp ache that still lingered in his ribs, he pushed himself up from the corner armchair and slipped out through the stone archway, the wall sealing behind him with a quiet thud. The dungeons were cool, the chill biting through his robes, but he welcomed it. It was better than the suffocating warmth of the common room, better than the pitying looks and the unspoken expectation that he should explain himself.
His steps carried him up through the castle on instinct, moving without thinking. By the time he realized where he was, the torches lining the corridor flickered against red-and-gold banners. The Gryffindor Tower was ahead, but Regulus veered off before he got too close. He wasn’t stupid. He didn’t need another run-in with Sirius. Instead, he stepped into an alcove near one of the open castle windows. The night air curled around him, crisp and sharp, and he exhaled slowly, pressing his palm against the cool stone ledge. The world beyond the castle was vast and endless - so unlike the tight, inescapable spaces he found himself trapped in day after day.
A sound behind him broke the silence. Footsteps.
Regulus turned sharply, his already-tense body going rigid as James Potter stepped into view.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. James looked different in the dim torchlight - less of the ever-smirking, effortlessly confident Gryffindor, and more like someone who had been waiting for this moment. His hazel eyes flickered with something unreadable.
“Reg,” James said, the single syllable slipping out without hesitation.
Regulus stiffened instantly. His stomach clenched, a flash of something sharp and unwelcome striking through his chest. Sirius used to call him that.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped, his voice harsher than he intended. The words lashed out like a whip, cutting through the quiet.
James blinked, caught off guard, but the hurt that flickered across his face was brief. He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and then took a slow step forward.
“Alright,” he said, softer this time. “Regulus.”
Regulus turned his gaze back to the window, pretending he didn’t feel the way his throat had tightened, the way the air felt heavier in his lungs. He shouldn’t have come this way. He should have stayed in the dungeons.
James hesitated, then exhaled through his nose.
“You scared people, you know,” he said, his tone laced with something careful - measured.
Regulus scoffed. “What, by falling?”

“By not waking up.”

The words landed harder than Regulus expected. His fingers curled against the stone ledge, nails scraping faintly. He didn’t have a response to that.

James shifted, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“I get it,” he said finally. “You don’t want anyone to see you weak. You don’t want anyone thinking you’re anything less than what they expect.” His voice was calm, but not condescending. Just… knowing.
“But you can’t keep running yourself into the ground.”
Regulus let out a slow breath, steadying himself.
“Why do you care?”
James was quiet for a long moment. Then replied simply, “Because I was there.”

Regulus didn’t have an answer for that either.
For the first time, he realized James wasn’t looking at him with the usual sharp Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry, wasn’t sneering at him like Sirius might have, wasn’t trying to lecture him like he was a lost cause. He just… stood there. And for reasons Regulus couldn’t quite understand, that was almost worse.
He turned away before he could let it get to him.
“Go back to your tower, Potter,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before.

James didn’t argue right away. He stayed where he was, watching, considering. Regulus could feel his gaze like an unspoken weight pressing against his back. It made his skin itch. He wasn’t used to this - the quiet persistence, the absence of mockery or judgment. It was disarming.
“Regulus.” James’ voice was steady, but softer now, lacking the usual bravado. “I meant it.”
Regulus didn’t turn around. He didn’t ask what James meant. He already knew. It was in the way James had said his name instead of ‘Black,’ in the way he hadn’t let the sharpness of Regulus’ tone drive him away. It was in the way he had been there when Regulus fell.

But none of it mattered. It couldn’t.
“I don’t need you to,” Regulus said, forcing indifference into his tone, though it didn’t feel quite right in his mouth.
James let out a slow breath, one of those exasperated, resigned sighs like he was trying to be patient.
“Maybe not,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop.”
Regulus’ fingers twitched against the stone ledge.
“Why not?”

James didn’t answer right away, and for a second Regulus almost thought he wouldn’t at all. Then, quietly, “Because I know what it’s like to have people who should care about you act like you don’t matter.”

Regulus’ breath caught.

It was a simple sentence, spoken with no hesitation, but it sent a sharp jolt through his ribs. He didn’t need James to say it outright to understand who he was talking about.

Sirius.
Regulus hated how easily the name could unravel him.
His pulse pounded in his ears. He clenched his jaw, pushing down the sudden flood of emotion rising in his throat. He wouldn’t let himself react to it. He wouldn’t let James see the way his words had hit their mark.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Regulus bit out, but the venom in his voice sounded forced, even to his own ears.
James hummed, and when Regulus finally turned, he wasn’t smirking, wasn’t looking triumphant for getting under his skin. He just looked… tired.
“Maybe not,” James admitted. “But I know you wouldn’t be standing out here alone if things were fine.”

Regulus’ heart stuttered.

James was still watching him, but his expression had softened, something unreadable flickering in his hazel eyes. It made Regulus’ stomach twist uncomfortably.
“Just-” James hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t make this harder on yourself than it has to be, yeah?”
Regulus didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know how to process the way James was talking to him, like he actually cared, like he wasn’t just some Gryffindor trying to make a point.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until James finally exhaled and took a step back.
“Get some sleep, Black.”
Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He nodded once - barely more than a twitch of his head - but it was the only response he could manage. James didn’t push for anything more. He just lingered for a second longer before turning, disappearing down the corridor with slow, unhurried steps.
Regulus stood frozen in place long after he was gone, the night air sharp against his skin, his thoughts an unrecognizable mess.
He hadn’t realized how exhausted he still was until now.
Eventually, with a deep breath, he turned and made his way back to the dungeons. 

And, although he told himself otherwise, the echo of James’ words followed him all the way there.

Chapter Text

Thursday 31st October, 1976

The Black Lake stretched out before them, vast and endless, its glassy surface broken only by the occasional ripple of something unseen beneath. The moon, heavy and watchful, cast pale silver across the water, turning the ripples to liquid light. A thin frost clung to the grass at their feet, brittle and fragile, crackling softly beneath their weight. The night was still, wrapped in a quiet so deep it seemed to press in from all sides, muffling the usual rustling of the Forbidden Forest into something distant and half-forgotten.
James didn’t speak at first. He only lowered himself onto a flat rock near the water’s edge, stretching his legs out in front of him with the sort of ease that made it seem as if they had done this a hundred times before. As if it weren’t absurd that Regulus Black was sitting beside him, close enough that their breath mingled in the cold air.
Regulus hesitated, his fingers curled tight at his sides before he followed suit, lowering himself onto the rock. He was careful to leave space between them, though the distance felt more like a formality than a true barrier. He wasn’t sure why he stayed - perhaps because the castle behind them felt heavier than the night air, pressing into him in ways he couldn’t shake.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. James fidgeted absentmindedly with the hem of his sleeve, and Regulus kept his gaze on the lake, watching the way the moonlight shivered across the surface. The air between them was thick with unspoken things, thoughts hovering just on the edge of words but never quite falling into them.
Then, finally, he broke the silence.
“You know, you’re allowed to just exist, right?”
Regulus turned his head slightly, brow furrowing at the absurdity of the statement. “What?”

James tilted his head back, eyes tracing constellations above them as if searching for an answer in the stars.
“You don’t always have to be doing something. Proving something. You can just… be.”
Regulus scoffed, the sound sharp and hollow.
“That’s easy for you to say.”

James hummed, considering. “Maybe. But it’s still true.”
Regulus exhaled, long and slow, his breath curling like smoke in the night air. He didn’t want to talk about this. Didn’t want James Potter, of all people, picking apart the things he kept buried beneath carefully placed silences. James was already too perceptive for his own good.
James let the quiet stretch again before shifting slightly, reaching into his pocket. “Here,” he said, holding something out between them.

Regulus blinked. A tangerine.

The small fruit sat bright against James’ open palm, the color almost too vivid against the muted tones of the night. Regulus stared at it, his stomach twisting unexpectedly.
He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he’d last eaten. A week? Two? The hunger had dulled into something easy to ignore, a ghost of a feeling rather than an ache. But now, the scent of citrus, sharp and sweet, drifted up through the cold, and suddenly, it was all too much.
His fingers twitched, but he didn’t move to take it.
“I’m not hungry.”
James didn’t pull his hand back.
“You don’t have to be hungry to eat something.”

He clenched his jaw. Stared hard at the water. “I don’t need it.”
James was quiet for a moment, but when he spoke, it wasn’t with insistence. Just certainty. “Alright.”
Regulus expected him to tuck the fruit away, to let the conversation die there. But James didn’t. He only sat, patient, the tangerine still resting in his outstretched hand. He wasn’t forcing. Wasn’t demanding. Just waiting.

Something in Regulus’ chest curled in on itself.
He didn’t want to take it. Didn’t want to let James think he was winning some kind of battle. But the scent was there, filling his lungs, warm and familiar in a way that made his throat ache.
Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out. His fingers brushed James’ as he took it, the skin cool beneath his fingertips. He turned it over in his palm, staring down at it like it was something fragile, something undeserved.
James shifted beside him, a grin tugging at his lips. “Go on, then.”
Regulus shot him a glare. “I hate you.”
James grinned wider. “No, you don’t.”

Regulus exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he pressed his thumb to the seam of the peel. The rind gave way, and the scent burst into the air, stronger now, wrapping around him like something distant and half-remembered. His fingers trembled slightly as he peeled it apart, each slice too bright, too real against his cold skin.
James said nothing as Regulus lifted a piece to his lips, hesitated - then bit down. The taste was overwhelming. Sharp and sweet, bursting against his tongue, too much all at once. He chewed slowly, methodically, feeling it settle like something foreign in his stomach. It was grounding in a way he hadn’t expected.
James didn’t look at him with smug satisfaction. Didn’t gloat. He only watched, steady and quiet, as if waiting for something else to unfold.

Regulus swallowed. Cleared his throat.
“Satisfied?”
James hummed. “Getting there.”
Regulus rolled his eyes at that, but the weight in his chest felt just a little bit lighter.

* * *

They walked back toward the castle in near silence, their steps muffled against the frostbitten ground. The wind had lost some of its bite, or maybe it just felt that way because of the warmth spreading through Regulus’ chest - a warmth he stubbornly refused to name.
James had given him a tangerine.
It was ridiculous, how much that single gesture had unraveled him. He wasn’t even hungry. Not really. But something about the fruit resting in his palm had loosened something in him, something he hadn’t even realized was clenched tight. James hadn’t pushed. Hadn’t pitied him. Just offered, quiet and patient, and Regulus had taken it.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed it until it was gone.

As they reached the castle steps, James let out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re allowed to take care of yourself, you know.”
Regulus shot him a look. “I do.”
James huffed a quiet laugh. “Sure you do, Black. That’s why I had to bribe you with fruit.” Regulus opened his mouth to retort, but the words died on his tongue as soon as they stepped inside.

Evan stood at the far end of the corridor, his sharp gaze flicking between them, taking in the proximity, the quiet ease between them. His lips curled slightly, something dark glinting in his eyes.
“Going for a moonlit stroll, were you?”
Regulus’ spine straightened instinctively, his expression shuttering in an instant. He stepped away from James, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“None of your business, Rosier.”

Behind Evan, Barty watched, his gaze sharp and unreadable. His voice was quieter when he spoke, but no less pointed.
“You’ve been avoiding us, Reggie. And now you’re sneaking off with Potter?”
Regulus inhaled slowly, forcing his jaw to relax. “I wasn’t sneaking anywhere.”
James, to his credit, didn’t take the bait. He glanced between them, then took a step back. “See you around, Regulus.”

He hated the way his chest tightened at that. Hated how much he suddenly didn’t want James to leave him alone with them.
But he said nothing.
The moment James disappeared from sight, Evan scoffed. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Black.”
Barty, though, was silent. He only watched.
The weight of their gazes pressed in, suffocating.
Regulus lifted his chin. “I don’t answer to you.”
Barty’s lips pressed into a thin line. But he said nothing. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, before Regulus finally turned on his heel, stalking toward the dungeons.
His pulse pounded in his ears, but he kept his head high.

He refused to let them see the way their words - the way his own doubts - had unsettled him.

Chapter Text

Regulus stormed into the Slytherin common room, jaw tight, fingers curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Evan and Barty were hot on his heels, footsteps echoing against the stone floor as they followed him in like a pair of particularly persistent bloodhounds.

“You absolute traitor,” Barty hissed the moment they stepped inside. “Talking to Potter? Laughing with Potter?” He practically spat the words, his expression twisted in something between rage and disbelief.
Regulus didn’t so much as glance at him. He strode toward one of the green velvet couches and dropped into it, arms crossing over his chest.
“Go away, Barty.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Barty snapped, flinging himself onto the couch beside him with all the grace of a collapsing star. “You don’t get to storm off dramatically and act like you didn’t just betray the entire foundation of our friendship.”
Evan sighed dramatically, rubbing his temple like he was already exhausted.
"Barty-"
"No, no, let him go on," Regulus said flatly, shrugging off his cloak. "Clearly, he’s about to have an aneurysm, and I’d hate to miss that."

Evan, who had opted to perch on the arm of the couch instead, cracked open a can of Muggle coke - because of course he had somehow gotten his hands on one - and took a long sip, eyes dancing with amusement as he watched the scene unfold.

Barty scoffed.
"Don’t tempt me, Reg. I might actually drop dead from the sheer betrayal of seeing you walk back with James-fucking-Potter like you’re best mates."
Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Barty, I was walking with Potter. It’s not a crime. Plus, we’re not best mates."
Barty gasped so loudly that a first-year in the corner actually flinched.
“Not a- NOT A CRIME? REGULUS! You were alone, at night, with James Potter! This is the ultimate crime! This is treason! This is-”
“Oh, shut up,” Regulus groaned.

“Did he charm you?” Barty continued, relentless. “Is that what this is? Did he put you under some Gryffindor spell of insufferable camaraderie? Are you going to start wearing red and gold? Singing the Hogwarts school song just slightly off-key?”
Evan, who had been at least attempting to seem invested in the argument, let out a suffering sigh and collapsed onto the nearest couch.
"Look, maybe Reg has an explanation. Let’s hear him out before we rip him apart."
Regulus turned his head slowly, fixing Barty with the flattest, most unimpressed stare he could muster.
“I hate you.”

“No, I hate you ,” Barty shot back immediately. Then, with absolutely no transition whatsoever, he gestured vaguely at Regulus and said, “You’re such a fucking posh boy.”
Regulus blinked. “I- what?”
“You heard me,” Barty said, as if this was a long-established fact. “You’ve got that whole rich, brooding, above-it-all thing going on, but really you’re just a repressed, stuck-up little aristocrat who thinks walking in the mud is a character-building exercise.”
Regulus exhaled sharply through his nose.
“That is the single most ridiculous-”

“And also,” Barty added, his tone shifting to something almost flippant, “you’re a faggot.”
Regulus saw red. It wasn’t even what Barty had said - not really. It was the audacity of it. The sheer, infuriating confidence with which he flung out accusations. The way he mixed it in so seamlessly with nonsense insults like posh boy , like it was just another obvious fact about Regulus Black that the whole world should already know.

“I AM NOT!” Regulus yelled, launching himself at Barty with all the force of an unhinged bludger.
Barty shrieked - actual, high-pitched shrieking - as Regulus practically tackled him, the two of them toppling off the couch in a tangle of limbs.
“Oh, this is so much better than I expected,” Evan remarked, still completely relaxed as he took another sip of his coke.
“Take it back, you cunt !” Regulus snarled, wrestling Barty into a headlock.
“Never!” Barty cackled, squirming like a particularly chaotic ferret. “The truth must be spoken, Reggie.”

Regulus tightened his grip, ignoring Barty’s flailing. “Say it! Say I’m not-”

“Oh, come on ,” Barty wheezed, somehow still laughing. “You definitely are. I mean, have you seen yourself?”
Regulus shoved him into the floor with a forceful oof , momentarily breathless from sheer frustration.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Evan, still very much uninvolved, swirled the coke in his can with a lazy motion.
“Yeah, Reggie, I’m gonna be real with you,” he said. “I don’t think you’re winning this argument.”
Regulus groaned, pressing his forehead against the floor as if that might somehow save him from this nightmare.

Barty, still half-pinned beneath him, wheezed out a laugh.
“Just wait until I tell James.”

Regulus actually tried to strangle him that time.

"I am going to end you!"

Evan, now reclining fully on the couch, let out a contented sigh and tipped his coke toward them in a lazy toast. "You two are the best entertainment I’ve had in years ."

* * *

The dormitory was quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional creak of the old wooden beds. Moonlight streamed faintly through the curtains, casting a dim glow across the room. Regulus lay flat on his back, staring at the canopy above him, his mind refusing to shut up.

" You're such a fucking posh boy! " Barty’s voice from earlier rang in his head, sharp and mocking. Followed immediately.
" -and a faggot. "

Regulus scowled at the memory, shifting slightly under his blankets as if he could physically shake the thought away. It wasn’t true. Barty was an idiot. He said things just to get a reaction. He was dramatic, obnoxious, irritating beyond reason. And yet, Regulus couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Because why had Barty said it? Why had he said it like he knew something? Like it was obvious ? It was ridiculous. Utterly, completely ridiculous. He liked girls. Of course, he liked girls. He’d just never really... tried to like them. And sure, maybe he appreciated certain qualities in people - in men, specifically - but that didn’t mean anything.

He let out a frustrated sigh and turned onto his side, burying his face in his pillow.

“Are you seriously still thinking about it?”
Regulus stiffened. Barty’s voice, quiet but amused, cut through the dark like a knife.
“I’m not thinking about anything, ” Regulus muttered, voice muffled by the pillow.
A lazy rustling came from Barty’s bed, followed by a yawn.
“You so are.”
Regulus gritted his teeth. “Go to sleep, Crouch.”
Barty ignored him, shifting so he could see Regulus better in the dark.

“You always do this.”
“Do what ?”
“Overthink things. Get all weird and broody. It’s exhausting, honestly. For me. ”

Regulus groaned, dragging his blanket over his head.
“Maybe if you shut up for once, I wouldn’t have to overthink anything.”
Barty snorted.
“Oh, right, because I’m the reason you’re having a sexuality crisis at-” He glanced at the clock across the room. “-one in the bloody morning.”
“I’m not having a sexuality crisis.”
Barty hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Sure.”

Silence settled between them for a moment, broken only by the sound of Evan’s soft, rhythmic snoring from the other side of the room. Regulus almost thought Barty had let it go - until the other boy spoke again.

“For what it’s worth,” Barty said, voice quieter now, less teasing, “I don’t actually care. Like, at all.”
Regulus hesitated, still hidden under his blanket.
“…Good for you.”
Barty huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. It is.”

Another pause.

“…But just so we’re clear,” Regulus finally muttered, shifting slightly, “I’m not gay.”
Barty just smirked into the dark.
“Mhm. Sure, posh boy. ”

Regulus didn’t dignify him with a response, instead rolling over and firmly shutting his eyes, willing himself to sleep. He ignored the way his stomach twisted uncomfortably, the way his mind wouldn’t let it go.

He wasn’t gay.

He wasn’t.

Chapter Text

Friday 1st November, 1976

Regulus woke up feeling like he had been hit by a Bludger. Repeatedly.
His mind was still groggy with sleep, but the second he cracked his eyes open, last night’s conversation came flooding back. Barty’s teasing, Evan’s amused commentary, the way his stomach had twisted at words he refused to acknowledge. He scowled at the ceiling, willing the thoughts away, but they clung to him like an annoying first-year desperate for attention.

He could hear the soft shuffle of movement - Evan was already up and lazily getting dressed, while Barty was sprawled out on his bed like a particularly dramatic corpse, one arm flung over his face. He was, unfortunately, awake.
“Morning, posh boy,” Barty greeted, voice still rough from sleep.
Regulus immediately turned over and buried his face in his pillow.
“I’m going to smother you in your sleep.”
Barty just yawned loudly.
“Bit aggressive for so early, don’t you think?”
“After last night, no. It’s perfectly justified.”

Evan chuckled from across the room.
“He’s still brooding about it, isn’t he?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Barty replied. “It’s endearing, really.”
Regulus groaned into his pillow. He refused to dignify either of them with a response. The morning routine continued as usual, though Regulus made a point to avoid looking at Barty directly, as if prolonged eye contact might summon another unbearable conversation. Barty, naturally, seemed to find this hilarious.

By the time they made their way down to the Great Hall, Regulus still wasn’t speaking much. He slid into his usual spot at the Slytherin table, arms crossed, expression perfectly neutral. He wasn’t hungry. Or rather, he refused to acknowledge any sense of hunger. He focused instead on the golden plates and steaming dishes before him, ignoring the knowing glances from Barty and Evan.
“You gonna eat anything?” Evan finally asked, lazily buttering a piece of toast.
Regulus didn’t answer, just reached for his goblet of water and took a sip.
Barty smirked.
“I mean, if you’re holding out for Potter to come hand-feed you, we can make arrangements.”
Regulus shot him a glare so sharp it could’ve cut through steel, but before he could retaliate, something - someone - caught his attention from across the room.

James Potter.

Regulus hadn’t meant to look at him, but it was like his eyes had a mind of their own. And, of course, Potter was already watching him.

There was something about the way James’ gaze lingered - calm, assessing, almost… knowing. His brows furrowed slightly, his eyes flickering toward the untouched food in front of Regulus. He tilted his head, an unspoken question in the movement.
Regulus' throat felt tight. He gritted his teeth and looked away, pulse jumping uncomfortably.
Without thinking too much about it, he reached for the nearest thing - a tangerine - and peeled it apart with steady, deliberate movements. The citrus scent curled in the air as he popped a segment into his mouth. He ignored the way Barty and Evan exchanged glances like they had just witnessed something deeply entertaining.
Barty leaned forward with a wicked grin.
“Oh, how interesting.”
“Shut up,” Regulus muttered, reaching for another piece of tangerine. Before he could, Barty stole it right out of his hand and popped it into his own mouth, chewing smugly.

Regulus kicked him under the table. Hard. Barty yelped, nearly choking on the stolen fruit. “You-”
Evan simply took a sip of his drink, watching it all unfold with his usual amused detachment. “So, just to be clear,” he said, voice slow and lazy, “this definitely isn’t a thing?”
Regulus turned his attention fully to his tangerine and refused to respond. James was still watching him from across the hall, and even though Regulus didn’t look up again, he could feel it like a burning brand on his skin.

As the last remnants of breakfast disappeared from the golden plates, Regulus stood, rolling his shoulders as if trying to shake off the strange tension still clinging to him from the morning’s events. The brief moment with James had unsettled him more than he cared to admit, but he refused to dwell on it. He had classes to get to.

James, however, had other plans.

Regulus had barely taken three steps from the Slytherin table before James appeared at his side, falling into an easy stride beside him. It was casual, like he wasn’t walking with a Black, like this wasn’t against every unwritten rule of House dynamics.
“So, are you actually going to talk to me today,” James asked, “or are we keeping up this whole ‘Regulus Pretends I Don’t Exist’ thing?”
Regulus exhaled sharply through his nose.
“I’m not pretending you don’t exist.”
“You literally avoided looking at me the entire time at breakfast.”
“I was eating.”
James raised an eyebrow. “A tangerine.”

Regulus huffed, glancing sideways at him.
“Is there a point to this conversation, or are you just making a habit of being insufferable?”
James grinned, completely unfazed.
“Oh, that habit was established years ago. Ask anyone.”
Regulus pressed his lips together, willing himself not to be even mildly amused. James Potter was exhausting. Infuriatingly persistent. And yet, against all logic, Regulus didn’t hate it as much as he should.
Before he could respond, a familiar, unwelcome voice interrupted them.

“Well, well, well,” came the drawl of none other than Sirius Black, strolling up with Remus and Peter in tow. “What do we have here? My baby brother, willingly engaging in conversation with Gryffindor’s Golden Boy? Have we stepped into an alternate universe?”
Regulus clenched his jaw.
“Piss off, Sirius.”
Sirius clutched at his chest in mock agony.
“Merlin, such venom. And here I was, just coming over to check if you were being held hostage.” He looked James up and down with exaggerated suspicion. “You’re not coercing him, are you, Prongs?”
James sighed. “Not now, Pads.”
“Oh, but definitely later?” Sirius smirked. “Honestly, Reggie, I didn’t think you had it in you. First, you stroll into the castle with him last night, and now you’re practically walking shoulder to shoulder? What’s next? Are you two going to start passing notes in class? Holding hands in the corridors?”
Regulus scowled, the tips of his ears burning.
“You’re an idiot.”
“An idiot who speaks the truth.” Sirius waggled his eyebrows. “I mean, this is historic. Regulus Black, breaking the family tradition of being utterly joyless, befriending a Gryffindor? What’s Mother going to say?”

Remus, who had been standing behind Sirius with a vaguely resigned expression, cleared his throat.
“Maybe we should let them be, Sirius.”
“Let them be?” Sirius scoffed. “Moony, this is practically an inter-House scandal. If I don’t tease Reggie about it, who will?”
Regulus had had enough. Without another word, he turned sharply on his heel and stalked off, his footsteps echoing against the stone corridor as he put as much distance between himself and his insufferable brother as possible.

As he left, however, he caught James’ voice - quiet but firm - murmuring something to Sirius. Regulus couldn’t hear the words exactly, but the tone alone was enough to confirm that James was, in fact, scolding him.
Regulus didn’t stop to listen. He didn’t want to know what James would say in his defense - or if he even was defending him. He just focused on the path ahead, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to pretend none of it mattered.
But despite his best efforts, a traitorous part of him still lingered on the way James had looked at him - not mocking, not smug. Just… concerned.

And that, somehow, was worse than all of Sirius’ teasing combined.

* * *

Regulus slipped into his usual seat in the dimly lit Ancient Runes classroom, letting his bag drop onto the desk with a dull thud. The room smelled faintly of old parchment and ink, the soft scratch of quills filling the silence as students settled in. Professor Babbling was still arranging her notes at the front, her wand flicking lazily through the air as she adjusted floating text on the board.

Regulus exhaled slowly, opening up his textbook. He should be focusing, immersing himself in the complexities of Norse runic structures, but his mind - traitorous as always - kept pulling him back to Potter .
James had looked at him. Had noticed him.
Regulus scowled, fingers tightening around his quill. Why did he look at me like that? Like he actually- No. No, he was reading too much into it. James had probably just been watching for the inevitable Black family dramatics. That’s what people expected, wasn’t it? A show? Another episode of Sirius and Regulus Black: Hostile Brothers, Now With More Public Spectacle!

But that wasn’t what it had felt like.
James had seen him. Not just as Regulus Black, Slytherin, Sirius’ estranged brother - but as… something else. As someone .
Regulus swallowed hard, annoyed with himself. This was ridiculous. It didn’t mean anything. it was that stupid knowing look James had given him when he wasn’t eating, like he’d seen right through him. Like he cared . And worse - Regulus had let him see it. Had let himself react.
He bit the inside of his cheek. He needed to stop thinking about this. About him .

A quiet hmm to his right pulled him from his spiraling thoughts. He blinked and turned slightly, only to find himself face to face with Remus Lupin.
Lupin regarded him with a knowing sort of amusement, arms crossed as he studied Regulus like he was some particularly interesting rune himself.
“You're thinking awfully hard for someone who's supposed to be reading about Elder Futhark."
Regulus stiffened.
" I am thinking about Ancient Runes," he replied too quickly, turning back to his textbook.
Remus made a thoughtful noise.
"Right. And I'm actually an expert in Divination."

Regulus shot him a glare.

Remus, the bastard, only smiled, leaning his elbow on the desk and resting his chin in his palm.
“Let me guess,” he mused, like he was working through some intricate puzzle. “You spent all of breakfast pretending not to hear Sirius while simultaneously hoping he’d shut up. Then, at some point, you made the mistake of looking at James Potter for exactly one second longer than you should have, and now you’re stuck in some sort of mental spiral about it."
Regulus froze, and Remus’ smile widened slightly when he noticed. “Yeah. Thought so.”
Regulus’ eyes narrowed.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Remus let out a quiet laugh at that, shaking his head.
“You Black brothers really do have the same go-to defense mechanism, huh?”
Regulus stiffened again. “I am nothing like my brother.”
“Sure,” Remus said easily, still looking at him like he knew something Regulus didn’t. "Anyway, for what it’s worth, Sirius was being an idiot earlier."

Regulus blinked. He hadn’t been expecting that .
Remus shrugged, rolling his quill between his fingers.
"I mean, he's an idiot most of the time, but this morning was particularly unnecessary. So… sorry about that.”

Regulus didn't respond right away. It was such a strange thing to hear - an apology, for Sirius , from one of his friends . He’d heard people groan about Sirius before, but never followed by anything like… this .
He finally settled on a clipped, "I don’t care…"
Remus let out a quiet snort, lips twitching. "Mhm. Sure.”
Regulus shot him another glare, but Remus wasn’t fazed. If anything, he just looked more amused.
“Honestly, I was expecting you to be more of a dramatic storm-out type,” he added.
Regulus exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Contrary to what you and the rest of your idiotic friend group might think, I don’t throw theatrical tantrums every time someone breathes in my general direction.”
“Right, right.” Remus smirked. “You just bottle it all up and seethe in dignified silence."
Regulus pursed his lips.
“You are insufferable.”
Remus chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “You’d be amazed how often I hear that.”
Regulus huffed and turned back to his work, determined to ignore him. But as his eyes drifted over the runes on the page, his mind betrayed him once again.

James Potter. Stupid, insufferable, obnoxiously kind James Potter.

Regulus cursed himself under his breath.

This was going to be a very long class.

Chapter Text

Saturday 2nd November, 1976

Lunch at the Slytherin table was a loud, bustling affair, but Regulus barely registered it. He sat stiffly between Barty and Evan, methodically cutting his food into precise, even pieces, though he hadn’t actually eaten much. The conversation around them blurred into background noise, nothing but a dull hum compared to the thoughts rattling in his skull. Unfortunately, Barty and Evan had noticed.
“You’re being weird,” Barty announced, elbowing Regulus sharply in the ribs.
Regulus didn’t flinch. He calmly set down his fork and knife, shooting Barty an unimpressed look.
“Am I.”
Evan, ever observant, tilted his head.
“You’ve been weird since yesterday.” Barty hummed in agreement.
“Yeah. You’ve got this... thing about you. Like you’re being haunted, but not in the fun, vengeful-spirit kind of way.” He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. “More like you’re being plagued by something incredibly stupid.”
Regulus exhaled slowly through his nose. “Fascinating analysis.”
Evan smirked.
“Oh, I think we both know exactly what’s plaguing him.”
Barty grinned like a Kneazle who had cornered a particularly slow mouse.
“Oh, we do.”
Regulus knew where this was going. He tensed, shoulders drawing tight, but refused to acknowledge them. Maybe if he ignored them long enough, they’d get bored. No such luck. “James Potter,” Barty sing-songed. Regulus’ fork clattered against his plate.
“Bite me, Crouch.”
Evan’s smirk widened.
“Oh, but why so defensive, Reggie? Surely the thought of Potter hasn’t been lingering in your mind, distracting you during meals, making you-”
“I am not distracted,” Regulus cut in sharply. “And I don’t give a damn about Potter.”

“Really?” Barty drawled. “Then why did you spend half of breakfast yesterday sneaking glances at him like a lovesick maiden? And why-" he leaned in with a smirk "did you stomp off like a scorned lover right after dear Sirius struck a nerve?”

Regulus stiffened. His fingers curled subtly against the wooden table, his mouth parting just slightly to reject the absolutely moronic accusations coming from Barty and Evan. But the words never made it out. They lodged in his throat, thick and immovable, and in that brief hesitation, he could already feel how utterly ridiculous he must look - like a fish gasping for air. He promptly shut his mouth again, sinking harshly into himself, willing the heat rising in his chest to disperse .

Barty and Evan, naturally, noticed immediately.

“Oh, Reggie ,” Barty crooned, grinning like the devil himself. “You’re not even trying to deny it anymore. That’s practically an admission.”
Regulus took in a slow, measured breath. One, two, three . Then exhaled. Four, five, six .
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” His voice came out perfectly smooth, carefully neutral. Nothing amiss.
“Oh, but Reggie,” Evan drawled, feigning exaggerated sympathy, “have you really not noticed? The way you two look at each other? It’s honestly a bit disgusting. Sickening , really. You’re practically eye-fucking him at this point.”
Barty made a dramatic gagging noise in agreement. “Honestly, Reg, you might as well just ask him to take you from behind at this point.”

Silence.

Regulus froze .

His entire body went rigid, like someone had cast Petrificus Totalus on him mid-motion. The words rang in his ears, vibrating with a sharp, visceral horror. His fingers, which had been so carefully poised on the table, curled into tight fists. A slow, terrifying heat crawled up the back of his neck, up to the very tips of his ears.

And then he exploded .

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” Regulus slammed his hands down on the table, the sound reverberating across the Great Hall like a crack of thunder. Heads turned instantly - students, scattered along the Slytherin table, and further beyond, other Houses craning their necks at the sudden outburst. Regulus barely registered them. His focus was wholly on the two absolute menaces sitting in front of him.
“I- what are you, deranged ?!” Regulus' voice climbed, laced with sheer indignation . “What kind of- what possibly possessed you to say something so -” He cut himself off, expression a mix of outrage and absolute mortification .
Barty, the bastard, was practically crying with laughter. Evan, on the other hand, had the audacity to look thoughtful .
“Well,” Evan said, pausing to sip his pumpkin juice like they were discussing the weather , “it’s the logical next step, isn’t it?”

Regulus made an utterly indecipherable noise - somewhere between a strangled scream and a growl. His hands shook with the sheer force of his frustration, and without another word, he shoved himself up from his seat so violently that the bench scraped against the stone floor. The hall was silent now, all eyes on him.

Including the Marauders.

Regulus' eyes flickered to them instinctively - and there was James Potter, sitting at the Gryffindor table, watching him with an expression of amused intrigue. Next to him, Sirius looked like Christmas had come early, his face positively lit up at the prospect of whatever the fuck was happening.

Regulus did not linger.

He turned sharply on his heel and stormed out of the Great Hall, his robes billowing behind him like a furious storm cloud. He didn’t know where he was going - anywhere was better than here - but he knew he needed space . Needed air .

The crisp autumn wind bit against his face as he marched outside, his steps crunching against the grass as he made his way towards the Black Lake. The water stretched out before him, dark and endless, its surface rippling with the occasional lazy movement from the fish below.
Regulus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, pacing along the edge of the lake. His heart was still hammering, his skin still flushed.
I do not like James Potter. Neither romantically, nor platonically. This is not about him. This is about Mother and Father. I have never been given that sort of attention before. That’s all it is. That’s all.
He repeated it to himself like a mantra, steady and unwavering, as if sheer repetition could make it true .

But as he stared out at the lake, its inky depths swallowing his reflection whole, he felt the nagging pull of something deep in his chest - something stubborn and unrelenting. Something he wasn’t ready to name.
With a frustrated huff, Regulus threw himself down onto the grass, arms crossed, scowling out at the water.

He hated Barty and Evan.

More than that, though-

He hated that they weren’t entirely wrong.

Chapter Text

Regulus wasn’t entirely sure how he had ended up here.

He had known the Gryffindor password. But that in itself was a mystery - he couldn’t recall ever being told it, yet when he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the words had slipped from his mouth with ease, as if they had been buried somewhere in his mind all along. They weren’t unfamiliar, but neither were they welcome. He hadn’t meant to say them. And yet, there they were.
The Fat Lady, perched primly in her frame, gave him a sharp, disapproving look from beneath her thick lashes. Her painted lips curled into a sneer.
“What do you think you’re doing here, Black?” she snapped, her voice dripping with disdain. Regulus met her gaze without flinching, though he felt the prickle of discomfort crawling up his neck.
“I know the password,” he said flatly, his voice cold but steady.
She studied him for a long moment, her eyes narrowed as if trying to decide whether or not to make a scene. Then, with a dramatic, exasperated sigh, she turned to the side, muttering under her breath as the door creaked open. He didn’t question it. He simply stepped inside.

The common room was warm. Too warm. A stark contrast to the cool autumn air outside, the chill of the night still clinging to his cloak. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows against the stone walls, and the faint smell of pine and burnt wood hung in the air, mingling with the scent of old parchment and melted candle wax. It was quieter than he expected. Most of Gryffindor seemed to be elsewhere, perhaps enjoying the night out on the grounds or tucked away in the library. A handful of students lingered about, scattered like forgotten thoughts - none of whom paid him any mind.
Regulus, however, couldn’t seem to focus on the silence for long. He scanned the room and found what he was looking for almost immediately. By the fire, half-lit by the dancing flames, sat Remus Lupin. He was curled up in an armchair, book in hand, his brow furrowed slightly as he read, completely unaware of Regulus’s presence. Regulus hesitated.
This was a bad idea.
He was only here for one thing - and it wasn’t to be around Gryffindors. Certainly not him . But-

Before he could change his mind, before his feet could betray him, Regulus strode forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, but he forced himself to walk with purpose. When he came to an abrupt halt just beside Remus’s chair, the other boy barely spared him a glance, his eyes still skimming over the pages of his book.
“You look like a man on a mission,” Remus said idly, flipping a page without looking up. “Should I be concerned?”
Regulus exhaled sharply, fighting the instinct to turn and leave.

“I need your help.”

That caught Remus’s attention. He paused, brow raised, and finally set the book aside, leaning back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.
“With?”
Regulus hesitated. He had rehearsed this in his head. A simple request - straight to the point, detached, impersonal. It should’ve been easy. But now that he was here, standing in front of Remus, something in him cracked. It was far harder to be cold, to keep that mask of indifference in place when the Gryffindor was looking at him like that.

“Sirius is insufferable,” Regulus started abruptly. His voice was sharp, precise, as if he were stating an indisputable fact. “He always has been. But it’s different now. He’s reckless. Loud. Irritating. He does whatever he wants, no matter the consequences.”
Remus blinked, clearly thrown by the sudden shift in conversation.
“Alright…?”
Regulus crossed his arms tightly over his chest, gaze flickering to the fire. He didn’t want to look at Remus. Not now. Not when everything he said felt like it would be turned over and examined under a microscope.
“But then again - he’s always been like that. So maybe I’m just being ridiculous.” There was a beat of silence before he continued, the words spilling out in a torrent.
“Barty and Evan are relentless,” he muttered, jaw clenching, feeling the frustration rise in his chest. “They’ve been teasing me endlessly since that day in the hallway.”

Remus frowned slightly. “What did happen in the hallway?”
Regulus’ lips pressed into a thin line. James.
James had spoken to him. James had looked at him. And that was all it had taken for Barty and Evan to never let him hear the end of it. Their snide remarks, their laughs, their taunting had followed him everywhere - like shadows he couldn’t outrun.

“They won’t shut up about it,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with something close to anger. “Every bloody day-” He cut himself off, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “It doesn’t matter.”
Remus tilted his head slightly, his expression softening. He studied Regulus carefully, as if trying to piece together the fragments of his emotions. Regulus kept his face carefully neutral, but the growing heat creeping up his neck betrayed him. Remus didn’t need more than that.
“Ah,” he replied simply, as if everything suddenly clicked into place. His voice dropped to a quiet, knowing tone. “That’s why.”
Regulus scowled, but it was more out of embarrassment than annoyance.
“Not a word.”
Remus held up his hands in mock surrender, though the amusement in his eyes was impossible to hide.

Regulus rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself to move on, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on him. He had more to say. More to unload, even if he wasn’t sure why he was doing this.
“My parents expect too much,” he said stiffly. His voice was almost mechanical now, the words more practiced. “But that isn’t new.” His voice dropped a little lower, and there was a bitter edge to it. “Nothing I do is ever enough.”

His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into the palms of his hands. It was all too familiar – always striving for something that was never there, never attainable. His mind was a constant swirl of expectation and failure. It was suffocating.

“I need you to teach me Occlumency.”
The words hung in the air between them, heavier than Regulus had anticipated. Remus blinked, clearly caught off guard by the abruptness of it.
“…Occlumency?”
Regulus nodded once, his gaze unwavering.
“I need it.”
Remus exhaled, rubbing at his temple as if he were considering the best way to respond. “Regulus, that’s… not an easy thing to learn.”
“I know.”
“It takes time. Discipline. And it’s not just about blocking people out - it requires control. You have to sort through your own mind, make sense of it, before you can even attempt to guard it.”
“I know,” Regulus repeated, his tone firm despite the doubt creeping into his chest.
“Regulus-”

“I need this, Lupin,” he started, voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable than he’d intended. There was a quiet desperation in his words that made Remus pause.
“And I know you know how to cast it.”

Remus studied him for a long moment, his eyes searching for the truth behind the plea. Regulus swallowed, willing himself not to falter under that gaze. He had anticipated this question, but the answer still caught in his throat.
“Why?” Remus asked simply.

Regulus’ breath hitched. He had known it was coming - he had prepared himself for it - but it still felt like being dragged into the open. The words were caught in his chest, and for a long moment, he didn’t know how to say them. How to explain the jumble of thoughts that rattled around his head, the chaos that he couldn’t silence on his own.
“It’s not about protecting my thoughts from someone else,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “It’s about shutting them off when I need to. Clearing my mind. Sorting through the mess and-” He exhaled, frustration bubbling up. “Just silence. To make it all stop, even if just for a moment, and I suppose that’d just be easier to do if I learned the spell.” He hesitated then, the weight of the unspoken words almost too much to bear. After a long pause, he added, his voice barely audible, “Especially when I think about-”
He cut himself off, jaw tensing, but the flicker of something in his expression gave him away. His eyes darted to the fire, avoiding Remus’s gaze.
Remus raised an eyebrow, lips twitching slightly as if trying to hold back a smile.
“James?”
Regulus’s ears burned. His throat tightened, but he couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

He didn’t answer. But that, in itself, was answer enough.

Remus sighed, running a hand through his hair.
“Well, that’s… certainly a reason. You know, James actually tried to get Sirius to shut up about it. He told him he was just concerned about your health - that’s why he said what he did in the hallway.” Remus gave Regulus a pointed look. “But Sirius didn’t exactly take it well. And now you’re stuck with him being insufferable.”
Regulus’s shoulders stiffened at the mention of James’ attempt to intervene, but he didn’t comment on it. His thoughts were still spinning.
“Are you going to help me or not?” he asked, trying to get the conversation back on track, though his voice was still edged with frustration.
Remus gave him a long, searching look - then, finally, he nodded.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “I’ll help you.”
Regulus let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. The relief was almost immediate, but there was still a wariness in him. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. But it was a start.
“Thanks,” he muttered, the words feeling strange on his tongue.
Remus’ smile was small, but genuine.
“Don’t mention it.”

* * *

Regulus stepped into the dormitory, feeling the residual warmth of the Gryffindor common room fade from his skin almost instantly. The Slytherin dorms were as cold as ever, the greenish glow of the lake outside casting shifting shadows along the walls. The fire in the corner was low, barely flickering, offering only the illusion of warmth rather than the real thing.
But it wasn’t the chill that made Regulus hesitate just inside the doorway, it was them .

Evan and Barty were curled up together on Evan’s bed, sprawled out in the most obnoxiously comfortable way possible. Barty’s head retsed on Evan’s lap, looking entirely at ease as he lazily twirled a strand of his own hair between his fingers. Evan, meanwhile, was levitating a quill in the air, making it dance in slow, deliberate loops with his wand. It was an almost hypnotic sight - one that wouldn’t be easy to ignore if not for the fact that the moment Regulus stepped inside, both of them look up at him.
Regulus stopped, narrowing his eyes.
“What?”
Evan didn’t answer immediately, watching him with mild interest, his wand flicking absently to keep the quill moving in the air. Barty, on the other hand, grinned, shifting just enough to get a better look at him.
“You’re back late,” Barty observed, reaching his arms above his head like a cat, stretching his fingers on Evans chest until they make a ‘pop’, though he made no move to get up from Evan’s lap.
Regulus shrugged off his cloak, draping it over the back of his chair.
“So?”
Barty hummed, tilting his head. “ So we were just wondering where you were.”
Regulus didn’t respond right away. He moved toward his bedside table, taking his time unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling them up as if that required his full attention.
“Nowhere.”
That, of course, did not satisfy them.

Barty propped himself up on his hands, placing them softly on Evan’s thighs, exchanging a glance with Evan before looking back at Regulus with way too much interest.

“ Nowhere? ” he repeated, dragging out the word like it was something scandalous. “Oh, Reggie . You could at least pretend to be mysterious.”
Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response. He kicked off his shoes, tugging his covers back, determined to just ignore them - but naturally, that only makes them more intrigued.
Evan lifted an eyebrow, watching him closely.
“Bit late for nowhere , isn’t it?”
Regulus gritted his teeth, still facing away. “Not really.”
Barty’s grin only widened. He shifted, finally sitting up fully and leaning forward, elbows on his knees.
“You weren’t with Potter , were you?”

Regulus stilled - just for a fraction of a second. It was barely anything. But he knew them too well to think it would go unnoticed.
And sure enough-
“Ohhh.” Barty inhaled sharply, practically delighted . “Oh, you were .”
Regulus exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to stay calm.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Evan hummed, watching him closely.
“Bit defensive, don’t you think?”
Regulus turned at that, narrowing his eyes.
“I wasn’t with Potter ,” he stated, voice clipped. “Not everything revolves around bloody James Potter.”
Barty and Evan exchanged another look - one of those irritatingly smug, silent conversations that only happens when people know each other too well.

Barty leaned back on his forearms, stretching out his legs, all slow amusement.
“Funny,” he mused, tilting his head. “That’s exactly what someone who was with Potter would say.”

Regulus groaned .

“I wasn’t,” he snapped.
Evan smirked, flicking his wand so the quill twirls faster.
“Then where were you?”
Regulus clenched his jaw. He could tell them. He could say he was with Remus and be done with this conversation - but that would only make them more unbearable. So instead, he just exhaled, rolling his eyes as he pulled back his blankets and climbed into bed.
“Whatever, man,” he muttered, tugging the curtains half-closed. “Believe what you choose to believe.”

Silence.
Then-
“…Huh.”
Regulus didn’t need to see them to know that Barty was sitting up straighter now, intrigued. The teasing lilt in his voice was softer, but more prominent - curious .
Evan chuckled under his breath. “That was not a denial.”
Barty hummed, thoughtful. “Fascinating.”

Regulus groaned into his pillow, pressing his face into it. Merlin, why does he even bother?

Barty shifted again, his voice lower now, almost conspiratorial.
“You know ,” he mused, “if you weren’t with James, you could just say where you actually were. It would clear all this up.”
Regulus didn’t answer.
“Mm,” Evan hummed. “Very interesting.”
Regulus lifted his head just enough to glare at them through the gap in his bed curtains.
“Go to sleep .”
Barty only grinned. “Sweet dreams, Reggie .”

Chapter Text

Sunday 3rd November, 1976

Regulus woke before the sun had even begun to rise.

The dormitory was steeped in the cool, quiet hush of early morning, the faint green glow from the lake outside casting soft, shifting patterns along the stone walls. The fire in the corner had burned down to little more than embers, a dull flicker of orange lost in the shadows. For a long moment, Regulus simply lay there, staring at the canopy above his bed, listening to the soft, steady rhythm of his own breathing.
He hadn’t slept much. Not that it surprised him - sleep had never come easy - but there was a sharpness to his exhaustion this time, a raw edge of anticipation gnawing at the corners of his mind. Today was the day. The day he’d finally get Remus to start teaching him Occlumency. The day he’d do something useful - something that might help him carve out a little control over the chaos in his head. And, if he was being honest, it was also the day he had to slip away before Barty and Evan woke up.
Because there was no way they’d let him go without a thousand questions, none of which he had the patience to answer.

Regulus pushed the blanket back carefully, the cold air biting at his skin, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His toes met the icy floor, sending a small shiver up his spine, but he gritted his teeth against it. Quiet. He had to be quiet. The last thing he needed was-
His eyes flicked to the bed beside his.

Barty’s bed was empty, and for a moment, Regulus’ stomach lurched - until he noticed the tangled mess of limbs sprawled across Evan’s bed instead. Barty was there, lying flat on his back, his head half-buried in Evan’s pillow, one arm loosely wrapped around Evan’s waist. Evan, in turn, was draped over Barty’s chest like a particularly lazy cat, his face pressed into the curve of Barty’s neck, a strand of blonde hair falling across his cheek. Their breathing was slow and in sync, rising and falling in a steady rhythm that made it painfully clear they were both sound asleep.

Regulus blinked.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sight. If anything, it was almost expected at this point. Barty and Evan had a way of gravitating toward each other, an unspoken closeness that most people would mistake for something more. And maybe it should have been something more - at least, that’s what anyone outside their little circle would assume. The way they touched without thinking, the way Barty’s fingers would idly tangle in Evan’s hair during study sessions, or the way Evan always seemed to end up leaning against Barty’s shoulder at the end of a long day - it was the kind of intimacy that looked like love.
But it wasn’t. Not in the way people thought.
Regulus knew better.

Barty and Evan weren’t dating - not that anyone would believe him if he said it out loud. They weren’t anything, really, except… them. A strange, chaotic blend of friendship and something softer, something undefinable. Something that didn’t fit neatly into a box. It just was.
And Regulus - well, he was used to it by now.
Still, the sight of them - Evan’s hand resting lightly on Barty’s chest, Barty’s fingers curled ever so slightly into the fabric of Evan’s shirt - made Regulus roll his eyes. As much as they claimed it wasn’t romantic, they certainly didn’t make it easy for anyone to believe otherwise.
Regulus exhaled slowly, pushing himself to his feet with as much silence as he could manage. The floorboards creaked faintly under his weight, but neither Barty nor Evan stirred. They were too tangled up in each other, too far gone in sleep.

Good. That meant Regulus still had time.

He grabbed his cloak from the chair, carefully slipping it over his shoulders, and took one last glance at the two of them. A part of him wanted to snap a sarcastic remark - something about how they really ought to stop pretending they weren’t basically a couple - but that would have to wait. The last thing he needed was Barty waking up and demanding answers about why Regulus was sneaking off so early.
With one final glance at the pair of them, Regulus slipped out of the dormitory, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

* * *

Regulus’ jaw was tight, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the worn armchair. The Gryffindor common room was quiet, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, but none of it reached him - not really. His mind was too loud.

“Again,” Remus said gently, his voice steady but not unkind. “Look at me.”

Regulus forced himself to meet Remus’ gaze. It wasn’t easy - there was something about the calm intensity in those amber eyes that made him feel stripped bare, like Remus could see far too much without even trying. And right now, he was trying. Trying to pull Regulus’ thoughts from his mind. Trying to get past the weak, faltering wall Regulus was attempting to build.

He clenched his fists and exhaled sharply through his nose. Occlumency wasn’t about strength. It wasn’t about gritting his teeth and willing Remus out. It was about control - about quieting the noise in his own head so there was nothing for Remus to grab onto.

“Legilimens,” Remus murmured again.

It hit like a ripple through water - subtle at first, but then the memories started to rise, breaking through the surface of Regulus’ mind.

The dark corridors of the Black Manor. Cold marble floors against bare feet. His mother’s voice - sharp as a blade - cutting through the silence. “You will not embarrass this family, Regulus.” Her wand pointed not at him, but at Kreacher, the old elf trembling and wide-eyed at her feet. “You will learn obedience.”

Regulus flinched.

Another flicker of memory - the clink of fine china, an untouched dinner plate in front of him. His father’s silence, heavier than any lecture, his gaze fixed somewhere past Regulus’ shoulder, as though looking at him too long was a burden. The air in the dining hall had felt thin, suffocating, and Regulus had swallowed hard, knowing better than to speak.

The scene shifted again - sudden and jarring - to something warmer, something painfully out of place.

James Potter.

Laughing - loud, unapologetic, the kind of laugh that made Regulus’ stomach twist for reasons he couldn’t untangle. James, shirt untucked and hair an absolute mess, flinging a crumpled bit of parchment at Sirius’ head during a Quidditch celebration in the Gryffindor common room. The memory wasn’t his. It was something Sirius had once described to him in vivid detail, the night he left home - a moment of freedom that Regulus had never known himself.

James again - this time on the Quidditch pitch, wind in his hair, glasses slightly askew as he whooped after scoring a goal. Regulus had only been watching from a distance, hidden by the shadow of the stands, but the image was burned into his memory all the same. James Potter - the boy who had everything Regulus couldn’t have.

“Occlumency.”

The word came out sharp, but the shield crumbled the moment it formed - a pathetic wisp of magic that did nothing to stop the relentless tide of memories.

Regulus let out a strangled noise of frustration, breaking the connection between them by sheer will alone. His head felt like it was splitting open, and he shoved his fingers through his hair, tugging hard at the roots like he could physically drag the thoughts from his mind.

“Pathetic,” he hissed, more to himself than to Remus. “Absolutely pathetic.”

“Regulus.”

The way Remus said his name wasn’t sharp - it wasn’t a reprimand. It was steady. Grounded.

Regulus didn’t look up.

“You’re not going to get it the first time,” Remus said softly. “Or the second. Or maybe even the third. Occlumency isn’t about brute force - it’s about quieting your mind. And that takes time.”

Regulus bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. “I don’t have time.”

“You have more than you think.”

The words were infuriatingly calm, but there was something else beneath them - an unspoken promise. A quiet assurance that Remus wasn’t going to give up on him.

Regulus finally lifted his gaze, his breathing still uneven, his head still pounding, and a silence settled between them - not uncomfortable, but heavy all the same.

“Again?” Remus asked quietly.

Regulus straightened his spine, wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, and gave a small, determined nod.

“Again.”

Regulus’ mind was a storm. The moment Remus entered again, it wasn’t just the flickers of home or James’ easy, lopsided smile - it was Barty’s sharp laugh echoing through the Slytherin dormitory, the way his eyes always seemed to burn too brightly, like he was seconds away from either starting a fight or a fire. It was Evan’s steadying hand on Barty’s shoulder, the silent way he anchored him - the same hand that would occasionally, thoughtlessly, curl around Regulus’ wrist too, like a promise that he was never really alone.

And then James’ voice, warm and teasing, cut through it all. Something about Barty and Evan - how they were so close it was ridiculous that they weren’t a couple, how James had laughed and said something flippant like, "I reckon they’re just waiting for the right dramatic moment - feels very Slytherin, doesn’t it?"

Regulus had wanted to snap at him - to tell him he didn’t understand, that it wasn’t like that - but the words had tangled in his throat. Because, in a way, James had seen something Regulus wasn’t sure he was ready to admit. About Barty. About Evan. About the way their lives were so tangled together that sometimes it felt impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

The thoughts crashed and blurred - Barty’s arm slung over Evan’s shoulder, Evan’s head resting in Barty’s lap, the way they never quite touched Regulus the same way, even though they were his too.

And then the memory of James again - always James - golden and laughing, asking him why he was so quiet, so closed off.

Regulus’ hand trembled slightly.

"Protego mentis," he hissed again, voice strained.

But it wasn’t enough. Remus pushed through it like it was nothing.

Again.

And again.
Until, finally, Remus let the connection go and leaned
back, his gaze softening as he took in the tension in Regulus’ frame - the way his jaw was set, the way his hands had curled into fists.

"That’s enough for now," Remus said, gentle but firm. "You’re only going to burn yourself out if you keep pushing like this."

Regulus opened his mouth - to argue, to insist that he could keep going, but Remus was already reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small square of chocolate and holding it out.

"Here," Remus said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It’ll help. Trust me."

Regulus blinked at the offering, bewildered. "It’s… chocolate."

"Yes, well, it works for me," Remus replied, as though that explained everything.

For a long moment, Regulus simply stared - at the chocolate, at Remus, at the soft, steady way he looked at him, like Regulus wasn’t just a project or a puzzle to be solved, but a person.

And, despite himself, Regulus felt his lips twitch - just the faintest hint of a smile.

He took the chocolate. It wasn’t much, and he didn’t eat it. But it was something.

Chapter Text

The corridors of Hogwarts whispered with a rare stillness, the usual weekday clamor dissolved into the soft hush of a weekend morning. Breakfast was a distant thought - an optional affair - and most students still lay cocooned in sleep, hidden away from the grey November drizzle that kissed the castle windows with a steady, mournful rhythm.

Regulus hadn’t meant to wander. He didn’t know where he was going - only that he couldn’t go back to the Slytherin dormitory. Not yet.

Barty and Evan would be awake by now, tangled in their peculiar, wordless dance - sharp glances exchanged like secrets, smiles carved from mischief. Barty, all teeth and wildfire, would press him for answers, a game of cat and mouse he had no desire to play. Evan, quieter but no less intense, would tilt his head just so, a gaze that saw too much, too clearly. Regulus wasn’t ready - not for Barty’s reckless chaos or Evan’s silent knowing.

So he walked.

The castle seemed heavier today. The stone walls loomed, ancient and unyielding - or perhaps it was simply his mind, raw and unspooled from the night before.
Remus' voice still echoed in the corners of his memory, soft but relentless, pulling threads of thought loose during their Occlumency session. It left him feeling fractured, as though the memories dragged to the surface had cracked him open - his mother’s voice like poisoned steel, his father’s silence a vast, hollow cavern. Barty's laugh, Evan’s hand steady on his shoulder - and James. Always James. Slipping through the fractures, uninvited, unavoidable.

James Potter, who lingered in his mind like a bruise pressed too often - just to check if the ache was still there.

Lost in the storm of his own thoughts, Regulus didn’t hear the footsteps until they were too close.

“Where are you headed?”

The voice - familiar in the worst way - sent his heart stumbling. A cruel, traitorous thing.

James Potter.

Of course.

Regulus blinked, his spine snapping straight, a marionette on an invisible string. His face hardened, the well-practiced mask sliding into place - cool, indifferent, untouchable. If he looked cold enough, distant enough, maybe it would smother the wild flutter in his chest.

“Nowhere,” he replied, too quick, too sharp, the word landing between them like a stone.

James didn’t step back.

If he noticed the ice Regulus wielded like a weapon, he didn’t show it. Instead, he tilted his head, lips twitching into something not quite a smirk - but not far from one either.

“Funny,” James mused, voice soft. “You don’t look like you’re headed nowhere.”

Regulus’ jaw tightened.

It was infuriating - how James could weave a simple sentence into a snare, leaving Regulus’ mind spiraling. Was it a joke? A jab? Did James find him pathetic, wandering the halls alone like a lost thing? Or - worse - was it something else entirely? Some quiet, unspoken way of seeing him, the way James always seemed to - without meaning to.

He hated it. Hated how James’ voice slipped beneath his skin.

“I wasn’t aware you cared so deeply about my morning routine,” Regulus said, voice a blade honed to cut, desperate to carve distance between them.

James didn’t flinch.

If anything, his smile softened - no triumph, no gloating - just soft.

“Well,” James said lightly, “I care deeply about breakfast. And since I’m on my way there, I thought I’d ask.”

Regulus blinked. “Why?”

The word escaped too sharply, a single syllable that carried more weight than intended.

He braced himself - for the teasing, the inevitable quip, the playful sting of James’ wit.

But none came.

James only shrugged, his gaze steady, warm even.

“Because it’s better than wandering the halls alone,” he said simply.

The words struck like a quiet blow to the ribs.

Regulus’ mind stuttered - because that wasn’t the answer he expected. It wasn’t a game or a dig or a clever remark.

It was just… honest.

And the most dangerous part - the cruelest part, even - was that Regulus believed him.

James didn’t look at him with pity. There was no cruel edge, no hidden mockery. It was just a fact, spoken softly: You shouldn’t be alone.

And Regulus hated that some part of him, small and fragile, ached at the truth of it.

“Fine,” he muttered, the word bitter - not because he didn’t want to go, but because he did.

James' smile spread - not victorious, not smug, just pleased.

“Brilliant,” he said, like Regulus’ agreement was the most natural thing in the world.

Like this wasn’t strange at all.

And somehow - that was worse.

They walked side by side - too close, too far - and Regulus’ mind spun all the way to the Great Hall.

* * *

The Great Hall wore its own kind of quiet.

Gone was the usual chaos - the clattering of plates, the riot of voices. Instead, a hush draped itself over the half-empty room, broken only by the occasional scrape of cutlery and the muted murmurs of lazy conversation. The enchanted ceiling mirrored the bleak sky beyond - grey, rain-slicked, streaked with thin silver threads of drizzle.

Regulus didn’t belong here.

The Slytherin table stretched out like a familiar scar - sparse, a few faces he recognized, heads bent over cups of coffee or idle talk. No Barty. No Evan. Just a cold expanse of green and silver.

But James didn’t slow.

He didn’t spare a glance for the Gryffindor table - not even when Sirius’ gaze caught on them, flickering with surprise. Instead, James pressed forward - toward a quiet corner at the far end of the hall, a space unclaimed by house colors or curious eyes.

Regulus hesitated - a brief, faltering beat - caught between the known and the unknown.

But his feet betrayed him.

He followed.

The bench was cold beneath him, a rigid, deliberate line drawn between himself and James. Enough space to be proper. To be safe.

James didn’t seem to notice.

Or, worse, perhaps, he noticed and didn’t care.

“Merlin,” James said, breaking a roll in half, crumbs scattering. “I forgot how quiet weekends could be. Feels strange, doesn’t it?”

Regulus didn’t answer.

He was too busy untangling the last ten minutes - the hallway, the walk, the unspoken invitation. Was it an invitation?

Or was James just being… James? Warm. Careless. Unreasonably kind.

James shifted, his shoulder brushing the back of the bench - too casual, too much - and Regulus went still.

“You’re staring,” James said, soft, not teasing.

Regulus’ spine snapped straight. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

James’s lips twitched - not quite a smile, but enough to send Regulus’ mind spiraling all over again.

What did it mean?

Was it amusement - some quiet, smug I caught you - or something else? Something warmer, something Regulus couldn’t bring himself to name?

He looked away, fixing his gaze on the rain streaking down the enchanted ceiling. Anything to escape the weight of James’ attention.

Silence stretched between them - not uncomfortable, but not easy either. Like a string pulled taut, moments from snapping.

James didn’t seem bothered. He just reached for a pitcher of pumpkin juice, filling his glass halfway before nudging it slightly towards Regulus. Not a word, just a small, silent offering.

Regulus stared at the glass like it might explode.

“What is this?” he asked, and it came out too sharp, too defensive, like every other word he spoke around James.

James blinked, confused for half a second, before realization dawned - and that damn smile softened again.

“Pumpkin juice,” he said, like it was obvious, like Regulus hadn’t meant everything else .

The knot in Regulus’ chest tightened.

Because it wasn’t just pumpkin juice. It was the way James kept doing this - these quiet, unassuming gestures - as though it were the most natural thing in the world to offer Regulus anything at all. A seat. A conversation. A drink.

Regulus didn’t touch the glass.

James didn’t push him to.

Instead, James tore another piece of bread apart, his voice light but not careless when he spoke again.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

Regulus bristled. “And you talk too much.”

James grinned - an honest, amused grin, and Regulus hated how it made something sharp in his chest soften.

“Well,” James said, “someone has to fill the silence.”

Regulus’ fingers curled around the edge of the table - not hard enough to show, but enough to ground himself.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it?

James wasn’t filling the silence - not really.

He was breaking it apart, bit by bit, cracking through the quiet walls Regulus kept so carefully constructed. Not with cruelty, not with mockery, just with that steady, relentless presence .

And Regulus didn’t know how to stop it.

He didn’t know if he wanted to.

So, instead, he let the silence settle again - and to his surprise, James let it, too.

Chapter Text

“You really think he doesn’t look at you like that?”

The words hit Regulus like a curse - sudden, sharp, and unforgiving.

He blinked, his back rigid against the cold stone wall of the empty classroom, the air between him and Sirius stretched tight as a wire - one breath away from snapping.

Sirius was already pacing - a caged thing, all frayed edges and restless fury - his hair hanging in his face, his leather jacket creaking with every clipped movement. His voice, rough and biting, filled the silence Regulus had been clinging to.

“You think I don’t see it?” Sirius laughed, but there was no humor in it, just something raw, something broken. “The way James looks at you? Like you’re some puzzle he’s desperate to solve - like you’re the only thing in the room that matters?”

Regulus' throat tightened.

He didn’t answer.

He couldn’t.

Because he didn’t know what was worse - the accusation, or the cruel, undeniable ring of truth beneath it.

Sirius kept going, his words unraveling like thread pulled too tight.
“And you-” He pointed a finger at Regulus, not quite touching him but close enough to burn. “Your glare always softens when you look at him. It’s disgusting.”

Regulus’ jaw snapped shut. He felt it - the crack in his ribs, the slow, creeping ache in his chest.
“That’s not true,” he said, too quickly, too sharply, a blade drawn not to strike but to defend.

“Oh, spare me the lies, Reggie.” Sirius’ voice broke over his name - not a nickname anymore, but a weapon. “I’ve known you your whole life, I know the difference between hate and whatever the hell this is.”

Regulus flinched.

Because Sirius was right.

He had spent years perfecting the art of the glare, the cold, untouchable shield, but with James… it slipped. It always slipped. His edges softened without permission. His mask cracked at the corners. And the worst part - the part Regulus couldn’t even admit to himself - was that he didn’t know how to stop it.

Sirius stepped back, running a hand through his hair, his breathing unsteady now.
“Do you have any idea what this feels like?” he asked, and his voice wasn’t loud anymore. It was low. Hoarse. Heavy with something other than anger. “James was mine.”

Regulus’ heart shattered.

He felt it - like glass fracturing behind his ribs, sharp and irreversible.

James was mine.

Not in the way Regulus’ mind immediately twisted it - not romantically, not like that , but in every other way that mattered. James had been Sirius' safe place, his family when their real one turned to poison. His best friend. His constant. His only .

And now - now it was Regulus standing too close to James, Regulus who James smiled at in the quiet moments, Regulus who Sirius had always sworn was a reflection of everything he hated about himself.

Regulus swallowed, the pain thick in his throat.
“He’s not yours.” The words felt like betrayal on his tongue. “And he’s not mine either.”

Sirius' head snapped up, his eyes burning. “But he was all I had.”

The silence roared between them.

Regulus couldn’t breathe.

Because it wasn’t true - it wasn’t - Sirius had Remus .

But that wasn’t the point, was it?

James had been Sirius’ before Remus - before Gryffindor, before the war, before everything. James had been the one thing Sirius could claim as his own. And now, Regulus was unraveling even that .

Regulus forced his voice to steady. “We’re not in love,” he said, hating how the words trembled at the edges. “We’re not even friends.”

Sirius barked a laugh, but it was broken now, all sharp edges and bitterness. “Keep telling yourself that, Reg.”

Regulus clenched his fists at his sides - not because he was angry at Sirius, but because he hated the sick, gnawing part of him that wanted those words to be a lie.

He wanted to be James’ something.

He wanted to be more than a crack in Sirius' reflection.

But he wasn’t.

And he never would be.

So he swallowed the ache - shoved it deep into the hollow space inside him, and met Sirius’ burning stare with a coldness he didn’t quite feel.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Regulus said quietly.

And he didn’t know if he was saying it for Sirius, or for himself.

Because whatever had been blooming between him and James - the quiet moments, the soft smiles, the stupid pumpkin juice at breakfast - it had to end.

It wasn’t worth this.

It wasn’t worth the gaping hole between him and his brother - the only family he had left, no matter how shattered they were.

James Potter didn’t belong to him.

And Regulus would make sure he never did.

Because if sacrificing whatever flicker of something he had with James meant he could claw back even the smallest part of Sirius - if it meant they could go back to being brothers, or at least something like it, then Regulus would do it.

He’d bury every feeling, every glance, every stupid, painful ache.

He’d give James up.

Because, at the end of the day, Sirius was the only person Regulus had ever truly wanted to belong to.

And maybe, if he let James go, Sirius would finally see him as a brother again.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 13th November, 1976

The world didn’t stop when Regulus began avoiding James.

Days blurred into each other - grey mornings bleeding into quieter afternoons, and evenings spent buried in books he couldn’t read because his mind wouldn’t stop spinning. James was everywhere and nowhere all at once - a voice echoing down a corridor Regulus refused to turn into, a laugh cutting through the hum of the Great Hall, a figure half-seen out of the corner of his eye.

Regulus moved like a ghost through it all - untouchable, unreachable - carving out a distance so sharp it felt like a blade to the ribs.

James didn’t chase him.

Not really.

But there were moments - small, fleeting things - that made Regulus wonder if James noticed. The way James’ gaze would linger a beat too long when Regulus entered a room. The half-step James took forward before stopping himself whenever their paths crossed. The slight crease between James’ brows, subtle but there, when Regulus pretended not to see him.

But James never said a word.

And Regulus told himself it was better that way.

That’s what he told himself again when he slid into a seat beside Barty and Evan at breakfast, his movements smooth, practiced, like he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes loitering in the hallway until he was sure James had already sat down.

“Look who’s finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Barty drawled, resting his chin on his hand. His eyes were bright, too bright, with that untamed sort of mischief Regulus had long since learned to steel himself against. “Thought you might’ve defected to the Gryffindor table by now.”

Regulus didn’t flinch.

Not outwardly.

Instead, he reached for a piece of toast, his voice flat. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Oh, I’m the ridiculous one?” Barty’s smile was all teeth, a flash of something unhinged behind his sharp edges. “You’ve been making a habit of staring after Potter like a lovesick maiden, but I’m the ridiculous one?”

Regulus’ hand stilled for the smallest fraction of a second - a blink-and-you-miss-it hesitation - before he tore the toast in half with a bit too much force.

“I don’t stare after Potter,” he said, a quiet bite beneath his words. “And we’re not-”

“Friends?” Evan supplied smoothly, his gaze calm, calculating. He leaned back, his posture deceptively relaxed. “We know. You’ve said.”

“Multiple times,” Barty added, sing-song. “But it’s funny, isn’t it? The way he looks at you.”

Regulus’ stomach twisted.

He kept his voice steady. “He doesn’t look at me.”

Barty’s grin sharpened. “He does. Like you’ve gone and stolen something from him - or maybe like he’s waiting for you to steal something else.”

Regulus’ heart stumbled over itself - a sharp, traitorous thing.

He didn’t answer.

“Though,” Barty continued, plucking a grape from a nearby platter and rolling it between his fingers, “you finally seem to be back where you belong - with us. I was starting to think you liked him.”

Regulus’ throat burned.

It was easier to let Barty talk, to let him turn James into a joke, something small and distant. It was easier to pretend that Evan’s watchful gaze wasn’t peeling him apart piece by piece. It was easier than admitting what still sat heavy in his chest.

That every time James smiled at him, something broke.

And every time Regulus forced himself to look away, something broke again.

“Potter means nothing to me,” Regulus said too soft and too cracked, but firm enough for Barty to smirk.

“Good,” he said simply.

The conversation shifted, to classes, to a prank someone pulled in Transfiguration, but Regulus’ mind didn’t follow.

He kept his gaze on the plate in front of him, his jaw tight, his thoughts louder than the hum of the Great Hall.

Because the truth was simple:

James Potter wasn’t his to miss.

But Merlin, he missed him anyway.

And if disappearing from James’ life meant keeping the fragile distance he’d rebuilt with Sirius - if it meant maybe, maybe becoming brothers again - then Regulus would disappear a thousand times over.

Because Sirius mattered more.

Sirius had to matter more.

Chapter Text

Monday 18th November, 1976

Regulus had always been good at disappearing.
Not in the literal sense - though he was skilled enough in magic to make it so, if he wished - but in the way that mattered. The way that let him slip through the castle unseen, unnoticed, untouchable. It was an art, really. A careful, deliberate practice of knowing when to leave, where to walk, and how to make himself nothing more than another shadow in the vast, breathing body of Hogwarts. He knew every hidden passage, every staircase that moved, every alcove where someone could stand just outside the reach of candlelight. And for years, he had perfected the ability to not be found.

Avoidance was easy. It was a skill as natural as breathing.

Or at least, it should have been.

But James Potter was making it difficult.

Because James had noticed. Of course, he had.

At first, Regulus thought James might let it go. That he would take the hint, would see the way Regulus turned corners too fast and left rooms too soon, and would - just this once - stop pushing.

But James had never been one to let things lie.

And so, it became a game.

Regulus never acknowledged him. Never gave him the satisfaction of a glance. But still, James was there. Always just behind him, always close enough to be felt, even when he wasn’t seen.
A flicker of gold-rimmed glasses at the other end of the corridor. A shift of movement in the Great Hall, where James would look up just as Regulus turned away. A brush of air in passing - so close, never touching.

Regulus felt haunted.

It was infuriating. Because James didn’t say anything. He never called out, never reached for him, never demanded an answer.

Somehow, that was worse.

Because Regulus knew James wanted to. He could feel it in the way James hesitated sometimes, in the way his gaze lingered too long, like he was waiting for Regulus to look back.
But he didn’t. He wouldn’t.
Because this was necessary. This was the right thing to do.

And yet, when he slipped through another hidden passage, when he turned another corner too quickly, when he avoided and avoided and avoided, he felt something in his chest tighten.

It wasn’t guilt. Not quite.

But it was something.

Something he didn’t have the courage to name.

* * *

The Slytherin common room was quiet when he entered. A low fire burned in the stone hearth, casting flickering shadows over green-and-silver tapestries. It smelled like damp stone, aged parchment, and the sharp undertone of potion ingredients from someone’s abandoned cauldron.

Barty was sprawled across one of the sofas, a deck of enchanted playing cards hovering in the air above him. He caught sight of Regulus immediately, a smirk curling at his lips.

“Well, look who’s finally stopped sulking.”

Regulus sighed, setting his bag down by the chair opposite him. “I don’t sulk.”

Barty’s smirk widened. “Oh, sure. You’ve just been walking around like a plague-ridden ghost for the past week for fun .”

Evan, seated gracefully beside Barty, snorted softly. He didn’t look up from the book he was reading, but his amusement was clear. “You have been rather…dramatic about it, Reggie.”
Regulus shot him a glare, but Evan didn’t so much as blink. Barty, meanwhile, rolled onto his side, propping his head up with one hand as the cards continued to shuffle themselves above him.
“I’m just relieved you finally gave up on Potter,” Barty said, all bright, biting satisfaction. “Took you long enough to come to your senses.”

Regulus’ jaw clenched. “There was nothing to give up.”

Barty’s eyes glittered with something sharp.
“Oh, please ,” he drawled. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me. You were obsessed with him.”
Regulus stiffened. “I wasn’t-”
“Oh, you were,” Barty interrupted cheerfully. “Brooding over him in the library, making eyes at him across the bloody Great Hall, vanishing Merlin-knows-where at odd hours-”

“I wasn’t making eyes at him.”

Barty snickered. “Tell that to literally anyone who saw you two together.”

Regulus pressed his fingers to his temple. “There was no together .”

Evan hummed thoughtfully, turning a page in his book. “Perhaps not in the way you mean. But it was certainly something .”
Barty sat up suddenly, eyes alight with mischief. “Wait, you don’t actually expect us to believe that nothing happened, do you?”
Regulus didn’t answer, and Barty’s grin stretched wider. “Oh,” he breathed.
“Oh, something did happen, didn’t it?”
Regulus exhaled sharply. “It doesn’t matter.”

Barty let out a delighted cackle. “That means yes .”
Evan, still calm, raised a brow. “It means he doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, I know,” Barty said, practically vibrating with glee. “That’s what makes it so fun .”
Regulus shot him a murderous glare. “Barty.”
Barty held up his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Fine, fine. No more prying.” He leaned back against the sofa, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “Besides, all that matters is that it’s over now, yeah? No more Potter. No more tragic, lovesick stares.”

“I was not lovesick.”

Barty ignored him. “You’re back where you belong. With us. So let’s leave Potter where he belongs: somewhere far away and unimportant.”

Regulus didn’t answer.

Because James wasn’t unimportant.

Not to him.

Not yet.

But he let Barty believe it. Let Evan believe it. Let himself believe it, even if just for tonight.

Because pretending was easier.

And if James Potter kept lingering at the edges of his thoughts, if his presence still haunted the corridors of his mind - well.

No one had to know.

Chapter Text

Monday 25th November, 1976

James hadn’t spoken much all morning. It wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t being moody - not in the way Sirius could be, with storming out of rooms and slamming doors. No, James just… felt off. Like something was pressing behind his ribs, a dull, slow ache that refused to settle.
He’d woken up feeling it. That awful, lingering something - the kind that made him stare at the ceiling longer than he should have, the kind that made the air feel too thick in his lungs. It was exhaustion, maybe. Or the change in the weather. Or the way Regulus hadn’t looked at him in seven days.

James wasn’t counting.

He wasn’t.

“Oi, you awake in there?” Sirius nudged him hard in the ribs, dragging him back to the present.
James blinked. The Great Hall. Breakfast. His plate was barely touched. Across from him, Peter was deep in conversation with Marlene about something Quidditch-related, and Remus was absently skimming over the latest edition of the Prophet, his tea steaming beside him.

“I’m awake,” James muttered. His voice felt hoarse, like he hadn’t used it in hours.

Sirius snorted. “Yeah? You sure? Because you’ve been staring at your eggs like they personally offended you for the past ten minutes.”
James forced a smirk. “They did. Can’t trust eggs, mate. Always up to something.”
Sirius huffed a laugh but didn’t look convinced. “Uh-huh. And you definitely haven’t been sulking like some lovesick wanker for the past week.”

James nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. “What?”

Sirius grinned, leaning back against the bench like he’d won something. “Oh, come off it, Prongs. We’ve all noticed. You’ve been weird . Jumpy. Quiet. Not your usual, pain-in-the-arse self.” He waggled his eyebrows. “What’s her name?”
James groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. Merlin’s bloody beard. “There’s no her. ”
Sirius scoffed. “Oh, so it’s a him, then?”

For half a second, James’ stomach dropped.

He recovered quickly - he always did - but something in his expression must have flickered, because Sirius narrowed his eyes.
James rolled his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. “No one. I’ve just been-” he searched for a reasonable excuse, one that wouldn’t make him sound completely unhinged. “-tired.”
Sirius made a doubtful noise. “Uh-huh. Tired. Sure. And I’m Minister for Magic.”
James ignored him, shoving a piece of toast into his mouth as an excuse not to answer.

The conversation should have ended there. But then Regulus walked in.

And James - like the absolute idiot he was - looked up. It was automatic, at this point. A habit. A problem.

Regulus moved through the hall like he didn’t exist - or rather, like he existed on some separate plane of reality. Untouchable. Composed. Perfect. Even now, with the bitter November chill outside, he was effortless - robes pristine, hair neatly combed, expression unreadable as he walked past James’ table without so much as a glance.

James felt his stomach twist.

It was the same thing, over and over again. Seven days of this. Of nothing. Of walking past each other in the corridors, of catching glimpses of Regulus in the library or the Astronomy Tower or the bloody Quidditch pitch and getting nothing .

Not a word. Not a look. Not a single damn acknowledgment.

James wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much.
Maybe because he’d gotten used to the arguments. The insults. The little games they played in between. The thing that had been growing between them, quiet and unspoken and almost real.

But now? Now there was nothing .
Like James had imagined it all.

Sirius was still talking, but James wasn’t listening anymore. His jaw had gone tight, his fingers curling against the table as Regulus sat down across the hall with Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier. James watched - because of course he did - as Barty leaned in, saying something low in Regulus’ ear. Regulus didn’t react much, but his mouth quirked, almost like a smirk ghosting across his lips before he looked down at his plate.

James exhaled sharply.

That stupid smirk. That effortless ease. Like nothing was wrong. Like James was nothing .

His appetite was gone. He pushed his plate away, shoving a hand through his hair in frustration.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “You alright, mate?”
James forced a grin, but it felt wrong on his face. “Yeah. Just… tired, remember?” Sirius didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

And James? James sat there, in the middle of a room full of people, feeling completely invisible.

Chapter Text

Friday 29th November, 1976

The sky outside was muted gray, the kind of weather that made even the usual cheer of Gryffindor Tower feel dull, like something was weighing it down. James sat at the far end of the common room, a Quidditch magazine open in front of him. He wasn’t reading it, though, the words a blur that slipped by without meaning. His fingers drummed absentmindedly on the edge of the table, a steady, rhythmic beat that couldn’t drown out the thoughts spiraling in his mind.
Quidditch practice was in a few hours. He should’ve been on the pitch already, making sure the team was ready for the upcoming match against Hufflepuff. But the thought of stepping out there, facing his teammates, grinning like nothing was wrong - it felt impossible. His chest was too tight, his thoughts too heavy. He wasn’t ready for it.

It wasn’t until Sirius stormed into the common room that James realized he’d been holding his breath without knowing it.
“Oi, Prongs,” Sirius barked, his voice sharp, the usual playful energy replaced by something more serious. “You skipping practice today, then?”

James didn’t look up immediately. “I- uh, yeah, I just forgot. Got caught up in something.”
Sirius arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing. “You forgot? Right. Sure. Didn’t seem like you forgot last week when you nearly knocked off my head during that last drill.”

“I was distracted,” James said quickly, the lie slipping from his lips as easily as any other. He’d said it to himself enough times for it to feel like the truth.

Sirius didn’t buy it. “You’re avoiding it, aren’t you?”
James froze, fingers stilling on the table. He didn’t look up. Didn’t have to. He could feel Sirius’ eyes on him, the weight of his gaze pressing in from across the room.
“What?” James replied, voice a little too light. “I’m not avoiding anything.” Sirius snorted, rolling his eyes. “Don’t bullshit me, Prongs. I’ve known you long enough to tell when you’re full of it. You’ve been off all week, not just with Quidditch. Something’s up.”
James shifted in his seat, suddenly aware of the other Marauders moving into the room behind Sirius - Remus and Peter, both of them eyeing him carefully. His mind raced, looking for a way out. How could he explain what was happening to him without saying the words?

“You’re being weird, mate,” Peter added from over Sirius' shoulder, looking a bit worried but trying to mask it with a joke. “What’s going on?”
James stood abruptly, trying to push down the weight of the tension that had settled over him. “I’m fine. Just tired, alright? I’ll be at practice next time.”
Sirius wasn’t having it. He stepped forward, blocking James’ path. “You’re not fine. What the hell’s going on with you? Talk to me.”
James swallowed hard. His throat felt tight, the lie threatening to crack wide open. He wanted to push past Sirius, brush it off, but he couldn’t. Not when his friends were staring at him like that, their concern too heavy in the air.

“I’m… avoiding it, alright?” The words came out in a rush, as though he couldn’t stop them once they started. “Avoiding practice, avoiding everything. Just… everything. You don’t understand, Padfoot.”

Sirius’ eyes softened, but only for a moment, before they sharpened again. “I can understand. You can’t hide everything from me, mate. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
James looked at him, and for the first time in days, really looked. Sirius wasn’t his usual reckless self right now. His face was serious, but there was an edge of concern, something more than just a friend pushing for an answer.
James clenched his fists, staring down at the floor as he fought the words back. He couldn’t tell Sirius the whole truth. Not yet.

“James,” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost coaxing. “What’s wrong? You’re not telling us something.”
James let out a long breath, the walls around his chest pressing in tighter. He could feel it - like a storm just waiting to burst. His frustration was an open wound, raw and sharp. And it was all because of one person.

“I’m in love with someone,” James finally blurted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They tasted bitter, like they didn’t belong to him. Sirius blinked, taken aback. “What?”
James exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m in love with someone, alright? But it’s not the way it’s supposed to be. It’s… well it’s complicated.”
A strange expression flickered across Sirius’ face - some mix of surprise, confusion, and maybe a little bit of hurt. “Complicated how?”
James hesitated, knowing what he wasn’t saying, but not wanting to give voice to it. Not yet. “It’s just… not what I thought it would be. And I don’t know how to deal with it.” Sirius stared at him for a long moment, and then, as if realizing something, his expression shifted. His brow furrowed, and his lips twisted slightly, as though trying to put the pieces together.
“Who is it, then? I mean, if you’re really in love with someone…”

James’ heart pounded in his chest, and for the first time in a long while, he felt exposed. “I can’t… I can’t tell you, alright? Not now. Not yet.”
Sirius looked at him for a long time, studying him, and James felt the weight of the unasked question hanging in the air. He couldn’t look at him any longer. He couldn’t let him see just how badly he was falling apart.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sirius finally said, his voice softer now, no longer an interrogation. “Whatever it is, you don’t need to carry it alone.”
James nodded, his chest tight. He didn’t have the words to explain how much he appreciated that, how much he needed it, but he was afraid of saying too much. Afraid of revealing things that weren’t ready to be said out loud.

“I know,” James muttered, looking anywhere but at Sirius.

Sirius didn’t push anymore. He let the silence sit between them, and James could feel his gaze on him like a weight. But even then, in the quiet of the room, a small part of him felt lighter. He wasn’t sure if that was because he had admitted the truth or because Sirius was still standing there, waiting for him to figure it out.
Finally, Sirius sighed, breaking the silence. “Well, whenever you’re ready to tell me who the lucky person is, I’m here.”
James nodded, his mouth a thin line. “Thanks, Padfoot.”

Sirius clapped him on the back as they headed toward the door, but James couldn’t shake the feeling that the storm inside him wasn’t over yet. If anything, it was just starting.

Chapter Text

Tuesday 3rd December, 1976

Regulus sat at his usual seat in the Potions classroom, his quill poised between his fingers, though he had yet to write anything down. The dungeon was damp and cold, the air thick with the mingling scents of brewed concoctions, burning wood, and the faint metallic tang of bubbling cauldrons.
A familiar humming tension filled the space between desks - the kind that always accompanied a lesson led by Slughorn, who had a habit of making things feel far more grandiose than they were.
Regulus should have been focused. He always was. But there was something about this particular lesson that had his muscles coiled tight.

As Slughorn gestured toward the cauldron at the front of the room, Regulus immediately recognized the shimmering, pearlescent sheen of the potion. His stomach turned.

Amortentia.
Of course.

A brief murmur rippled through the class, students straightening in their seats or whispering excitedly to one another. Amortentia was notorious. It wasn’t just a love potion - it was the love potion, the most powerful one in existence. Regulus knew its properties well. It was fascinating in theory, and dangerous in practice. Not because it created real love - it didn’t - but because of what it revealed. It smelled different to everyone. It exposed desire, attachment, longing. It exposed weakness.

Slughorn beamed at his students, clearly enjoying the palpable anticipation in the air.
“Now, now! No need for all the excitement!” he chuckled, though he knew exactly what he was doing. “I expect you all know what this is, yes? Can anyone tell me its effects?”
Several hands shot up. Lily Evans was called on, predictably, and she gave an articulate, detailed answer about its composition and properties. Slughorn nodded approvingly, but Regulus barely heard any of it.
He was too busy mapping out an exit strategy.

He could feel the way this was going. Slughorn liked to make things interactive, and that meant someone was going to have to smell the damn thing.
As if on cue, Slughorn clapped his hands together.
“Alright, let’s have a volunteer! Mr. Potter?”
Regulus froze. His grip on his quill tightened as James grinned and stood.

James Potter.
Of course.

The golden boy . Slughorn’s favorite. Hogwarts’ favorite. Regulus didn’t look at him. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on his parchment as James made his way to the front of the room. He could practically feel Sirius’ radiating amusement from the other side of the room.

James reached the cauldron, rolling his shoulders back in mock confidence. He leaned in, inhaling deeply.
And then he stopped.
Regulus’ head snapped up, and he noticed the way James’ posture stiffened. The way his fingers twitched at his sides. It lasted only a second or so - too quick for most to notice. But Regulus noticed. Something had caught him off guard.

James let out a small cough and turned back to the class, schooling his face into something neutral.
“Well?” Slughorn prompted, his eyes gleaming. “What do you smell, my boy?”
James hesitated for a fraction of a second before speaking. “Broom polish,” he said. Sirius grinned from his seat. “Obviously.” A few students chuckled.
James scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… wet dog?” Sirius’ grin vanished at that. His eyebrows furrowed . A split second of horrified offense crossed his face before James hurriedly added, “Must be a coincidence.”
Regulus felt Sirius staring at James like he wanted to hex him on the spot.
But then James’ brows furrowed slightly. His expression shifted, confused.

“Green apples and… tangerine?”

Regulus went rigid.

A suffocating silence fell over the classroom as James let out a forced laugh.
“Guess those are just some of my favorite fruits?”

Liar.

Regulus knew that cologne.
Knew it because he wore it.
Green apples and tangerine were the top notes of his fragrance - the one he chose because it was sharp and fresh and didn’t cling to the skin too sweetly.
And James had just smelled it.

Sirius was staring directly at him now, and Regulus felt his gaze like a physical force.

Sirius knew.
Sirius knew exactly what James had just smelled.

James hurried back to his seat, moving too quickly, too stiffly. Regulus tracked his movement from the corner of his eye, barely suppressing the sickening rush of realization.

Slughorn, oblivious to the sheer chaos he had just ignited, clapped his hands again.
“Wonderful! Now, let’s have another! Hmm…” His gaze flickered across the room, and Regulus suddenly felt very, very unlucky.
“Ah! Mr. Regulus Black!”
Regulus’ pulse spiked. He kept his face perfectly neutral. His body still.
“Go on now, my boy, don’t be shy!”

He should refuse. He should find some reasonable excuse.  But the entire class was watching him now. And so, with measured, controlled movements, he rose from his seat.

His walk to the front of the class felt longer than it should have. The cauldron shimmered before him, innocuous, yet lethal.

He inhaled and nearly staggered back.

Broom polish.

His stomach twisted.
No. No, that was Quidditch. That was all.

Amberwood. Oud wood. Something deep. Something warm.
His fingers curled.
Fox fur. Raccoon fur - Evan and Barty.
And then-
A soft, familiar perfume. Light. Floral. Safe.

Pandora’s perfume.

His breath hitched slightly.
She meant stability. She meant friendship. Not love, but she was a constant.
Regulus forced himself to straighten.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm.
“Broom polish.” he started. “Fox and raccoon fur.” A pause.
“And the gorgeous orchid perfume.”

Silence.

“Wait, wait-” Barty snickered, elbowing Evan. “Didn’t Pandora make that perfume herself?”
Evan smirked. “Oh, she did.”
Regulus clenched his jaw.
Pandora smiled, and then, quietly, knowingly, she met his gaze.
Regulus looked away.

Sirius was still staring at him. James was still too quiet. And beneath all of it, Regulus had an idea he might’ve also smelt some cedar wood - maybe even some leather from Quidditch gloves that did not belong to him.

He hated it.

Chapter Text

Wednesday 4th December, 1976

The day began with a quiet unease, though Regulus did his best to ignore it. He woke before his dorm mates, lying still in bed as the early morning light filtered through the heavy green curtains. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, willing his mind to be blank, to push away the restless energy thrumming beneath his skin. Eventually, he rose, moving through the motions of his morning routine with careful precision, as though he could keep the chaos at bay by sticking to familiar steps.

Breakfast was an exercise in restraint. He kept his back straight, his hands folded neatly on the table between half-eaten toast and a lukewarm cup of tea. Around him, his housemates spoke in hushed voices, murmuring about upcoming exams and Quidditch strategies. He heard them, but he didn’t listen. His mind was elsewhere - on the feeling of something unspoken pressing against his ribs, making it difficult to breathe.

And then James Potter entered the Great Hall.

Regulus didn’t look up. He didn’t need to. He heard the laughter before he saw him - the way James spoke with effortless ease, like the world had never given him a reason to be quiet. And then that scent, subtle but unmistakable, reached him. Cedarwood and something warm, something Regulus couldn’t name but had come to recognize all the same.

His grip tightened around his fork. He counted his breaths. Inhale. Exhale. It didn’t mean anything.

The day crawled forward in slow, agonizing increments. In Potions, he kept his focus solely on his work, carefully measuring ingredients while Slughorn droned on about the properties of bezoars. It should have been simple. Straightforward. But then James brushed past him on the way to the supply shelf, and that scent was there again, tugging at the frayed edges of his composure. Regulus stiffened, his quill pressing too hard against the parchment, ink bleeding into an unintentional blot.
He exhaled sharply and sat the quill down. He was being ridiculous. Overreacting. This wasn’t- this couldn’t be… It.

In the library, the scent lingered even when James was nowhere in sight. Regulus told himself he was imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him. He buried himself in his studies, reading the same passage in his Arithmancy textbook three times before realizing he hadn’t absorbed a single word.

By dinner, the tension in his chest had settled into something heavy and unshakable. He pushed food around his plate, barely listening as Barty prattled on about some hex he’d perfected. The Great Hall was filled with too much noise, too many voices overlapping, and through it all, Regulus remained quiet, trapped in his own thoughts.
He needed air.
The cool corridors of the castle provided some relief, but it wasn’t enough. His feet carried him without much conscious thought, following a path he shouldn’t have been on. And then he was standing near the Gryffindor common room, heart hammering for reasons he refused to acknowledge.

He needed to speak to Remus.

The door was closed, but he could hear the voices inside, muffled but distinct. And then James spoke, his voice cutting through the others, effortless and sure.

“He’s different, you know? Not in the way people think.”

Regulus stopped breathing.

There was a pause, then Sirius’ familiar scoff. “Merlin, don’t tell me you’re defending my brother now.”
James didn’t hesitate. “I’m just saying… he’s not who people think he is.”

The words settled over Regulus like an unwanted weight, pressing down on him, curling into the space he’d tried to keep empty. His fingers curled into his sleeves. He shouldn’t have been listening. He shouldn’t have cared. But his pulse was rapid - an unsteady rhythm in his throat - and before he could think better of it, he was turning away, walking quickly back to the dungeons.

The moment he stepped into his dorm, he knew sleep wouldn’t come easily. He changed into his pyjamas mechanically, slipping a sweater over his head in a futile attempt to ward off the restlessness creeping beneath his skin. The walls felt too close, the silence too loud. He tried to lie still, but the scent of James clung to the edges of his mind, refusing to let go.

He needed to leave. Needed to breathe. Needed to escape the weight of everything pressing down on him.

* * *

The moon was high when Regulus finally escaped the suffocating walls of his dorm. He’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, trying, and failing, to get some semblance of sleep. But every time his eyes closed, all he saw was James’ face. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to get out. He needed space to breathe, to think, to not think.
His feet carried him to the Astronomy Tower without conscious thought. His brain, a jumble of tangled emotions, couldn’t seem to stop spiraling. He was on autopilot. A quick change into his pyjamas, a sweater pulled over his head, and the need to escape was too strong.

When he reached the tower, Regulus leaned against the cold stone, staring out at the horizon. His hands were shoved deep in his pockets, his mind swirling like a storm he couldn’t control. He tried to breathe deeply, but the sensation of James - of that scent - lingered in every exhale, and it made him feel like he was choking on his own thoughts.
This wasn’t real, he told himself. He wasn’t in love with James Potter. This had to be some kind of sick joke. He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He didn’t have the luxury to be in love, especially not with someone like James.

The wind picked up, and he pulled his arms tighter around himself, the chill seeping through his clothes. It was only then that he heard the soft footsteps behind him.
Regulus tensed instinctively but didn’t turn around. He already knew who it was.

“Can’t sleep?” Remus’ voice was soft, gentle. Familiar.
Regulus didn’t answer. Instead, he just stared out over the grounds, hoping the night would swallow him whole. He felt, for the first time, like he was drowning.
Remus was quiet for a long moment.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Regulus didn’t smile. Didn’t even try. The words tasted bitter on his tongue. “I think I’m dying,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And it’s my fault.”
Remus didn’t press him, just stood beside him, as though giving him the space to say whatever it was he needed to say. And when he did speak again, it was with a calmness that almost felt too good to be true.
“You know,” Remus started, voice low and easy, “James talks about you a lot, actually.” Regulus froze, his breath catching in his throat. His heart felt like it was pounding in his ears. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He didn’t want to hear this.
Remus continued, oblivious. “He- well, he never says much, but it’s pretty obvious. He’s… well, he’s fond of you, Regulus.”
The words hit him like a shock, and Regulus found himself struggling for air. It wasn’t a confession, but it didn’t need to be. He could feel it now - the weight of it all. Remus was giving him the space to figure it out, even though Regulus already knew. He already knew . But hearing it from someone else - someone who wasn’t James, someone who wasn’t pretending - made it real. Made it so real.

Regulus stared out into the night, trying to process it. But all he could think about was the smell of James’ cologne, the way it clung to him in the Great Hall. The way his heart had clenched the moment he realized what it meant.
And then, from somewhere deep inside, the horrifying realization hit him all at once.

“ Oh my god… ” His voice cracked as he whispered it. “I’m in love with James fucking Potter .”

Remus gave him a soft smile, like he’d heard this kind of confession a hundred times before. “Yeah,” he said gently. “I think you might be.”

And with that, the world around Regulus seemed to collapse in on itself. Everything was too much, and yet, it wasn’t enough. It was too real. And he was too far gone.

But there was no escaping it now. No running.

He was in love with James Potter.

Chapter Text

Saturday 7th December, 1976

Regulus sat at the desk in their shared dorm room, quill hovering over his parchment. He’d been staring at the same sentence for what felt like an eternity, but the words just wouldn’t make sense anymore. Every time he tried to focus, his mind would drift back to James - to the cologne, the laughter, the warmth, everything that was slowly becoming an ache inside his chest. The usual detachment wasn’t working anymore. His hands felt too shaky, and the quiet in the room had taken on a suffocating weight. It was hard to breathe. Hard to think. Hard to do anything but feel like the world was closing in around him.
Evan had noticed. He’d noticed how little Regulus had eaten, how pale he’d been looking. And tonight, something about Regulus' behavior was… different. The distant look in his eyes, the stiff way he sat. Evan was trying to focus on his own work but couldn’t help but glance at his friend, who seemed to be sinking deeper into his own mind.

“Reg,” Evan started carefully, his voice low, “are you sure you’re alright?”
Regulus didn’t answer at first, not really hearing Evan, not really even registering the question. He only blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream. But the question dug into him like a needle.
“Yeah, fine,” he muttered, his voice sounding too hollow, even to his own ears.

Evan watched him for a moment, his frown deepening. He was far from convinced. Regulus hadn’t looked this bad in ages. Not since... well, not since the year Sirius ran away. And even then, Regulus hadn’t allowed himself to crumble this badly.
“Mate,” Evan tried again, shifting a bit closer to him. “You’ve hardly eaten anything in weeks, and you’ve been looking like you haven’t slept... Please just tell me what’s going on.”
There it was, that thread of concern in Evan’s voice. It was a small thing, a slight shift in tone, but it was enough to push Regulus over the edge. His hand trembled as it held the quill, the ink blotting out part of the sentence he hadn’t finished. And then - he didn’t even know when it happened - the first tear fell. The quill slipped from his fingers as another followed, a third one soon after. He wiped at his eyes, but the tears kept coming, and he could hardly breathe through the sudden rush of emotion. It wasn’t a sob at first: just the quiet, shaky breathing of someone trying to hold it all in, trying to control what felt uncontrollable.
Evan froze. Something was wrong. He glanced down at Regulus’ parchment, and that’s when he saw it - the blotted words, the tear stains on the paper.

“Reg?” Evan’s voice softened in a heartbeat. “Regulus?”

That was when Regulus broke. He looked up at Evan, his eyes red and glassy, and the sobs came. They were quiet at first, wracking his chest with the force of emotions he hadn’t let himself acknowledge until now. His shoulders shook with each breath, and his hands, still trembling, clutched at the paper. He couldn’t even say anything, just shaking his head like he was trying to silence the wave of everything that had built up inside.
Evan swallowed thickly, stepping closer, cautiously putting a hand on Regulus’ back. He didn’t say anything at first - just let Regulus cry.

When Regulus’ breathing began to steady a little, Evan spoke again, softer this time, trying not to break the fragile silence. “Hey… you know, I’m here, right?”
Regulus nodded weakly, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his sweater. The tears were still coming, but they weren’t as violent now. After a long pause, Evan said, almost hesitantly, “I’ve got your back, mate. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”
Regulus barely heard him. His thoughts were clouded by the overwhelming weight of everything he’d been holding back, trying to fight the realization that had been creeping up on him - I think I’m in love with James. But he couldn’t say it. Not yet. Not like this. Not with Evan looking at him so softly, waiting for him to speak. Instead, Regulus just nodded again, his voice barely above a whisper. ““I think... I think I might be in love with a boy .”

Evan paused, before giving a small, reassuring smile, although his eyes still held that glimmer of confusion.
Regulus stiffened slightly, blinking, before he opened his mouth to continue, but the words failed him. He wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t sure how to follow up.
Evan just grinned at him, his tone shifting to something lighter, a little teasing. “You know I’m gay, right? Just saying. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of. But… if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

The silence stretched for a moment, and Regulus swallowed hard, waiting for Evan to say something more. Anything. But instead he just gave a soft, knowing smile, before he walked over to where Regulus sat on his chair, hugging him from behind.

" You’re okay Reg’. It’s okay.”

Chapter Text

Thursday 12th December, 1976

James Potter wasn’t usually the type to lose sleep over things he didn’t understand. If something confused him, he figured it out. If something bothered him, he fixed it. Simple.

But nothing about Regulus Black was simple.

James had spent the past week driving himself insane trying to figure out what went wrong. At first, he’d convinced himself he was imagining it - the way Regulus avoided his gaze, the way he kept his head down when they passed in the corridors. But by the fourth day, even Sirius had noticed. “Dunno what you did to piss him off,” Sirius had muttered, frowning over his plate of roast potatoes, “but whatever it was, he’s not getting over it anytime soon.”

James didn’t know what he’d done.

That was the worst part.

Now, it was well past two in the morning, and he still couldn’t stop thinking about it. He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling of the Gryffindor dormitory. The others were asleep - Remus curled up on his side, Peter lightly snoring, and Sirius sprawled out, half his blankets kicked onto the floor. James exhaled sharply and sat up, shoving his glasses onto his face. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well check the Map.
Reaching over to his bedside table, he grabbed a piece of old, worn parchment and unfolded it carefully. With a flick of his wand, he muttered, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.’ The ink bled across the page, revealing the layout of the entire castle. Tiny dots moved along the hallways, some grouped together in dormitories, others wandering the corridors. James’ eyes skimmed over the familiar names. Everything looked normal - until it didn’t.
A single dot sat unmoving at the top of the Astronomy Tower.

Regulus Arcturus Black.

James’ stomach twisted.

It was stupid to assume the worst, right? Just because someone was standing alone on the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night didn’t mean they were going to do anything drastic.

But still.
James didn’t stop to think. He just moved.

He yanked on his jumper and grabbed his wand, shoving the Map into his pocket as he slipped out of the dormitory. The common room was empty except for the crackling fire, and the corridors were eerily silent as he made his way through the castle. He should have been more careful about sneaking around Filch, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could think about was Regulus.

By the time he reached the Astronomy Tower, his heart was pounding. He slowed as he approached the final steps, forcing himself to breathe. He couldn’t jump to conclusions. Maybe Regulus was just thinking. Maybe he couldn’t sleep. Maybe-

James stepped onto the tower landing, and his stomach dropped.
Regulus was standing at the edge of the balcony, his hands gripping the railing, his head tilted slightly downward. The wind tousled his dark curls, making him look fragile in a way that James had never seen before.

James’ blood ran cold.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?” His voice came out sharper than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. His pulse was still racing from the moment he’d thought- God, he didn’t even want to think it.

Regulus startled at the sound of James’ voice, whipping around so fast he nearly stumbled. His eyes were wide, his face pale in the moonlight. “What?”
James took a few quick steps forward, closing the distance between them. “ You scared the shit out of me, ” he snapped. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “You’re just standing there, in the middle of the night, alone - what was I supposed to think?”
Regulus stared at him, something unreadable flickering across his expression. “I wasn’t-” He broke off, shaking his head. “I wasn’t going to jump, Potter.”
James exhaled, his body sagging with relief. He dragged a hand through his hair, trying to get his breathing under control.
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “it fucking looked like it.”

Silence stretched between them. The only sounds were the distant hoot of an owl and the wind rushing through the stone tower.
Regulus finally spoke, his voice quieter now. “Why do you care?”
James blinked. “What?”
“Why do you care what I do?” Regulus repeated, his gaze searching James’ face. “I’ve been ignoring you for days. I made it clear I don’t want to talk to you.” His voice wavered slightly on the last word. “So why are you here?”
James swallowed. “Because I do care.” His voice was steady now, no hesitation. “And you don’t get to decide that I don’t.”

Regulus let out a sharp breath, his hands tightening around the sleeves of his sweater. His whole body looked tense, like he was fighting against himself. “You’re an idiot,” he muttered.
James huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Another silence. This time, it was different. Charged. Heavy.

James hadn’t noticed how close they were standing until now. The moonlight carved soft shadows across Regulus’ face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the slight furrow of his brow.

James’ heart was hammering.

And then, before he could stop himself, he did something incredibly, unbelievably stupid.

He kissed him.

It was soft - barely more than a brush of lips. Just the briefest, most tentative press of his mouth against Regulus’. But it was enough to send a shiver down his spine.
Then, he pulled back, eyes wide. “Shit.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, I- Regulus, I’m-”
“I swear to Merlin, if you apologise, I’ll hex you,” Regulus interrupted, his voice slightly breathless.

James barely had a second to process what had been said before Regulus grabbed him by the collar and kissed him again.

This time, it wasn’t soft.

James made a startled noise before melting into it, his hands flying to Regulus’ waist, pulling him in. Regulus’ fingers twisted into the fabric of James’ jumper, holding on like he was afraid to let go. The kiss was messy and desperate and full of frustration, but neither of them seemed to care. When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathing heavily. Regulus looked utterly wrecked - his lips slightly swollen, his hair even more tousled than before.
James was sure he didn’t look much better.

Regulus swallowed, voice rough when he finally spoke. “I really, really hate you.”
James let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah,” he murmured, his fingers still resting on Regulus’ waist. “I hate you too.”

Neither of them moved, yet neither of them let go either.

Chapter Text

Friday 20th December, 1976

Regulus stood stiffly on Platform 9¾, the crisp December air biting at his skin despite the warmth of his thick black coat. The Hogwarts Express loomed before him, steam curling in the cold, the sounds of students calling out goodbyes echoing across the station. The energy in the air was different from the usual departures at the end of term - everyone was ready for a break, ready for home, or at least something close to it.
But Regulus wasn’t sure if "home" existed anymore.

Around him, nearly all the students were filing onto the train, the usual chatter blending into the rhythmic thud of luggage being hauled into compartments. Only a handful of students were staying behind at Hogwarts this year - Remus and Peter among them, along with Pandora and a few others. Regulus had learned that fact earlier when Barty had grumbled about it at breakfast.
"I don't understand why anyone would willingly stay at that freezing castle when they could be anywhere else."
Regulus had barely heard him at the time, too caught up in his own thoughts. Now, as he stood near the edge of the platform, his grip tightening around the strap of his bag, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. That something was unfinished.

James was here. Regulus knew that, of course - he had known the moment he stepped onto the platform, had felt it in the way his chest tightened, in the way his breath hitched without permission. He hadn’t spoken to James properly since that night on the Astronomy Tower. Had barely even looked at him since. But James was close now. Close enough that Regulus could hear his laughter over the sound of the train’s engine, could pick out his voice even among the crowd.
And it hurt . He hadn’t been prepared for how much it would hurt.

Regulus turned slightly, glancing toward the source of the laughter before he could stop himself. James was standing a few paces away with Sirius, his arm slung lazily over his best friend's shoulder as they talked animatedly with Marlene McKinnon. James' smile was wide, effortless, the kind of smile that made people believe the world was good. The kind of smile Regulus had felt against his own lips just days ago.

He shouldn’t be thinking about that.

Sirius, suddenly aware of something, turned his head, scanning the crowd, until his sharp gaze landed on him.

Regulus froze.

For a second, Sirius simply stared, his brow furrowing as his eyes darted between Regulus and James. His expression shifted, lips parting slightly as if putting together a puzzle he hadn’t realized was missing pieces.
Regulus turned away before he could see the full realization set in. He boarded the train without another glance.

The compartment Regulus found was quiet. Barty had disappeared somewhere, likely off harassing some poor third-year, and Evan had gone to fetch tea from the trolley. Regulus didn’t mind the solitude - it was better this way. Easier to breathe when no one was there to watch him.
Except, of course, that peace didn’t last long.
The door to the compartment slid open abruptly, and Regulus barely had time to react before someone dropped into the seat across from him.

Sirius.

Regulus tensed, fingers curling against the fabric of his coat.
"What do you want?"
Sirius didn’t answer immediately. He was studying him, grey eyes scanning his face in a way that made Regulus' skin crawl.
"Something’s going on with you," Sirius said, voice slow and deliberate. "And him ."
Regulus' stomach flipped. " Who? "
Sirius scoffed. "Don’t play dumb, Reggie, you’re terrible at it. James ."
Regulus forced himself to hold his brother’s gaze, to not flinch at the name. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."
Sirius narrowed his eyes, skeptical. Then, suddenly, his lips curled into a smirk. "You’ve been avoiding him."
Regulus' pulse thundered in his ears.
"I avoid a lot of people."
"Yeah, but you don't usually kiss the people you're avoiding."
Regulus' heart stopped . His body went cold, a wave of nausea rolling over him. " What ?"
Sirius’ smirk widened. "I knew it," he said, triumphant. "Merlin, I knew something was up with you two."
Regulus clenched his jaw, willing himself to stay still, to stay unreadable. "You don’t know anything."

Sirius tilted his head, expression turning smug. "I know James won't shut up about you."

Regulus inhaled sharply.

"Doesn’t say much outright," Sirius continued, "but I can hear it in the way he talks about you. And the way he doesn’t talk about you. And now you’re acting all weird and cagey, and- oh my God, you like him, don’t you?"
Regulus shot to his feet. "I don’t have time for this, Sirius." He moved toward the door, but Sirius caught his wrist before he could leave.
"Reg."

Regulus stilled.
Sirius had never called him that. Not since they were children. When he turned, his brother was watching him differently now - not with teasing, not with his usual bravado, but with something softer. Something real.
"You don’t have to tell me," Sirius said, quietly. "But... if you ever do want to talk about it, you know where to find me."
Regulus' throat tightened. He swallowed hard, pulling his wrist from Sirius’ grip.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said again, forcing the words out steadily.

And then he left.

* * *

The train pulled out of the station minutes later, the whistle cutting through the air as the wheels rumbled against the tracks. Regulus didn’t look back. He didn’t watch as James glanced out the window, eyes scanning the platform as if searching for something. He didn’t see the way Sirius leaned close, whispering something into James' ear that made his expression shift. He didn’t see the way James frowned, brows drawing together, fingers tapping anxiously against his knee.

Regulus didn’t see any of it.
But he felt it.

And as the Hogwarts Express carried him further from the castle, further from James, further from everything - Regulus realized he was already dreading the return.
Because something between them had changed.

And there was no going back now.

Chapter Text

THE SECOND PART

Chapter Text

Friday 20th December, 1976

Home did not greet Regulus with warmth.

The door opened with its usual creak - high and cold and unforgiving, and the air inside 12 Grimmauld Place was as bitter as the frost still clinging to his coat. The walls loomed in on themselves, too tall and too narrow all at once. The portraits were quiet now, but he could feel their stares already - like dust settling where it didn’t belong.

He hesitated on the threshold just long enough to feel the house notice him. Then he stepped inside.
There was no welcome, no smile, no trace of anything gentle.

Only her.

Walburga stood at the end of the corridor like a shadow pulled from stone. Her spine was perfectly straight. Her hands folded neatly in front of her waist. Her eyes - piercing, silver-edged - tracked his every move as if calculating each ounce of disappointment.
“You’re late,” she said. It wasn’t true. It was barely past four. But in this house, truth bent around her expectations.
“I came straight from the station.”
“Did you?” Her voice was clipped, carved with something he couldn’t name. “You look… unkempt.”
Regulus didn’t respond. He’d learned not to offer answers where only obedience was required. His trunk hovered quietly behind him, still levitating from the Floo connection. He held himself still, perfectly composed, even as something coiled behind his ribs like a warning.

“Come,” she said. “We need to talk.”
It was not a suggestion.
They moved to the drawing room.

She didn’t offer him tea. She didn’t sit. She turned, instead, toward the hearth, where the fire burned low - like it, too, was waiting.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them. Regulus stood with his hands behind his back, just as he’d been taught. He could feel her gaze like a needle, threading itself through every detail: his posture, his shoes, the cut of his hair.
“I sent three letters,” she said finally. “All of them unanswered.” Regulus met her eyes, but only barely.
“I was busy. Exams.”
Her expression didn’t shift. “And yet not too busy, I hear, to spend your time in the Astronomy Tower.”

His heart skipped.
His stomach sank.

It wasn’t the mention of the tower - it was how she said it. Knowing. Measured. Like a trap already sprung. She stepped closer, and something inside him screamed run, run, run, but he didn’t move.

“Tell me, Regulus,” she said softly, as if they were merely discussing the weather, “does kissing a Potter feel like victory?”

He went still. Utterly still.

The breath caught in his lungs and didn’t come back.
She knew.

He didn’t know how - whether she had spies at Hogwarts, or some bloodbound enchantment woven into his name. Maybe Sirius had said something, in one of his explosions. Maybe James had. Maybe it didn’t matter.
Because her eyes had already turned cold. Not angry. Worse.

Disgusted.

Her hand moved before he could react. The slap wasn’t sudden - it was deliberate. She wanted him to see it coming. Her palm caught him across the cheekbone, sharp and hard, and the shock of it made his knees tremble. It wasn’t just the pain - though that bloomed fast, a sharp sting rising to the surface - it was what it meant . Walburga Black had never hit him before. Not like this. Not like something meant to break.
Another blow came, this time backhanded. The edge of her ring carved a thin line above his jaw. He tasted copper. His mouth stayed closed.
“I did not raise you to embarrass this family,” she said, not raising her voice. “I did not raise you to follow in your brother’s filth-ridden footsteps.”

Regulus stared at the floor, the blood roaring in his ears.

“You will write to the Dark Lord before the end of the week. You will correct this insult to our name. And you will burn that Potter boy out of your system like a disease. ”

Another pause. Her breath was steady. His wasn’t.
“You understand me, don’t you?”

He nodded. Because it was the only answer that meant survival.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there after she left.

The sting in his skin dulled into something low and deep. Not numb, but distant - like his body didn’t quite belong to him anymore. He turned slowly, retrieved his trunk from where it had been discarded against the banister. His wand, too, lay on the floor. He picked it up with a hand that trembled. His mind went quiet, which was almost worse than when it screamed.
He didn’t cry. Instead, he cleaned the blood from his face. He changed clothes. He brushed the wrinkles from his trousers, even though no one would care. He straightened the collar of his shirt, fixed his posture, and went to dinner when called.

Because that was what was expected.

* * *

The dining room was already set when he arrived.
Walburga sat at the head of the table, as always. Orion was beside her, silent behind the Prophet, the crackle of parchment louder than any words he offered. Regulus sat across from an empty place setting - Sirius’ old seat, now always laid out and never used.

The meal was served by a house-elf with shaking hands. It was roast venison tonight, with braised vegetables and cream potatoes. A plate was placed in front of Regulus, and he stared at it for a long time before picking up his fork.

Walburga didn’t look at him.
Orion did.

“You’ve filled out,” he said casually between bites of meat. “Shoulders and cheeks. More weight than last summer, I’d say.”

Regulus blinked.

Walburga’s eyes finally flicked toward him. She said nothing, but her gaze lingered too long on the way he held his fork. His posture. His second bite.
“You’ll want to lose it again before term resumes,” Orion said flatly. “We can’t have the Black heir returning to Hogwarts soft.”

Soft.

Regulus didn’t respond. His fingers clenched tightly around the handle of his fork. He pushed his food around his plate with practiced quiet.
His cheek still throbbed. His ribs ached where her ring had landed. His stomach turned.

When the meal was over, he cleared his plate without being asked. He excused himself without emotion. He returned to his room, laid out his clothes for the morning, and sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the wall.

He hadn’t been hungry, anyway.

Chapter Text

Monday 23rd December, 1976

as the snow falls, so do the quiet things

The snow came quietly in the night.

Regulus woke to it - a dull, gray sort of light leaking through the frost-lined window, casting everything in a hazy kind of stillness. He didn’t move from the bed. Not at first. His ribs ached from how he’d curled into himself while he slept, and there was a dull throb just above his jaw from where Walburga’s ring had caught him days before. The bruise had turned greenish now, ugly and deep. He hadn’t looked at it since the night it happened. He didn’t need to - he could feel it, always.

Grimmauld Place was quiet in the morning. It always had been, but now the silence scraped against him like sandpaper. He hadn’t spoken since dinner. Three days ago. Maybe four.
He wasn’t sure. Time blurred here. Everything inside the house was sharp - the rules, the edges of the words left on the tongue, the eyes that followed him when he walked too slowly down the hall. Everything outside felt softer. The snow, the sky, the memory of the Astronomy Tower pressed behind his eyelids. James’ hands. His mouth. His scent, still clinging in the folds of Regulus’ scarf like a secret.
He swallowed hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

He hadn’t answered Sirius’ letter.
He hadn’t answered James’ letter.

They’d come the same morning, tied to the same owl - Sirius’ was a short, messy scrawl that told him to write back or I’ll hex you when I see you, and James’ was folded carefully and smelled faintly like peppermint and firewood. Regulus hadn’t opened it. He hadn’t dared. It was tucked under his pillow now, unopened, creased at the edge from where he kept touching it.

He pulled his blanket higher over his chest, suddenly cold.

By midday, he made it to the writing desk. The chair creaked under him as he sat - not because of his weight, but because it was old, just like everything else in this house. That didn’t stop the words from echoing in his mind, though.
"You’ve gained weight, haven’t you? We’ll have to fix that before school starts again." He hadn’t eaten since then. Not really. A few bites of toast. A few sips of tea. Nothing he couldn’t undo.

Regulus stared at the blank parchment for a long time. Then, slowly, he picked up his quill.

Remus,

I hope it’s not strange that I’m writing to you. I’m not sure who else I could write. I think… I think I just need someone who won’t expect anything from me right now.

I’m fine. That’s what I’m supposed to say, isn’t it? I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m home.

Except, that’s not true. Not any of it, really.

I thought coming back here would make things easier. That maybe, if I kept my head down long enough, I could return to school and everything would be where I left it. But I’m not sure I can go back like this. I feel like a stranger in my own skin. Like my body betrayed me for not being sharp enough, small enough, silent enough.
I can’t stand mirrors.

Do you remember that night on the tower? When you said James talks about me like I’m worth knowing?
That ruined me a little.
Because now I can’t stop wondering what he sees. And if he’d still see it, now that I’m- well, now that I’m like this.

Anyway. I won’t send this. I just needed to write it down somewhere. Pretend it’s not rotting me from the inside out.

He paused, fingers tight around the quill, ink already smudged near the bottom. The words sat on the page like confessions - vulnerable and unfinished.
He didn’t sign it. Instead, he folded the parchment carefully and slipped it between the pages of a book he didn’t plan to read.

That night, dinner was worse than usual. Orion barely looked at him, and Walburga spoke only to complain - about the elf, about the Ministry, about Sirius - but her eyes kept flicking toward Regulus’ plate. When he reached for the bread, her mouth twitched.

“Perhaps,” Orion started smoothly, dabbing at the corner of his mouth with a starched napkin, “you’ve grown too comfortable at school. I hope you’ve not forgotten how appearances reflect discipline.”
Regulus didn’t respond. He kept his hands folded neatly in his lap and forced himself to swallow every bite. He didn't taste any of it. He only heard the scrape of his fork against porcelain and her words ringing in his ears like a prophecy: “You’ll need to lose it before the third. No heir of mine returns to Hogwarts looking like that.”

That night, he stood by the window in his bedroom long after the house had gone still.
Snow kept falling. Soft. Endless. It painted the world in something almost beautiful - like quiet forgiveness. Regulus watched it fall and wondered what it would feel like to be allowed softness. To be allowed anything at all.

His fingers brushed over the letter hidden in the book spine, and quietly, like a prayer to something he didn’t believe in, he whispered into the dark:

“Maybe this time it won’t hurt so much when I go back.”

But he didn’t believe in that either.

Chapter Text

Friday 3rd January, 1977

James didn’t expect it to happen like this.

Regulus Black had always walked through life like a storm waiting to break - perfectly composed, eerily calm, a mask of ice over a soul that James suspected burned hotter than anyone knew. But when Regulus entered the Great Hall after Christmas break, James noticed it immediately - the way he moved, slower than usual, the barely-contained limp that made him look smaller somehow. And the bruises, ugly and purple, dark against his pale skin, peeking out from beneath his collar and sleeves. His uniform was loose around the shoulders, and there was something thinner about him than there had been before.

Something about it made James’ stomach twist.

Regulus Black, always so controlled, so perfect, looked fragile. He looked broken.

James shifted in his seat, his attention flickering between his friends and the figure now sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table. Regulus didn’t look up, didn’t even seem to acknowledge the way the room felt a little quieter, the way a few heads turned toward him as he took his seat and picked at his food.

"He's lost weight," James muttered under his breath, not intending for anyone to hear.
"Who?" Sirius asked, distracted, a bit too loud as he leaned forward, but his eyes followed James’ gaze to Regulus.
"Regulus," James responded, his voice a little more clipped than usual. "He's lost weight. Looks different." He didn’t know why he was stating the obvious - maybe it was the way Regulus looked so... small now, diminished by something that wasn’t just physical. Something was wrong. More wrong than usual.

Remus, who had been listening quietly, exchanged a look with Peter. The Marauders had long since learned to read the unspoken things that happened in their shared space. But even without the understanding of why James was suddenly this tense, they all noticed the change.
"Yeah," Remus said, his voice low and thoughtful, "and those bruises..." He trailed off, clearly not wanting to push the issue, but James could see the unspoken worry in his eyes.
James' jaw clenched, and for a moment, he thought he might snap something off, say something harsh or biting - something to cover the unease tightening in his chest. But then he muttered something under his breath instead.

"He’s just like Bambi."

The table went quiet, the tension hanging heavy between them. Remus’ brow furrowed slightly, Peter looking confused, but Sirius - Sirius, who always seemed to be the loudest, the most expressive - raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean?" Sirius asked, shifting forward, looking at James with a half-amused, half-concerned expression.

James froze, realizing how poorly he’d phrased the comment. He had meant it to be something light, a half-joke, a way of deflecting the heaviness in the air, but it sounded so much worse now.
"No, I mean," James floundered, his usual confidence slipping, "it’s just… he’s like a fawn. You know? A bit... fragile. A bit out of place." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "A bit lost."
Sirius squinted, clearly not satisfied with the explanation. “Ah, I see. So it’s because he’s... like Prongs, right? Matches with the whole deer theme?" James felt his face flush. The teasing was loud and completely off-the-mark. Sirius' grin grew wider, his usual exuberant humor lighting up the room, and for a moment, James’ frustration felt like it was building to a boil. But then, in a quick rush of thought, James muttered under his breath, so low that even Sirius didn’t catch it:

“No… it’s because I want someone to shoot his mother with a rifle.”

It wasn’t even a thought he was sure he believed - it just slipped out, rough and bitter like it had been waiting there for far too long. It was the thing James had kept buried inside him since the moment he had learned what Regulus’ mother could do. What she did do. The way Regulus had walked into the room earlier, looking like he was carrying the weight of the world. no, the weight of a mother who wanted to tear him apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.

The words hung in the air, unsettling, and for a split second, no one spoke. No one moved. But James’ eyes flicked quickly to Remus, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression. Remus’ face had gone pale, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes filled with something that was too sharp, too knowing.

James had no idea if anyone else had heard him, but Remus had. Remus had heard every word. And Remus was concerned.
"James," Remus said softly, his voice tight, “Wha- what did you mean by that?”
James blinked, his heart racing. He felt his throat close up, and for a second, he wished the ground would swallow him whole. He didn’t know why he had said it, didn’t know why those words had even come out. It wasn’t like he truly meant it. It wasn’t like he really wanted anyone to hurt anyone, least of all Regulus’ mother, but there was something about her that made everything inside James churn with rage.
"I…" James trailed off, swallowing. “I don’t know.” He shook his head, suddenly too aware of the tightness in his chest. "I just… don’t like how she treats him."
The rest of the Marauders exchanged a glance, but they knew better than to push further. Remus wasn’t satisfied, but he let it drop, his gaze lingering on James for just a moment longer than necessary.
"I get it," Remus said quietly, his voice still carrying the weight of something unspoken between them.
James forced a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. It’s just… I don’t know." He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the tension. "Let’s just not talk about this anymore. It’s not a big deal."
But Remus didn’t look convinced. And neither did the others.

As James turned back to look at Regulus again, his heart clenched. He couldn’t shake the image of the younger Slytherin, hunched over and small in the crowded hall, avoiding everyone’s gaze. Something wasn’t right, and James felt it deep in his bones.

Regulus was slipping. And James wasn’t sure he knew how to catch him.

Chapter Text

Monday 6th January, 1977

The castle at night held a different kind of stillness. Not empty - never truly empty - but quieter. Older. As though the walls themselves were listening. As though they remembered.
Regulus walked slowly, his steps echoing faintly along the deserted corridor. The light from the torches flickered against the stone, casting thin, uneven shadows that wavered with each movement. His limbs ached in that deep, gnawing way that bruises did a day or two after they’d bloomed. He moved carefully. Not because he wanted to be unseen - though that, too - but because it hurt. The limp was subtle now, nearly hidden beneath the fall of his robes, but it was there, and it would be so for days. What was harder to hide was how his clothes didn’t fit right anymore. The fabric clung too loosely around his frame, the collar gaping slightly at the base of his neck. His belt had been tightened twice already since returning from break. No one had said anything outright, but he saw the way people looked at him from the corners of their eyes. Like they were cataloguing the differences. Trying to place the change.
He hated it.
And still, somehow, it wasn’t the worst thing.

He turned the corner outside the library and stopped.
Remus Lupin was there, tucked into the wide stone windowsill like he belonged to it - legs drawn up close to his chest, a book balanced on his knees, and the soft glow of moonlight falling across his face. A small ceramic cup sat beside him, steaming faintly, casting a thin curl of warmth into the cold corridor.

Regulus considered turning back, he hadn't meant to be seen, but Remus looked up before he could do so.
He didn’t startle. Didn’t straighten his spine or close the book like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He just looked. Calm. Unbothered. And somehow more present than anyone Regulus had spoken to in weeks.
“Couldn’t sleep either?” Remus asked, voice soft, barely more than a murmur. Regulus didn’t answer. He hovered, uncertain, one foot still angled toward the direction he’d come from.
Remus shifted a little, just enough to make room on the sill in front of him, and patted the cool stone with one hand. There was no demand in the gesture. No expectation. Just a quiet offering.
Regulus hesitated a moment longer, then crossed the corridor and sat beside him, slow and deliberate. The cold seeped through his robes almost instantly. The old stone was rough beneath his hands.

They didn’t speak. For a long time, they just sat in the blue-tinged quiet. A hush fell between them, full of things neither of them felt the need to name.
Regulus breathed in slowly.
“I saw you yesterday,” Remus said, eventually. “Outside the courtyard.”
Regulus stared ahead. The window looked out over the grounds, dark, vast, and sleeping.
“I noticed the bruises,” Remus continued. “The way you moved. And…” He paused. Let the silence sit again before adding, “...You’ve lost weight.”
Regulus exhaled through his nose. He didn’t respond. There wasn’t much to say.
“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Remus added, voice gentler now. “Just… don’t lie and say it didn’t.”

Something in Regulus’ throat tightened. He looked down at his hands - pale against the fabric of his robes, knuckles still healing from where his fingernails had pressed too hard into skin during those long, awful hours back home. He hadn’t meant to say anything. He never did.
But his voice betrayed him.

“My mother found out,” he started.
Remus didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just listened.
“About James,” Regulus continued. “She has ways of knowing. Always has.” There was a bitterness to his voice now. A hollow ache threaded through every syllable.
“She asked why I hadn’t answered her letters. Why I hadn’t accepted the Mark yet. Why I was… stalling. I didn’t give her an answer she liked.”
He didn’t say the rest - not directly, atleast. But it hung there. Heavy. Clear.
“She doesn’t always hit,” Regulus said after a moment. “Not physically. That’s not usually her way. But this time…” He trailed off. The words curled inward. Closed like a fist.

Remus didn’t speak.

“I think-” Regulus started, then stopped. He wasn’t sure what he had meant to say. That it felt different this time? That it wasn’t just her anger that had landed? That he’d felt it - truly felt it - the first time her hand struck his cheek and he hadn’t even flinched?
It wasn’t the pain that stayed with him. It was the precision. The certainty. The deliberate nature of it. Like she knew exactly where to press to make something crack without breaking all the way.
“Everything feels like it’s unraveling,” he said quietly. “Like I was stitched together wrong and someone’s finally tugged the thread loose.”
He meant it to sound casual. Detached.

It didn’t.

Remus reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a square of chocolate wrapped in soft parchment. He held it out wordlessly.

Regulus stared at it.
“I’m not a child,” he muttered.
“I know,” Remus answered. “It still helps.”
Reluctantly - because he didn’t want to accept anything, not really - Regulus took it. The chocolate was warm, a little soft at the edges. It tasted like nothing at first. Then something. Then everything.

They sat in silence again.

The corridor was still. The moonlight shifted, just slightly, across the windowsill. Remus hadn’t turned the page of his book once. Regulus didn’t think he’d been reading at all.

“I don’t know what to do,” he said finally. It was barely a whisper.
Remus looked at him then, properly. His gaze was calm - steady, as though he were reading a constellation Regulus couldn’t see.
“You’re already doing it,” he said. “You’re surviving.” The words settled around them like a blanket. Not a cure. Not a promise. But something. Something solid. Something real.

Regulus didn’t respond, but when he stood to leave, several minutes later, his steps felt just a little lighter.

Chapter Text

Thursday 9th January, 1977

The castle was too loud in the quiet hours. Not with noise, but with thoughts. Footsteps echoed too harshly off stone, every breath felt too noticeable, and even the moonlight spilling through the windows seemed to glare rather than glow.
Regulus needed to get away.
He didn’t bother with a cloak, only pulling on his jumper and scarf as he slipped from the Slytherin common room and through the halls like a shadow. He avoided the portraits and the creaking boards on instinct. If he was caught out of bed, so be it. Detention wouldn’t hurt any more than what already lived beneath his skin.

By the time he reached the Astronomy Tower his fingers were cold and stiff, but he didn’t care. The wind bit at his cheeks as he stepped onto the platform, cutting through him like truth. He welcomed it.
Regulus crossed the stone floor and sat with his back against the wall, tucking his knees to his chest. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find up here - clarity, maybe. Or just a place where the sky was big enough to remind him that some things existed far beyond the Black family name.
The stars were especially bright tonight, glittering like scattered ice. He found Orion’s Belt immediately, as he always did, and stared at it with something like resentment. It was supposed to mean protection. Honor. Legacy. His father used to say it was their bloodline written in the sky. But all Regulus saw was a set of expectations he never agreed to wear.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first - too quiet and too careful, but the door creaked as it opened, and he knew without needing to look.
James.

“I figured I might find you here,” James said softly.
Regulus didn’t turn his head. “I needed air.”
“I thought maybe you needed quiet, too.” The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was tentative. Careful.
James crossed the space and sat down beside him, not close enough to touch, but close enough that the warmth of him bled through the cold. Regulus kept his eyes on the stars. It was easier than looking at James, easier than trying to explain all the things he didn’t have words for.

“Do you come up here a lot?” James asked after a while.
Regulus shrugged. “Sometimes. When I can’t sleep. When it’s too loud inside.”
James didn’t press. He just nodded slowly, like he understood in a way that didn’t require explanation.

“You ever think,” Regulus said after a while, his voice barely more than a whisper, “that some things are already decided for us? Before we’re even born?”
James turned to him, brows knitting slightly. “Like what?”
“Like... the family you’re born into. The path you’re expected to walk. The kind of person you’re supposed to be.” Regulus let out a slow breath, watching it mist in the air. “Like no matter what you do, you’re still just following the script someone else wrote.”
James was quiet for a long moment. Then, gently, he reached for Regulus’ sleeve. His fingers found the edge of it, tugging it down a bit until he could link their fingers, hidden in the wool.

“Then let’s start un-deciding it.”
Regulus blinked. His throat ached. “It’s not that easy.”
“No,” James said. “But it should be.”
They sat there in silence, the sky stretching wide and endless above them. The wind tugged at James’ curls, made Regulus’ hair flutter across his forehead. Somewhere below, the castle slept.
Regulus stared at their hands, half-hidden in wool and shadow. James’ fingers were warm, steady. Grounding.

“I don’t know how to be anything else,” Regulus said quietly.
James didn’t let go. “You don’t have to know yet. You just have to want to try.”
Regulus didn’t reply. He couldn’t. But after a moment, he leaned in, resting his head against James’ shoulder. James stilled for a second, then let out a soft breath and tilted his head to rest against Regulus’, the angle a little awkward, a little perfect. They stayed like that. Still and quiet and real.

The stars above them blinked and burned, silent witnesses to a moment neither of them would dare name just yet.
And beneath the weight of everything they weren’t saying, Regulus allowed himself, just for a little while, to pretend that nothing had been decided at all.