Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You’re so warm, James.” A soft voice, fingers trailing across bare skin, his racing heartbeat. “Just— Everywhere. All of you. Like the fucking sun.”

Once, a boy with ivory skin and a sharp smirk, piercing eyes and the lightest of touches, had lain right here beside him. Blinking slowly like a cat, dark curls spilling out over the pillow, smiling ever so softly up at him. Looking out of place among the deep red curtains, and yet still so right, like he was made to be here, lean body pressed against James’ bulkier one in an effort to fit them both in the single bed. Warm skin against warm skin. Hands clasped together, pearl entangled with gold, and so much love spilling out from between their palms. The boy had taken up space in James’ bed, James’ body, James’ very fucking soul like it all belonged to him first. Like pieces of James had been measured, carved out just so he could fit in there, in the curves of James’ ribs like the bone cage wasn’t really a cage at all. Like he belonged. 

He did. Belong, that is. If there were holes in him, jagged edges and insides spilling out, it was James himself who’d picked up the knife. 

Not that it mattered now. Every hole was empty, echoing and gaping. James was empty, too. 

When he’d woken, early morning sunlight streaming through the curtains and leaving his whole bed a glowing red, James had instinctively rolled onto his side, stretched his arm out, fingers tingling, searching for the warmth of skin, soft and burning from a restful night, wanting to press the pads of his fingers into the very cells—

The bed was empty. The sheets, cold. James was alone. He always was, these days. In the daytime, he could never seem to forget it; the thought pressing on the sides of his skull, the back of his eyes, trickling down his throat and buzzing through his veins. Alone. You’re alone. He left. Gone. 

But in the mornings, when the sunlight was golden and amber and the frost on the windows hadn’t fully thawed yet, he forgot. Half-asleep, eyes still closed, he would reach forward to gather him into his arms, wanting to press soft kisses into those black curls, to watch the hazy look clear out of those piercing grey eyes (they weren’t piercing in the morning; soft, soft, always so soft), wanting to begin the day with a raspy Good morning, love and feel a flood of affection at the incoherent mumble that would return, words James could never make out but always knew meant Good morning, Jamie. 

It’d been a long time since anybody had called him Jamie. Since he’d been able to hold him close, pepper his face with kisses and whisper sweet-nothings into his ear. An eternity since he’d felt that overwhelming rush of love and known it was returned. 

That insurmountable, burning rush of love. One he’d known would never fade, never settle into something softer and sweeter. He’d never anticipated that it would dissipate completely, fumes dissolving into the air, dust settling beneath his feet; gone in the flash of black lines, etched into the skin he’d spent so long worshipping. (It wasn’t gone, of course. James had just gotten very good at pretending it was. Pretending he didn’t feel it, as if his body didn’t ache from how much he felt. When their eyes met across the Great Hall, hazel against grey. Like he didn’t feel his heart taking root in his body, like he’d discovered something he didn’t even have a name for.)

When his head finally got too loud, and he felt the increasingly-familiar combination of nausea and dread settling into his stomach, James shifted, released the cold bed sheets from his white-knuckled grip and tugged the curtains open, allowed reality to find its place in his head. He rose, stepped out into his dorm room—there was no space for him here, surrounded by the early morning glow and the steady breathing of his friends, the familiar sound of Sirius’ snores coming from Remus’ bed enough to send a sharp pang through James’ heart. Sirius didn’t know. Hadn’t seen the horrors that lay beneath his little brother’s left sleeve. 

He pushed his thoughts away, stumbled to the bathroom, and then back out to get dressed, movements mechanical, robotic. A routine that left no room for thoughts. 

By the time he was dressed, thumbing the last shirt button through its hole and drawing on his tie, leaving it slightly loose the way he’d always done (soft grey eyes would roll, pink lips would tut as pale fingers came up to tighten it to “the appropriate amount, James— stop pretending to choke, it’s not funny when you do it everyday—”), his friends were stirring, murmured greetings passing through the room. Remus’ bed curtains pulled open, and Sirius practically crumpled out of them, stomped towards the bathroom, muttering something about golden boys who are somehow always fully dressed at the crack of dawn. 

He patted James on the shoulder, mumbled something incoherently (James thought he’d caught words Be normal for once in your life, Prongs but he was too caught up in the way both the Black brothers seemed incapable of forming real sentences until they’d properly woken up). 

With that reminder, his brain flooded back into full-alert, and he grinned at Sirius in an attempt to distract himself from what was coming: how in less than ten minutes he would step into the Great Hall, walk over to the Gryffindor table and attempt to ignore the way his brain screamed at him to look over to the Slytherin table—a battle he would inevitably lose and his eyes would slide over to the furthest table, making contact with his, hazel against grey. His stomach would churn and his appetite would vanish, stars taking over his vision, and he would stumble dazedly over to his seat, where he’d crumple between Remus and Lily and spend his entire breakfast trying to convince himself he’d imagined that flash of pain flickering within the silvery depths of those eyes. 

He couldn’t do this, didn’t want to, but he’d done it every morning for the last 2 months and he could do it again today—had to, because the very last thing he needed right now was for his best friend to notice what was going on. What had been going on for 2 months and for far longer before that (though back then the eye contact had left his heart racing and his cheeks flushed). 

With a jolt, he came back to himself, only to realise he’d been standing there, lost in his head, for far too long and his smile had crumpled and Sirius was staring at him with concern, scanning his face in an attempt to understand what had just happened. 

“You alright, Prongs?” Sirius asked, his voice slow and tinged with a level of concern that was rare for him. Or at least, it was rare for him to send that sort of concern James’ way—it wasn’t often that James ‘Sunshine’ Potter required concern, sought comfort. In an instant, the look in Sirius’ eyes became far too much and James turned away, reaching for his wand, laying on the bed. 

“Yeah, fine, Pads. Didn’t sleep well,” James answered quickly, all too aware of the stretching silence between them, the air fraught with stifling worry. He shot Sirius a small smile to really sell the act, though he couldn’t bring himself to meet his best friend’s eyes. 

A pause. “Alright, then,” Sirius responded, voice uncertain. James shot him another small smile, before busying himself with his school bag. Another pause, just a moment too long, then Sirius nodded, more to himself than anything, and finally turned and stepped into the bathroom. 

The others woke too (Remus dragged himself out of bed to throw a pillow at Peter to get him to stop snoring), and as his friends got ready, James could do nothing but think. Today would be just like every other day from the past three months—walk into the Great Hall, fight the urge to turn and look, lose and meet eyes with him, spend the rest of breakfast and part of the first period dizzy and anxious (and ignore the sense of relief, reassurance that everything seemed okay, that he seemed okay). The same routine would repeat again and again and again. Never ending. Sometimes James thought that maybe it would be fine if it repeated forever, if that would be his only opportunity to catch those grey eyes. 

A hand landed softly on his shoulder, a gentle touch that still made him jump. He blinked up, finding Remus stood above him with a puzzled, slightly concerned expression. 

“You good, James?” Not again. Merlin, he was slipping. He’d been completely fine the last few months, had become so good at hiding it all. He wasn’t sure why the anxiety was so sharp this morning, why it felt as if something was clawing at his insides and squeezing his lungs. He suddenly felt desperate to go, get this over and done with and be able to relax until tomorrow morning. He jumped up.

“Tired, Moons. And hungry. Let’s go, yeah?”

Remus nodded, looking entirely unconvinced, much like Sirius had. The good thing about Remus was that he didn’t push, not unless he thought it absolutely necessary. It didn’t matter whether or not he pushed—eventually, when the problem was too big and James could feel the waves of anxiety threatening to crest over his head, drowning in it all, had him aching and gasping for breath, he would wait until the sounds of his friends’ breathing evened out before creeping towards Remus’ bed, pulling open the curtain and falling into Remus’ waiting arms. Sirius and Remus didn’t sleep together often, on account of the nightmares that left them both flinching away from touch, and Remus didn’t sleep much anyway, so he was always there, patiently waiting for James to take his outstretched hand; but not pushing, never pushing. James would let him wrap his arms around him, pull him close, and he’d whisper every word into Remus’ chest, confessions that would never see the light of day, and Remus would card his fingers through James’ unruly hair and sort through the issue in the no-nonsense, analytical way that James so incredibly grateful for.

Not this time, though. Not with this. 

James felt like he was drowning a lot, these days. 

After everyone was dressed and Peter found his wand—

(“I just don’t exactly get how a wand accidentally gets transfigured into a dog toy, Sirius.” 

“Don’t worry about it, Wormy.”) 

—the four of them made their way down to the Great Hall. Every step James took caused another wave of anxiety to rise and crash over him. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the trembling. He truly had no idea what was happening to him—sure, going to the Great Hall and seeing his ex everyday was always terrifying, but he hadn’t felt this bad over it since the first week after everything happened. The nausea was beginning early, and a sense of wrongness was creeping in, climbing the rungs of his ribs, spiders down his spine. His friends walked on, their step light, filling the corridors with loud laughter and crude jokes, but James was frozen. He couldn’t breathe. He was drowning, drowning, drowning—

A hand on his arm again, just as gentle. Remus said something, and James could only catch his tone, soft and honey sweet, unable to make out the words. Something was wrong, he could feel it, heavy in his bones, but he didn’t know what was going or who was speaking and whycan’tjamesbreathe—

Remus’ hand moved to grab at James’, clutched his palm and pulled until it was spread flat against Remus’ chest, James’ fingers instinctively grasping at the fabric with a white-knuckled grip. He still couldn’t hear Remus, could just make out a soft hum in the air, but he knew what he was meant to do: follow his breathing. Imitate the rise and fall of his chest, the familiar pattern of in, out, in, out. This was the same routine they’d always followed, all of them, whether it was Remus before a full moon, Peter after a letter from his deadbeat father, Sirius the night before the holidays (and his brother, too, just the same, but this really wasn’t the time to think about that). Not James though, not really. He was usually the one breathing, grasping hands, coaxing soft inhales and exhales out of the other person. Being in this position, on the other side of it all, was such a startling reality that it almost snapped James right out of it. 

He swam back up into consciousness—not swimming, more clawing, digging his nails in and fighting his way back up to the surface. His breathing evened, the stars in his vision receded, and even the ringing in his ears seemed to fade away as he began to catch Remus’, “-good, James, keep doing that, you’re doing so good, love-”. But the sense of wrongness was still there, so unfamiliar, settling into every crevice in his body with a touch of pure dread. Something was terribly, terribly wrong, and James had no idea what it was. 

Finally, when he felt he’d pulled himself together just enough, he lifted his head and met Remus’ eyes. Honey coloured, so full of concern that it almost sent James spiralling all over again. He blinked. 

“James?”

He turned towards the voice, finding Sirius and Peter staring at him. Sirius, with pure horror, Peter with watery eyes and trembling fingers. Sirius seemed to notice this when one tremor bumped Peter’s hands against the other’s leg, and Sirius reached down, entwined their fingers, holding tight. Clinging to each other like the sky was crashing down and all they could do was just that—cling to each other. 

It was Sirius who had spoken, voice shaky and uncertain, and the silence now was so heavy, and all James wanted to do was lie down and let the water drown him, let his limbs grow heavy with the dread that was still rising, rising, close his stinging eyes and open them to a better place, where the sunlight was still golden and maybe a pale hand was tangled with his own. But all he could right now was pull his lips into a soft smile, one that felt truly painful, like stretching his skin into this fake face was unfamiliar, not what he’d been doing for the past 2 months. He dropped it when it only seemed to make Sirius pale even more, Peter’s hand beginning to shake uncontrollably. 

James let out a soft sigh, squeezed Remus’ hand once before dropping it, stepping over to where Peter and Sirius stood, still clinging to each other, still watching the sky crash down. He dropped one arm around Sirius’ shoulders, pulled him close, Sirius’ fingers clutching at James’ jumper, placed a hand the back of Peter’s head and pushed his head gently until it was nestled in the crook of his neck, twisted his fingers into soft blond strands of hair. Whispered, “It’s okay, I’m okay, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry- We’re okay, yeah?” and placed a kiss on the top of Sirius’ head, carded his fingers through Peter’s hair, listened to them both breathe shakily, tried to ignore the way the air bent wrong, the way the silence seemed fractured. Something was wrong and every cell in James’ body was burning. He turned his face down into Peter’s hair, nuzzled at the soft strands, pulled Sirius impossibly closer, like maybe he could smother the concern out of them both. Held himself strong and rigid, so Remus too could see he was fine. Just fine. 

A hand pressed into the space between his shoulder blades, a weight so familiar, so full of care. Remus’ voice broke the shaky silence with, “You’re alright, James?”

And James nodded, face still buried in Peter’s hair, and Remus moved his hand up to his shoulder and squeezed, just once. He didn’t push. He never pushed. His hand was outstretched and he knew James would reach for it at some point (not this time, not with this). Peter’s hands stopped trembling and Sirius’ fingers loosed from his shirt, and he smiled down at them both before dropping another kiss to Sirius’ head (Sirius, his brother, his soulmate, other half, the air in his lungs. Sirius was the glint in James’ eyes, and James was supposed to be his, but at the moment it seemed that glint had been replaced by something that James couldn’t place, but made him feel sick to his stomach). 

And with that, he turned, flashed a not-at-all convincing smile at Remus (James was trying his best, okay?) and strode into the Great Hall, pushing down the unease that was still so fucking present in his body. 

And he knew what came next—the fight to not turn around, the screaming in his head, the giving in, but today he had no energy, and everything felt so wrong, and his heart was still pounding and he needed to make sure that he was okay, so he turned, immediately searched for those grey eyes, at that same spot at the furthest table, where he always sat, because the love of James’ life had always liked routine, order. He went to breakfast at the same time everyday, sat in the same spot, ate the same meal. Clockwork. So James searched, because he knew he’d find him, sat there with his friends, hands clasped around his coffee, blinking away sleep and building up his mask for the day, piercing eyes boring into James’ very fucking soul- 

He wasn’t there. 

Everything seemed to sort of collapse, in that moment. The ground dropped out from beneath him and his bones turned to dust and the sky finally fucking crashed down. 

Regulus wasn’t there.

Regulus wasn’t there. 

He wasn’t-

No. No, no, there had to be a mistake. This wasn’t right, this was wrong, this was the feeling that had been crawling up James’ spine from the moment he opened his eyes this morning. Regulus wasn’t there, and everything was wrong, and the sunlight was dimming and everything, everything, everything was wrong. 

Regulus followed timings to the exact second. He sat in the same spot, everyday, always had, for almost 6 years now. He was perfection incarnate, would never make a mistake, but he’d clearly made one now, because he wasn’t there. 

And James wasn’t sure what exactly it was he’d been feeling before, because this? This was drowning. This feeling, like every cell in his body was freezing and shattering, and his stomach wasn’t there anymore, and his bones were fracturing and cracking down the middle, and there was water everywhere—this was drowning. James was gasping for air, dragging his hands against the current, cold to the fucking bone, and this was drowning. 

And— No. No, no, no. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t happening, it couldn’t be. Regulus wasn’t here, and James couldn’t breathe. 

He broke his gaze away from the Slytherin table, and finally moved, turned on his feet, took steps on legs he couldn’t feel and walked— no, ran, straight out of the Great Hall. There was a numbness spreading through him now, dripping down his spine and curling through the rungs of his ribs, his fingertips starting to tingle, but his legs were still working and that was all that mattered. He ran out of the Great Hall, straight past his friends, who had finally made their way into the room, ignored their shouts of, “James? Hey- James-”. It was all white noise, a meaningless hum, because nothing mattered right now other than him. Regulus. 

He blinked, and he was crashing up through the door to his dorm. Couldn’t remember the trip here, the corridors, the common room, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, other than the hard ground beneath his knees as he threw himself to the ground by Remus’ bed and pushed open his trunk, rifling through it with no care for anything he touched, until his fingers brushed against cool parchment, and he grabbed it, pulled it out, choked out the words through his constricted throat. Spread it wide and began to search for the name that he knew as well as his own, that was seared into his skin and carved into his bones, one he sometimes felt like he’d been born knowing, been put on this Earth to know. Regulus Black. 

He searched, and he searched, and he searched, heart jumping every time he caught sight of the letter R and faltering again when he read the rest of the name. There was Remus, sitting far too close to Sirius, and there was Rose who Marlene had dated, and there was Richie from Quidditch, and there was Ruby who Marlene had also dated, and Ruger from Herbology, and Rhoda (Marlene had truly dated a lot of girls), Roydon who’d fallen down the stairs once and taken out both Peter and James while Sirius and Remus laughed too hard to even consider helping them up, and Reena (who he was fairly certain had had a thing with both Marlene and Mary. Possibly at the same time). 

All these names. None of them the one he was looking for. The only one that mattered. 

Regulus wasn’t on the map.

Regulus wasn’t at Hogwarts. 

And- Oh. The Room of Requirement. 

Unplottable on the map. James had ensured that when they’d first started meeting there—when Astronomy Tower kisses turned into something they would require a bed for (or not, they’d never been picky. The broom closets and empty classrooms and once, Filch’s office, could attest to that). And a glimmer of hope was igniting in his chest, sparks flitting through his veins as James pushed to his feet, left the map on the floor and Remus’ trunk in complete disarray as he stumbled to the door and broke into a run down the stairs. 

Out of breath, and with a few bruises blooming on his knees from when he’d fallen down a staircase in his haste, James slowed to a stop in front of a blank wall in the 7th floor corridor. He began to pace, once, twice, three times, envisioning exactly what he wanted. Required. Who he wanted and required. 

Black curls, spilling out on white bedsheets— Pale skin, so warm, always warm— Grey eyes, soft, piercing but never to him, all-seeing— 

A door appeared. He reached forward, pulled it open, and stepped inside. 

And-

It was empty. 

Any hope left inside James turned to ice, to dread, to nausea. The room was devoid of light, of furniture, of Regulus. Just James and white walls and a wooden floor. 

He sank to his knees and allowed the water to crest over his head and spill out of his eyes. He filled the empty room with his sobs, the sound of his pain, the sound of his longing. The sound of his love.

Chapter Text

Velvety black curls tickling his chin. Pull him closer, closer. Maybe their souls can merge together. Entanglement written in the stars, roots growing through each other’s ribs. Press a kiss to his temple. “My favourite star.”

He wasn’t sure how he got back to his dorm—something about stumbling to the door, something about the sun rising, glowing and lighting up the corridors and sending another wave of pain over him. For most of the night, his mind hadn’t been working, a hazy blur of pain and confusion and longing, except for when it was working, which was worse. 

In those blinking moments when his mind had pushed through the fog, the water, he’d been left thinking about nothing other than possibilities. What-ifs. What if he’d gone home? What if he was in trouble? What if his mother was cursing him to oblivion, what if he was lying on the floor in a puddle of blood, soaking the skin that James used to press kisses to. What if Regu— No, no, don’t say his name, don’t think his name, hurts, hurts too much— what if he had been summoned by the Dark Lord? Sent on a mission, life or death, where he would get hurt— or hurt others. No, no, James tried to tell himself, he wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t hurt anyone, my boy so full of light and love— 

Then the fog would come back. Puncturing each of those thoughts, his mind veiled in smoke. His body heavy, sinking, sinking, sinking. 

Then the sunlight. Amber, glowing, golden. His footsteps on the hard floors, ringing through the castle, no care for whoever may hear. The common room, empty at this hour, the fire long burned out. The stairs, the door to his dorm, the sleeping forms of his friends. He collapsed on his bed, his legs shaking too violently to hold him up anymore, his mind already beginning to fade again, cloud over…

“James?”

Not sleeping then. Fuck. 

And if opening his eyes was the hardest thing he’d ever done, he wasn’t even going to consider sitting up. His mind began to slip, smoke curling in at the edges, but he forced it to come back, to hold strong. Remus was crouched at the side of his bed, eyes searching, honey and concern. James let out a small whimper and closed his eyes again. His mind was all cracked glass and echoes, the edges of the world melting, and all he wanted to do was disappear, fade into darkness, no thoughts or feelings or awareness. Not sleep—sleep brought him, brought soft touches and grey eyes and warm laughter, burning in his chest. On bad nights, sleep brought black lines etched into pale skin, grey eyes hidden under a silver mask, laughter edged with mania and evil—

“James?” 

Fuck, he’d slipped again. He blinked open his eyes, which hurt, and turned his head minutely to face Remus, still crouched at the side of his bed, his lips slightly parted in shock and his eyes so wide, so worried. His hand outstretched. All James had to do was grab it. 

He didn’t. Couldn’t. 

And Remus seemed to realise this, because he pushed up to his feet, climbed into the bed. James couldn’t have moved if he wanted to, but it didn’t matter, because Remus reached for him, pulled him close, one arm round his waist and the other pressing on the back of his head, gently stroking through the soft curls at his nape. He began to whisper to him, soft words that bent the edges of reality. “It’s okay, it’s okay, love, shh, you’re okay. Sleep, James, just sleep. It’s okay.” 

And darkness crept in at the edges of his mind, shadows and alluring warmth, and James fell asleep. 

For the first time in 2 months, he did not dream. 

When he woke, he lay still for a moment and just blinked. One moment, stretching out, of peace and warmth and sunlight before—

Fuck, fuck, fuck, no-

It all came flooding back. Every ounce of pain shot through him, daggers in his skin, bones splintering, and he sat up, threw himself out of bed and onto the floor, like maybe he could outrun this. Maybe if he moved fast enough the smoke wouldn’t catch him, the water would recede. 

It didn’t. Now he was just in pain and on the floor. 

James glanced around the room, finding it empty. He didn’t know what time it was, barely knew what day it was, but he was alone. His friends must’ve been in class. The last thing he remembered was Remus, holding him tight. Then waking up. 

For a moment, he thought about just staying on the floor. Just today. Maybe forever. Let time move without him. Let flowers push through his fingers, ivy coil around his ribs, his bones turn to dust and ash. Ashes to ashes. What would happen to the rest—his mind, his soul? He hadn’t believed in souls until him, until it felt like something had split open inside and made room for him. Bodies entwined, souls stitched together, one spilling into the other. And the love—too much love, pouring through the cracks of his skin, running hot through his veins—that had to go somewhere. It couldn’t vanish with him. Would it sink into the dirt and rot there? Would it burn off into the air, the sky, the stars? The stars and his star. Fitting.

No, he couldn’t stay here. Wasn’t sustainable. He pushed to his feet, reached onto the bed for his wand, fingers brushing parchment— the map. He’d left it here in his rush to the Room of Requirement. He grabbed it, forced out the words, throat raspy from all the screaming and crying, and began to check. 

It didn’t matter how many times James went back over it. Regulus simply wasn’t there. 

But another name snagged his attention instead. Two names, actually. Down in a corridor in the dungeons, stood far too close together. Barty Crouch Jr and Evan Rosier. Regulus’ best friends. 

While James had never been formally introduced to them, on account of the whole secret relationship thing, he knew enough about them from both Regulus and general Hogwarts gossip. He was constantly confused by them—by the sheer contrast in descriptions, whether it came from Regulus or whispers in hidden alcoves, at the back of the library, in dark corners. 

Barty Crouch Jr was as brilliant as he was unhinged.  Genius wasn’t even a compliment, it was a diagnosis—twelve OWLs, every one an Outstanding. Regulus sulked for a week about how Barty hadn’t even cracked a book open, how he’d done it only to piss off his father. He wore his genius like a knife. Barty Crouch Jr was beautiful too—all sharp cheekbones, sun-touched skin, thick lashes framing eyes the colour of deep water. Tall, lean, coiled. Beautiful, yes, but wrong. Those eyes weren’t blue, not really—they were hunger, cruelty, mania pretending to be colour. His mouth might have been soft if it wasn’t always curling into a smirk, sharp enough to cut. The madness only drew people closer. Girls lined up, brought him to bed, swore he was fire in the dark—but he never, ever stayed. Not once, not for anyone. Each night ended the same: Barty slipping through the night back to his own dorm, shared with Evan and Regulus (they’d had a fourth roommate, once upon a time, and no one knew what had happened, but the boy had moved dorms, still wandered around the castle glancing around corners, shoulders tight, eyes cast low). And James, watching the map, knew Barty wasn’t crawling back into his own bed. He knew it wasn’t Regulus’, either.

Evan Rosier was smoke and mirrors. A face carved by angels. Pearly skin, hair so blond it was almost white, big eyes, pale blue, the colour of the early morning sky on a cold winter day. Where Barty was beautiful, Evan was ethereal, almost ghostly. A beauty so transcendent it felt borrowed, like it wasn’t meant for this world. Looking at him was like staring at frost on glass—sharp, delicate, vanishing even as you touched it. He seemed stitched from light, from the sky, the heavens above. 

And underneath the beauty was the same sickness Barty carried. Madness wrapped in silk. A blade sharpened by prettiness. People wanted to believe Evan was innocent, good, virginal—for what else could lie under a face like that? Evil. Barty Crouch Jr made people tremble. Evan Rosier made them bleed. Ruby red staining ivory skin. Never his own blood. Never let others touch him. Spells cracked through the air, curses flung like sparks, his laugh cutting clean. Then gone—a flash of light, a wink, fingers latching onto Barty’s hand. 

But those boys—these cruel, terrifying, beautiful boys—these were not Regulus’ best friends. James knew better than that. He’d heard how Regulus spoke of them. Nightmares appeased by Evan’s warm embrace. Sobs shushed by Barty’s soft words, softer touches. The three of them, curled up together on one bed, limbs so entangled you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. These were Regulus’ best friends, the gentleness they hid. Gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. They were not good people, sharp and violent, but not with each other. 

And if anyone knew where Regulus was, it was them. 

James was out the door before he could even consider how he was going to ask about Regulus without arousing suspicion. 

James had always sought to find the best in people. He believed in goodness, in kindness, in the purity that lay beneath the surface. Even in the evilest of people. 

It was hard, at times like these, to remember that these pretty boys were not pure evil. Remember what Regulus said, James told himself. They love him. They are gentle with him. 

It appeared they were gentle only with him, though, as James was currently standing hidden behind a wall, watching as Barty Crouch Jr and Evan Rosier cursed another two boys to the floor. Their laughter bounced off the walls, a sound far too sweet and warm for the scene below. Even then, it was edged in cruelty. James squinted, tried to make out who the boys on the floor were, what colours their ties were. Even with his glasses, he couldn’t make them out. He took a deep breath, and stepped forward. 

“Crouch. Rosier,” he called, voice booming in the vast corridor. The two boys whipped around to look at him, and then, for a split second, at each other, an unreadable look passing between them. What was that? 

“Potter,” Evan Rosier called back, his face splitting into a mocking grin, though something was lurking behind it—his eyes strangely knowing. Even then, all James could think was Fuck him, but he really was beautiful. “Saint Potter. King Gryffindor.”

Barty laughed, turning back to the boys on the floor. Ignoring the jabs, James took another step forward, then another, until he could finally see who exactly was down there, crumpled up and chests heaving. Slytherins. 5th Years, a year below Crouch and Rosier and two years below James. James couldn’t remember their names, but he knew they were purebloods, Sacred-28. Great. More cruel boys. (He couldn’t help but wonder if they, too, would end up with black ink on their arms. Wonder if they would welcome it.)

“I need to talk to you,” James gritted out, forcing his gaze away from the beaten boys. Maybe another day he would’ve helped them up, forced down his disdain for them, reprimanded Crouch and Rosier. Today, though, he had no energy for that, didn’t care. Only one thing mattered. 

“Do you, now?” Rosier drawled, turning to exchange another look with Crouch. James could only see Crouch’s face—he was smirking, amusement dancing through those blue, blue eyes. Before he could work out what that was about, Rosier turned back. “And what would this be pertaining to?”

“Just— Come here. Need to ask you something.” Any patience James had gathered on his walk here was dissipating by the minute. God, these boys were frustrating. 

“We’re kind of in the middle of something, Potter,” Crouch called back, nodding his head towards the two boys, still panting, still on the floor. James rolled his eyes. 

“Really couldn’t give less of a fuck, Crouch. C’mere.”

“Well, if King Gryffindor says come, you come, I suppose,” Crouch muttered, landing a final kick to one of the boys’ ribs before turning away and walking towards James. Rosier followed, looking entirely too at ease, which only infuriated James more. 

When they’d reached him, and the boys on the floor had taken the opportunity to get up and sprint down the other end of the hallway, James took a deep breath. Exhaled. Waited for someone to break the silence. Finally, Crouch did. 

“Well, as nice as this is—”

“Can you just,” James groaned, scrubbed his hands over his face. “Just— Look, where’s Black?” Black. Like he meant nothing to James.

“The elder? I think you’d know better than we would—”

James cut Rosier off with another groan. “No, not the elder, dickhead. The younger. Reg- Regulus.”

Another unreadable look between them. More amusement. More cruel smirks. Fucking hell, James was regretting this. 

“Regulus, huh?” Rosier’s voice was laced with amusement, but his eyes had sharpened, something darker, somehow both suspicious and knowing filling them. “And who’s asking?”

“Hi, my name’s James Potter—”

“Is James Potter asking, or is Sirius Black asking?” Crouch cut in, voice sharp. “Because if it’s Black, you can tell him to fuck right off. He left Regulus—”

“Fuck off, Crouch. He would’ve died in that house.” The topic of Sirius running away had always been complicated for James. On the one hand, he was so fucking glad that his best friend, his brother, had gotten away, had left and come live with James. On the other hand, the idea of Regulus, cold and alone in that house, was too painful for James to bear. 

The night Sirius had run, when he’d Flooed to James’ house and fallen from the fireplace into his arms, shaking and sobbing, gasping for air, James’ first thought had been for Sirius and his safety, the relief that was flooding through him as he tightened his arms around him. That relief had quickly turned to dread when no one had turned up behind him—when James quickly realised he would only be holding one dark-haired boy in his arms tonight. Even now, he avoided the topic when talking with both Sirius and Regulus. Couldn’t tell either of them how much he wished both of them were living with him, safe and warm and unharmed.

He didn’t know what exactly had happened that night. Sirius had refused to say. All he knew, in regards to Regulus, was from when Sirius had muttered, “He can stay there. Doesn’t matter.” James had inferred from that that Sirius had asked him to come, and Regulus had said no. It didn't matter what had happened, really. James wouldn’t ask and Sirius wouldn’t tell and Regulus was alone in that house. 

“Mm, and instead he left Regulus to die in that house. All alone. Isn’t that sweet?” 

James froze at Rosier’s words. No, no, because Regulus said— he said— “Walburga doesn’t— She doesn’t treat him like she treated Sirius. Sirius said—”

“And what would Sirius know, Potter?” Crouch barked a laugh. “He’s not lived in that house in almost two years. Even when he was living there, those two didn’t talk. How the fuck would Sirius know what was happening to Regulus? What, you think Regulus would admit it, if asked? Think he wouldn’t hide it, make it his biggest secret? Trust me, he would. Even when he was bruised and bleeding on the train, he still wouldn’t—”

Crouch was interrupted by Rosier jamming his elbow into his side. Rosier glared at him, then turned back to James, still glaring. “You won’t repeat that to anyone, Potter, let alone your little buddy, or I swear to fuck that we’ll—”

James wasn’t even listening anymore. His entire body was flooding with water, icy, icy water, rushing through his veins and cascading into his lungs. Regulus— Bruised and bleeding on the train— No, no, fuck—

James had seen him that very night. The first day of school. He’d been fine, a bit out of it, weary and thinner, but still soft, still smiling. They hadn’t done anything that night, save for a bit of making out, as Regulus had said he was too tired. James had smiled, run a hand through his curls, brought him close to his chest. Rested his head on his shoulder, pressed kisses to his temple, so relieved that he was fine, fine, fine—

He hadn’t been fine. This was the second time James had realised that Regulus had been hiding something that night. The first time had been 2 months ago, a month since school started, when they’d gotten caught up in making out and robes had slipped to the floor, shirts were unbuttoned, and James caught sight of black ink lines on ivory skin and realised with slamming clarity why Regulus hadn’t wanted to do anything since school started. What he was hiding. 

Now, James was realising that he’d been hiding far more than that. 

“—Potter? Fuck, Ev, I think you broke him.”

James crashed back into reality, his body still cold, dread still pooling in his stomach. He pushed it aside. Told himself he’d deal with it later (he wouldn’t be ‘dealing’ with shit, he was just going to cry about it). 

“Oh, he’s back. Think I did break him. You with us, Potter?”

James met Rosier’s eyes, and for a startling moment, saw them flash with something he didn’t think he’d ever seen in them—concern. Maybe even kindness. And still, that increasingly-familiar knowing. 

Did they know? Had Regulus told them? Had they seen them one night, curled up in each other’s arms like maybe if they pressed close enough, they could merge their souls together? James’ golden brown fingers on Regulus’ ivory cheek, skin so warm. Had they seen that? These violent boys had no place in those soft moments. 

James’ eyes slid from Rosier’s to Crouch’s. The exact same look was reflected there. And for a moment, James thought maybe he understood what Regulus meant when he called these boys gentle. 

“I’m— No, yeah, sorry. Just— tired. And, um, concerned? Look, where is he? Regulus?”

Rosier studied him for a moment, gaze searching (and knowing, knowing, knowing) before turning to look at Crouch, exchanging yet another unreadable glance. Merlin, were these boys telepathic or something? 

The two turned back to him, the gentleness in their eyes replaced by a stone cold firmness. Commanding. James found himself fighting the urge to stand up straighter. 

“Listen, Potter, I don’t know why you’re so invested in this—” The knowing look in Crouch’s eyes said otherwise, but okay, “—but Regulus is fine, and none of your business.”  

“Please, just—”

“It’s not your business, Potter! Stay out of it. He’s not your business.”

He used to be, James wanted to scream. He used to be, and he still is, because I love him so much sometimes I think it’s going to kill me. Like I’m choking on it. 

There was nothing he could do, though. He wasn’t going to tell them anything, regardless of whether they already knew. Both of their tones were harsh and firm, unbudging. All James could do was nod sharply, turn on his heel and walk away from the two violent, beautiful boys. 

He wouldn’t see the last look they shared—this time, full of heartbreak and understanding. Knowing. 

The walk back to his dorm had been quiet—in the sense that his mind was quiet, beginning to blur again. Smoke and water. 

He made his way up the stairs and pushed open the door, only realising at the last second that there was noise in there, and it must have been around lunch time at this point—his friends were back, and he really wasn’t in the mood for conversation. 

Too late, though. The moment he stepped inside, all three boys snapped their heads up, fixed their gazes upon him. Remus, full of worry, full of love. Peter, confused but concerned nonetheless. And Sirius—

Sirius was flying up off his bed and throwing himself at James, wrapping his arms around him in the most brutal hug James had ever received. After a moment of hesitation, he returned the hug, wrapped his arms around the other boy’s waist. 

“James, what— What the fuck, what happened, you disappeared—,” Sirius’ voice caught, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “You fucking vanished, and I’ve not seen you since breakfast yesterday, when you literally had a fucking panic attack outside the Great Hall and then ran away, and Remus said you were here this morning, but I didn’t— I can’t—” 

He broke off, burying his face in James’ shoulder. James reached one hand up, tangled it in his curls. 

For a moment, the two just stood there, clinging to each other, breathing shakily. Then Sirius pulled back, hands gripping James’ shoulders and stared him dead in the eyes. 

“What happened, James? Where the fuck have you been? You went missing—” James wasn’t the one who was missing, but Sirius didn’t know that, “—for a full day! What the fuck, James? Couldn’t even find you on the map. What the fuck?”

James started to speak quickly before Sirius could continue his terrified rambling. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I’ve just been— a little stressed, lately, not been sleeping well. Needed time to myself. I’m sorry. Won’t do it again.”

Sirius was staring at him, eyes calculating, searching for something. James smiled, soft and tentative, and some of the tension in Sirius seemed to dissipate. 

“Fine, fuck, alright. Just— Don’t do that again. Come find us, at least, tell us where you’re going. Better yet, tell us what’s going on. We’re here for you, you know that?” 

James nodded, still smiling, meeting Remus’ eyes over Sirius’ shoulder. There was worry there too, but a sort of understanding. Like he was still waiting for James to crawl into his bed under the cover of night, press his face into his chest and confess his sins. Like he hadn’t comprehended yet that that would not be happening. Not with this. 

And Peter still stood just next to Remus, looking uncertain, hesitant. James broke away from Sirius and stepped towards him, folding him into his arms and pressing a quick kiss to his blond tufts of hair. Patted him on the shoulder once and released him, walked to his bed. After a moment of uncertain silence, his friends began to talk again, filling the air with gossip and laughter. Normally, James would be right there with them, laughing just as loud, but his mind was already beginning to slip away again, so all he did was change out of his clothes into joggers and and a soft jumper that he was 90% sure belonged to Remus (Remus’ jumpers were communal jumpers, anyway).

He made his way over to Sirius’ bed, collapsing onto it and bringing the other boy into his arms. Sirius shot him a grin, relaxing against his chest as he began to talk about something that had happened in Transfiguration today, something about a badly-aimed spell and a Hufflepuff who’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time. All James could do was hold him tight, like he could smother out the sadness that Sirius wasn’t even feeling. Reassurance over a problem Sirius was unaware existed.

Your brother is gone. Missing. I don’t know where he is and I’m sorry. 

I love him. Is that okay? It’s going to have to be okay, because I don’t think I could stop if I tried. I don’t want to try. He is my entire fucking soul. Sometimes I feel empty and then I see him and my entire body is flooded with light. I love him. I won’t say sorry. 

Sometimes I hate you for leaving him behind. Sometimes I hate him for not coming with you. And isn’t that just awful?

I love him, and he’s gone, and I’m not sorry, and the water is climbing so, so high.

Chapter Text

A kiss on the tip of his nose. On his pink cheek. Pepper them everywhere he can. His temple, his other cheek. His lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” 

There was silence when James woke, and then he remembered, and nothing could’ve stopped the sobs rising in his chest. 

He didn’t move. That first day, he didn’t move an inch, apart from when he was checking the map. Obsessively, manically. Like if he was desperate enough, his name would appear. 

It didn’t. 

It didn’t take long for his friends to become frantic in their worry for him. Pleading for him to tell them what was wrong, what was happening, begging him to get up or talk to them or even just fucking smile. Peter whispering, “He doesn’t even have to— just nod, yeah? Just— just let us know you’re still here.” Just one indication that he was okay. That the sun wasn’t exploding. That the glass was simply cracked and not splintering into a million pieces. 

James couldn’t do a thing. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had been. He hadn’t eaten in days, hadn’t the smallest appetite. Drinking water had been such an effort that he hadn’t bothered to try again today, simply stared at the glass Peter had left on his bedside table with cracked lips and dry eyes. He hadn’t cried since the first morning, couldn’t summon the energy to do so. His body was oscillating between agony and emptiness. The emptiness was somehow worse, because James had always been so full of love and care that without it, he wasn’t himself. He was a shell of a person, a marble statue masquerading as a human being. 

Not even the sounds of his friends crying into his shoulder—begging for just a word, just one word, even if it was just hello—made him feel anything anymore. Sirius crying, his voice breaking, “You’re supposed to be the strong one, Prongs. You’re the one who keeps me together. So what the fuck am I supposed to do if you fall apart?” It was like he wasn't even there. The only things that existed were the ache in his bones and the parchment clutched in his white-knuckled grip. He’d taken to checking the map as soon as his friends left him alone, staring at it for hours upon hours, knowing he wasn’t going to find anything but still searching anyway. Like dawn had arrived and his face was still tipped up towards his favourite star. 

When his friends came back, crawled into bed with him, Remus on one side and Sirius on the other and Peter curled up over his legs, and they began their whispering, their pleading, James simply closed his eyes and pretended they weren’t there. 

Three weeks, 4 meetings with McGonagall, a visit from his parents, and more tears from his friends than he’d ever seen in his life, James was up and about, going to classes and the Great Hall. (He was avoiding Quidditch practice though. There wasn’t a force on Earth that could make him get on a broom right now, knowing it would only make him think of wind-tousled black curls, a shit-eating grin, lithe fingers curled around a golden snitch). And he wasn’t eating, and he wasn’t sleeping, and his friends noticed. 

“You keep saying you’re fine, but you look like death. You don’t sleep, you don’t eat—” Remus tried, voice soft in the stillness of the library. 

“I said I’m fine.”

“You’re a shit liar, James.” And Sirius had always said things like this, but it wasn’t true, couldn't be, not when James was capable of lying about something as great as this. 

James just grinned, a smile too wide, too sharp. “No, I’m really not.”

They fell silent, gazes falling back to their essays, and ink bled across James’ parchment from the shaking of his hand. 

Sometimes he caught sight of something or other and something would puncture his fucking lungs, and he’d breathe in raggedly, gasping for air until he was on the floor and there were hands on his shoulders and clinging to his hand as he breathed, tried to make space around the hole in his chest to breathe, remember that all this love would not actually suffocate him and he needed to fucking breathe. 

It was small things that sent him into states like this—catching sight of an alcove where the two of them had sat for hours in the dead of night, just them and the stars and their secrets. A broom closet filled to the brim with the remnants of their love—sometimes James would walk past one and swear he could hear their voices, soft and so full of joy, Regulus’ gasps and James’, “Shh, love, you’re gonna get us caught. Quiet, yeah?” 

Their laughter in the back of the library, confessions in the Astronomy Tower, Regulus looking at the stars and James looking at him. He was pointing at the moon, and James was looking at his hand. Pressed kisses like prayers onto his moonlit skin, mouthing at his throat, where his pulse fluttered, a whisper, a reassurance of safety. It was all James had ever wanted for him, and Regulus knew that, and he would tell James, over and over, that the only place he had ever felt safe was in his arms. And James would just pull him closer. 

It was easy, sometimes, so easy, to think of only the love-filled moments between them. To tell himself that Regulus was always soft, always adoring, always looking at him with stars in his eyes and all defences stripped away, for what use had he had for defences around James? As if James wouldn’t just strip them right down. As if James wouldn’t love him not despite them, but with them, the blankness of his expression and coldness in his eyes never deterring James from pulling him close and whispering against his lips. 

Do you know how much I love you, Regulus? I don’t think words could ever express it. I could give you the world and it wouldn’t be enough to show you. Let me name the stars for you, my love, let me take you there. My beautiful boy so full of light, I love you, I love you, I love you. 

It was easier to forget the times, the oh-so-many times that Regulus had pushed him away, denied his love and his touch. Easier still to forget the times when Regulus had begged, hands and knees and tears and desperation, spilling out of him onto the hard wood floors. 

I’m— Fuck, no, James, you don’t— don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, I’m evil, I’m so, so bad, there is nothing light inside of me and I’m not sure there ever was, and you’re— Fuck, fuck, James, you’re the fucking sun, and you— I can’t do this to you— Don’t say that, don’t say you love me— I will ruin you, this love will ruin you, please don’t say you love me—

And James would just pull him closer. 

Regulus had never fully dropped those defences. They were a part of him, just like everything else, albeit a part that broke James’ heart. Defences in place because of his family, his mother, the war, the secrets he held so tight in his white-knuckled grip, refused to release them even when his palms were bleeding and he was waking up screaming in the middle of the night (and James would just pull him closer). 

Truthfully, James hadn’t known what he was getting himself into. Hadn’t known that pressing kisses into the dimples of a boy with eyes grey like the bottom of the sea, where light can’t reach, would lead to an emptiness in his chest and a vacancy in his ribcage. Sometimes, when James would be holding Regulus close, the smaller boy’s head tucked under his chin, curls tickling his face, James’ heart would hammer from how much he felt, so powerful sometimes he was afraid it would break out, and everyone would hear it, James Potter’s heart beating wild and true for Regulus Black. 

Now, James would lie awake in the middle of the night with a hand pressed to his ribs, open-palmed, just checking, just making sure his heart was still there, still beating. It didn’t always feel like it was. 

The first month passed, and the next began. January collapsed into February, and it felt less like time passing and more like time repeating. The air stayed sharp enough to cut. Inside of James was only water, restless and endless, cascades where his heart should be. He did not sleep, he ate only when Sirius’ gaze became too heavy and Peter’s eyes began to water and Remus’ hand, still outstretched, still reaching, never pushing, began to tremble. 

February passed in a haze of ink stains on unfinished essays, empty hallways, just James and the stars, just James and the amber sunrise, as he would spend sleepless nights wandering up and down the corridors. He wasn’t even searching anymore, just waiting. The map burnt holes in his pockets. Staring at the ceiling, the map wide open. James couldn’t even bring himself to look at it anymore. His broom grew dusty, untouched. Everything hurt. 

And through it all, James was left to ponder the fact that he had a secret. A real, proper secret. His relationship with Regulus had always been a secret, but back then it was fun, forbidden, meeting in the most obscure places just for the hell of it. What James had now was far, far worse. 

And the worst part of having a secret wasn’t the secret itself—it was the hiding. James had never had a real secret before. A life changing secret, one that is only uttered in the darkness of the night with alcohol thrumming through your veins, or in moments of desperation, choked out through tears that just keep falling. 

James couldn’t tell his friends that his behaviour was just depression and stress anymore. Something is going on, they knew, they whispered in the night when they thought James was asleep. Sirius’ voice, soft in the darkness. 

“Something happened to him, Moony. Something big. And he won’t tell us. He won’t— he can’t.”

“Then we wait. He’ll come to us when he’s ready.”

“But he’s hiding it, he’s hiding something. What if he’s never ready?”

James hadn’t even thought about the fact that he was truly hiding it. Regulus’ disappearance had seemed like something that was happening to him and only him. Crouch and Rosier, smiling at the Slytherin table and resuming their activities of terrorising younger students, didn’t seem all that affected. Not like James was—this situation hadn’t carved out their insides to make space for anxiety and despair. They were still just them. 

But James was hiding something, and his friends were starting to notice, and he needed to hold it together. Needed to keep this under lock and key. 

He’d told himself, no one can know, the same way Regulus used to whisper it against his lips. And he’d thought that was that, that’s all, he’d keep his lips sealed and facial expressions in check and the secret would simply dissolve, like dust in an abandoned cupboard. That wasn't how it worked, though, not with real secrets. You try to hide them and they grow bigger and bigger and bigger. What he’d once been able to push out of his mind in louder moments, tell himself This pain has no place here, was beginning to leak out into every breath, every moment, every silence. He’d stare up at the ceiling at night, and with every pound of his heart think, I can’t do this anymore. They’re going to know, they’ll know, they’ll know. 

So he tried to double down. February mornings came faster, the sun rising just a little bit earlier, and James’ smile grew sweeter, more solid at the edges. He built a cage within his chest and pushed the secret, pushed Regulus in, kicking and screaming, locked the gates with his strongest grin. Checked the padlock, once, twice. The secret couldn’t get out, but it could grow, straining at the pearly white gates of his ribs. Spread into his fingertips, tremors every time he lifted his hands, into his lungs, choked him with every breath. He kept his chin up, his upper lip stiff, forbade the gleam in his eyes from diminishing. He woke up and he was fine, fine, fine, and his heart wasn’t pounding and his blood wasn’t roaring in his ears and he was just so fucking fine. 

He had to be, right? Had to hide this way, stay strong for his friends. For Regulus, even if James didn’t know where he was. His mask was strong and his smile lazy. And it took him too long, the rest of the month, to realise that in his efforts to contain the secret in its cage, he’d somehow managed to let himself slip in there too, and the gates had shut and locked before he could get out again. James was no longer James—somebody else was in control of those guarded smiles and the laughter that never lasted quite long enough. James was watching, helpless, shuttered inside these pearly white ribs with only a racing heartbeat and a twisting, dark secret for company. 

But it didn’t matter, because Remus’ eyes had gone back to being just honey, concern long gone, and Sirius’ voice wasn’t tinged in apprehension anymore when he would ramble about whatever the fuck he was on about today, and Peter was back to being loud, confident, the joker and the punchline. 

Everything was fine. Regulus was gone, James was drowning, and everything was fine. 

February ended the way it began, grey and sharp. Frost turned to rain, the sun rose even earlier, the March sunrises just as golden as the February ones. The golden light always found James wandering the halls of the castle with burning eyes and shallow breaths. Footsteps echoing, echoing. Just him and the light. Misty window panes and whistling wind. It was the closest thing he found to peace, in those days. Sometimes the sunlight was warm enough that it felt like being held in Regulus’ arms. Sometimes the sunlight was warm enough and James forgot why he felt hollow. 

Last night he’d stayed up with his friends, passing around gossip and a bottle of Firewhiskey. Remus with his back to the side of his bed and his legs open wide on the hardwood floor, Sirius curled up between them. Remus’ tanned hand on Sirius’ head, combing through long black locks, eyes full of stars as he listened to Sirius report back exactly who and who he’d found in the back of the library, pressed up against the shelves, shirts off and hair mussed, his voice shaking with laughter. Peter’s head in James’ lap, cheek pressed to his thigh, sitting up to exclaim, “Well, that explains everything!”, swaying slightly because he was a lightweight, and James just pushed his head back down. Reached for the Firewhiskey, took a long sip, relished in the way it burned his throat. It was the warmest he’d felt in months, each drop reminding him of toned, pale arms, clinging to him sleepily. Warm skin against warm skin. Then James felt stupid, because how could a drink ever compare to Regulus’ embrace?

“And then he— I don’t even know what he did, he was so angry, and the spell came out all wrong—” Sirius broke off to laugh, and his voice was bright enough to cut through the fog of James’ mind, brought him back to the surface. 

“Truly sounded like another language. Fucking Latin or something,” Remus added, lips curling upwards as he watched his boyfriend shake with laughter, Sirius trying to pull himself together to continue his story.  

“Exactly, like fucking Latin, and the spell fucking— fucking rebounded, hit his shoes. Just fucking— flames, everywhere.” 

James started to laugh at that, felt the vibrations of Peter’s giggles against his leg. 

“Thank god I was there.”

James grinned at Remus, gave him a mocking salute. “Oh yeah, Moony to the rescue. Thank fuck for that. Though, I do recall the flames climbing much higher before you stopped laughing enough to aim your wand—”

“I won’t hear of this insubordination.”

“His ankles were charred, mate.”

“At least I helped him! You lot were practically rolling around on the floor. Peter was crying—”

“Yeah, and my tears could’ve put out the fire faster than you did, prick.”

“—and Sirius was letting him know that dying by footwear was quite the legacy—”

“It was reassurance! You looked like you were going to piss yourself from laughing so hard, Moony, my love.”

Peter cut in, “Pads, I would have some respect for Remus. He’s the only reason your hair didn’t catch fire after you collapsed from laughing right next to the flames.”

“Shut it, Pete. I won’t be thanking Remus for anything. He’s the one who pissed Roydon off so much in the first place. Why’d you have to bring up his tumble down the stairs, Moons? Instigator.”

“Fuck off! Pass me the Firewhiskey if you’re gonna keep attacking the hero like this.”

James took another swig, felt it burn, burn, burn, before handing the bottle over to Remus. “Yeah, yeah, all hail Lord Moony. Saviour of ankles and Sirius’ hair.” 

Peter cheered, and Sirius began to cackle until Remus shoved him out of his arms and onto the floor, and everything was spinning, and James’ heart had never felt so light and so heavy at the same time. 

When his friends had fallen asleep, curled up on the hardwood floor, James had stood, gathered pillows and blankets and tucked them all up. Ruffled Peter’s hair, pressed a kiss to Sirius’ forehead, whispered, “Shh, sleep, love,” when Remus drowsily mumbled, “Where you goin’, James?”, half asleep, his fingers curled into Sirius’ hair. Then James had stood, grabbed the leftover Firewhiskey, and made his way out of the dorm. 

It was pitch black outside, stars like crystals scattered across the sky, and the moon, now waning, shining bright, illuminating the corridor, the streaks of light blurring more and more with each sip he took of the bottle. He stumbled down the corridor, feet heavy, dragging, fingers curled loosely around the neck of the bottle. He focused his gaze on the stone floor, willed himself to keep moving, willed his legs to hold strong, not to crumple. He walked and walked, reached the end of the corridor, and instead of turning, he pressed his back to the wall behind him. Tipped his head back, felt the moonlight glance along his face. Squinted against the silvery light, brought the bottle to his lips once more, before finally allowing his knees to fold. Allowed himself to fall to the ground, back to the wall and knees to his chest. Set the bottle down, hugged his arms around his knees, like a child in search of comfort, but the only person James wanted comfort from was gone, and he looked up at the stars and they weren’t enough. 

James turned his head away from the sky, staring blankly down the corridor. His head was floaty, hazy, and the darkness was spinning, and his eyelids fluttered. He let them close. 

The last thing James saw before he shut his eyes was the achingly familiar door of an abandoned classroom, and then he was asleep. 

Laughter, warm skin, James’ hand tangled in Regulus’ curls, a barrier between him and the door behind him. James pressing kisses to Regulus’ neck, whispering sweet words into his lips, kissing him over and over like he’s trying to drink him in. Hands roaming, anywhere they can, touching the places where shirts have been rucked up. James’ knee between Regulus’ thighs, pinning him to the door. Drags his mouth along his jaw, down his neck, where sweat is beginning to bead.

“James— Fuck, James, you— Stop licking me, you’re an animal. Jamie—”

“Shh, love, we’re going to get caught.” He silences Regulus by smashing their lips together, presses his knee up between Regulus’ legs, swallows the soft noises straight from his mouth.

“James, Jamie, please—”

“I’ve got you, baby, s’okay.” 

Regulus’ hands move from James’ neck, slide down his chest, start fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. James pulls back slightly, laughs when Regulus whines in discontent, to help Regulus undo the buttons, ripping the last one in his haste to get his shirt off. As soon as the shirt is off, fluttering to the ground, Regulus’ hands are on him, everywhere, dragging down bare skin. His mouth soon follows, kissing and sucking and licking wherever he can. Sucks at his collarbones, grips his hips and moves to lick at his abs. James tips his head back, breathes out a low sound from the back of his throat, before he’s grabbing at Regulus’ hair to pull him back up and smash their lips together again. 

It’s been so long, too long, since things got as heated as this, and James thinks he might genuinely die if he doesn’t have Regulus’ shirt off, now. 

“Reg, baby,” James groans against his lips, hands moving from his hair to the front of his shirt, finding the buttons and beginning to undo them. Regulus doesn’t even seem to notice, so caught up in kissing James and touching, touching, touching. 

The buttons take far too long to undo, but then it’s done, and James is drawing back to impatiently pull Regulus’ shirt off of him, slip it down his arms, so, so desperate to get his hands on the smooth ivory skin underneath. Wants to map out every space, every cell, wants to press kisses all down his torso, to rest his forehead against his burning skin, and the shirt is almost off, sliding down his arms—

Regulus throws himself backwards, all of a sudden, out of James’ arms, disconnecting their lips. His hands move from James’ chest to grab at his own shirt, pulling the shoulders back up and clinging to it, fists clenched tightly in the white fabric to keep it from falling off, and James is extremely confused, and his chest is cold where Regulus’ hands had been, his lips tingling. 

“Reg, what—”

“I— Can I just keep my shirt on? Please?”

And Regulus has never asked this of him before. In fact, he’s always so eager to get all clothes off, to remove all barriers between him and James. He’s ripped quite a few of James’ shirts and jumpers in his haste, actually, so this? This is completely unexpected. 

But they’ve not done this in a while, since before summer, actually, save for make out sessions that always ended before they got too carried away. And James has always, always respected Regulus and his decisions, so this is fine. Just— Unexpected. And even though James is fine with it, there’s a nagging feeling in his stomach, a strange sort of anxiety building in his chest. But Regulus looks so uncertain, eyes wide and panic-filled, that James can’t do anything but smile. 

“Yeah, love, of course. Just— How come— I just mean, you’ve never had an issue with it before, you know? Is— Is everything—” James stammers out, trying his very best to stay respectful, but the dread is climbing up his throat now and seems to be spilling out his mouth. 

Regulus cuts him off. “Everything’s fine, James, I just—would rather keep it on. That’s all. Is that okay?”

And James is still so, so confused, but he nods and smiles, reaches forward to curl his fingers into Regulus’ hair and grabs at one of his hands, still clenching so tightly at his shirt. He twines their fingers together and presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Yeah, baby, that’s okay. Of course it is. Just— If you don’t feel comfortable, or you don’t want to do this—”

And Regulus cuts him off again by pressing his mouth against James’, tongue tracing the seam, and James is, of course, immediately distracted and very okay with this. 

It all gets a bit blurry after that. Regulus’ mouth, his hands, tracing over the dips in his muscle. James pulling at his hair, then pushing him back, against the door again, dipping down to kiss him again and again and again, mouthing at his throat, sucking at his pulse point, fluttering ever so fast. 

Regulus tips his head back and just slightly to the side, his left hand leaving James’ chest to fall to his hip, squeezing, and James moves Regulus’ shirt collar to the side a bit to press his mouth the juncture between his neck and shoulder, leaves red and purple marks in his wake. Pushes at the collar more insistently, desperate for access to those sharp collar bones, and then the collar slips right off Regulus’ shoulder and down his arm, pooling at his wrist where he’s gripping James’ hip, and neither of them take any notice. James is too preoccupied with the warm, unmarked skin in front of him, and Regulus’ eyes are closed, face tilted up, soft moans and James’ name leaving his mouth. 

After a particularly loud moan, quickly followed by, “James, fuck, please—”, James moves back up to his lips, presses a lingering kiss there and then pulling back just to stare at him, just to watch the way his bruised lips part around his name and the way his curls are sticking to his forehead and the way his eyelids flutter. James’ heart seizes, just looking at this beautiful, beautiful boy, his sharp cheekbones and the pink flush on his skin, and he can feel the burning in his chest grow warmer and warmer, his heart start to pound even faster, because fuck. James loves him so fucking much. 

His gaze drifts from his face down his neck, marvels at the mottled skin there, down to his chest and his abs, all the lean muscle that comes from hours spent on the Quidditch pitch. Shifts his eyes to look at his bicep, straining slightly from how hard he’s clutching James’ hip, down his arm, where the shirt has slipped down, to his forearm—

What—

What?

What the fuck is that?

And he must do something, make a noise, but he can’t tell because he’s completely frozen, the burning in his chest turning to ice down his spine, because Regulus says his name, still so soft, and opens his eyes. James sees him, out of the corner of his eyes, scanning his face and moving to look at what James is seeing, but James can’t do a thing. His face has drained of colour, cheeks beginning to tingle, and he thinks he’s going to be sick, because— because on Regulus’ arm—

Regulus makes a noise, a choked sound from the back of his throat, and then he’s throwing himself back again, tugging the shirt back up, whispering, “Fuck, fuck, no—”

And James can’t do anything but stare at the space where Regulus’ arm just was. Where he saw black lines, etched so deep into that ivory skin that James loves so much. So, so much.

He’s not sure he’s breathing, can’t feel anything at all right now other than the coldness, the numbness spreading through him. His eyes are stinging, and his lips are still tingling, and then there’s a warm hand cupping his jaw, turning his face ever so gently until his eyes meet with Regulus’ again. Wide open now, silver and panicked, so panicked, gaze roaming around his face, searching for something. 

“James?” Regulus’ voice is barely a whisper, broken and cracking at the edges. 

James can’t breathe. 

“James?” Regulus tries again, his voice so scared, so small, almost pleading in the way he says his name. 

James can’t breathe. 

“Fuck— James, please, say something. Please—”

“Was— Was that—” James’ voice is raspy, like he’s not spoken for days. He can’t get the words out, so he swallows and tries again. “Regulus, was that the— the Mark?”

And Regulus doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t need to, because he presses his swollen lips together so tight, eyes falling shut for a moment, and James’ heart is breaking. 

And suddenly James is drawing back, pulling away from Regulus’ touch, the first time he’s ever done so. Regulus’ hand falls limply to his side, and he says something, but James can’t hear it over the roaring of blood in his ears, all his senses coming back to him at once. Gone is the numbness, and in its place is boiling, untamable fury. 

“You— You took the Mark? What the fuck? Regulus, what the actual fuck?”

“James—”

“No, no, you fucking— How could you? Regulus, how could you have that fucking thing on your arm?” And James is genuinely asking, because the idea of that— that thing on Regulus’ skin, that symbol of pure fucking evil staining such warm, soft skin, makes James want to throw up. 

“I had to—”

“Fuck that! No, no, fuck that! Were you ever going to tell me? What, you were just going to let me hold you and kiss you and tell you I love you, all while knowing you have that disgusting thing branded on your arm?” 

And he’s being cruel now, James knows, but he can’t help it. Has no power, no control over the words spilling out of his mouth now. Regulus tries to say something again, but James can’t do anything but let the anger continue to spill out of him. 

“No, Regulus, what the fuck? How long have you— Fuck, since school started, yeah? Got it over the summer? Is that why you’ve not wanted to do anything since we got back?”

Regulus swallows, his face ashen. “James, please—”

“What— Why do you have it? Why the fuck would you have that? What in the world would make you get that evil fucking thing seared into your skin?”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

“Yes, you did! Yes, you fucking did! You did have a choice, you always have a choice, and you know that!”

“My parents, they wouldn’t—”

“You could’ve come to mine!” A laugh bubbles up and spills out of James as he says the words, and it’s a sound so cruel and unlike him that James feels even more nauseous. “Fuck, Regulus, you could’ve left. Come to mine. You know damn well we would’ve taken you in, protected you—”

“That wasn’t an option.”

“Yes it was!” James is almost screaming now, hysterical in his terror, his grief. That’s what he’s feeling, isn’t it? He’s mourning the boy he knew. The boy he thought he knew. “Yes, it fucking was! You could’ve run, just like Sirius did—”

“That wasn’t an option, James! That wasn’t— It was this or death, okay? They would’ve killed me, and you know that, you fucking know that. What would you have done?”

“I would have died!” And James truly is screaming now, his voice echoing in the abandoned classroom, bouncing off the walls and the high ceilings. “I would never, ever have picked to take that, and you know that—”

“Is that what you would’ve wanted for me?”

James goes very still. “What?”

“You would have preferred I die then take the Mark, yes?”

His body fills with ice cold water again. Regulus’ eyes are so big, so silver, staring at him so blankly. James knows this look, knows Regulus has locked all his feelings away, plastered up a mask to get through this. It’s working. He looks bored, almost, while James’ heart is completely and utterly breaking. 

“That’s not— That’s not what I’m saying, Regulus, I’m saying there were other choices.”

“There weren’t. They would’ve killed me before I could have even said no. I had to do this. Don’t you get it?”

James hadn’t realised he was crying until now, but he is, tears dampening his cheeks and dripping onto his bare chest. Washing away the remnants of Regulus’ touch. He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath. Meets Regulus’ gaze again, head on. 

“So what, you’re a fucking Death Eater now?”

Regulus swallows, doesn’t say a word. Just continues to stare at James. James lets out a sharp laugh. 

“Right, yeah, guess you are. I mean, you take the Mark and you’re one of them, right? So what, is it time for you to hurt people?”

“James—” 

“We’re on the brink of war, Regulus. You’re going to go out and hurt people, kill people, in the name of the Dark Lord.” James’ voice is robotic, mechanical, unfeeling. This isn’t him. He feels like he’s floating, completely detached from who he was just moments ago. A boy, holding the boy he loves so very dearly in his arms. Now he’s a boy, staring at a soldier. A stranger. 

“You don’t understand—”

“No, I do. You chose this, and you’re going to go out and hurt and kill the people I love, aren’t you? Isn’t that what Death Eaters do, Regulus? And you’re one of them, now.” Another laugh, so sharp, so cruel. “Fuck, who even are you? This isn’t— This isn’t you. You aren’t—” 

And there’s so many ways he could finish that sentence. Evil. Cruel. A killer. A Death Eater. But he can’t say any of those things, isn't sure of them anymore, so instead he just rasps, “You aren’t who I thought you were.”

He’s not sure what he was expecting Regulus to say, to do, but suddenly the blankness in his eyes is replaced by anger, bright and burning. Yes, James thinks. Fight back. Show me that the real you, the one I love, is still here. Tell me I'm wrong, call me an idiot, show me you're still you. 

Regulus narrows his eyes. “I’ve been very clear to you about who I am, James. You know who I am. I’ve told you. I’m the Black heir. I’m evil and bad and you know this, and you said you loved me anyways.”

“I never thought—”

Regulus laughs, then, and it’s just as cruel as James’ own laughter had been. “You aren’t stupid, James. You had to know this would happen.”

James’ head is spinning. He is so, so dizzy. “Maybe I thought that you would make the right choice.”

“You thought wrong. And this is the right choice, for me. This is survival, and if you can’t see that— Well, there isn’t really much else to say, is there?”

And then Regulus is moving, fingers flying to button his shirt back up, bending to pick up his jumper and cloak. James is going to be sick. Regulus is slipping away, water in spread fingers, and James can’t— won’t let him go. 

He jerks forward right as Regulus reaches for the door handle. “Wait, fuck, please—” His fingers close around Regulus’ wrist, and Regulus shrugs him off, moving for the door again. James pushes forward, steps between him and the doorway. “Don’t go, Regulus, please, don’t go.”

“Move.”

“No, fuck, please. Love, please—”

“Don’t call me that. Move, Potter.”

And it’s those words that send everything crashing down, as James stares into the face of the boy he loves and sees nothing but a cruel, calculating stranger. Not his Regulus. Not his love. 

James can’t move, frozen in place again, his heart turning to ice, and Regulus huffs a sigh and pushes straight past him, out the door, and it slams shut and James is alone in an abandoned classroom with nothing but bruised lips and damp cheeks to show for what just happened. For how he lost the love of his life.

Chapter Text

A shaky exhale. His fingers drifting across damp, pale cheeks. Wipe the salty tears off them and press a kiss to his temple. “I don’t care if you’re bad. I know you. I love you.”

James woke to the rising dawn, an ache in his neck, and the sound of crying. 

He was moving before he knew it, pushing himself to his feet and squinting against the sunrise, lighting the hallway in a hazy amber glow, blurry to his half-open eyes. His limbs were stiff as he pushed himself up, legs dead from the curled up position he’d fallen asleep in, and he almost knocked over the empty bottle of Firewhiskey as he stood (he hadn’t realised he’d finished it, but that did explain the pounding in his head and his mild nausea). 

He glanced around, finding the corridor empty, devoid of life in the early morning and— another sob, ringing out through the corridor, bouncing off the high, stone ceilings. The person crying was close by, had to be just down the corridor, and the sound was so strangely familiar—not that he’d heard this particular cry before, but something about the voice made him think he knew who it was. 

He stepped forward, winced at the way his skull seemed to reverberate with the movement, and took off down the corridor, pace hurried. The sobbing was getting louder now, but he could hear something else, too—a voice, thick and breaking with every word. Two people, then. And James had a nagging suspicion of who it was.

Reaching the end of the corridor, the corner before the turn, he stopped. Pressed himself up against the wall and slowly, so slowly, leaned over to see who it was.

Illuminated by the glow of the sunrise were two boys. Beautiful in the slants of molten-gold light, just as they would be beautiful in silvery moonlight or complete darkness. Barty Crouch Jr and Evan Rosier. 

They were crouched low, Evan sitting with his back to the wall and Barty kneeling between Evan’s open knees, one hand on Evan’s cheek and the other gripping the side of his neck. Wiping away his tears, James realised. Manic, cruel Barty Crouch Jr was wiping tears off of the face of violent, angel-faced Evan Rosier with trembling fingers and the softest of touches. A softness that shouldn’t have belonged to boys like them. These hands that made people shake and bleed, turning to gentleness, just for a heartbeat. Just this moment. James felt like he was intruding on something oddly intimate, and he had half the mind to leave, until Barty spoke, voice low and so tender. 

“It’s not— There’s nothing we could’ve done, Ev. Nothing.” Barty’s voice broke in his throat as he murmured the words, thumbing another tear as it dripped down Evan’s face. His voice was shaking. “He would never, ever have accepted help from us— or anything, really. You— You know that.”

“I— I don’t—” Evan broke off with another sob, turned his face down slightly, pressing it into Barty’s hand, resting on his cheek. “Fuck, Barty, we should’ve— we could’ve— asked him to stay. I would’ve fucking begged if I’d— if I’d known—” 

He broke off again, a fresh wave of tears streaming down his face. Barty shushed him, whispered soft words of comfort that sounded weirdly right coming out of his mouth. James was so, so confused. The surreality of this situation—Evan gasping for breath, letting out sounds that could only be described as pure fucking grief, Barty tightening his hold on Evan’s cheek and neck, whispering, “It’s okay, shh, I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”—was making James’ head spin. 

“He wouldn’t have stayed.”

“You— You don’t know that. If we’d asked—”

“He wouldn’t have stayed, Ev. Not even for us.”

“Fuck, Barty, I can’t— He’s my best fucking friend, I can’t—”

“I know. I know, shh, it’s okay.”

And as Evan began to cry again, gasps of absolute devastation, James felt something inside him twist—slow, deliberate, like a knife turning in soft flesh. 

He didn’t understand, not yet—nothing about his situation made sense to him; not the crying boy on the floor, pain twisting features that usually held such cruelty, nor the boy holding him, voice breaking, fingers pressing deep into ivory skin. So much love in the spaces between them, a sight that James couldn’t even begin to process—but his body seemed to understand. His hands were shaking, his throat tightening. The air in the corridor seemed thinner, colder, pressed against his ribs until it hurt to breathe. Something was so, so wrong. 

Barty spoke again, voice even quieter, raspy. “He knew what he was doing. You know that. He’s— he— was smarter than both of us combined.”

James barely caught the words. Couldn’t even begin to process them. There was something wrong with what Barty just said, something that set his heart pounding and his veins thrumming, nausea curling in his stomach, but he had no idea what it was. 

He’s— he— was smarter than both of us combined. 

And James’ stomach lurched, then, as it clicked in his head. 

Was. 

Was. 

Was. 

His vision blurred. The world tilted. 

Was was was was was was was waswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswas—

Evan made a sound that didn’t sound human. “You say that like it helps. Like that means anything at all. He’s gone, Barty, he’s— fuck, he’s gone—”

Barty pulled him closer, pressing his forehead to Evan’s. “Don’t. Not here.”

Evan didn’t listen. “I can’t— he’s gone, that’s what that— that fucking letter—” His voice cracked, high and broken. “Why did the letter look like that, Barty? It was so— It looked normal. I didn’t— I didn’t think it would say that he—”

Barty’s hand flew up, clamped over Evan’s mouth. “Stop. Stop it, Ev. Don’t— Don’t say it.”

Evan let out another soft sound, distress and terror. “Like that fucking changes anything? What, like if we don’t say it, it’s not real?”

He pushed himself up to his feet, left Barty kneeling on the cold stone floor. “There’s nothing we can do to make it not real, is there? Is there, Barty?” 

And maybe the words were meant to sound cruel. Maybe Evan was reaching within himself for the venom he usually spat so easily. But the words came out like a plea, a prayer, begging to a higher power. Let this not be real. Please, please, please, I’ll do anything. I’ll give anything. Please. 

Barty didn’t respond. Just pushed himself up, stepped close to Evan. Reached for him and pulled him close into his arms. A hand guiding Evan’s head into his neck. Evan reacted immediately, throwing his arms around Barty and unleashing another wave of sobs that shook James to his core. 

Barty tucked his face into the side of Evan’s head. Pressed a fleeting kiss to his temple. “I know, fuck, I know, love. I’m sorry. Let’s— let’s go, yeah? Wherever you want.”

And Evan nodded, face still buried in Barty’s neck, still choking on his grief, and Barty began to walk down the corridor, away from James, keeping Evan locked tight in his arms. 

They walked away, and James— He wasn’t really there anyway. A ghost, haunting this hallway. His head an echoing rhythm of was was was was waswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswaswas—

He’s— he— was smarter than both of us combined. 

He— was smarter than—

He— was—

was—

was was was was was waswaswaswaswaswaswaswas—

They didn’t say his name. 

It’s the only thing keeping James going. They didn’t say Regulus and it’s the only thing keeping James from crumpling to the ground, keeping his blood circulating and his lungs rising and falling. They didn’t say his name, so they could be— they could be talking about anyone, right? Except—

Except Regulus was, in fact, the smartest person James had ever encountered, apart from Barty, but Regulus possessed a level-headedness that Barty did not. 

Except Evan said, “He’s my best fucking friend,” and Evan Rosier would not refer to just anyone as his best friend. The term is reserved solely for Barty Crouch Jr and Regulus Black, the only two boys who were as merciless and flawless as he was. 

Except Regulus was gone. Barty and Evan spoke of asking someone to stay, and Regulus left. 

Regulus was gone. 

Was was was was was was—

James was drowning. 

He was numb. It was the only thing he knew for sure. Didn’t know the time, the day. Barely knew his own name. He could’ve been alone, he could have been surrounded by people; he had no idea. All he knew was that he was completely, utterly numb.

Voices in the darkness. The sun had set at some point. James didn’t know. 

“James?”

“Is he asleep?”

“No, look, his eyes are open. But he looks…”

A beat. A soft exhale.

“He looks like he did when he was…”

“Depressed?”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck. Fuck, no, not again. James? Prongs? Can— can you hear me? Can you say something?”

“Sirius…”

“No, shut up. James? Please, love, can you say something? Anything?”

“Sirius, I think—”

“Stop. Stop it, he’s not— This isn’t like before, okay? We can— He’s—”

“Sirius, love, it’s okay. Shh, come here.”

Another beat. Shuffling. Someone sniffed. 

“I can’t do it again, Moons, I can’t. What if— What if he— What if this time—”

“Don’t— Don’t think like that, Pads. He’ll be okay again, just like last time. We just— We just have to be here, yeah?”

A sniff. A low exhale. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Footsteps, approaching his bed. James wanted to close his eyes, wanted to burrow under the covers, under the bed, under the floorboards. Hide away from all the prying eyes that couldn’t ever understand how he was feeling. Didn’t know what it meant to have your ribcage flood with water, to press your hands to your chest and try to keep it from spilling out. To feel ice dripping down your spine. To feel your bones splintering, cracking, turning to dust. To be frozen, completely numb, unable to do anything but listen to your brain replay a single word, over and over and over and over. 

James couldn’t do anything. 

The bed dipped beside him. “James?”

James couldn’t do anything. 

“Okay. It’s okay. I’m going to lie down next to you, yeah?”

James couldn’t do anything. 

“Okay. Okay, it’s okay. It’s fine.”

A body next to his, arms pulling him close. Turning him over, bringing him face-to-face with a pair of honey-coloured eyes. 

“Hey, James,” Remus murmured, voice soft and slow, eyes scanning James’ face. When it became clear James wasn’t going to react, Remus nodded, and used one hand to bring James’ face into his neck. Started to stroke through James’ hair. “Okay, love. Just go to sleep. It’s okay.”

The bed dipped again, behind James, and another pair of arms circled around him, immediately recognisable. Sirius. James shifted back slightly, pressed against the warm body of his best friend. His brother. But the smallest touch to Sirius brought his brain flooding back into full-alert, as he realised that Sirius— Sirius didn’t know—

Guilt engulfed him. In his chest first—sharp, a fist closing around his heart—then in his stomach, waves of nausea spreading through him until he thought he might actually be sick. It was crawling up his throat, hot and bitter, choking him. He could taste it on his tongue, behind his teeth. Feel it under his skin, alive and writhing. The kind of guilt that didn’t just live in the mind, but spread through the body like a plague, sinking its teeth into every nerve until breathing hurt. Hollowing out bones and splitting open cells. 

It was all he could think, all he could hear, pulsing through his veins with every pound of his heart—fuck fuck fuck I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry—like a prayer, or maybe a punishment. It did not matter which. 

He wanted to claw it out, scrape it from his chest; anything to stop the trembling in his hands, the rattling in his lungs. The air felt thin, wispy. His body was too small for all this feeling. It was burning, igniting, setting him alight, turning him to dust and charred, greying pieces. The guilt was everywhere—under his skin, behind his eyes, under his nails. And there was nothing he could do. 

He just— broke. Snapped, clean through, like a bone finally giving way under pressure, a frayed rope finally splitting. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. The sound that came out of him wasn’t even a sob at first, just a sharp, gasping noise. And then the tears came, fast and merciless, falling before he even realised he was crying. 

He tried to hold them back, palms pressed hard against his eyes, but the harder he pushed, the harder it came. A flood breaking loose. The water that had been rising, rising, rising, finally spilling out of him. His shoulders shaking, chest heaving, breath catching on every inhale, a sob on every exhale. He wasn’t even sure what part of it all hurt the most—the grief, the guilt, the confusion—but it all felt the same. Unbearable.

Remus was holding him tighter now, whispering to him in that soft, soft voice of his, but James wasn’t listening—he was twisting around in Remus’ arms, flinging himself at Sirius. Clung to Sirius like something drowning, hands fisted in Sirius’s shirt, trembling, burying his face in Sirius’ shoulder. 

Sirius was there, reacting, before he could fall apart completely, arms wrapping around him, solid and warm and so familiar, and that was all it took. The words tore out of him in a gutted whisper, wet and broken.  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—fuck, Sirius, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Sirius said something, soft, fierce, incomprehensible, and held him tighter, one hand in his hair, the other pressed to the back of his neck. James couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop crying. The apologies kept spilling out, caught in breath and salt and everything he’d been holding in for months.

He pressed his forehead against Sirius’ collarbone, gasping for air between the words, each one quieter and more painful than the last. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

And Sirius just kept holding him. 

Somewhere amidst the breaking of his grief, James must have fallen asleep, because he was waking up now. Alone in his bed. The sheets beside him, cold. Remus and Sirius must’ve left while he slept. He couldn’t even begrudge them. 

James turned his head up to stare at the wall. Stare at the watery grey light, staining the curtains. The sky was cloudy, outside, the sun hidden. James couldn’t tell what time it was. Couldn’t reach for his wand. Couldn’t move, could do nothing but lie there and feel his insides rot. 

Grief carves holes in you. Guilt tunnels them out. Cuts up the edges, sharp and jagged. Every inhale has your lungs catching on these edges, leaves you scarred and bleeding. But at least you’re still breathing. 

When the grey light shifted, turned more silvery white, a beam in a dark, dark room, James moved. His friends were still gone. He was alone, always alone. Just him and the memory of a boy with silver eyes, the sharpest, softest gaze and a word, a single word, repeating over and over and over in his mind. 

He moved. He picked up his wand and the map, left on his bed side. Opened it up, whispered the words through a raw throat and began to look. For two crying, cruel boys. 

Barty and Evan were in the Astronomy Tower. And that hurt, had his fingers shaking where they clutched at the parchment, because the idea of going up there, surrounded by memories and ghosts and haunting laughter was terrifying. But he had to do this, James knew. Had to— find out. The truth. It was all he wanted, all he’d ever wanted. He had to do this. 

James stood. Didn’t move, for a moment. Took a deep breath and tried again. Walked out of the dorm, through the common room. Felt like a ghost in there, grey and invisible, surrounded by the warmth of the fire and laughter. James felt like he hadn’t laughed in years, hadn’t truly laughed since he was holding a pale boy in his arms and peppering kisses to his face. 

Don’t think about it, don’t think about him—

He walked out of the portrait, down the stairs. The route was so familiar to him. He could’ve done it with his eyes closed. Feet retracing a path that should’ve been forgotten, should’ve been pushed away like every other memory (like the memories weren’t ever present. Like they weren’t painted on the backs of his eyelids and ingrained into his bones, imprinted into his soul. Like he could ever, ever have forgotten). 

When he reached the spiral staircase, James took another deep breath. Took the first step, and then another. Flexed his hands by his sides and ignored the way they felt empty without a warm, slender one entangled with his own. Pearl entangled with gold, and so much love spilling out from between their palms. 

At the top, he could hear voices. Low and hushed but still light, still tinged with love. The sound sent another wave of pain through him. Barty and Evan’s could’ve been James and Regulus’ own, once upon a time. 

He pushed the door open, gently, quietly as he could, and as fast as they were to react, stepping forward, wands drawn, James still saw. Their heads bent together, Evan’s hands on the sides of Barty’s neck. The gentleness that Regulus spoke of, the fondness in his voice. It was making sense, now. 

“Who’s—”

“It’s me.” James stepped forward, and while neither boy lowered their wands, their hands, white-knuckled, did loosen, ever so slightly. 

“Potter. You know, I’ve never really believed all that talk about Gryffindor bravery, but I’m starting to get it now. Leave.” Barty’s voice left no room for argument, but James didn’t care. 

“I need to talk to you. Both.”

“Fucking hell,” Evan muttered, bringing his hands up to scrub over his face. When he dropped them, James was able to see the plain grief on his face. Those pale blue eyes now red-rimmed, puffy. Exhaustion in every crevice. A quick glance at Barty showed the same. Devastation written all over his pretty, pretty face. “This is giving me deja-vu. Listen, Potter, we really aren’t in the mood, so if you could kindly fuck off—”

“Please.” James was close to tears, could feel them rising in throat. It was the sight of the two of them that undid him—the sight of two boys who were just as broken by this as he was, whose eyes were just as sore as his own, whose hearts were just as shattered. “Please, I just— I need to—”

He was cut off by a sob that spilled out, wrenched free from his burning throat. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, hard enough to see stars, before dropping them to look back up at Barty and Evan, still standing in front of him, still watching. 

He expected shock, disgust. Confusion. Why would James seek them out just to start weeping right in front of them? 

But there was no disgust on their faces. No sneer. Just stillness. Recognition. 

Barty’s wand lowered first, just slightly. Evan’s followed. 

“Sit,” Barty ordered sharply, jerking his chin toward the low stone bench just next to them. “Before you fall over.” 

James didn’t argue. His legs were trembling with exhaustion anyway. He sat, hands twisting in his lap, eyes burning. Evan stayed standing just a beat longer, studying James’ face like something was dawning on him. Then he sighed, moved to sit beside him, not touching but close enough for James to feel the warmth of his skin, the only spot of warmth on this cold, cold night. 

“What do you want, Potter?” Barty muttered. Maybe it was meant to sound menacing, mildly threatening, but it just came out tired. Like maybe he too could feel the deep exhaustion settling into his bones. 

“I heard you. In the corridor.” That was not what James meant to say—it was stupid of him to admit to eavesdropping on two boys prone to violence, quick to anger—but the words just spilled out of their own accord, breaking free past the lump in James’ throat. He winced, before looking up to meet Barty’s eyes. He didn’t even look angry, just so tired, like this was just yet another thing he had to deal with. 

Evan sighed beside him. “Spying on us? That’s low.”

“No, I didn’t mean to. I just— I woke up there, and I heard you, um, crying—”

Evan groaned. “Fucking hell.”

“Look, I’m not going to tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just— I heard what you said. About…” Regulus. James couldn’t make his name come out. It stopped in his throat, scratching at the raw skin, burning, burning, burning. 

It didn’t matter. They all knew who he was talking about, who they had been talking about, on the cold stone floor of the corridor, words gasped out between heaving sobs. 

“You can say it, you know. No use pretending we don’t know exactly what’s going on here,” Evan drawled, a forced attempt to sound relaxed. It didn’t work, but his words had James’ heart stuttering. 

It sounded like they knew about James and Regulus, their relationship, the nights they spent curled up in each other’s arms. It was a startling realisation, but that wasn’t what James was here for. He didn’t—couldn’t—care about that right now. 

“Fine, yeah, Reg— Regulus. You were crying about him. You said—” 

Was, was, was. 

“Said what, Potter? What the fuck do you want?” Barty was getting agitated, starting to pace back and forth around the Tower. Evan sighed, said his name softly, and Barty stopped, standing still in front of the two of them on the bench. 

Was, was, was.

“Tell me if he’s alive.” The words came out in a desperate rush, stained in blood and desperation. “Just— please. Please, tell me he’s alive.”

The words sat in the air for a long moment, stretching out, tension drawn so sharp. Then Barty broke it. 

“Why wouldn’t he be alive, Potter?” Barty spoke slowly and so carefully, like each word was being measured and tested before he spoke it. They brought no relief. 

“You said— you said was. In the corridor. He was smarter than both of us. Why would you say that if— if he wasn’t—”

“Misspoke. It happens. Is, was,” Barty shrugged. “Happens to all of us.”

“Oh, does it now, little genius?” James snapped. He could feel the lies being woven around him, and he was sick of it.

Barty shot him a look, gaze sharpening. “Yeah, it does. Doesn’t matter how smart I am. We all make mistakes.”

“That— That wasn’t a mistake,” James retorted, resisting the urge to start tearing his hair out. “That wasn’t a mistake, or an error in speaking, you— you knew what you were saying!”

“Calm the fuck down, Potter,” Evan, previously a silent warmth next to him, groaned. “Let’s not start attacking each other, okay? We’re all on the same side here.”

“And what side is that?”

“Regulus’,” Evan said simply. Because when it came to the war, so close on the horizon, they were not on the same side. Light and dark. Black ink and hope. On the battlefield, they would fight for what they believed, spit curses at each other, aim to injure, maybe even kill. But here, right now? They were on the same side. The side of the boy they all loved. Regulus. 

James paused, anger dissipating. He exhaled, slow, before dropping his face in his hands, elbows propped on his knees. “Please just tell me he’s alive. Please tell me the truth.”

A pause. Then Barty spoke. “He’s fine.”

And James wanted so badly to accept that, to say “Okay, thanks!” and leave. Let that be the end of it. Put these thoughts of Regulus, cold and still, to rest. But he couldn’t. 

“No, no, no,” James whispered into his hands, shaking his head. He was noticing now that tears were still steadily streaming down his face. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not fucking lying, Potter. You can take my answer or you can fuck off.” 

“What were you crying about, then? A— A letter. You mentioned a letter. What was that?”

“You’re so fucking nosy, you know what?” Barty scoffed, tone edged, before going on, softer, “We were talking about…something else. A letter. From him. About home.” His eyes flicked to James. “It wasn’t about death, Potter. Don’t get any ideas.”

The words sat between them, shaky and fragile. “A letter,” he repeated, tasting salt. “You were crying over a letter.”

Evan sighed, and James turned to see him scrub a hand over his face, eyes red, voice hoarse. “You know about his mother, don’t you? You know what that house is like.” He said house like it was a curse. “He wrote that things were…worse. That’s all.” He fixed James with a stare, like he was daring James to contradict him. “We’re not crying because he’s dead. Don’t be stupid.”

That brought James absolutely no comfort. Regulus was alive, but at that house with his mother, and things were worse. To James, who had long been under the impression that Regulus was not victim to his mother’s abuse like Sirius was, worse didn’t mean much. Worse was vague, likely purposefully so. But to Evan and Barty, who’d spoken of Regulus ‘bruised and bleeding on the train’, it had to mean something truly awful to have elicited this reaction. Evan’s eyes, red and puffy. Barty’s voice, hoarse and grating, like he’d spent a long time screaming. 

James leaned forward, elbows to knees, palms pressed together like prayer. “Is he okay? Is he hurt? I don’t— I heard you. I heard you say he shouldn’t have gone alone. I heard you say—” gone, gone, gone. “Tell me he’s okay. Tell me he’s fine. Tell me—” His voice broke on the next inhale. “I can’t keep not knowing.”

Evan made a soft, ruined sound. He shifted, and when James didn’t pull away, Evan’s hand rested lightly on his shoulder. Not the cruel grip James knew from hexes shot across corridors, but something careful, almost shy, as if touch might spook him. “Potter,” he said, and his use of the surname was so gentle it might as well have been James. “He—he’s not… here. That’s all we know.”

“Then where is he? Why did he leave?” James’ voice cracked, and Evan’s hand on his shoulder tightened. His thumb kept moving, barely there, against James’ shoulder, an instinct he probably didn’t even know he had. Evan made another sound, from the back of his throat, sounding gutted, and James couldn’t bring himself to care. “You— Evan, you were crying, you were fucking sobbing in the corridor over him and— and you’re lying to me. You— He’s at home, yeah? Why the fuck would his parents take him out of school, just like that? It’s the middle of term. Why—” His voice caught again, a sob falling from his parted lips. “Why isn’t he here?”

And James stopped speaking then, because he was crying too hard, and he thought that if he opened his mouth again, the only thing that would come out would be icy, icy water. 

“We— we told you what we know, Potter, that’s all we know.” Evan sounded to be on the verge of tears himself, and James didn’t care. 

“No, it’s not, it’s not,” he gasped out between sobs. “You love him, you have to know, please.” 

“We don’t. I’m sorry, we don’t,” Evan whispered, voice wrecked, and then he was lifting his other hand on to James’ other shoulder, and pulling him in, and James was sobbing in the warm arms of the most ruthless boy he’d ever met, face buried in his neck, and all he could think was Regulus was right. This is gentle. 

It took him some time to stop crying, to let his tears dry on his face and find his voice again, submerged underwater. All the while, Evan just held him tight, moving his thumb on his shoulder back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. 

When James finally settled, and the silence returned, and all that could be heard was the whistling wind around the Tower, Barty spoke. “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question, and James didn’t play dumb. “Yeah,” he choked out, shifting his face from Evan’s neck so that his forehead now rested on Evan’s shoulder. Evan didn’t say a word, just adjusted his arms to keep holding him. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

Silence again. Then James whispered into the space between him and Evan’s bodies, “I just want to know if I should have hope. Do I keep hoping?”

“Hope is cheap,” Barty said finally, voice tired. “Doesn’t cost you anything to keep it.”

“It costs me everything,” James responded, so quiet that both boys leaned closer to hear him. “Every day I wake up and it costs me everything.”

No one had a reply to that. James exhaled, and then lifted his head from Evan’s shoulder. Evan didn’t say a word, didn’t acknowledge the fact that he’d just held James as he broke down, but his eyes were softer and that was the same thing. 

Barty approached him, heavy steps, and bent in front of him to meet his eyes. James tried to move, but Barty just grabbed the side of his face, pushed his face so their gazes met. His eyes were serious, but there was a warmth to them that James hadn’t seen before. 

“You’re going to go back to your dorm,” Barty murmured. “You’re going to sleep, in your bed or with one of your friends.” Normally, Barty referring to James’ friends was a taunt, but he said it now like a comfort, like he knew just how much James needed them. “You’re going to eat something tomorrow, and drink water, and you won’t tell anyone about this. Not a word. He wouldn’t have wanted that.”

“Why?” James whispered. “Why wouldn’t he want that?”

“Because he— he knows you. Knows that if you told your friends, you’d all come running. He doesn’t want to be found, Potter.” Potter was said so softly that it sounded like James. 

“He doesn’t want anyone dying for him,” Evan whispered, voice cracking. 

James closed his eyes, face still held in Barty’s palm. “I’d die for him a thousand times.”

“Yeah,” said Barty, quietly. “He knows that, too.”

He knows that, too. The sweetest reassurance. Regulus knows you love him. 

And James just nodded, because he didn’t trust his voice, and because every word he tried to form turned into Regulus’ name before it reached his tongue. He pushed himself to stand, and when his legs shook, Barty’s hand dropped from his face to his arm to steady him. James hated that it helped. He loved that it helped. 

“Thank you,” he said, softly, and it sounded stupid, like thanking the ocean for not drowning him as quickly as it could have. “I— If you hear—”

“We’ll find you,” Evan said. “Or you’ll find us. You’re pretty good at that.”

James huffed in amusement. “Yeah, well.”

He started to turn away, to leave, only to be stopped by Barty’s voice. “And Potter?” 

James looked back.

“Whatever you think you did wrong,” Evan said, voice unwavering, gaze steady. “You didn’t. Not to him.”

The world tilted. James put an arm out, gripped the railing beside him until his knuckles went white, then let go because he had to. He nodded one last time, didn’t say a word. He was afraid that if he spoke he would start begging again, and he was so tired of begging. He turned for the door. His hand fumbled with the iron ring. 

Behind him, Evan said, very softly, “If he would come back for anything, it would be you. He never wanted to leave you. Not really.”

James closed his eyes. The words landed like a touch to thin ice—light, trembling. He didn’t turn back, couldn’t. He opened the door to the amber candlelight illuminating the staircase and stepped into it, the wind in the Tower lifting the hair at his neck, cold, cold water running down his spine.

Down the spiral stairs, one step, then another. Breath in, breath out. Hope is cheap, Barty had said. It didn’t feel cheap in James’ chest. It felt like saltwater and a star swallowed at once. Burning and stinging, ice cold and so fucking warm. It felt like a promise he hadn’t made but couldn’t break.

He didn’t have an answer, not really. He had the shape of one. He had boys who should have been his enemies pressing steadiness into his skin. He had words that sounded like mercy. He had a word that could still be is.

It wasn’t enough, not really. It would have to be.

Chapter Text

The laughter of two boys who shouldn’t be speaking to each other is hushed, wary, and so full of joy. When they touch, it’s with glances around corners, impatience, fervour, and so much love. 

When James woke the next morning, it was to hushed voices and gentle fingers carding through his hair. The bedsheets were warm, and the hands in his hair were hitting the spot so right, and the voices were soft, lulling, and for the first time in a long time, James wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. 

“James? You awake?” 

Fuck. Of fucking course Sirius would notice the exact moment he woke. 

The tendrils of sleep that had still been clinging to him were drawing back, pushing him from darkness and warmth to the stark, cold reality of the day. The hands in his hair stilled, the voices cut off, a door opened and shut, and James squeezed his eyes shut, before sighing and admitting, resigned, “Yeah, I’m awake.” 

Sirius, beside him, scooted down the bed until he was lying face-to-face with James. It took a moment, but James finally opened his eyes, met Sirius’ grey-blue gaze, full of poorly concealed worry. 

It was then that James’ mind fully switched on, and he could suddenly feel the heaviness of his eyelids, where his breakdown last night had surely swollen them up, and the rawness of his throat, the pounding behind his eyes. He let his eyes close again, trying to combat the sinking dread already coursing through his veins, but Sirius made a fussy noise, tapped his cheek until he opened them again, this time squinting in annoyance. 

“What?” James croaked, reaching up to peel Sirius’ hand off his cheek. 

“You do not just go back to sleep! Not right now! James, what the fuck?”

It took James a moment to process the words, his brain still slow with sleep and the anxiety already lighting up every nerve, but he suddenly remembered that the last time Sirius had seen him, he’d been unresponsive, practically comatose, and then hysterically sobbing in his arms, apologising over and over, before falling asleep and running away when he woke up. Yeah, James understood why Sirius might be angry. 

He winced, reached for Sirius’ hand and tangled it with his own. From this close, face-to-face in a single bed, he could see the flecks of dark grey in Sirius’ blue, blue eyes. Like storm clouds rolling in on a summer’s day. Stone and sapphire. Not like his brother, whose eyes were pure silver, silver, silver, shining bright, smoke rising above a white-hot fire. In the sunlight, they were illuminated with flecks of dark green, moss-coloured. The first time James had noticed, he’d leaned in close, completely entranced, while Regulus trailed off from whatever he was saying to ask, “Potter, what the fuck are you looking at?” 

It was the first time James had thought about kissing him, about leaning close and closing the gap between them. He hadn’t; he’d drawn back, dazed, while Regulus stared at him in complete confusion, and James, watching him, searching for the right thing to say, had ended up blurting out, “You have the most beautiful eyes, you know that?” 

Regulus hadn’t said anything, really, had just stared at James for a moment, before declaring him an idiot, before changing the subject hastily. Back then, they weren’t in love, or friends, or anything, really, just two boys who were in the right place at the right time, and maybe there was something in the other’s eyes to make them stay, and keep coming back, and maybe there was a certain level of understanding between them, a terror that hung in the air, in the topics they danced around—Sirius, and the war, and that time Regulus came back from the Christmas holidays with a bruise on his jaw, and all the times either of them lied, blatantly and messily, knowing that the other wouldn’t call him out. 

This strange relationship they had, at the time, was woven from lies and omissions, from secrets and anxiety, from confessions and shaking hands. No matter what, James knew that if the water was rising and cresting over his head, and Remus was asleep, or curled up with Sirius, then James could go to the Astronomy Tower, sit down next to the boy with dark hair and beautiful eyes, who always sat a little too close to the edge of the Tower, and confess his sins, whispered out into the sky, heard only by the stars. And Regulus would nod, exhale slowly, and act as if James’ deepest, darkest secrets were just—normal. 

Part of being human, he’d said once, after a particular confession that had left James feeling hollowed out and raw, an exposed nerve. And what would you know about human? Sometimes I think you really are a star, or a machine, or a ghost, James had whispered back, voice trembling, so on edge around this beautiful boy who acted like James’ darkness was just a greyer part of his light. Regulus had just laughed, soft and melodic, glanced at the stars and then at James, and murmured, I’m just as human as you are, James. Just all the worst parts. 

And it was achingly, achingly sad, what Regulus had said, the way he viewed himself, the thoughts that had been hammered into his head by a cruel woman in a cold house. But James couldn’t focus on that, because it was the first time Regulus had ever called him James, pink lips parting around the word, and James had been thinking about those lips for far too long, now. 

He missed those lips. Those eyes. The way he spoke, slow and poetic, like he took great care in weighing his words before speaking them. Like he knew the impact his voice had upon the world. James missed Regulus, in every form, laughing bright and clear in the back of the library on a lazy Saturday afternoon, surrounded by late-afternoon sunlight and dust, shoving James off when he tried to kiss Regulus against the shelves, hissing, “These are first editions, you uneducated prick! Here, we can make out on the Divination shelf, no one gives a fuck about that.”

Regulus on a cold winter evening in the Room of Requirement, the night before Christmas holidays began, hands clasped around an untouched cup of tea, staring unseeingly into the fire. James had taken the cup from his hands, pulled him in close, Regulus’ head on his shoulder, and James had wrapped his arms around him and pressed his face into those soft black curls, and begged, silently, to whoever was listening, to keep this boy safe. 

Please, please, keep him safe. Please, I love him. I can’t do this without him. Please don’t hurt him. Please bring him back to me. 

“JAMES.” 

James snapped his eyes open—he hadn’t even realised he’d closed them. Sirius was staring at him, still so close to him that James could see every stormy fleck in his eyes, now wide and looking genuinely afraid. 

“Sorry,” James tried to say, the words catching in his throat. He coughed and tried again. “Sorry, Pads, I’m just so tired.” 

Sirius’ eyes sharpened and then softened, just as quick, worry quickly overtaking his fury. “Where did you go last night? You— you got in bed with me at, like, 2 in the morning. And you were gone last night when we got back, and— and, last time I saw you, you were having a fucking breakdown, and—” Sirius’ voice caught, and when he spoke again, the words came out thick. “James, please, I’m so worried about you. I thought— I thought you were okay. I can’t— what’s going on? Why won’t you talk to me? I miss you.” 

“I’m sorry,” James whispered, but Sirius just shook his head.

“And you keep apologising, and I don’t even know what you’re apologising for. James, please.”

Your brother is gone, and things are worse, whatever that means, and you were wrong when you said he is treated differently at home, and I know you hate him and I’m so scared and I love him so damn much. 

Well. He couldn’t say any of that.

“Look, just…” James sighed, brought a hand up to Sirius’ shoulder, moving his thumb in a circle in what he knew was a comforting getsure for Sirius. “You’re…right, something is going on with me. But it’s— it’s not something I can talk about, really. I’m sorry, Pads, I love you so much, I wish I could tell you. I just. I can’t.” 

“Is it Effie and Monty?” Sirius whispered, staring at him with wide, fearful eyes. “Did— Are they okay? I understand if you couldn’t tell me about that, because I’m not part of—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence, you fucking idiot,” James chuckled, lips curling into a grin as he reached forward and pull Sirius into a hug, dragging him closer across the bed. He rubbed his knuckles against the top of Sirius’ head, and Sirius yelped, tried to shove him off, only to admit defeat when James rolled over, sat on him and pinned him to the mattress. “Of course you’re part of the family. Mum calls you her son. Are you thick?”

Sirius, squirming beneath him, trying to break James’ hold on his wrists and budge him from his chest, suddenly went limp, all the fight leaving his body in an instant. “Yes, but. I’m not actually part of the family. Like, a Potter. I just— I live with you, which is so, so great, of course, but I’m still a Black. So, if something was going on with— with Effie, or Monty, I— I would understand if you couldn’t tell me.”

James just stared down at him for a moment, from where he was perched on Sirius’ stomach, before dropping, his chin propped up on Sirius’ sternum, stomach-to-stomach. Sirius grinned at him, their gazes level, reached a hand up to ruffle his unruly hair. 

“You really are thick, aren’t you, Pads?” James said, chin digging into Sirius’ chest. “Doesn’t matter what your last name is. You live with us, you’re a Potter. Though, honestly, I suspect it won’t be long before you’re a Lupin.” At that, Sirius laughed, swatted James’ head and pushed at his face, though nothing could hide the blush growing across his cheeks. 

When James stopped laughing, he gave Sirius a gentle smile, and told him, in no uncertain terms, “You’re part of the family, and if something was to happen to Mum or Dad, you’d find out right along with me, because they would make sure both their sons found out together.” 

And Sirius just choked out, weakly, “Oh, shut up,” but nothing could hide the tears welling up in his eyes and the soft smile on his face. And it was so sweet to watch Sirius react like this at reminders that he had a loving family now—whether it was Effie hugging him tight, refusing to let go first, allowing Sirius to stand there and be held for as long as he wanted, like she was trying to make up for every hug he wasn’t granted by the Blacks, or Monty sending Sirius parcels with Sleeping Draughts that he’d brewed himself, because ‘you mentioned you weren’t sleeping well last time I saw you, son, and this recipe makes them cherry flavoured, which I know you love’, and that note was on Sirius’ bedside table to this day. 

But it made James ache, thinking about everything that Sirius must’ve gone through to react so strongly to parental love. It absolutely killed him, those first few weeks of Sirius living with him, watching him flinch away from Effie and Monty, making himself small, smaller than James had ever seen him, like he was trying not to take up space, and everytime he spoke, it came out like an apology. I’m sorry I’m here. I’m sorry I’ve burdened you. I’m sorry I’m scared of you. 

Sirius didn’t talk about what happened that night. Ever. When he’d shown up, crying and shaking, telling James over and over, “I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I’m sorry,” and he wouldn’t elaborate, so James just whispered that it was okay, everything was okay, and led him to the sofa, and then caught himself watching the fireplace, waiting for another dark haired boy to come out, and when he gathered up the courage and Sirius’ breathing returned to normal, he whispered, “Sirius, where’s— where’s your brother?” And Sirius had just turned and stared blankly at the fire place, before muttering, “He can stay there. I don’t care.” 

And James had nodded, and brought Sirius back into his arms, and tried to ignore the gaping hole opening inside him when he thought of Regulus, alone. Tried to ignore the small, small part of him that hated Sirius for not bringing Regulus with him, for leaving him in that awful, awful house. Tried to ignore the small, small part of him that hated Regulus for not going with Sirius, for staying and allowing the darkness in that household to stain his skin. 

“Sometimes,” Sirius murmured, bringing James back to here and now. “Sometimes it feels like I never got out of that house. I’m still there in my nightmares. It feels like living with you, and your parents, is just— a daydream. Something I made up, you know? Can’t be real. Why would the good, light Potters allow a Black to live with them? Sometimes I think you forget that I can be just like them.” 

“Sirius,” James whispered, struck. “I— No. No, I know you, and I know what you’re like. And you can— you can do bad things, but everyone does, and that doesn’t make you like them, and I love you anyway, okay? I told you, I know you, and I don’t even care if you’re just like them, because you’re still you.”

Regulus, baby, I don’t care. I don’t care if you’re bad, or evil, or— or anything else, because you’re you, and I love you so fucking much, you know that? No, no, stop, you aren’t like them, you could never be like them, and even if you were I wouldn’t care, I love you anyways. 

James Potter’s biggest flaw; his love was stronger than his morals. 

And it wasn’t that he didn’t have morals—he did, in the way he reacted upon seeing the Mark on Regulus’ arm, shouting at him in horror and fury. But his love was just stronger, in the way he begged Regulus to stay when he tried to leave, called him love, and how even now, after months of no interaction and knowing that Regulus was likely going to be doing some fairly horrific things, if he hadn’t already, he still loved Regulus with every inch of his heart. 

Sirius, still laying beneath him, gave him a watery smile, rasped out, “I love you, too,” and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him off his chest and to the side, where they curled up together, bodies pressed close. They lay there for a moment, holding eachother, before Sirius broke the silence. 

“How the fuck did this conversation become about me? This was supposed to be about you.”

James laughed, turning his face into Sirius’ neck. “I’m fine. I don’t need a conversation. You clearly did, though.”

“You’re fine? Are you taking the piss? Am I hallucinating the fact that your eyes are so swollen I’m surprised you can see out of them?”

“Probably. You’ve always been a bit loopy. Black family madness, yeah?”

“James.”

“Breakfast time! I’m hungry, let’s go.”

And with that, James slipped out of bed, running into the bathroom, ignoring Sirius shouting, “Oh, fuck you!” behind him and the loud thud indicating that Sirius was chasing him. Hastily, James pushed the door shut and turned the lock, while Sirius banged at the door, shouting, “We aren’t done with this, Potter! Fucking watch out!” James just laughed and turned towards the mirror to get ready. 

As soon as he was presented with his reflection, his grin dropped and the laughter in his chest died away. Yeah, he understood now why Sirius was so desperate to check if he was okay. His eyes were bloodshot, so puffy that it really was a miracle that he could still see out of them. His under eyes were black with exhaustion. He looked the very picture of grief. 

Not grief, he reminded himself, leaning forward and gripping the edges of the sink. I am not grieving, because he isn’t dead. 

James looked into his own eyes, through the mirror, and knew that it didn’t matter if Regulus wasn’t dead. He was still grieving. 

The walk to breakfast brought nausea and dread, dizziness circling around and around his head. He wasn’t hungry—he felt full and sick, like his stomach was overflowing with this horrible, horrible feeling. The only thing keeping him walking to the Great Hall with the intention of eating was the memory of Barty’s words. The amount of care in them, tender words in a mouth known for poison. You’re going to eat something, and drink water. A command. And maybe James wasn’t usually one to follow orders, but he could follow one like this. 

Walking into the Great Hall, James’ head was still spinning. The urge to turn and run, to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over his head was so strong, his skin itchy and buzzing with the desire to escape. He couldn’t, of course. Sirius and Peter walked right behind him, making jokes they really shouldn’t be making, and Remus on his left, humming quietly under his breath, a song James vaguely recognised from those weeks he spent numb and cold, and Sirius’ hands in his hair and the warmth of Peter’s body beside his and Remus’ soft humming were the only things that felt real. 

Stepping into the Great Hall, dazed, full of nausea and dread, was familiar, at least. Though it used to be because Regulus was here, sitting in the far side of the room at the Slytherin table, and James was always so aware of Regulus’ presence, like simple proximity was enough to light up every one of his nerves, to speed up the flow of his blood, pounding in his ears. 

But Regulus wasn’t here, and so James had no reason to not turn and look around the room. He glanced towards the Slytherin table, immediately meeting Barty’s eyes. Barty raised an eyebrow, nodding towards the Gryffindor table, in a clear command: Go. Sit. Eat. 

James almost smiled. Even kindness from Barty looked like a threat. He nodded faintly, and turned back towards where his friends were beginning to sit, when—

He froze. 

Was that—

There, just at the edge of his vision— a flicker of movement.

A flash of dark curls and pale skin, sitting opposite Barty and Evan, clutching a white mug in lithe, ivory fingers. 

The world stilled. James blinked, once, twice—

It couldn’t be.

He turned his head, slow and cautious, terrified to look straight on. His stomach had dropped, and he could feel the blood draining out of his face, his cheeks and lips tingling. 

He looked.

There was nothing there. The seat opposite Barty and Evan was empty. 

James blinked again, harder this time. The edges of his vision swam, darkness crawling in. Fuck, James thought, scrubbing his hands over his face. Fuck, I can’t—

He could feel eyes on him—Barty’s, probably, maybe his friends—but he didn’t check. The room was too bright, too loud, too alive, and he couldn’t bear it. 

He turned and left the Hall before anyone could stop him, steps echoing on the stone floor, the noise of the Hall fading behind him until it was just silence again—sweet, choking silence. 

And he’d left with such haste, such panic, that he didn’t see it. 

Didn’t see the mug, sitting there on the Slytherin table, steam curling faintly in the air. 

Didn’t see the way Barty’s gaze dropped to it, or the flicker of something—fear, maybe, grief—that passed over Evan’s face. 

Didn’t see the way the mug shifted slightly on the wooden table, as though brushed by an unseen hand. 

When his friends came back to the dorm, having eaten their breakfasts and walked slowly to ‘give him space’, James was curled up in bed, motionless. His eyes open, unseeing. Blinking so slow. On his side, facing the window, his chest rising and falling just enough to be reassuring. 

He was just. Frozen. Back to the increasingly-familiar numbness. Back to water in his chest, leaking from between his ribs, running up and down through the notches of his spine. Icy, icy, icy. The water was in his head, sloshing around his skull, and every thought came slow and muffled, a scream from underwater. 

It’s just— James thought he’d been making progress. Getting out of bed every day was progress. Eating, sleeping, drinking, was progress, after all those weeks he couldn’t do any of those things. Getting rid of the numbness, letting the water inside of him evaporate, bandaging the hole in his chest with the laughter of his friends was progress, and now? A glimpse of someone he thought was Regulus, a glimpse his brain had fucking made up, and he was back to square one, back to breathing in and out and hoping that was enough. And yes, that day when he’d thought Regulus was dead, when he’d collapsed on his bed with just a single word reverberating around and around his brain, waswaswas, was a setback—but he got up, and Barty and Evan said Regulus wasn’t dead, and all those images of Regulus’ body, paler than pale and far too still, once-warm skin now ice cold, dissipated into thin air. Dust settling beneath his feet. 

The dust was reforming, and James was choking on it. 

“James?” Sirius whispered, sounding sick. James got it—it must have been a truly horrifying scene. Sirius’ best friend, unmoving and unseeing. Sirius’ best friend, and Remus’ best friend, and Peter’s best friend, ghosts just ahead of him, invisible to anyone else. Their best friend had crawled out of his skin and in his place was a shell, a facade, their best friend but not, and it looked like James and it breathed like James, but it couldn’t be, could it? This wasn’t him. Empty and soulless. No, no, James was full of light, and love, and it was in every crevice of him, every empty space, no air bubbles, just love. 

He wasn’t himself. Not right now. Not for the last few months. Not since the abandoned classroom and the warm lips and the black lines and the first time he ached. 

“James?” Sirius whispered again, stepping closer, Peter and Remus following suit. “What— what happened? You were with us, and you were smiling, and— and then—”

And then you saw a piece of your soul, sitting at the table he used to occupy, but it wasn’t him, was it? No, you’re just so desperately in love, and you see him everywhere, you always have, but that used to mean stars and memories and now it means hallucinations. You’re going insane, insane, insane—

“James, please.” And Sirius sounded wrecked, like he was watching a tragedy unfold, like he was looking at James and seeing inside his head, seeing all the blood and the desperation and the guilt, and the love and the love and the love. 

“I saw him,” James whispered. He didn’t move his gaze from the wall. He barely realised it was himself that had spoken, voice raspy and choked; the words came out of their own accord, fought their way to the surface like a truth long repressed, desperate to make themselves known. I saw him. 

A moment of silence and stillness. “Who?” Sirius whispered back, and there was no reason to whisper, really, but the something about the atmosphere and the words and the broken boy on the bed called for whispering. “James, who did you see?”

“He looked just like before. Like he never left.” James was choking on grief and guilt, drowning in panic and desperation, and his lungs were filling with smoke and water, but the words just kept coming. 

“Who, James? What— What are you talking about?” Sirius’ voice was thick, James noted dully. Like he was crying. Why would Sirius be crying? He hadn’t even noticed his brother was gone. 

Gone, gone, gone—

“I think I imagined it. I don’t— He wasn’t there. Not really. Was he?” A plea. A prayer. James was begging for an answer, confirmation or rejection, and even though he was so fucking sick of begging, he thought he would do it for the rest of his life if that was what Regulus required. 

“James, please, fuck, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who— Imagining it? What, what are you talking about? What is going on?” 

Sirius was really, truly crying now, and James could hear someone shuffling forward, likely to comfort him. James couldn’t look. Couldn’t turn his head. 

“James, please, I’m so scared, I’m so fucking scared, you— what is happening to you? What happened? You were fine, you were fine, and then you just— broke. And I don’t—” A sob, a comforting shh, “I don’t know what to do. Please, James, James, tell me what to do. What do I do? You’re, you’re falling apart, right in front of me, and I don’t know how to— How do I put you back together? I don’t even know what happened.”

James turned then, and he wasn’t sure why; he wasn’t in control of his body, right now, a puppet on strings. He sat up, looked to Sirius, who was standing at the foot of his bed, knees shaking, clutching at the bed posts with white knuckles. Peter next to him, an arm around him, holding him up. Remus, next to them, looking at James with so much devastation, horror, in his eyes, and James couldn’t feel any of it. So much pain in this room, all of it centered around James, and it was just— there. Like looking at it through glass. 

He smiled at Sirius, face moving of its own accord, stretching painfully. “Oh, love, it’s okay. You don’t need to put me back together. You can’t, you know?” And he meant for the words to be comforting—Sirius, love, you don’t need to try, there’s no point in trying, there’s nothing you can do so don’t worry, okay? But Sirius’ face just dropped even further, and another sob wrenched free, and James’ head was spinning and he wasn’t really present, untethered and floating, so he turned to look at Remus, still looking at him. “Remus, I don’t— Can you help him? I’m really— I don’t really…I’m so dizzy. Remus, Remus, I’m so dizzy. Why is Sirius crying? I don’t—” 

And he stopped, there, was cut off, because Remus lifted a hand to his own mouth, pressed it to his lips, and then he was crying, too, and James had no idea what was going on, not a clue, because— It was him that was going insane, right? Not them. Why were they so sad? They didn’t know, didn’t feel this. What was— what’s—

And Peter, the only sane one in the room, still holding Sirius up, leaned forward slightly, met James’ eyes. “James, just— Give me a second, yeah? Just— just one second.” And James nodded, because he didn’t know what was going on and Peter seemed to, and James’ mind was already drifting back to a dark haired boy in the Great Hall. 

Peter moved, then, grabbed Sirius by the waist and walked him over to Remus’ bed, Sirius sobbing as he collapsed onto the bed. Peter went back for Remus, brought him over too, and the three of them, for a moment, just stayed there, by the bed, two of them weeping and one who seemed to be trying very hard not to, and Sirius choked out, “He— He’s losing it, he’s gone, this isn’t him— what do we do, what do we do, I can’t—” and Remus was pulling him close, whispering, “I don’t know, fuck, I really don’t.”

Then Peter was moving again, coming back over to James’ bed. James watched him warily, head spinning, spinning, spinning, but Peter just smiled softly and climbed into bed beside him. Reached forward and pulled James in, wrapping him tight in his arms, Peter’s face pressed into James’ unruly hair. Murmured, muffled, into James’ curls, “What’s going on, James?”

“I saw him, but I don’t think he was really there.”

“You saw who?”

“I don’t…”

“Okay. That’s okay, James. You just close your eyes. Go to sleep. You came back late last night, you should sleep.”

“Peter?”

“Hm?”

“I think I’m going insane.”

“Oh. Oh, James, no. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“Pete, are you crying?” 

“No, fuck, no, just— just go to sleep, James. It’s okay. You’re okay. You can sleep.”

“Okay. S’okay, Pete, don’t cry. I’ll be okay, when he’s back.”

A pause. “Who, James? When who’s back?”

James was already asleep.

Chapter Text

He wants to ask—how do you stay there? How do you manage it? You are alone and that house is so dangerous. It will eat you alive, don’t you see that? But the night is cold and the other boy’s skin is warm against his and the stars are so bright and maybe the peace will stay, just this once. 

James woke up to midday sunlight, streaming in through the open windows. His head was pounding and his fingertips were numb. His mind was foggy, smoky, hazy. He was floating. Watching himself from up above, get out of bed and get ready. Untethered. 

He apologised to his friends. They’d been in classes all day, left him here to sleep. James wasn’t sure how productive going to class was, because Sirius’ eyes were redrimmed and Remus’ hands were shaking and Peter’s smile was very, very forced, and James was quite sure that not one of them had been able to focus today.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into Sirius’ shoulder, eyes flitting to Remus and Peter, standing behind him. Sirius made a noise, a groan of disagreement, but James just clutched him tighter. “No, no, Sirius, I’m sorry for scaring you. That wasn’t— I was just really, really tired, and there’s a lot going on, and I just…I think I just lost it, a little bit.”

“A little bit?” Remus mumbled wryly from behind Sirius. 

James gave him a small smirk. “Yeah, just— just a little bit.”

“Prongs, you told me you thought you were going insane. That’s not just a little bit,” Peter chimed in, amusement and worry mixing in his eyes. 

“Yeah. Ha. I was just, um—” James coughed, fumbling for the right words. In all honesty, he didn’t remember that. At all. Didn’t remember anything past Remus and Sirius breaking down. 

It sounded right, though. James did feel like he was going insane. Like months of pain and stress, grief and panic panic panic had built up and his mind was fracturing, dissolving at the edges, unable to discern between reality and imagination anymore. Like all the love inside of him had twisted, and now he was hallucinating in the Great Hall, seeing the boy he loved sitting at a table with his friends, like the past few months had never happened and Regulus was here and safe, safe, safe.

James swallowed, meeting Peter’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know, I think I was just— delirious, or something. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Lies falling from his lips like honey. It was strange, trying to reassure the people he loved, all while feeling his grip on reality was loosening, loosening, loosening. 

But it was fine, because then Sirius was hugging him tighter, and Remus was rambling about sleep patterns and circadian rhythms, and Peter was just smiling at him, so softly, and maybe that was enough to fill the cracks. Maybe that could be enough to put him back together. 

James had slept through lunch, and he was starving, now, his appetite seeming to make a come back after an afternoon spent lazing around with his friends, Remus hanging halfway out the window to smoke, and Peter and Sirius hanging upside down off Peter’s bed, giggling when Sirius got too dizzy and slipped right off. James lay in the middle of the floor, his head by Remus and his feet by the other two boys. Peter grabbed at James’ foot, and James yanked his leg back, sending Peter to the floor with a yelp. 

“Why are you all such idiots? Who the hell raised you?” Remus groaned, watching Peter and Sirius flop about on the floor, while James scuttled back away from them. 

“James, mostly,” Sirius panted out, still crawling towards James with a vicious look in his eye. Peter, approaching too, let out a bark of laughter at that. 

“He’s not wrong. I just thought I did a better job than this,” James wheezed, yelping when Peter threw himself onto James, knocking him down. Admitting defeat, James just lay there, sprawled out on the floor with Peter, a dead weight on his chest. James let out an oof as Sirius threw himself on top of them. 

“Can we— I’m hungry,” James tried to say, breathless. 

“Sure, let’s go,” Sirius shrugged, unbothered where he was lying on top of James. Peter rolled off of him, collapsing onto the floor right beside James. 

James shifted. “Can’t— quite— Moony, some help, please?” 

“You’re on your own here, James. I’m smoking. Sorry, mate.”

“He’s your boyfriend.” 

“I’m smoking.”

“Don’t care— OW, Sirius, get your elbow off my kidneys—”

“Sirius, don’t make me come over there. I’ve only just lit this.”

“Moons, Moony, he’s biting me— Sirius, get off—”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Remus swung himself down from the windowsill, stalking towards Sirius, and that alone was enough to send Sirius scrambling away from James. James, relishing in regained freedom and access to his own lungs, sat up, sucking in deep breaths. 

“Remus— Please, no, I’m sorry, go back to smoking, please— OW, not the stinging hex—”

Remus, looking pleased with himself, nodded at James, who scooted forward onto his knees, looking up at Remus with wide, adoring eyes. “Oh, Moony, my saviour, how can I ever repay you?” 

Remus snorted, kicked at James feebly. “Get up, you fucking idiot. Let’s go eat.”

Peter, still chuckling on the floor, pushed himself up, reached a hand down for James to stand. The three of them walked around Sirius, still whining on the floor about traitorous boyfriends, until Remus bent to lift him up, cooing and smacking kisses to his face. Sirius protested, pushing at him half-heartedly, but he was blushing, all up his cheeks. 

Peter rolled his eyes, told them, “That’s so gay, you guys,” and then ran off, squealing, as Sirius chased after him. James just stood very, very still, watching the love between them and feeling something sinking inside of him. 

In the end, his friends had left without him, after James had shouted, “Just go, I’ll catch up!” Remus threatened him viciously if he didn’t show up, and James just laughed and sent them on their way. 

Everything was sinking, sinking, sinking. 

Just this morning, James had walked to breakfast and hallucinated Regulus. He’d broken down, convinced he was going insane—he was still convinced something in his mind had broken. He was so, so drained, and even hours of laughter with his friends wasn’t enough to repair him. 

In truth, all he wanted right now was to lie down with Regulus, pull him close, skin to skin, warmth and sunlight, burning burning burning love, so much love between them. He wanted Regulus to card his fingers through his hair, to tell him it was all going to be okay. James wanted to see him, to apologise, to tell him I’m sorry, I don’t care about the Mark, it’s survival, it’s just survival, all I care about is you and I want you so fucking much and I love you I love you I love you. 

His friends would likely be disgusted with James’ lack of morals—loving an initiated Death Eater. Maybe they wouldn’t be surprised; James always had thought love to be more important. He didn’t care what anyone thought, really. Just Regulus. Always Regulus. In his most desperate moments, James thought that Regulus could hurt, and kill, unleash all of his darkness, burn it all down, and James would just pull him closer. 

When the dread in his veins turned to nausea, curling in his stomach, James moved, set on making it to the Great Hall before his appetite vanished completely. He walked down the corridors in a daze, lost in his own mind, lost in the memories of a boy holding him so tight, and he barely even noticed when he crashed into someone. 

“Oh, you fucking— Potter?” It was Evan Rosier, standing before him with his wand already drawn. For a moment, James just stared at it. Wondered what it would be like to be on the end of such violence. Evan Rosier and Barty Crouch Jr’s personal brands of cruelty. 

For some reason, neither of them seemed inclined to hurt him, not anymore. 

Things were sort of clicking into place, now. James already knew that Evan and Barty knew about him and Regulus, from the way they’d spoken to him in the Astronomy Tower, Barty’s voice, low and gravelly, saying, “You love him,” and James, without hesitation, answering, “Yes.” Evan holding him tight as James cried, not saying a word but just holding him like he knew first-hand just how James felt, what it was to break for Regulus. The way they always drew their wands, when they saw him, but James couldn’t actually remember a time in the past couple years when they’d actually used their wands against him. Sirius, Remus, Peter, they’d all gotten their fair share of curses, but James? He was suddenly realising that every curse he’d sent at them had gone unpunished, unavenged. Like James was protected. Regulus’ love was a barrier, a shield. 

To be loved by Regulus Black is to be protected from harm, at all costs. To be loved by Regulus Black is to stand in the eye of the hurricane and watch the world whip around you, and know that it won’t ever, ever touch you. Not if Regulus doesn’t want it to. 

And in Regulus’ absence, that seemed to have held, because Evan pocketed his wand, just as Barty rounded the corner, stopping beside them. But it wasn’t just mercy or safety they were showing him now—it was care. 

They can be so gentle, James, you have no idea. So loving. You don’t know the amount of violence it took for them to be this gentle. 

Gentle isn’t the word I’d use for them, Reg. Violent and cruel? More accurate.

You don’t know them. No one does. Just me. 

Maybe James was starting to know them, too. 

“Potter?” Evan said again, squinting at him. Barty’s eyes were scanning his face. James opened his mouth, to tell them he was fine and he was going to go have dinner now—

“I think I’m going insane,” he said softly. Evan froze, while Barty’s eyes went very, very wide. 

“What?” asked Barty, slowly.

“I thought I saw Regulus at breakfast this morning. I— I know he’s not here, but I saw him, I know I did. So— I’m going crazy, right? I’m losing my mind.”

Neither boy spoke, for a moment. Barty’s lips were slightly parted, his eyes wide with shock, and Evan looked almost like he was going to be sick. 

Barty recovered first. “You— you must’ve been tired. You were out late last night, and you’ve been through a lot, recently. I mean, just last night, you’d convinced yourself that Regulus was dead.” He said it like it was funny, something stupid James had done. Evan still hadn’t moved. 

“Yeah, I guess. I slept all day. I feel better now. I just— What do I do? Am I really going insane? What do I do? Please, I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Begging, begging, always begging. 

Both boys were just looking at him now, and there was so much concern on their faces that it almost looked like guilt. 

Evan stepped forward. “James, don’t— You’re not going insane, okay? It’s okay. Like Barty said, you’ve been through a lot lately. You’re just tired, yeah? Let’s go to the Great Hall. When’s the last time you ate?” He asked the question so quickly that James barely registered the use of his first name. 

James paused, then. “Um. Dinner, the day before yesterday, I think? Yeah, yeah, because then we were drinking, and then the next morning I heard you two in the corridor.”

Evan’s face tightened at the reminder, but he didn’t comment, just sighed. “You haven’t fucking eaten in two days, Potter?”

“Um.”

Barty moved forward then, lifted his hands to spin James around by the shoulders and began to walk him towards the Hall. Evan followed, snorting at the way James squirmed and protested, trying to break free, and told him to, “Shut the fuck up before I cut your tongue, Potter.” James didn’t think Evan would do it, but he’d heard enough stories about the viciousness of Evan Rosier to not push his luck, and shut up. 

Outside the vast doors of the Great Hall, the three of them stopped, and Barty turned James back around, his expression serious. 

“Listen. I don’t know what happened this morning, but you aren’t going insane, okay? Don’t think like that. Now go, eat, and if I ever hear of you skipping meals again, I’ll fuck you up, okay?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” James protested. 

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” He really didn’t, James thought. 

“Okay, yeah, whatever, fucking lunatic,” James grumbled, turning away from them and walking into the Great Hall, heading directly to the Gryffindor table. Behind him, he could hear Barty and Evan, Barty cackling and Evan cussing James out. 

Ignoring them (and flipping them off without looking back), James sat in the empty space next to Sirius, opposite Peter and Remus. Sirius squeezed his shoulder as he sat, but was too busy arguing with Peter to properly acknowledge him, while Remus watched on, looking both amused and like he was losing the will to live. 

“Stop transfiguring my stuff, Sirius! How many times—”

“Fucking hell, forgive me for trying to help you out, Pete! I was just trying to give you some moral support, but I guess next time I just shouldn’t bother—”

“You transfigured my textbooks into fucking rats, Sirius!”

“For moral support,” Sirius said simply, tearing into a bread roll. “Thought they’d make you feel less alone while you study.”

“You’re deranged. They’re eating my fucking notes!”

“They’re bonding with your notes.”

“I’m going to feed you to fucking Snape—”

“Sirius,” Remus cut in, sounding exhausted, “please turn them back before Peter ends up committing homicide.”

“Wait, will he kill me or the rats?”

“Both!” Peter exclaimed, voice shrill with outrage. 

“Yeah, I’d like to see you fucking try—”

“Sirius.”

“Look, James is here!” With that, Sirius turned to James and threw his arms around him, cooing at him and giving him his undivided attention. James, knowing he was just being used as a distraction, went right along with it, declaring that he’d missed Sirius terribly so in the 20 minutes they spent apart and to cease this nonsense immediately. 

Peter let out a strangled noise, dropping his head into his hands in frustration, and Remus pet his head and promised to transfigure the rats back into textbooks after dinner, apologising on behalf of his ‘fucking heathen of a boyfriend’. Sirius just blew him a kiss. 

James reached forward, beginning to fill his plate with food, suddenly very aware of the gnawing in his stomach. Looking at the food made him feel slightly nauseous, though, so he only filled about half of it, just with bland foods, bread and white rice and plain chicken. The smell made him queasy, but he was so hungry, so he tucked in, ignoring the rising nausea in his throat. He was vaguely aware of eyes on him—his friends, watching him eat. He couldn’t blame them. It’d been a while since he’d been able to choke down food, ignoring the way it turned to ash in his mouth and made his stomach curl. 

The bread was flavourless, dry, and his stomach heaved as he chewed. His friends, still watching, went quiet, conversation drifting off. James looked up, meeting Remus’ eyes across the table, who immediately averted his gaze, turning to Peter and asking if he’d heard about the two Ravenclaws who’d been caught in compromising positions in the greenhouses. Peter, who’d always been one for gossip and seemed to know everyone’s secrets before they knew them themselves, immediately launched into the tale of those two Ravenclaws, which somehow involved at least 4 other names that James couldn’t keep straight, too many riddles and puzzles (in true Ravenclaw fashion), and Greenhouse 5.  

“A secret relationship,” Peter hissed across the table gleefully. “Scandalous. The love story that rocked the nerd tower.” The mention of a secret relationship had James tensing, before taking another bite of the tasteless bread. 

“They aren’t all nerds,” Remus mused. “That Pandora girl is a Ravenclaw, and she’s— well, I’m not quite sure what she is, really.”

“She’s sweet and a little bit off her rocker, much like her brothers,” Sirius offered. He would know—Sirius’ cousin Bellatrix had married Pandora’s eldest brother, Rodolphus Lestrange, a year before Sirius left. According to Sirius, Pandora would spend family gatherings in the Grimmauld Place library, reading books not meant to be touched by anybody with as soft a smile as hers. 

James and Pandora had never interacted, but she knew Regulus, was related to him through marriage, and Regulus had always had a soft spot for her, so that was enough to make her notable, in James’ eyes. Regulus seemed to think she was bat-shit crazy, something about dead animals and dark spells that she created, something about her always seeming to know everything, all the time, and the way she would sometimes go very, very still, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut, and then she would say something in that honey sweet voice of hers, and her words wouldn’t make sense for another few years, at least, but then they did, and Regulus said it always made his skin itch, the way something monumental would happen and all he could think about was Pandora’s words, ringing clear in his mind. 

James wondered if she knew Regulus would leave. He wondered if she knew what came next. 

Thinking about Regulus made the food in his mouth turn to ash, made him cough, his stomach curdling. He put his fork down, and his friends’ voices immediately cut off, and when James looked up, they were all staring at him, at the food untouched on his plate. 

“James,” Sirius said slowly, almost pleadingly. 

James shook his head and didn’t respond, and the others didn’t push him again, but James turned around for a moment to say hi to Marlene, coming from quidditch practice and asking when he’s coming back with narrowed eyes and an accusing tone, and when he turned back, stomach sinking with guilt, there was an assortment of his favourite foods on his plate—simple things, a grilled cheese, the comfort of childhood illness and a doting mother—and none of his friends were meeting his gaze. He watched them all, for a moment, heads bowed and eyes averted, Sirius beside him tense, and when he reached down and took a bite of the sandwich, none of them looked up, but Remus’ shoulders went slack with relief, and Sirius moved a little closer to him, pressed them arm-to-arm. 

They were just trying to take care of him, James knew, and he wanted to let them, but the guilt was inside his veins and spreading throughout his entire body, and no guilty person has ever believed themselves worthy of care, not with the rot and decay in their bones. 

Once, some time in fourth year, James had walked in to find Remus kneeling by his bed, hands clasped together, head tilted up. He’d said his name, slow and confused, and Remus had blinked, scrambled up to his feet, face red. He’d started to stammer out explanations that sounded like apologies, something about praying, something about eternal punishment, face growing redder by the second, and James had nodded, very slowly, sat down on his bed and said, “Tell me about God.”

And Remus had slowly unfrozen, blush receding, and he’d sat down beside James and told him about holiness, about creators of worlds, about forgiveness. About eternal light and eternal darkness. About angels and love that must be earned and must not be earned, about a being that sees every dark, twisted part of you and continues to shine light upon you. He’d told James about praying, about nights spent on his knees, palms pressed together and tears streaming down his face, about trying to atone for the murky darkness within him in the form of a bite on his hip. Devotion and worship and faith in the face of evil, of pain, trying to cling to the knowledge that even with all the ugliness within him, he is still loved, will always be loved, because there is a God that sees all and loves all. 

“And he listens to your prayers? And your sins? And he forgives?” James had asked him softly. 

Remus had nodded, slowly, like maybe James wasn’t the only one he was trying to convince. 

“My mother,” Remus had murmured, “is the most religious person I’ve ever met. She wakes up and she prays, she talks to God while she washes the dishes, she goes to church almost every day. After I got— After I was bitten, I would wake up in the middle of the night to find her by my bed, praying in the darkness, begging God to love me still. And that’s— that hurts, you know? Like she thought God wouldn’t love me anymore. Couldn’t love me anymore. Like this bite is the only thing he couldn’t forgive. My mother’s always been the type to believe that God loves everyone, the gays and the murderers and the worst of the sinners, so that— She was begging God to love me, the same God that loves the worst of humanity, so what did that make me? What does that make me?”

“Remus,” James had breathed, aghast. 

“I want to be forgiven. I want forgiveness. I want His forgiveness,” Remus had whispered. “I just don’t know how to find it.”

“It’s not your fault. It was never your fault. There is nothing to forgive. You know that, yeah?”

“No. No, I don’t,” Remus had whispered back, voice catching, and James had moved, then, reached forward to pull Remus into his arms, held him tight, while Remus cried about love that shouldn’t be earned and forgiveness for crimes that are not his own.  

James had never prayed before, and he hadn’t after him and Remus had spoken. He’d been raised by two magic parents, the pureblood Potters, and religion had never had a place in the wizarding world. So he didn’t pray, really, but sometimes in the deepest moments of his despair, when every inch of his body was aching with hopelessness, he thought about it, about sinking to his knees and screaming at the sky. And he’d never prayed, but he had begged, and pleaded, not on his knees but curled up on his side, immobile in his bed, staring at the watery grey light streaming in through the curtains, please please please bring him back to me, please, I miss him, I love him, or months ago, holding Regulus in a goodbye embrace, the night before a holiday, and pressing his face into soft black curls, please, please don’t hurt him, I’ll do anything, please keep him safe, let him be safe, bring him back to me.  

And he didn’t know who he was speaking to, because he didn’t believe in God or higher powers. Maybe it was the stars. Maybe it was the Blacks. Maybe it was Regulus himself. After all, religion is about worship, and who did James worship if not Regulus himself? The only person James would ever kneel for, and he’d do it gladly, on wooden floors or a bed of nails. When James confessed his sins, it was to Regulus, side by side on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, looking out at the stars but all his attention was on the boy next to him, nodding slowly, and every nod felt like forgiveness, like repenting. If anyone knew the darkest pieces of James, it was Regulus, who took each confession like it was something precious, gathered James into his arms and told him he loved him. And it wasn’t I love you anyway, I love you despite this, but just I love you. I love you with this, with every murky and tainted part inside of you, because it’s still you. The same way James had loved him, loved him still, even with darkness embedded into his skin. 

Regulus was not God. He was just a boy, broken and broken and broken, hands trembling from the weight of every expectation and every curse and every time he’d realised love was not a guarantee in his cold cold house, and maybe his hands shook a little less when James was there, but James did not fix him. How do you fix something that’s been shattered again and again and again, until the shards have turned into dust, irreparable? You don’t. You just hold them until they find a way to put themselves back together, and you keep holding them, no matter how painstaking the process is, even if sometimes the glass cuts you as it reforms. 

The glass had cut James, and he’d let Regulus walk away from him, and sometimes James had seen him at breakfast and thought Oh, love, you’re shattering again, aren’t you? It broke his heart, and there was nothing he could do, because attempts to speak to Regulus had been filled with cold eyes and colder words, nothing of the warm boy James knew, and by the time James’ anger had passed, given way to sadness and tearing up his heart, Regulus was out of reach, dust too fine to hold on to. James stopped trying, stopped watching him on the map and following him into empty corridors, trying to corner him, but Regulus was always smarter and always one step ahead, narrowly avoiding him each time. 

So James stopped trying, even though it broke his heart, even though he had to watch Regulus fall deeper and deeper, black rings around his eyes at breakfast and hands trembling in the hallways, and James could do nothing, and all he wanted to do was break down in Regulus’ arms and apologise, over and over, for screaming at him, for doubting him, for letting his anger overpower his love, ever-present, always present. Apologise for letting him leave, apologise for how he stopped trying. 

And now James could do nothing, truly nothing, because Regulus was gone. 

Oh, the water was rising, always rising. 

The dorm was silent and his head was loud. At least it wasn’t foggy. James had no idea what time it was—Sirius and Peter were fast asleep, had been for a while. James and Remus had stayed up later, sitting together on Remus’ bed in comfortable silence, while Remus read and James stared at the red drapes and thought and felt and ached. When James had finally risen, bid Remus goodnight in the most carefree tone he could muster, Remus hadn’t responded, just taken a long look at him, honey eyes drenched in sorrow, and James knew it was for him, knew that it was whatever was on his face and his forced tone. When James had nodded at him, moving to his own bed, he’d heard Remus shuffle around, and then begin to whisper, and James knew he was praying. It wasn’t hard to guess who Remus’ prayer was for. 

The dorm was silent, now, and James couldn’t sleep, mind moving in a blur, memories and worries and what-ifs. Regrets and shame. And that had him thinking about forgiveness, and that had him thinking about God, about Remus with his palms pressed together and trying to repent. Was that what James needed? To repent? To be forgiven, once and for all, and if it couldn’t come from Regulus, maybe it could come from up above. Not God—James didn’t believe in him, didn’t know enough about God to believe—but the sky and the stars, the moon above, casting its silvery light upon them all. 

James slipped out of bed, made his way across the dorm room silently, well-practised now in moving across the old wooden floors due to all those nights spent wandering the castle in place of sleep. He crept down the stairs, through the empty common room, fire long burned out, and into the hallway. 

He walked. He had no destination in mind, just needed to move, to outrun the memories and the ghosts and the regret. Made his way down corridors that all looked the same, beige stone, intricate ceilings and pillars every few metres. It was like he was walking in circles. In the darkness, nothing was recognisable. He gave up and pressed himself to the wall, sank down to the floor, and stared out at the sky. 

The stars, so bright. Glittering like smashed glass. The view here wasn’t as good as in the Astronomy Tower, high and unobstructed, but the Astronomy Tower was full of ghosts, his own and Regulus’, Evan’s and Barty’s, so James was happy where he was. On the cold stone floor, watching the stars and thinking about how these burning, beautiful things could not compare to his star. 

And then he was thinking about Regulus again, but when was he not? And he was thinking about Regulus, and about praying, and about the stars just ahead of him, so close and yet so, so far, and then he was tipping forward onto his knees, face raised to the night sky. 

“Please,” James whispered, and his voice came out guttural and thick, unrecognisable. “Please, please, I miss him, I love him. I don’t— I don’t know who’s listening, but please, fuck, I’ll do anything, anything at all. Please keep him safe. And warm. I’m sorry, I know I— I fucked up, I was awful, awful to him, and I’ll be good, I’ll be better, I promise—” James didn’t know when he’d started crying, but the tears were pouring down his face now, a steady stream of all his pain, the water in his chest overflowing, “—I’ll do anything. Please, I want him safe. Please, I want him— back. Bring him back to me, please.”

He broke off with a gut wrenching sob, one that came from deep within him, ripping his lungs apart and clawing at his throat on its way out. He sagged backwards, still on his knees, face still tipped up towards the sky, but the stars were blurring before his eyes, smears of silver light on a dark background. 

“Please,” he tried again, gasping for breath, and please seemed to be the only word he knew anymore, and he repeated it over and over again, like that was enough. The magic word, again and again, like maybe it really was magic and it held the power to bring back the piece of his soul that had left all those months ago. 

“Please, please—”

“James.”

“—I’ll do anything, please—”

“James.”

And there was a voice speaking to him, low and raspy and it was making something burn in his chest, so familiar and yet so strange, and he desperately wanted to listen, to reach forward and touch whoever it was, like feeling their skin under his fingertips was the only thing he was put on Earth to do, but his vision was so blurry, tears still running down his face, and he couldn’t do anything at all other than continue to say please, please, please. 

“James, fuck— Can you hear me? James, are you— Look at me.”

Then there were hands on his cheek, his chin, and maybe they were warm but James couldn’t feel any of it right now, just the dampness of his cheeks where the tears fell, and then the hands were tilting his face, fingers reaching up to his under eyes to swipe away tears, and James blinked, and blinked, tried to make out something past the wet blurriness in his vision. He could just about make out a pale face— black curls— And it might have been Sirius, but—

James had known Sirius for 6 years. Had loved Regulus for almost half of that, now. And he had never once mixed them up. How could he? Sirius, warmth and firelight and arms that felt like home. Regulus, sharpness that still felt soft, somehow, and ice that melted ever so slowly, but once it did melt— love just seemed to spill out of him. They were different, and James had always known that. He could pick either of them out in a crowd of boys with dark curls and pale skin and grey eyes, with no hesitation. Could distinguish between them through touch alone, through the slightest glance of skin on skin. 

Which is why James knew, immediately, undoubtedly, that this was not Sirius. 

“Regulus?” James whispered, so, so quietly, like he was trying to make his voice blend with the silence now filling the corridor. His heart was pounding, his fingers shaking, because— because—

Pink lips curling into a soft smile. “James.”

And that voice, fuck, that voice, that kept him up at night, soft and airy and warm and everything that James loved. That voice, mumbling to him in the mornings in the glow of the sunrise, full of laughter in the Astronomy Tower, breathless and desperate in a broom closet. James knew that voice, felt it in every part of him, warmth igniting in the tips of his fingers and spreading through his entire body, white-hot, veins pulsing, pulsing, pulsing. James. 

He choked up another sob, this time so overwhelmed with joy, because everything he’d ever wanted was right in front of him, fingers on his cheeks and smiling ever so softly, and James couldn’t fucking see because his glasses were still clouded over with tears. He fumbled them off his face, wiping them frantically on his shirt, and then slid then back on his face, and— 

Oh, love, you’re back.

Ivory skin over high cheekbones, sharp enough to cut. Silver eyes, concerned but so sweet, so soft, like he too was looking at the thing he loved most in the world. Rosy lips, curved into a smile, and ebony curls falling over his forehead, and oh, fuck, it was him. 

“Regulus,” James choked out, the only word he knew right now. He barely knew his own name, or any other word at all, but the name of this boy in front of him? Of course he knew it. It was sewn into his soul and scratched into his bones. 

“James,” Regulus murmured again, eyes sparking with something that looked a lot like love, and then James was falling forward, into Regulus’ waiting arms. His skin was still so soft, like it always had been, and his arms were tight around him, like he was trying to crush James into his chest, trying to merge them together, so they’d never have to be apart again.

James buried his face into the crook of Regulus’ neck, and he smelled like salt, like the night sky, like the woods after a rainstorm, and he didn’t use to smell like that, but James couldn’t bring himself to care, because Regulus was here, beneath his hands, holding James so tight and whispering in his ear, so softly James couldn’t quite make it out until he realised it was just his name, over and over again. 

“Oh, love, Regulus, Regulus,” James gasped, nonsensically, half-laughing and half-sobbing, drawing back just to look at him, reaching up to press his hands to Regulus’ cheeks, cupping his face and gazing into his eyes, glistening slightly, silver like the moonlight, so fucking bright. 

Regulus laughed when James traced his finger along his lips, and James could feel the vibrations, and his chest was on fire, igniting a trail down his body, every nerve lighting up and firing, and it was all too much, so he brought his forehead to Regulus’, pressed them together. Couldn’t keep still, his hands down Regulus’ arms, down to the curve of his waist, back up his sides and onto his back, before finally settling on the sides of his neck. 

Regulus was doing the same, tracing the lines of James’ body, before pressing a hand between James’ shoulder blades and cupping his other hand around the back of James’ neck, foreheads still pressed together, and James could see the flecks of green in Regulus’ eyes, and he was still crying softly, but this time it was because of happiness, because he was holding the boy he loved in his arms for the first time in so long, and it was like all that emptiness inside of James, the hollowness in his bones and the vacancy in ribcage were full again, full of Regulus, and his touch and his voice and his laughter.

And then a thought struck him, right in the center of his chest, and it was like everything in him turned to ice, an in-between, ready to evaporate back into the warmth or crack, shatter completely. He drew back, just slightly.

“James?” Regulus whispered, voice slightly scared. 

“I’m not— Am I imagining you? Is that— Are you a hallucination?” James croaked, seized with terror at the thought that if he moved too fast, or blinked, this would all be ripped away from him, and he would be left on the floor, cold and empty and alone. 

“Halluci— James, why the fuck would you be hallucinating me? What?” Regulus asked, confused, brows knitting together as he searched James’ face with those piercing eyes. 

James swallowed. “You’re real?”

“What? James, what are you—”

“Please, Reg, please— Are you real? I’m not hallucinating you?”

Regulus paused, studying his face, and then said, very carefully, “You aren’t hallucinating me, no.”

And the ice in James’ veins evaporated, turned back to fiery warmth, and he reached forward, tugging Regulus back into his arms, closer and closer, wanting to align the rungs of their ribs and merge them together. Regulus tucked his face into the side of James’ neck, so close that James couldn’t even feel the warmth of his breath, and buried his hand in James’ hair, stroking softly, and James pressed his face into Regulus’ curls and murmured, “I missed you. Fuck, I missed you so much, love.”

“Me too,” Regulus whispered into the side of his neck, putting his lips to his skin and pressing a small kiss there. “Me too, baby.” 

“Where— Reg, what happened? Where did you go? Why did you—” Desperation poured out of him in waves, because after all these months without him, Regulus was back in James’ arms, and all those questions, the what-ifs, could finally be answered. 

But Regulus cut him off, shushing him quietly. “I— Later, okay? Just— Just hold me, right now.”

And James nodded into his hair, pressed a kiss into his curls, and held him even tighter, bringing him almost into his lap. 

The two of them sat there all night, just holding each other, saying nothing but each other’s names and I missed you, over and over again. Just them and the stars and their love, brought back together.