Chapter Text
ACT ONE
June 21st, 1975
Summer after the Black brothers’ third and fourth years
Orion and Walburga seldom leave the two of them alone. When they do, it’s because they are both required to attend a Death Eater convention or some bollocks like that, and they can’t host it at the house. Even then, Kreacher is always there, and although he’s not bad company for Regulus, he can be a little smothering at times without his mum to bother.
Regulus hasn’t been alone with Sirius in years.
“Er, Kreacher?” He starts, a little guiltily. “Would you mind…fixing dinner for us?”
Kreacher blinks, large eyes flitting to the grandfather clock. It’s barely two o’clock. The House Elf being what he is, he keeps his expression grateful. Regulus feels a pang of pity for him, something that isn’t uncommon. The poor elf has to constantly pretend to be something he’s not around the Blacks.
“Yes, Master Regulus, I is being happy to assist,” Kreacher practically raves, dipping into a low bow.
Regulus sighs. “Kreacher, how many times am I going to have to ask you to just call me by my name?”
Kreacher grimaces as though the mere suggestion pains him. “Infinite times, sir, infinite times. Kreacher cannot imagine speaking such disrespect of Master’s title.”
Sensing a losing battle, Regulus only thanks him for his help with dinner and lets him walk away.
Regulus is alone.
He creeps toward the stairs like his mum is going to jump out of nowhere and start screaming at him. If she did, he’d just apologize profusely for his “lapse in memory” until she calmed down enough to lower his punishment from the Cruciatus Curse to a mere smack in the face, so it isn’t as if he had much at stake, but it still chills him to the bone.
Coward, a voice that’s not his whispers in his head. He shakes it off, tries to forget it. The entire reason he’s braving the stairs is to try and talk with Sirius.
Strictly speaking, no one is allowed to talk with Sirius, or even mention him for the next week. Earlier in the day, Orion had drunkenly stumbled into the drawing room and caught Sirius trying to scratch his face off the Black family tree with a broken piece of mirror. Drunken wands make drunken spells, as the saying goes, and Sirius ended up magically locked in his room from the outside with only Kreacher allowed in and out to deliver meals.
That’s why it’s so important that the brothers were left alone today.
The stairs make an awful creaking noise as Regulus climbs them. He flinches at every squeak and groan, praying that Kreacher’s large ears are occupied with the noises of the kitchen. When he reaches Sirius’ door, he risks a spell. He knows it’s not allowed, knows he risks expulsion, but he has to take this chance. This once-in-a-lifetime chance to have an uninterrupted talk with his brother.
"Alohomora," Regulus whispers, a wave of guilt crashing into him. Thankfully, in his intoxicated state, Orion hadn’t bothered to reinforce the door with a Spell-Proof Lock Charm. The click Regulus hears and the creak of Sirius’ door swinging open is worth an expulsion from Hogwarts.
Within seconds, Sirius has him pinned against the wall, arm cutting across his throat.
“What the bloody fuck are you doing in here?!” Sirius snarls with detest. Regulus flinches, squeezing his eyes shut and gasping for air. Merlin, when did he become afraid of Sirius?
When did Sirius become someone to be afraid of?
He doesn’t fight back; he lets Sirius press down harder on his throat, almost completely obstructing his airway. His brother’s expression is wild, a primal need for protection taking over all his movements. And it hurts, Merlin, it hurts, but Regulus just lets him.
That’s how Sirius knows something is different. Regulus Arcturus Black always puts up a fight. His little brother never does.
Regulus sees his brother’s gaze soften and gasps in relief when he drops his arm. He almost looks…concerned. For Regulus. Which can’t be true. But it sure appears that way.
“Well?” Sirius demands impatiently, running his hands through his hair. “Out with it then!”
“I-“ Regulus trips over his words. It’s then that he realizes he never had a concrete plan in mind when he came up to talk to Sirius. He just wanted…well, he doesn’t know exactly what he wanted.
"Tu me manques," he blurts before he can stop himself, the tremor in his voice betraying his hurt.
Sirius raises an eyebrow.
Regulus’ heart sinks. "You don't understand?"
“No, mate,” Sirius quickly jumps in, slightly irritated. “I just — wasn’t expecting it, as all.”
I am not your mate, Regulus very nearly says. His fists clench and it’s all he can take not to punch the prat in front of him.
Of course he doesn’t say it back.
Of course he doesn’t.
Sirius Black has bigger things to worry about than his little brother.
“Er…is that all? I think dear old Mum will drown you in the sink if she finds out you were in here.” Sirius shifts his weight from foot to foot, watching Regulus expectantly.
Fuck you, Sirius.
“Yes,” he replies coolly. “Enjoy captivity.”
Without further ado, Regulus pivots on his heel and walks out.
Only when he’s sitting in the library waiting for Kreacher to finish the much-too-early dinner and hears a loud thud does he remember he forgot to shut Sirius’ door.
“Sirius?” He calls out, heading toward the direction of the noise.
"Fuck!" He hears Sirius curse.
Then,
his blood
runs ice-cold.
Sirius is frozen, standing with the front door half-open, midway through lifting a coatrack off his school trunk.
“Regulus —“ he stammers, frantically searching for an explanation.
“Don’t.”
Regulus expects the word to come out like a dagger, but it sounds more like a plea.
He is leaving. Sirius is leaving. Of course he is.
“Please,” Regulus whispers, faltering and bracing himself against the wall.
“Please, Sirius.”
He doesn’t know what he’s pleading for.
Please.
Please don’t go.
Please.
Please don’t leave me.
Please.
Please take me with you.
“Please,” he says again, choking on the word. Tears are fighting to spill over, and suddenly Regulus is ten years old again, begging Sirius not to get on that train. Begging him not to leave him with their parents. Begging him to stay.
Sirius seems to unfreeze then, slowly picking up his trunk, and, without a word, slips out the front door.
Something like a whimper escapes Regulus’ throat.
Sirius doesn’t look back.
And Regulus Arcturus Black is lost.
October 14th, 1975
James knows he shouldn’t provoke them, knows it’s senseless to start a fight like they’re first years again, but seeing Regulus Black walking with Severus Snape down to the Quidditch pitch feels like the two of them have pulled their wands on him already.
He’s pretty sure he’s broken his record for how fast he’s flown once he reaches the two boys, jumping off his Cleansweep like it’s on fire. Severus practically throws himself at him the moment he touches the ground, but Regulus stands eerily still. Watching James.
“Bugger off, Snivellus,” James grunts, sending Snape sprawling across the field with a simple Stupefy. “I’m not here for you.” He doesn’t know why he’s said that. Snape is–was–half the reason he flew down here in the first place. But after seeing how Regulus reacted, or rather, how he didn’t react, as if James wasn’t worthy of a reaction, he has decided that Severus is the least of his problems.
“Do we have an issue, Potter?” Regulus quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just enough to cause an unpleasant flip in James’ stomach. Regulus is teasing him, mocking him even.
“We always have an issue, Black,” James spits and slides his wand out of his sleeve. Smooth, he praises himself.
“Well,” Regulus’ lips curve into a smirk; he sounds almost amused, “Someone’s feeling a bit egotistical.” He doesn’t reach for his wand.
“Hard not to, being around filth like you.” James knows that’s a little low, even for Regulus. He does share Sirius’ name after all, but, he supposes, that’s part of the problem. Considering what Sirius has told James about his household, he has every right to recoil at the sight of his best friend’s brother.
“Why are you here, Potter?” Regulus asks with an uncaring air. “Surely being on the Quidditch pitch isn’t illegal?” This time, both his eyebrows raise in mock surprise and concern, and James nearly curses him right where he stands.
“I could ask you the same thing. It’s a bit suspicious, is it not? Being here without brooms, I mean. And with him,’ James says disapprovingly, jerking his head in the direction of Snape, who is standing an awkward distance away, fidgeting nervously. “I thought even you were too good for Snivellus.”
Regulus laughs, tossing his head back, making his dark curls bounce. “Funny, I thought you were too good for petty arguments, but here we are.” He opens his arms as if to say, see?
James grips his wand tighter, pointing it at the other boy’s chest. Black doesn’t even flinch. Matter of fact, the bloody lunatic puts his finger on the tip of James’ wand and whispers, “I dare you.”
James does nothing. He doesn’t blame himself. How was he supposed to know that Regulus would touch his fucking wand?! No sane witch or wizard touches another wizard’s wand when he threatens to curse them.
Looking bored, Regulus pushes James’ wand away before he can rip it away himself and turns around. He begins to make his way toward Snape but looks back at James and yells, “Tell Sirius I said hello, would you Potter? And by the way, the reason we’re here? Quidditch lessons.”
James scoffs. There is no way Snivellus would ever get on a broom. He considers shouting this at Regulus before deciding better of it and heading back to the castle.
Once James reaches his dorm, he throws open the door, relieved to find Sirius, Remus, and Peter all sitting on their beds, perking up at his entrance like they were waiting for him.
“Hey Sirius, you’ll never guess who I saw today,” James teases, wagging his eyebrows at his best friend. Sirius, picking at loose threads in his bedsheets, barely looks up.
“Who’d you see, James?” Peter asks, his eyes wide like always. Sirius laughs and chucks a pillow at him.
“He’s probably been off snogging Macdonald in a broom cupboard or something of the sort,” Sirius taunts, grinning at James. “Well? Have you been?”
“Snogging your brother, more like,” James replies coolly as he kicks back in his bed. Sirius jolts and even Remus looks up from his books to study James. Pleased with the reaction he’s gotten, James rests his hands behind his head, crosses his legs, and sighs. “Saw him and Snivellus down by the Quidditch pitch earlier. Couldn’t resist giving them a little jab. Little Reggie was a right psychopath, though. Put his hand on my fucking wand!”
“Don’t call him that,” Sirius deadpans in a way that makes James’ brow furrow.
“Sorry mate,” he shrugs it off, blaming it on nerves. Sirius never likes it when people mention Regulus. The only reason James did it today was to hopefully lift Sirius’ mood by giving him a play-by-play of all the ways he insulted Regulus. “Won’t bring him up again. What are you up to, Moony?” He redirects the conversation with a smoothness that everyone expects from him. Because he’s James Potter. Hero. Savior of people and their feelings. And he loves it.
“Working on Charms homework. We’ve got an essay due tomorrow, not that any of you would know,” Remus jabs with a lighthearted air, flashing the group his quill. He’s proud of it, that quill. James sees the way he holds it tenderly and sets it down more like a gold statue than a writing utensil. It’s Remus’ prized possession. "Though you somehow manage to get straight O's."
“Already did mine if you can believe it,” Sirius crows, giving Remus a proud smile as he holds up his–truly completed–Charms essay.
“Merlin, you actually did it!” Wide-eyed, Remus waves his wand, searching for evidence of spells that tampered with the parchment. It’s useless and he knows it. If there’s one thing anyone should know about Sirius, it is that he does not lie. Ever.
“‘Course I did, Moons! O ye of little faith,” Sirius says smugly, stuffing the essay back into his dresser with alarming force. “Had to have something to work on while you studied at the library and James was attempting to torture poor Pete with Quidditch lessons yesterday.”
At this, James takes great offense. “Oi! He’ll get it someday, won’t you Wormy?” He raises a supportive glass to Peter, sipping from the cup of pumpkin juice Remus mistakenly left on his dresser.
Peter squeaks, remarkably rat-like, even when he’s not transformed, and shakes his head. “Sorry James, it’s useless to keep trying. I don’t know how you’ve put up with me this long. I’m practically a Bludger magnet,” he mutters, tenderly cradling his arm where a Bludger had almost shattered it last time James took him out for lessons.
Of course Peter isn’t good at Quidditch. Or flying in general. Peter doesn't think he's good at much of anything, though James would never accuse him of that. That’s why James wanted to mentor him, to take Pete under his wing and show him the wonderful world of Quidditch, give him something to feel proud of. James gets the feeling that Peter isn’t proud of much of anything. The truth is, his friend is good at things; he just isn't able to see it.
Was that why Regulus was out on the pitch with Snape earlier? Did he take pity on the greasy slimeball?
“If you say so Pete,” James sighs, less relaxed this time. “I suppose we should be getting down to dinner then.”
Remus looks down at his watch, a muggle one, given to him by his mum as a going-away present, and nearly jumps out of his seat.
“Fuck, James! It’s started already!”
"Already?!" Sirius wails with anguish, flopping himself down on his bed. “All of the good options will be gone!” He begins to pout, crossing his arms and turning away.
“Whining in a corner won’t make the food reappear,” Remus advises, “Besides, we’ll just nab food from the Slytherins like we always do.”
For some reason, James’ stomach flutters when Remus mentions the Slytherins. He’s not usually subject to feelings like this, feelings so tightly wound and laced with anxiety. Perhaps it’s just the thought of having to see Snape again.
But Snape makes me feel like I’m about to vomit, the greasy little shit. Not like I want to run away, James thinks to himself, straightening his tie.
Despite his utter determination to keep things light and happy at dinner like always, all James can think about as the Marauders make their way to the Great Hall is how Regulus appeared to freeze when he first approached earlier. Not like he was afraid, exactly, but like he was…disturbed? Severely inconvenienced? Most likely the latter.
He rolls his eyes just thinking about it and shoves the encounter out of his mind just in time for the great doors guarding the food (and the students) to swing open.
“Oi, Regulus, pass me a cancer stick, would you?” Evan urges, reaching out his hand expectantly. Regulus huffs and chucks a cigarette in the vague direction of Evan’s bed before smacking himself back down onto his mattress. Not that he smokes. His friends, the complete idiots that they are, don’t have the mind or the skill to snag Muggle cigarettes while at Hogsmeade, so Regulus has to do all their dirty work. For an all-wizard village, it’s surprisingly easy to get one’s hands on Muggle contraband–or any contraband for that matter.
“Why are you so broody today?” Evan grumbles, literally rolling off his bed to grab the cigarette off the floor. His emerald blankets fall around him, creating a kind of nest. He lights the stick with his wand and inhales deeply. “‘Course, you’re always brooding.”
“I’m not brooding," Regulus drawls. Flat on his back with his arms spread wide, he stares at the ceiling, eyes tracing over every mark left in the dark wood. Truth be told, he is mildly depressed. He’s always depressed. Today seems to be a particularly bad day though, what with his altercation with James Potter while he was trying to have a simple Quidditch lesson with Snape.
It’s almost like Regulus can’t move. Like he has to stay rooted to his spot, to his bed, for the rest of his life, until moss grows over his limbs and he can’t feel anything anymore.
Maybe he is brooding.
Evan seems to agree, for he kindly makes the snide remark, “Oh you’re definitely brooding, Pretty Boy,” and flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette.
“Fuck off with that name. I hate when you smoke that shit in here, Evan, you know I do,” Regulus complains, screwing up his face at the smell. “It reeks.”
“Like I said,” Evan smirks, “Pretty Boy.”
Regulus returns to his task of surveying the ceiling. There are a few moments of sweet, sweet silence, and then -
“Regulus…your little necklace is glowing,” Evan gapes with wide eyes, not even bothering to put his heart into the joke. Regulus snaps up, more alert than he’s been the whole day. Surely Evan can’t mean –
But there it is, sitting on his bedside table, glowing, quite cheekily in Regulus’ opinion.
“It hasn’t…it’s been years…why–fuck,” Regulus whispers. He holds the thing close to his chest, guarding it with his hands away from Evan’s eyes. Slowly, a sloppy script is displayed across the top. A script Regulus hasn’t seen up close since first year.
“If you ever need me, Reg, just press your wand to it and tell it you need me, alright?”
“Alright.”
The writing is courtesy of Sirius, but Regulus is so shocked at its appearance that he doesn’t think to read it at first. The glowing has dulled now that he’s seen the message, thankfully.
Forest. Midnight.
“Bloody hell,” he murmurs, tracing his fingers lightly over the necklace’s surface. There’s only one explanation for why his brother is summoning him to the Forbidden Forest at midnight tonight, and Regulus reckons that explanation’s name is James Potter. While it’s true that nothing exceptional happened during their altercation earlier, it’s been a while since Regulus has interacted with anyone who’s chummy with Sirius, let alone one of the Marauders.
“Stupid name, that is,” he says aloud, scaring himself.
“What is? What the hell was your necklace doing?” Evan demands with glee. Rarely ever does anyone get to see Regulus in any state of distress. Rosier must be jumping up and down at the opportunity.
He typically saves those moments for when he’s alone.
Ignoring Evan, Regulus shoves the necklace into his pocket. He needs to do something, anything to straighten out his mind, and then he can think about what the fuck just happened.
Evan keeps badgering him with questions, but Regulus just picks up his wand and leaves the dormitory, making a beeline for where he knows Pandora will be: the library.
Sure enough, there she is, locked onto Spell and Potion Advancements of the 19th Century. Honestly, Regulus thinks it's a marvel how she isn’t in Ravenclaw. All Pandora seems to do is experiment with new spells and talk about said experiments. Although he supposes, Ravenclaw might find that subject too dull, calling it “too easy” or “already been done.”
That’s why there are people like Pandora Lestrange in the world: to keep the little things going so the larger ones can stay afloat.
“Pandora,” Regulus whispers as he slides into the seat across from her. The blonde looks up from her book with a smile, and Regulus can see the stars dancing in her eyes.
“Regulus! You’ll never believe what I’ve found. In 1804, Millicent Whitford discovered the basis for what would become the Pensieve. Imagine, being the one to find that much power and brilliance?! It’s like…well, it’s like magic!” Pandora exclaims, earning her a glare from Madame Pince. She is gleaming, and Regulus hates to ruin her mood.
“That must be wonderful,” he spares before diving into his problems. It makes him grimace, the way he has to blow off Pandora’s marvelous finds. In truth, her research interests him, and he often helps with her experiments. Taking away her rosy-cheeked wonder is one of Regulus’ least favorite activities, especially when Pandora is fully decked out in supportive Slytherin gear in preparation for the last match before Christmas tomorrow. Reluctantly, Regulus draws his necklace from his pocket. “Sirius sent me a message today.”
Pandora inhales sharply and reaches out to brush the necklace with her fingertips. She reads the message over, lips moving along with it.
“Been a while since you’ve gotten a summons from him,” she says finally. Regulus knows she’s scanning him mentally, getting a grip on how he’s feeling about the situation, but that’s the issue — Regulus doesn’t know how he feels. When he doesn’t know, he always goes to Pandora.
She seems to understand this, for she turns the necklace over and slides it into her own hands, away from Regulus’ reach. She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, gazing far away.
“I think you should go,” she admits with care, tenderly placing a hand on Regulus’ wrist. He stiffens at the touch, more jarred than comforted, but quickly eases into it once his body gets the message that it’s Pandora. “You haven’t talked since…since he ran away, and it’s killing you, Regulus. I can see it in your bones.”
Regulus doesn’t want to think about how Pandora sees his bones.
“It isn’t killing me,” he mutters, “It doesn’t matter to me. He left. He couldn’t handle it. Good riddance, if anything. He was only a nuisance to my family.”
Pandora’s expression softens around the edges even more, if that’s even possible.
“You don’t really believe that’s true,” she states like it’s a fact. “ You can barely handle your family and you still live at Grimmauld.”
There. That’s what does him in.
Regulus grits his teeth, fists clenching at Pandora’s words. She didn’t say anything wrong, per se, but her mention of him still being at Grimmauld, living with his parents while Sirius frolics in fields with Potter or whatever the fuck he does, takes the wind out of him.
An image:
Sirius, hovering by the front door.
Regulus, watching, horrified.
Please.
Please, Sirius.
But Sirius never stays. Not even in Regulus’ dreams.
“Look, Sirius has a good reason to talk with you or he wouldn’t have sought you out, especially in secret like this,” Pandora reasons with him, and Regulus must admit, Sirius would only initiate contact if something was…well…serious.
“Fine,” Regulus grimaces, teeth clenched. “Looks like it’s a family reunion tonight then.”
Pandora claps her hands. “Excellent. Fill me in on everything.”
Regulus sighs and makes to leave, assuring his friend that she’ll be informed.
“Oh, and Regulus —“ Pandora calls as he steps out. “I’m here.” Her tone is softer than before, in that rare, gentle form that only emerges when she’s non-verbally begging Regulus to accept her love without guilt. To take her up on her offers. He just gives her a curt nod, but she knows him well enough by now to understand what it means.
The rest of the evening, all he does is prepare for his meeting with Sirius. Regulus assumes he wants to meet at the forest entrance away from Hagrid’s hut, so when he makes the trek there with his wand up his sleeve and his necklace in his back pocket, he’s not surprised to see Sirius waiting for him.
Sirius is leaning up against a tree like he doesn’t have a care in the world, arms crossed. His Gryffindor tie hangs loosely around his neck, and his shirtsleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
If he hadn’t run away, Walburga would have disowned him just for that.
Regulus takes position out of arm’s reach from Sirius, giving him ample space to dodge an attack, physical or magical, should the need arise.
“Regulus,” Sirius greets, glowering. “I see you got my message.”
“I’m here aren’t I?” Regulus sighs, more worn out than pissed off. “What do you want, Sirius?”
“I want to know what the fuck is wrong with you!” Sirius snaps. Regulus steps back like he’s been pushed.
“What?” His eyes go wide and every muscle in his body tenses. He forces his face into a neutral expression.
“Flitting around with Snivellus? Having a little secret rendezvous on the Quidditch pitch? Even I thought you were better than that,” Sirius insults him, triggering a growing flame of pent-up fury that rises within Regulus. His words are an echo of James’. “I mean, talk about a new low, Reg. Here I thought you were well on your way to becoming the next Black heir —“
“Fuck off, Sirius,” Regulus snarls, his entire body radiating fury. His face feels hot enough to be on fire. Sirius cocks a brow and gives an astounded chuckle.
“Did you just tell me to fuck off?” His mouth is gaping open like a ghoul's.
“What, do you need it in French?” Regulus’ voice drips with sarcasm. “What I do is none of your business. Who I’m with, where I am, none of that belongs to you.” You lost that right when you left me, is what he doesn’t say.
Sirius practically growls. “Well, you sound just like Mum, now don’t you?”
This is too much. Regulus was seething before, but now? Now, Sirius is going to face what Regulus has been keeping inside for a long, long time.
He explodes.
“And aren’t you just like Dad, what with you getting blackout drunk at parties, needing two people to carry you up the fucking stairs to your dormitory, shagging a new girl every night and forgetting it even happened in the morning?! You know, I thought you wanted to sever ties with the family when you left, but it turns out you brought them right along with you. As for me? I will never be the fucking ‘Black heir.’ Not their little Dark Prince to kill off muggles and paint slogans on bridges. Our parents are as dead to me as they are to you, but you didn’t even give me a fucking chance to get away.” He marches up to Sirius and jabs his finger into his chest like it’s a sword. "You brought this on me, Sirius.”
Breathing heavily, Regulus stops. The silence between the two brothers is sharp enough to cut, Regulus’ words echoing around them. Sirius is staring at Regulus like he’s just killed his cat.
“What?” Sirius chokes softly. He seems to shrink into himself, backing up against a tree. “You didn’t — you never —“
“I begged you not to leave me,” Regulus cuts across him. His throat tightens with every word. “I begged you to stay; I begged you to take me with you —“
“You didn’t say that! Not outright!” Sirius protests like he’s been backed into a corner by a predator.
"I shouldn’t have had to!” Regulus yells, voice anguished. “You should have taken me with you without me needing to ask! Not because I expected you to be a Seer, not because I thought you were a Legilimens, but because I was your fucking brother! I was your brother and you left me there, alone! And you want to know the worst part? You didn’t even say you —“
His words get caught in his throat, ending the tirade. The unspoken words fill the space between them.
You didn’t even say you loved me.
Sirius stumbles backward, eventually bumping into a tree. He mumbles something incoherent and adjusts his wrinkled shirt. Some posh things still stuck.
“Why did you leave me, Sirius?” The words are spilling from his lips before Regulus can stop them. He jumps back, scared of his own question. The question that has been haunting him ever since that summer. “I was right there,"
Sirius wears an expression somewhere between wounded and guilty. He slowly shakes his head, unable to break his gaze away from Regulus. “I don’t know,” he whispers, eyes wide like the full moon.
Regulus looks down at his shoes. Splotches of autumn mud cover the normally shining tops. He knows Sirius is trapped unless he lets him go, but he wants to keep his brother here at arms-length for just a moment longer. He needs that, at least.
“I don’t blame you.” He brings his focus back to his brother, who tenses immediately. "Sirius. I don’t blame you.”
And it’s true. He doesn’t blame him. Regulus is angry with him; maybe he even hates him, but he does not - cannot - blame him for doing the one thing Regulus never dared to do.
This seems to shift something in Sirius, for he slumps against the tree, defeated. Without warning, he turns and starts exiting the forest, and Regulus has a shocking sense of deja vu.
Except for this time, Sirius looks back.
James watches Sirius Black's name separate from Regulus Black's on the Marauders Map, puzzled. It’s been a long time since Sirius has acknowledged Regulus in the hallways, let alone met with him. Sirius continues on his path toward the castle, but Regulus stays frozen in his position on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Something tugs at James as he watches Regulus’ name bob up and down on the map. The sudden, overwhelming urge to go to him smacks James in the face so hard that he’s shouldering on his Invisibility Cloak and stepping halfway out the door before he realizes what he’s doing. Remus stirs in his bed at the sound of the door opening, but he doesn’t wake up. Peter is snoring so deeply that it’s almost comical.
What the hell am I doing? James kicks himself, beginning to pace in front of the door. Sirius is still a safe enough distance away that he could quickly feign sleep if he needed to, so he continues to walk back and forth like a madman. Despite his lack of understanding, James still feels a strong desire to follow Regulus into the forest. It’s as if his nosiness has reached a whole new level.
Yet, this feels different from his typical urge to snoop around where he shouldn’t. For one, it’s a private family matter, which James always stays away from until Sirius is ready to talk about it. For another, the pull isn’t toward information, it’s toward Regulus. The feeling is so intense that it brings up a strange swell of protectiveness in James. He shakes his head rapidly and bites his lip, contemplating. Finally, with a huff of irritation, he slips out the door under the cloak.
By the time he makes it onto the grounds by the forest, Regulus appears to already be walking back to the castle. James does not notice this until it is too late, however, because one moment he’s got his eyes on the edge of the forest, and the next he’s crashing into a rather short, dark shadow that sends him sprawling backward onto the ground with his cloak flying off behind him.
“What the – oof –” James is cut off by a particularly aggressive Petrificus Totalus cast by none other than Regulus himself. From his frozen state, James can just see the trembling outline of the younger boy, whose wand is pointed directly at his heart. It seems to take a minute for him to snap out of his surprised stupor, but when he does, he looks ready for murder.
“What the fuck, Potter?!” He growls, wordlessly undoing his jinx. James stretches gratefully and gets to his feet.
“Listen, I can explain –”
“I certainly hope so, I could’ve killed you! ” Regulus shoves his chest and he nearly trips over himself to keep his balance. James pulls out his wand and casts Lumos, which reveals, shockingly, that Regulus looks…concerned. Well, he looks bloody pissed, but in the underlying pools of grey in his eyes, James can see the tiniest hints of worry.
“Aww, Reggie, are you worried about me?” James teases, unable to resist the opportunity. In hindsight, it probably wasn’t a good idea, for Regulus shoots a Jelly-Legs Jinx at him that leaves him plastered on the damp grass.
“You wish, Potter. I’m worried I’d get charged for your manslaughter and forced to spend the rest of my days in Azkaban,” Regulus snaps, face flushed, but much to James’ satisfaction, he extends a hand to aid James in getting back up. “Now what in Merlin’s name are you doing out here?”
James wracks his brain to find an excuse, settling lamely on, “Stargazing.”
Regulus clearly knows he’s taking the piss.
“You can do that from the Astronomy Tower.”
“Er…it was occupied,” James supplies sheepishly. He doesn’t know why Regulus is grilling him like this, but he supposes it makes sense considering he triggered some sort of primal self-preservative reaction out of the younger boy when he bumped into him.
Regulus scoffs. “Really. By whom?”
James groans and runs a hand over his face. Why is Regulus being so difficult?
“Merlin, hell if I know, some third years?” He offers. Regulus evidently doesn’t believe him, but he lets him off the hook.
“You saw Sirius, didn’t you?” James exclaims, then slaps his hand over his mouth, instantly regretting it.
Regulus narrows his gaze, lips pursed. James’ stomach sinks. He’s always been a horrid liar.
“How did you – are you stalking me now, Potter?”
“No – no," James stammers and shakes his head a little aggressively. His glasses unhook from behind his right ear and dangle precariously from his left. He fumbles around trying to fix them and ends up just knocking them on the ground. “Fuck – I just –”
Regulus picks up James’ glasses and wipes the lenses off on his shirt. He thrusts the glasses onto James’ face, grumbling all the while.
“Thanks,” James grins, tipping an imaginary hat to the younger boy. Regulus rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I saw Sirius,” he admits. “Your doing, no doubt.” Regulus glares at James, arms crossed.
James’ brow furrows in confusion. “My doing? I never told him to talk to you, Regulus.”
Regulus frowns, chewing his cheek. “Sirius just wanted to give me shit for talking with Snape earlier. I’m assuming you are responsible for his access to that information.”
For an undiscernible reason, James feels guilty about this accusation. He hangs his head in shame.
“Yeah, yeah it was me. I didn’t mean anything by it, I swear –”
“Relax, Potter, I don’t give a shit what you meant. What is it with you and Sirius and demanding to know what I’m doing?”
James grits his teeth at the memory of Regulus fraternizing with the enemy on the Quidditch pitch that afternoon.
“Well, you’re my best friend’s little brother. I don’t want to see you corrupted by worms like Snape. Why in Merlin’s name were you teaching him Quidditch lessons? I didn’t even see a broomstick out there,” James says, giving Regulus his best imitation of his mum’s “I Know You’re Lying” look. Regulus mutters under his breath and huffs.
“Funny, I was under the impression that my brother thought I was as corrupted as one could get. As for Snape, the fact of the matter is, one of our Beaters is graduating next year. No one else is up for the job, and we can’t put next year’s first years on the team. I convinced Snape by mentioning how his overly-desperate self would get more popularity by being on the team. Today was just about getting the basics of the field - no flying.” Regulus finishes, but James is still stuck on the first sentence he said.
“Funny, I was under the impression that my brother thought I was as corrupted as one could get.”
“Sirius doesn’t think you’re corrupted,” James swears with a sincerity that seems to scare Regulus. The boy backs up like James has stung him, eyes wide. “He doesn’t. He – well, not so much anymore – but he used to talk about how much he missed you all the time. Now, whenever someone brings you up, he doesn’t get angry; he just gets…sad,” James confesses, thinking of Sirius’ far-off look when James mentioned Regulus in their dorm.
Regulus is silent. When he finally speaks, it comes out in a whisper: "Really?"
The word sends a sharp, unexpected stab into James’ chest. Regulus’ expression looks almost foreign on his face; James has never seen him so…angelic. His grey eyes are swimming with timid hopefulness, like he doesn’t want to let himself feel, but it’s so powerful that he cannot help it. In the shadowy light of James’ wand, his pale face seems to glow, framed by thick curls which James gets an impulsive urge to run his hands through and mess up.
The spell is broken when Regulus smacks his hand away, a hand which was subconsciously reaching up to touch Regulus’ hair. James jerks his hand back and throws his arm behind him frantically.
“What the fuck?” Regulus asks, but it doesn’t sound aggressive this time.
“Sorry,” James mumbles, his face flushing. “You just looked…” He trails off, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I should get back to my dorm before anyone realizes I’m gone.”
Regulus nods briskly and, to James’ surprise, holds out his hand for James to shake.
“It wasn’t a completely horrendous time talking with you, Potter.”
James chuckles and grabs the other boy’s hand, giving it a firm shake.
“‘Night Regulus.”
“Goodbye Potter.”