Chapter Text
The first thing Regulus registers when he wakes up are those fucking lights. They're bright enough to burn his retinas, buzzing constantly in the echoing room he finds himself in. His eyes adjust slowly, squinting his vision back into existence.
The second thing he registers is a weight on his chest, wrapped around his sides. It belongs to a small body, a boy that can't be any older than five, if that. Regulus can feel the boy's hair buried into his neck, a soft mess of dark curls. He snuggles himself into Regulus' chest easily, almost naturally, murmuring something that gets lost before it finds its way to Regulus' ears.
The third thing he registers, and perhaps most important, is the incessant voice of one James Fucking Potter. What does the F stand for actually? James Fothermucking-Brother-Stealing Potter. He's sat precariously at the edge of a chair, eyes wide and- hopeful? Regulus is about to question it when suddenly the surely-to-be-stupid words spurting out of his mouth begin to process.
"Baby? Hey, can you hear me?" He asks, scooting closer in his creaking chair. "Harry, give him some space."
Fucking- baby? Baby? Did he hear that right?
And who's Harry?
The body on top of him shifts, sniffling. Regulus groans at the movement, eyes shutting tight. The boy squeaks, finally clambering off his chest to his side. "Sorry! I didn't mean to."
"I know, honey, but the healers said he might be a bit groggy-
-need to make sure he's okay-
-can speak to-"
Pain seizes somewhere in his body, sharp surges of heat move up his arms. Fucking hell. Colours burn behind his eyes, yellows and blues spotting in the darkness of his vision. When he opens his eyes next, the splashes linger, swarming the figure of- wait.
Potter's glasses are different, no longer the dark frames but a wiry gold, circling his eyes. When did he change those? His face is somewhat different, too. His eyes are worried, still a deep brown, creased at the edges, but worried. Oddly enough, he seems to have- are those freckles?
Doing his best to ignore the oddity that is James Potter by his bedside, looking slightly uncanny, Regulus looks around the room. His eyes easily fall back to the boy, now perched on the bed with Regulus, watching him with wide, grey eyes.
"Mr Potter?" A new voice approaches, pulling his attention from the boy. Potter doesn't react, eyes instead scanning over Regulus' face. Still, the woman continues. "I'm Healer Jones, I've been overlooking your case here at St Mungo's, I've just a few tests we need to run through, if you're alright with those, just to check how you are?"
Potter looks back then, "He's only just woken up, shouldn't we give him a minute?"
The healer nods kindly, though her lips thin as she replies, "We need to make sure he is of correct mind state, Mr Potter, and it would be best if we do these tests now, i'm afraid."
Hang on- healer. St Mungo's? Regulus furrows his eyebrows as Potter talks to the... healer. Did something happen in Quidditch? Surely nothing would be serious enough to take him to St Mungo's, right? Did- Did something happen at home?
A small hand swipes across the crease in his brow, smoothing it. The boy shuffles, one hand resting on his chest, one fluttering by his face. Regulus tilts his head, the boy's hand moving with it. Questioningly, he tilts it the other way. Again, the boy's hand moves with him, continuing to massage the frown away. The boy smiles playfully, bottom lip tucked beneath his gap-teeth. Regulus finds himself smiling, too.
With a room still slightly blurry, a supposed healer, and a man he's resented for years... that might not really be the man he's resented for years, Regulus decides to keep his focus on the boy in front of him. An easier task, no doubt, than playing into this weird dream he's in. So... he takes the bait.
"I like your bracelet." He whispers, voice coming out crackly from disuse. The bracelet itself is a beaded thing, red and green beads with a silver star charm dangling from one side, and a gold sun from the other. It's tacky, but he's not going to say that to a child. Not when the child grins, cheeks dimpling in reply.
"I made you one when you were sleeping but I left it back home." The boy replies, lifting his hand to show it off. "Dada said it would make you feel better."
"I'm sure it will." Regulus says, breathing through a distant pain he can feel in his bones. Desperately wanting to take his mind off of it, he indulges some more in his slow thoughts. "How come I'm here? Do you know?"
The boy considers the question, "In hospital?"
Or the dream, but sure. One thing at a time. He nods.
"Well, Dada said you was making potions and- and something happened that made you sleeping." He shrugs, fiddling with the star charm, "Adults don't really tell kids a lot, but Dada was really scared, I could tell, and Uncle Sirius was doing his- the thing you say- the dratics- and-"
"Uncle Sirius?" Regulus asks, baffled. ...Uncle... Sirius. So, this was... Potter's kid? Wait, Potter has a kid. But-
"Mr Potter?" The healer asks again, setting down a file.
Potter still doesn't reply. Instead, he looks to Regulus with those big, pleading doe eyes.
Regulus furrows his brow again, staring back at Potter. Then to the Healer, watching him intently. Then to the boy, whose hands are clutched in Regulus' hospital gown. When did that get there?
"Sir, could you tell me your name?" The healer asks instead, and Regulus realises she's talking to him.
"...Regulus." He replies warily.
She smiles, jotting something down in the file. "What's the date, if you could?"
Regulus frowns, huffing an incredulous laugh, "Well how am I supposed to know that? I've been asleep, apparently."
He can feel Potter worrying next to him, leg bouncing.
The Healer seems unaffected, carrying on as usual, "The year?"
"I- It's 19... uh-" Regulus fumbles, wracking his memory. The last thing he remembers is- there was a fight with Sirius, back at Hogwarts. He'd said some stupid shit, Sirius had said some stupid shit, both of them ended up storming off. It was the end of May then so now would be either May or June and-
Potter's radiating concern, shoes squeaking on the linoleum flooring as his leg just keeps rising and falling.
-it was sixth year, late sixth year, so he's 17, Sirius is about to-
Rising and falling.
-or are they expecting a different answer, because this is a dream? Do they want him to answer incorrectly, or guess based on the technology in the room? Or his body age?-
Rising and falling.
-What if-
Rising and-
"Potter, would you fucking quit that?" Regulus snaps, "For the love of Merlin!"
And all at once, Potter deflates. Strange. That's hardly the worst thing he's said to him. Oh, it's- shit, there's a kid in the room. He's about to apologise- not to Potter, of course, -when the Healer prompts him again. "Regulus, could you tell me your full name?"
"Black. Regulus Arcturus Black." He responds sharply, "I- Okay, what's going on?"
Potter visibly flinches, hands clamped around eachother. He inhales sharply before making a quick decision and lifting the boy out of the bed, into his lap. It's there that Regulus can see the similarities. Same mess of hair, except the slight differentiation in colour. Same warm skin tone, though the boy's arms are covered in beauty marks. Same mouth shape. Same face shape. The noses are different though. Same with the obvious different eye colours. It's almost picture perfect.
"Mr Black, the year, please?"
Ripping his eyes away from Potter and his son, Regulus shakes his head, "I- I don't- 1978? But- but obviously not because Potter has a whole- whole child so- that's...wrong, isn't it?"
"Papa?" The boy asks, voice timid. Potter wraps his arms around him, breathing shakily.
"Shit, i'll be right back." Potter says hurriedly, cursing under his breath as he takes the boy out of the room.
Regulus frowns, again. The healer, funnily enough, is also frowning. Probably not a good sign, even in a dream. The pain he's managed to muffle starts to make its way to his torso, pressing into his ribs. Without the distraction of the Potters, Regulus' eyes start to clear, the light settling into something steady.
The room around him is a standard hospital room, definitely St Mungo's from the green paint on the far wall. He's hooked up to some machine, needle pressed into his right arm. Looking away before he starts to feel faint, he despises needles, Regulus finally registers the window. It's raining outside, splattering against the window pane. The trees are shedding, oranges and yellows flapping wildly in the wind.
"How- how long was I asleep for?" He asks hesitantly, fingers curling into the blanket.
Healer Jones gives him a sympathetic smile, "Mr Black, you've been in a coma for a month now. You were experimenting with some potions and something went wrong. Mr Potter found you and immediately brought you here, though there's no knowing what exactly you were experimenting with, thus your recovery has been slower than we would've liked. You may be feeling some side effects, and we'd greatly appreciate if you inform us of them sooner rather than later."
Regulus scowls, trying to remember the last time he was working with potions. Slughorn had given him a lab to work with, some ingredients so he could work on his extra credit, could that be it? No but- she said a month. A month doesn't explain the kid.
After a moment, and a breath that hurts a bit too much, Regulus concedes, "There's a sharp pain, sort of burning, it's in my torso mostly- ribs -but I felt it in my arms too. Uh- I think I might have forgotten some things, too." He averts his eyes as she steps closer, hands reaching for her wand. "What year is it, if not 1978?"
The wand scans over him, blue light thrumming in a blanket. She hums, "One thing at a time I think. The potion left you with a couple burns, which we've managed to heal, but they may have some left over aches that you may be feeling. Other than that, you should be fine, sir."
He shakes his head, "No, no. It's like burning. It's just- it's there. It's not an ache, it's a pain and it sort of comes and goes- that's- that's not a burn."
Recognition falls over her face, then pity, and she slowly sits on the edge of his bed. "Mr Po- Black, the date today is the 27th October, 1985. You-"
"What?" He scoffs. "No it's not."
She sighs, "You were in an accident during the war, it left you with scars, and chronic pain. An almost burning sensation. I'm-"
The war? Chronic pain? The War.
Jones is still talking, but it filters out in his thoughts. His eyes flick down to his left arm. There, laid bare on his skin, is the mark. It's grey, but it stands out against his pale skin. Scars run through it, thick gouges wrapped around his arm, creeping up into his sleeve. What the fuck? Some are pale, simple surface scars easily stitched up, but the rest...
The veins travelling up his arm are tinged black, running under the dark mark. He lifts his other hand slowly, swiping it over the mark, but nothing changes. His skin is still branded by hatred. He's still a deatheater. He still took it.
Time seems to slow as he moves, slumping down onto his side; his arm splayed out in front of him. The buzzing of the lights grows louder, drowning out the Healer but not enough to muffle Regulus' stream of thoughts.
He'd quite like to wake up now.
Potter is back in the room when Regulus comes back to his body. His hand is wrapped around Regulus', pulled up to his mouth to place kisses onto every now and then, a steady stream of comfort. Potter's thumb rubs against the ring on Regulus' finger, a thin, silver band with a deep green stone embedded into it. It spins slowly as Potter fiddles with it, catching on the light. When did he get that?
The room is otherwise empty, just Regulus, Potter and the buzzing lights.
The curtains are drawn now, the same green as the accent wall. Lit only by the fluorescent lights, the room seems sharper, less foggy. Less dream-like. It's now that he registers how uncomfortable the hospital gown is - the papery texture grating against his skin. He frowns automatically, brow tugging as he shifts. Potter huffs a quiet laugh, eyes glinting. "You alright there, baby?"
Again with the baby. Regulus knows Potter is weirdly affectionate, but baby? To Regulus, whom he knows only through Sirius. As someone Sirius hates.
He decides to bypass the confusion, instead wanting to at least be comfortable as he navigates this frankly bizarre scene he's somehow woken up to. "Itchy."
Potter nods like he's expecting this, head tilting to a bag at the end of the bed. "Got you some clothes from home, if you'd prefer those." He hesitates, mouth moving silently for a moment, but seems to give in. "Harry wanted to stay, but it was getting late. I think he- uh- he put a card in there somewhere for you, too."
Harry. Harry, Harry, Harry. Second time he's said that now, once before when the boy-
"Your son?" Regulus asks, tugging his hand away. Potter lets it fall with a dejected look, nodding quietly. Regulus reaches to grab the bag with a groan but Potter beats him to it, pulling it up the bed.
He slumps back as Potter starts looking through the bag, eyes downcast. With little to do, Regulus sighs, crossing his arms-
Dark mark. Deatheater. Veins. Scars.
-lifting the covers slightly to cover his arm, Regulus turns to his side, facing Potter. His face bears his emotions clearly, something sad lingering behind his glasses. There's a scar on his chin, faded and old, but Regulus can't remember that ever being there. He can't remember why Potter looks so- beaten?
"How-" Potter starts, looking up from his search, just as Regulus opens his mouth to talk. His mouth twists into an apology, shuffling awkwardly on his chair. "Sorry, you go."
And that's just wrong. Potter isn't awkward, he isn't ever nervous, he's bloody James Potter. He's the embodiment of ego. Of obnoxious confidence. He certainly doesn't put Regulus' opinion over his own, no matter what alternate universe Regulus lands in.
Regulus frowns, tilting his head in confused curiosity, "Why are you being so weird, Potter?"
Potter shakes his head, "I'm fine." The immediately halts, closing his eyes, "Sorry. You said I should- sorry. I'm just- How much do you remember, Reg? Because you said it was 1978, and the Healer didn't say much and I- I just- you need to- I need you to reme-"
"Stop rambling." Regulus cuts in, rolling his eyes. "What are you on about?"
Slowly, Potter opens his eyes, and it looks like it hurts. He places the bag gently on the floor, turning his body towards him. "I don't know how much the healer told you, love, but you were in a coma." It comes out more as a question, hesitant and wary. Regulus nods slightly, and Potter continues, "She said there was a risk you may have forgotten some things because of the potion, uh- they think it might be worse than they expected."
At no indication of continuing, Regulus lets out a frustrated sigh, "Yeah, I've gathered."
Potter runs a hand through his hair, and Regulus fights the urge to fix the mess left behind. "I can't- I can't bloody do this." He mutters, leg bobbing again.
Fuck that. Honestly fuck that. Regulus scowls, sitting up suddenly and leaning forward. The covers pool at his waist, revealing his scarred arms, but he can't take his eyes off of the idiot in front of him. "No." He snaps, "You don't get to do that, Potter."
"What-"
"Shut up, I'm speaking." Regulus hisses, voice growing sharper. Potter blinks dumbly, cheeks darkening imperceptibly. "I don't give a hippogriff's arse if you can't do this, grow up. I've woken up in a fucking hospital bed, covered in scars that I don't remember getting, but I can feel all the pain that comes with them. I have the- the dark mark branded on my arm, and I should remember joining a fucking cult, but I don't! You keep calling me baby, you have a child, you're- you're being really fucking weird, and I can't remember the last seven years. So until I wake up from whatever sick dream this is, you do not get to wimp out. It's not fair. You don't get to be all awkward and nervous- be your stupid Gryffindor self, and tell me what the hell is happening."
He's gripping Potter's arm now, nails digging into his skin. Regulus' chest rises rapidly, sending spikes of pain through his torso that he can't help but wince at.
That, at least, seems to snap Potter out of it. "Okay. Okay, b- Regulus. I'll explain everything, just sit back- you're supposed to be resting." He says softly, prying Regulus' hand off him.
"No! Tell me what's going on." Regulus shouts, throwing his hand up, which only leads to another bout of pain.
Potter winces in tandem, "Love, please, you need to be careful, the potion aggravated your scars-"
"Stop that! Stop acting like you care! We don't know eachother, Potter." He bites, eyes narrowing. Potter's face twists with hurt, and Regulus can make out the red rim around his eyes.
The door opens then, and as if it couldn't get any worse, Sirius steps through the doorway. He's aged, dark circles under his eyes, but he's obviously Sirius - the same long, dark hair tied into a bun with his wand stupidly stuck through it, that's sure to go wrong someday. There are new tattoos running up his arms, some sort of runes on his shoulder. His pale eyes are frantic, scanning the scene for the threat.
Lupin is behind him, a hand on his arm. He's gained a lot more scars in the seven years Regulus is missing, a particularly brutal one on his neck. Though, Regulus supposes, he's in no place to judge for scars. Despite the new scars and a weary, old look in his eye, Lupin seems so similar to his eighteen year old self that it's almost comforting.
Still, it doesn't help the ever growing panic that's started to settle in Regulus. "Oh Merlin, you're all here. It's like the four horsemen of the apocalypse, should I be expecting Pettigrew too?" He says derisively, looking pointedly anywhere but his brother.
"That's not funny, Reggie." Sirius says, brow furrowing.
Regulus scowls in return, "Don't call me that." His face is sure to start hurting from all the frowning, but he can't stop when everyone around him is idiotic. "And what is not funny? Please, educate me, Sirius, because I'm really fucking lost right now."
"Regulus, lay back down." Sirius diverts, walking to the side of the bed, opposite Potter. The pair share a look and Potter subtly shakes his head. "Don't be a stubborn prat."
"Fuck you." Regulus replies, "Are any of you going to explain anything or are you going to keep skirting around it?"
"Reg," Sirius starts, looking hesitant. He looks quickly to Potter, then lands back on Regulus, eyes considerably wearier. "We'll explain everything, I promise-"
"Your promises are worthless to me." He retorts, "They mean n-"
"The date is the 27th of October 1985. You are twenty four years old, turning twenty five in December. The war ended on the 31st of October 1981 with your help. Though, you didn't get away unscathed, you and your family were attacked that night, it ended with Voldemort's death. You're essentially a war hero for that. You were marked in the summer of 1978, i'm not sure if you remember that, but shortly after you asked Sirius for help. You became a spy for the Order, handed over information from inside Voldemort's highest ranks. An incident where you discovered something major, but went alone, is what left you with those scars, and is what uncovered you to the deatheaters. After that, you stayed with the Order. That was at the end of 1979. Peter betrayed us, and... you. That is why he is taboo." Remus states plainly, hands in his pockets. At Sirius' glare, he shrugs, "He needs to know."
Regulus settles back into the headboard slowly, processing the information. He closes his eyes, blocking out the strange looks he keeps getting from Potter, and picks his words apart. Eventually he lands on one thing. Family. "My family?" He asks, eyes still clamped shut.
"You're married." Remus says calmly as if he isn't dropping some bomb on Regulus' state of mind. "You and your husband started dating whilst you were spying for the Order, 16th of March 1979, to be exact- he wouldn't shut up about it. He's a right sap, but he loves you. A lot. Wrote you more love letters than you could count, always dotted the I's with hearts, all that shit. Your, uh, your son was-"
His eyes dart back open, piercing Remus with a wide look. "I have a son?"
Remus smiles gently, though his eyes are uncertain as they look between him, Sirius and Potter. "Yeah. He was born on the 31st of July, 1981. He was involved in a prophecy, it sent you and your husband into hiding. You got married after the war, August 23rd 1982, Sirius wouldn't stop crying. Bit embarrassing." He laughs.
"Oi!"
Remus hums, ignoring Sirius. His eyes flick to Regulus, who is desperately trying to process all of it.
"I'm... married. I have a kid." Regulus repeats, fiddling with his ring. "Like- biological?"
He nods, "Yep. Don't know if you've noticed but you had top surgery as well. Your husband basically begged you to get it after you kept passing out from the binding, you'd refused before that because you had a phase where you were terrified of hospitals. After- uhm, after an attack on St Mungo's during the war."
"Right." Regulus breathes, eyes stuck to the covers. He stays like that for a moment before shaking his head, "No. I- no, I don't believe you."
Remus' eyebrows fly up, and he leans his shoulder against the doorway, bracing. "About?"
"Any of it." He replies, slightly breathless. "You've got to be fucking with me. I can't have missed a whole war. I can't have missed the whole birth of my child. I wouldn't have- I wouldn't have done that, I've never wanted kids, let alone wanted to have them myself. Is this one of your stupid pranks?"
He looks to Potter, who's still watching him with a dejected expression. To Sirius, who seems wary. And Lupin, who furrows his brow. "Reg..."
"Nope." He decides, pushing the covers away. "No. No. Can't be happening." Regulus says, voice rising with each word as he stumbles out of bed. "Where's my wand?"
Potter stands with him, a gentle hand fitting to his waist easily. "Regulus..."
"Off, Potter." He says, swatting at him. "I need to- to wake up somehow." His voice cracks, heat pooling behind his eyes. "I want to go home."
Nevermind the fact that he hasn't had a home since Sirius ran away, Regulus just needs out. Away from these lunatics. Merlin, he'd suspect this of Sirius and Potter, but Lupin? He wouldn't be so cruel. He just needs to find someone sane, Evan, perhaps. Or Barty, though Regulus isn't so sure Barty is sane sometimes. Would Dorcas and Pandora come to his rescue despite their estrangement?
"Where- where's Barty?" Regulus asks, stumbling to a halt as the IV pulls at his arm. "I want to see Barty. Or- or Dorcas."
The room seems to wince, lights flickering as the same solemn expression falls on all three of them. Confused at the silence, Regulus frowns, doing his best to will the teetering tears not to fall. "No? What- what's that look supposed to mean?"
Potter looks heartbroken, his own eyes glossy. His hands balance in front of Regulus, ready to catch him at a moment's notice. He's got a ring on his ring finger, gold, complimenting his skin tone. So he's married, makes sense, with the kid thing- Oh. No way.
"Fucking hell." He says, falling back onto the bed. He turns to Sirius, "I married Potter?"
Sirius, eyes full of tears, snorts. Snorts of all things. He giggles, hand clamping around his mouth. Makes the most sense out of everything so far, honestly. Sirius had laughed his way through their grandfather's funeral, always during uncomfortable situations.
Regulus sniffs, wiping a hand over his face. "I've gone insane. I've actually- gone insane."
"Reggie..." Sirius whispers, shuffling closer. He's smiling, still unable to fully stifle his hysterics.
"No," Regulus whines, face crumpling. The burn in his eyes matches the burning pain in his arms, and tears start to spill. Slowly at first, "I'm- I'm supposed to hate Potter." Before he knows it, he's sobbing. Messy. Not a word he'd usually use to describe himself. "I can't- can't m- marry him, Siri!"
Sirius sighs, pulling him into a tight hug, and for the first time in years, Regulus lets him. He cries into his shoulder, oblivious to the world around him, still going on about their days. Regulus just clings to his brother and begs for comfort. "I wanna go home, please. Please let me go home. This isn't- isn't funny."
The lights are still buzzing tirelessly. A clock is ticking somewhere in the room. The door clicks shut. Bed sheets rustle. Regulus cries, and starts to think that maybe he won't wake up from this one.
☆
Regulus is sleeping, finally calm after what felt like an eternity of tears. He's still wrapped around Sirius, even in sleep, and James finds himself wondering if this is what it was like when they were small, still stuck in that house. Despite their reconciliation when Regulus started spying for the Order, though it took months of hard work, not once has James seen them cling to eachother like this. Not even after Dorcas' death, where Regulus had locked himself up in their house for weeks. James had had to force him to eat when he slipped into catatonic. He can't imagine what it's going to be like when he's reminded of it.
James knows that the Regulus in front of him is technically his Regulus, but he can't help but long for the man who remembers him. Who chose him, despite the war. Despite Sirius.
He rubs at his face, sighing when his hand comes back wet. He sniffs, twisting the ring on his finger. Gold with embedded rubies, matching Regulus' silver and emerald. James was scared it'd be tacky when he bought them, the Gryffindor and Slytherin colour schemes, but Regulus had just laughed, smiling that soft, secret twist of his lips he does only for James.
"Prongs?"
"Hm?" He breathes, distractedly. Sirius and Remus are both watching him when he looks up, each with varying levels of pity. "I'm fine." He says automatically. Immediately, he winces at his reply.
"You know, saying you're fine isn't going to make me believe it. You keep putting everyone else's feelings above your own. You're allowed to feel, too, James."
"I'll be fine." He amends, "Eventually." It doesn't feel like enough to satiate the growing pain in his chest however, so he allows himself this. "He- He hates me. What do I do with that? I made him cry."
Remus shakes his head adamantly, "You didn't make him cry. He was shocked, is all. Imagine waking up and everything you've ever known has changed... drastically. Reg's mind is still his seventeen-year-old self, the one who still resents you, but he doesn't hate you. He's never hated you, remember?"
"I don't think I ever hated you, Potter. I was mad for a while. You were everything Sirius wanted in a brother, and not only did I envy your relationship with him, but for a while, I had a bit of gender envy. You were... perfect. And I was me. I suppose it just stuck after a while - that resentment."
James knows this now. Obviously. But it took a while for Regulus to realise himself, and James is nervous about restarting with the Regulus who was so emotionally repressed that it took him months to differentiate the emotions. "He still thinks he hates me, though."
"Well, we'll teach him otherwise." Sirius offers hopefully, "We'll help him figure it out."
"Whilst he's mourning the deaths of three of his best friends? And his parents? And basically the last seven years? More than?" James retorts sharply, wincing at his own tone. "Sorry."
Nearer the end, Regulus had isolated himself in the deatheaters, speaking only to those he had to. He stayed quiet, lingering, acting as the Dark Lord's personal potioneer. Meanwhile, Barty had thrown himself all in, almost gleeful to go out killing muggles and muggleborn alike. Regulus defended him even now, said that he had his reasons for the insanity. The same Regulus also said that Barty would never have left, even given the choice, not without Evan. Evan, on the other hand, James could stand the talk of more. Evan was gentler, as gentle as willing deatheaters can be. For all that Regulus was the supplier and Barty the soldier, Evan was the strategist, worming his way into the ministry one promotion at a time. He climbed the ministry ranks easily, much more skilled in social strategy than in the field. That's what got him killed, when the Dark Lord decided to go against his own rules and attack the hospital, which had previously been a neutral site. They called everyone in for it, Evan included.
Regulus had come back from the attack hollower, still desperate to cling to the idea that his friends weren't monsters. Then came the Order meeting. One look at Moody, at the magic eye replacing the one Evan had torn out, and Regulus went from empty to furious. Moody almost lost his other eye that day.
After Evan, Barty got more reckless, and Regulus realised he was helpless.
"He used the cruciatus curse on children, Jamie. Children. He was never so cruel before. I don't know who he is now."
Dorcas was...
"Love, please. Please, you need to get up. Regulus!"
Dorcas' death hurt. He won't get into that now.
"Don't apologise." Remus says, "You're allowed to be angry, James-"
You're allowed to feel, too, James.
"-be angry for yourself. And for Regulus. And for Harry."
James presses a hand to his chest, the pressure distracting him from the panic rising beneath it. "What am I gonna tell Haz?"
Sirius considers this, one hand running through Regulus' curls. "You tell him the truth. That Reg can't remember, so he needs his help to do so."
"And if he asks when Reg will get his memory back?"
He shrugs slightly, "Same thing, the truth. Just don't lie to him, it'll end up horribly. Trust me. I once told Regulus that the dog I brought into the house would be fine just to keep him happy. Walburga made us watch it burn."
Jesus Christ. Every time James thinks he's heard everything the Blacks did, one of the brothers tells him something new. Usually it's Sirius, who talks much more flippantly about his trauma. Regulus took years and a postpartum breakdown for him to even breach the topic of his parents.
"What if I end up like her? Or- or I'm a horrid parent? What if I hurt him, Jamie?"
Even when Walburga and Orion died, Regulus refused to talk about it. It's not like he had much time, with a war at its peak and a baby due in a few weeks. Still, James knows that Regulus' relationship with his parents had its differences from Sirius', and their grief was vastly different. Now, without Regulus' breakaway from the Blacks, James wonders how he will grieve them when he finds out.
"You can't compare those, Pads. A dead dog or his dad forgetting him." James points out, eager to take his mind off the evil warlords that were his in-laws.
"You get my point," Sirius says simply, going back to Regulus' hair.
James and Remus share a look, eyebrows raised, but decide to leave it. James would figure it out. Hopefully.
They sit in silence for a while, just taking everything in. There's a steady buzz from the lights that James is only just noticing, and he frowns, knowing it must've agitated Regulus. He hates overhead lights like this, the clinical buzzing that's sure to grate on his ears. Regulus prefers silence most of the time, or music, and he'll make an exception for the humming of James' voice as he's falling asleep, but he hates white noise, or the sound of a fan, or well, buzzing. It was a nightmare when they had Harry in their room the first couple months after he was born, what with Regulus waking up to every little sound.
James is surprised he hasn't woken up now, but he supposes this is also an exception.
"Are you going back home tonight?" Remus asks tiredly.
James hesitates. He's been spending most of his time by Regulus' side, sometimes bringing Harry along like he did today. Now, however, James knows that if Regulus wakes up, he won't be wondering where James is. And anyway, he needs to go talk to his son. So, James gives a weary sigh, "Yeah, Harry's at my parents', so I might crash there."
"I'm staying here," Sirius says quietly, body folded against the headboard in a way that's sure to be uncomfortable, but means Regulus is comfortable against his chest. "I don't want him to be alone."
"Okay," James says, "Let me know how he is when he wakes up, okay? I'll be back tomorrow anyhow."
"Okay."