Chapter Text
“We never should’ve let Sirius go with him,” Regulus said, still feeling the pattering in his heart, thumping over and over again.
“I promise,” James replied, somewhat distracted. “Sirius is fine. He’s done it dozens of times before. Hundreds.”
He’d explained Sirius was an animagus, too. It made sense to Regulus. Another part of Sirius’ other family that clicked perfectly into place, with all the other facts. Animagus.
They’d done it in their fifth year. His stupid brother, and his stupid friends.
Sirius had gone in the cell an hour ago, though, just as Remus had transformed, and if it didn’t work—if the wolf still hurt him, as a dog—it wouldn’t matter any-more. Sirius was either dead, or he was alive.
“It helps Remus, you know,” James continued. He’d been distracted since the two of them had disappeared into the cell, a faraway look in his eyes. “Sirius being in there. It comforts the Wolf.”
Regulus couldn’t figure out how to hide the concern from his face. He was too tired for occlumency. “He’s still a beast.”
James flinched. “I know. I know, but—”
He cut himself off. Regulus could assume where the rest of the sentence was going. But he’s Remus. But he’s my friend. It was a strange reminder. All of them in the same room, again. It all felt so different from the past year, from the way he’d been with James.
They were coming up on that, now. On November. One year since Regulus was pulled out of that dreaded cave, and it was no different from even that very first day. There was still the Horcrux to destroy, and Voldemort to kill.
He supposed he had James now, though. Whatever they were.
“It’s Remus,” Regulus finished, instead of James. “I know. Things are different for you.”
Something flinched on James’ face. “Right. Different.”
The faraway look came back. Regulus wondered if it was from the lack of sleep, or the wears of the day. It’d been so long : the box, and then Remus, and now this. The waiting. Regulus wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait, though he knew it was important. So much could go wrong, and he was the one who needed to open the cell again—
“Sleep.”
James’ voice interrupted his trailing thoughts. Regulus looked up at him, from where he was sitting. James had been pacing the room back and forth, his boots heavy across the floorboards. Regulus was thinking about it, now, thinking about the fact that it was so easy for him to walk through the house with ease. He still had to remind himself that his mother was no-longer lurking around the corner, his father no-longer slumped over the living room chair with a glass of neat whiskey.
“I can’t,” Regulus answered, leaning against his hand, perched upon the arm of the velvet couch. Barty and Evan had been sitting there, just hours earlier, celebrating their re-capture of the box. Now, Regulus couldn’t celebrate. He could only worry.
(The two of them didn’t seem to have that problem. They’d taken one of the guest bedrooms upstairs, choosing instead to sleep away the rest of the night. Regulus had told them they could leave, but they’d refused.
“We’re not leaving,” Evan had insisted.
Regulus wasn’t sure if it was out of protection, or suspicion.)
“I can’t,” Regulus replied. “What if—”
James whirled on him. “Nothing’s going to happen. I’ll be right here,” he stated. “I’ll wake you up before sunrise.”
Before James had finished speaking, Regulus felt something release within his chest. There was still so much to do—so much they hadn’t gone over. The box. Remus. Sirius’ meeting. Bellatrix, even.
It could wait until morning, though, couldn’t it?
A smile pulled across the left corner of James’ mouth, though the other half of his face remained flat, as though he were protecting the other half of himself. Something Regulus couldn’t see.
With the smile, Regulus finally allowed himself permission to drift off.
“Promise?” He muttered, eyes closed. Before James could respond, though, Regulus was already asleep.
‡
Regulus woke to air on his skin.
He fluttered his eyes open. He’d fallen asleep draped across the couch. In his mind, his mother’s voice chastised him for such filth—but only in his mind. Instead, the only noise in the room was the slow sweep of the wind, a pair of curtains breathing through the opened doorway.
James was nowhere to be found.
In alarm, Regulus opened his mouth, but his voice only came out in a croak, instead of James’ name. He stood to his feet instantly, heart already alarming in his chest.
It was not yet sunrise. Instead, it was the time just before, when the sky was glowing in blue. In the haze, Regulus could see a silhouette upon the balcony, illuminated with a fading night sky. There were no stars around him, nothing but blue.
James.
“You said you’d wake me up,” Regulus stated. He took a careful step upon the balcony, before he realised his shoes were gone, and decided to remain behind the doors, opened into the morning air.
James had removed them, and placed them by the foot of the couch. Regulus didn’t remember the action in his deep sleep, but he could almost imagine it; James, carefully pulling away his own boots from Regulus’ feet, one-by-one, before brushing his hair out of his eyes, off his face. Touch of gold.
“It’s still dark,” James answered, glancing behind him. He was wearing the plaid coat again, and Regulus wondered just how far into November they were. How long ago it was that he’d seen that coat for the first time. Made a joke about it. Seen the edges of a smile crack across James’ war-worn face.
“Not for much longer.”
“We’ll need to wait, anyhow,” James studied Regulus’ face. “If we open it too soon, we’re all dead.”
Regulus knew James was right, but he didn’t say so. Instead, he wandered back to his boots, and slipped them onto his feet, lacing them tight. He no-longer had to worry about making noise in the house; it was a constant reminder for him, something to hold onto. Something good about Grimmauld Place, for once.
When he rejoined James at the balcony, draping his arms over it, he realised James was holding an unlit cigarette, between his fingertips. Regulus gave him a questioning look.
It didn’t take long for James to answer, knowing what it was that Regulus wanted to ask, without the words being spoken aloud.
“Sirius used to tell me he snuck out here sometimes. To smoke.”
Regulus nodded. He remembered hearing the floorboards creaking. Following Sirius down them one night, infinitely quieter than his brother, who still walked through Grimmauld with heavy feet, even when he knew what it earned him. He’d found Sirius out on the balcony, eyes gazing up at the sky, smoke coming from his head, rising in a plume around his hair. The smell was always gone by the time he came back in the house, but Regulus liked to think there was something about that moment he’d managed to steal from his brother.
He never told Walburga. Regulus wasn’t entirely sure why, though he felt it had something to do with the fact that the smell of cigarettes always hung around the Lupin boy, and Regulus recognised the look in Sirius’ eye. Out on that balcony, it was the very same one Regulus saw at school, from across the Great Hall. Regulus was not envious of it, not in any way. It was entirely unlike the look Sirius gave James Potter.
No, the look Sirius had for Lupin was different. A bit unfamiliar. And, for some part of Regulus, one he hadn’t been ready to confront when he was younger, it was a little too familiar.
“He did,” Regulus confirmed.
He watched as James rolled the cigarette between his pointer finger and his thumb, slowly, as though he were contemplating lighting it. Then, he relaxed his hand suddenly, the cigarette disappearing a moment, before he tucked it away in a small box, hidden beneath the railing. Out of Walburga’s sight.
What are you thinking about? Regulus wanted to ask. He didn’t, of course, but the question managed to make it all the way up his throat, to the very tip of his tongue. It was his teeth that caught it, and it came out instead in a hum of affirmation.
“I suppose now it’s obvious he was doing it for Remus,” James continued.
Regulus wrinkled his eyebrows together. “For Remus?”
“A reminder, maybe,” James said. In the early light, when his eyes flicked over Regulus’ own, they looked almost black. “I forgot what it was like to do that. To hold onto people when they aren’t there.”
And then the blood in Regulus’ body started rushing, a little more.
“He was, what?” Regulus asked. “Doing it as a reminder?”
He already knew the answer, though. Sirius did it because for a brief moment, he could surround himself with Remus. He could look at the moon, and see Remus, and smoke a cigarette, and taste Remus, and breathe death, and smell him.
Regulus wondered if James would ever do that for him. Would find something to practise for Regulus’ memory.
(Regulus knew he would for James. Knew he already did. Knew that he took bits and pieces of James and clung to them when the real thing disappeared. Sweaters, and knives, and chai. It was already happening, and James knew nothing of it.
He wondered if it was a blood thing. A Black thing. If the two of them were just like that; clinging to the sensory to replace the memory.)
“More than that,” James answered. “He’s reliving it.”
Regulus set his jaw. The thought of Lily Evans brushed into his mind, with emerald eyes and fire-bright hair, and Regulus pushed it away.
“Do you think that’s possible?” Regulus asked. It wasn’t the true question. Who do you re-live, James?
Standing so close to James, Regulus was a bit afraid of the answer.
James nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think it’s very possible.”
Then, James’ hand reached up, and brushed the back of his neck, ever so slightly. His eyes flicked away from Regulus in the movement, and then when his palm was back with its match, the deep, black gaze came back, meeting Regulus’ once more. There was something in his eyes. Something he was thinking about, that he wasn’t telling Regulus.
“Right,” Regulus said.
And then there wasn’t much more to say after that. The sun had just started crowning over the horizon, and James sighed, and pushed away from the railing, and when Regulus didn’t immediately follow, James glanced ever so slightly over his shoulder, until Regulus was following. As always.
‡
Cutting his hand the second time was easy. James handed him the knife carefully, his blood from the night before wiped away, the blade shining with silver.
“Careful,” James said, when Regulus raised it to his palm, and then gave a look that showed he immediately regretted it.
“A bit counter to the point, isn’t it?” Regulus stated, before he sliced lightly. He grazed just the first couple layers of skin, just enough to draw blood. It would heal on its own, without magic, within the hour, but James still gave him a concerned look. Regulus could feel it, from the corner of his eye.
James didn’t say anything in reply. Instead, he cast a tempus, and then gave a nod towards the barrier in front of them. Regulus could see his own reflection, staring back at him. On the doorway was the impression of his handprint from the night before, the blood dried.
Cautiously, Regulus pressed his hand to the same spot, old blood intermingling with new, and waited.
#
Remus woke cold. The memory of Lily had been on his mind constantly, as if she were haunting him. She was the first thing to greet him in the morning, before any of his other memories.
“Barty,” Lily had said. “Sirius was with—”
He filed it away within the context of his old memory, the conversation that’d happened at the Camden apartment. Dumbledore’s stolen memory had been marred by the trauma of a younger Remus, fractured by a mind already broken.
With it back in his head, Remus could start to repair the pieces. The jumble of names he had yet to remember. The fearful look in her eye. How she’d survived.
“Moony?”
The voice came from next to him, tired. Sirius.
Remus tried to say it aloud, but nothing came from his tongue when he opened his mouth. It felt dry, as if he’d been screaming. Perhaps he had been screaming; Remus never remembered, and never wanted to.
I’m right here, Sirius said, through the mind-bond. Somehow, it still worked. Remus was lucky it still worked.
You always are.
Remus wasn’t sure if that was good. Wasn’t sure if the two of them ought to be this dependent, even years after they’d gone their separate ways. Wasn’t sure why he wanted to listen to Sirius’ voice, rather than Dumbledore’s.
The room was still completely dark. It was lucky. Remus had shredded his clothes in the transformation. In the darkness, he didn’t feel exposed. Not physically, at least.
You’re shivering, Sirius said.
Remus hadn’t noticed. But then there was something coming closer to him, and then Remus realised it was Padfoot, curling under his arm. He twisted until he was in a ball, held close to Remus’ chest, and then sighed. For a moment, Remus waited, content. It felt as if he were back home, with Sirius curled next to him.
It came in a fleeting thought, that he wouldn’t let this go. Remus dismissed it just as quickly, but it still thrummed in his mind. Sirius. Home. Something primal. Something perfect.
Then, the room filled with the light of a lumos.
‡
James was the first one to go in. He pulled an extra set of robes he’d brought from the upstairs, and brought it to the huddled form in the corner. The exchange between the two of them was silent, with James wrapping Remus in the robes. Regulus averted his eyes anyway—it seemed wrong to look, as though he were intruding upon a vulnerable moment.
Regulus then reminded himself that it was a vulnerable moment. It was something James and Sirius had done a hundred times, over many moons.
After a few moments, Remus stood to his full height, dressed in a pair of Cygnus’ old robes—the only sort that would fit him. James pulled back for a moment, and it was then that Regulus noticed the dog, still huddled in the corner where Remus had just stood from. For a moment, it sat panting, and then it stood from its hind legs, and bounded towards Regulus.
“Sirius?” He whispered. The dog whined in affirmation.
Then, in the blink of an eye, it was Sirius walking towards Regulus, no-longer the dog.
“Don’t look so surprised, Reg,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. He was free of injuries, and had a grin spread around his face, the happiest he’d looked in a long time.
Regulus feigned a shrug, though he still was stunned, internally. “‘M not.”
Whispers began to drift from the corner, and Regulus snapped his eyes back to James, carefully watching Lupin’s actions. Even if he was no longer a werewolf, he was still a threat. Someone who could wield magic against James. Salazar knows he’s done it to Sirius, Regulus thought, thinking of the way his brother had his eyes screwed in pain just a few hours before.
The whispers stopped, then, and Remus turned his attention to the doorway, where Regulus still had his hand held against the invisible stone, only solid beneath his fingertips. He scanned Regulus up and down, and then did the same to Sirius, his expression softening as he did so.
Still, he walked out of the cell without a word, James following suit.
“He said he has something to tell us,” James said.
“Us?” Regulus asked. “Or you?”
James’ expression faltered. “I—”
It was clear, though, from the way Remus kept walking down the hallway, not bothering to look in Regulus’ direction, that he’d meant James. Whatever he wanted to say, it wasn’t for Regulus’ ears.
Regulus shouldn’t have expected anything else, though. However many years separated James and Remus and Sirius, he couldn’t make all of it up in the span of a single year. It was something Regulus could just—tell. No matter how apprehensive Remus appeared, he still trusted James and Sirius. Even after all this time.
Sirius lingered back by Regulus as the two of them watched James ascend the stairs, hot on Remus’ heels. James was eager to hear whatever it was, and he gave only a sparing glance to Regulus as he disappeared up the stairwell, eyes scanning over him with sheepishness.
Regulus didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Instead of following, though, he turned his attention back to the cell. His hand was still placed over the stone, no-longer smooth under his touch. His blood had dried upon his palm, intermingling from that of the night before. It was dark within, but Regulus still felt some sort of desire to enter. To explore.
“What are you thinking?” Sirius asked.
His eyes followed Regulus’ into the depths of the cell, where they’d just emerged from. The thought had just appeared suddenly, to Regulus, and drawn him in.
“I wonder—”
Regulus took a step forward, his foot crossing over the threshold into the cell. Then, cautiously, he released his fingers from their perch, wondering whether the doorway would close entirely.
It didn’t.
Sirius gave him a confused look, until Regulus cast a lumos and illuminated the room in soft, blue light. He was simply curious about something—curious about the cell.
“What are you—”
“—Look,” Regulus interrupted. His eyes were fixed on the stone walls. Remus had transformed in here, and yet there wasn’t a scratch on them. Sirius’ eyes went to the walls too, scanning them over.
“But,” Sirius started. “He’d—”
“Scratched at them?” Regulus asked.
The walls were smooth, and black, like the doorway. Sirius’ eyes traced over them with suspicion, looking for something—anything that was evidence of Remus spending the night there.
Regulus wondered for a moment how it was that Sirius came out of the night unscathed. Not a scratch on him. But, he supposed it was inexplicable. Not unless he was in the room. Not unless Regulus witnessed it with his own eyes.
“What are you thinking?”
Sirius whispered it this time, barely discernible, even in the relative quiet of the cell.
On the black stone, Regulus’ fingertips slipped. It was impossibly smooth, and if Remus’ claws had been sharp enough to cut through, it wasn’t visible on the surface.
“I’m thinking that this room is more than just a cell.”
In his ears, Regulus’ blood was rushing with the beat of his heart, in a low, thump, thump, thump.
Sirius didn’t say anything. Down the hall, though, the sound of voices began to echo, and a shout that Regulus knew to be James’ voice.
His fingers snapped away from the wall, and Regulus turned back to look at Sirius, and the doorway, for the source of the commotion.
The expression on Sirius’ face was grave. “Reg, now really isn’t the best time for—”
“For what?”
Regulus felt his occlumency wards creeping up again. Some sort of protective layer.
“Theories,” Sirius replied hastily.
Something had creeped over his face, just in a few moments. The voices from down the hall grew louder, echoing into the cell itself.
The look in James’ eye came to the forefront of Regulus’ mind, suddenly. The one from earlier that day, as though he’d been suspicious of something.
And the memory of last night was thick, too. Difficult to parse through, though not impossible. Sirius, seconds before Remus had transformed. “Li—”
It struck Regulus, at once.
“Sirius,” he asked. “What did Remus need to tell James?”
Sirius looked haunted in response. “It’s—Reg, remember that it’s been—”
“What did he tell James?” Regulus repeated. “What did—what happened?”
Tears were suddenly appearing in Sirius’ eyes. The occlumency prevented them from appearing in Regulus’ own.
“Reg, we don’t know for certain if she’s—”
Regulus grit his teeth. “What. Happened.”
It was then that Remus appeared in the doorway. His eyes were fixed only upon Sirius, though when his gaze fell over Regulus, there was a touch of sympathy within it.
I don’t need your sympathy, Regulus thought, and he started for the door.
He didn’t make it far, though, before James appeared too, hovering just below the arch. Just beyond the total darkness of the cell.
The thought struck Regulus at once. He’s going to leave. There’s something to do with Lily, and he’s going to leave.
“We’ll give you a moment,” Sirius said.
Regulus hated that he knew what the first words from James’ mouth would be.
“Lily,” James started, in a rasping breath. “Lily’s alive.”
* * *
“Just until we find—”
James explained that it would be short. That it was Lily and Harry, from Remus’ memory. That Remus thought the two of them needed to at least try. Remus had an idea of how they could track her, but he couldn’t do it without James.
James wouldn’t have told Regulus. Would’ve let Lily disappear into his past, folded into his memory like everything else before the war. But it wasn’t Lily that he thought of, first. For Harry, James knew he needed to try.
(It burned in his chest. The memory. Burned like a beacon of hope; something in James’ life that he’d learned to leave behind a long time ago. And it wasn’t that he wanted it back—it wasn’t. But he wanted something. It lived in his chest, as if it were breathing. Something inexplicable. Hope.)
Remus had explained it plainly: Dumbledore had stolen the memory, thinking he’d be able to find Lily. And, according to the memory (and the fact that this was Lily ), Harry would be with her. He had to be.
James’ son was alive. He’d been alive after he’d supposedly been blown up on Halloween, at least, and James owed it to himself to try.
As he explained it to Regulus, though, James couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all. Couldn’t figure out what was turning in Regulus’ mind; some other plan, some other calculation. His occlumency wards were up, and James was begging for him to pull them back down. Let me in, he thought. Let me in.
Or: come with me. Come with me.
‡
Regulus didn’t understand. Or, worse, he did.
“Just until we find her.”
(He understood perfectly well that this was the way it was. Lily was gone, until she wasn’t, and now James could run back to her, as if he were water. Easily. Regulus was anything but easy. Regulus was a lot. He knew that.)
When James finished, Regulus turned to him, as though they could have a conversation about it. As though the decision weren’t already made. As though James weren’t about to do the very thing that Regulus feared; an ever-constant loop in his mind, ever since last November, ever since he was sixteen.
And he knew. He knew that James was about to walk out of that door, turn on his heels and leave Regulus for the life James had supposedly abandoned.
Even when James was looking at him like that. Full of sorrow. Full of knowledge.
James knew, too. What was about to happen next. And slowly, the rest of the room seemed to fall away—Remus and Sirius, communicating amongst themselves, retreating out the door silently.
It was written all over James’ face, what this meant. What it really was, that he was feeling, the opposite of heartbreak. Regulus wondered if it was blooming in his chest, something new, something that one got so little of in the war. Hope. Was James hoping that…that—
He didn’t let himself think about it. Didn’t let himself think about how much his chest lurched at the thought of James walking away and back into Lily Evan’s arms.
Regulus thought that James had already taken everything from him. That there wasn’t anything that Regulus could do to give himself up to it anymore. And now he was realising that there was something there, deep down, that James had yet to take.
Rage seemed to bubble up in his chest.
“Lion, I—”
“Don’t, James,” Regulus said, cutting him off. He gripped the blackthorn wand tighter.
James gave him a look, beginning to open his mouth before he closed it again. “I have to, Reg. Just—for my—”
“Stop calling me that,” Regulus snapped, an ache forming in his chest.
“What? Regulus, I just—I have to do this. For—.”
And that much was true. There was so very little for James to fight for, in this war. He used to have a wife and a son to fight for. Now he just had Regulus. But if he could get back what he had before…
“You could do anything else.”
Regulus couldn’t blame him.
James’ gaze hardened. “We both know that’s not true. You know, Reg, you know—”
Regulus nodded, feeling tears starting to prick his eyes. “I don’t know what you expect from me, James.”
Something softened in James’ face. As though he were suddenly realising that the situation had a newer gravity than before; one that only Regulus had known.
He opened his mouth once more, and then shut it again. Nothing to say. He was going to go find Lily, and his son, and find them and bring them back and Regulus would be the one left alone, again.
“Come with me,” James said, suddenly.
No, Regulus thought instantly. That was not the way it worked. James didn’t get to have his cake and eat it too—he didn’t get Regulus complacent, Regulius giving up his mission. He got all of it, or he got nothing.
This was still war.
“No,” Regulus said. “No James, that is not fair. I will not let you pick me over her, not when—”
(Not when it was all fake. Not when James could just cast him aside so easily, as though he were a ragdoll left out, and James had played with him for some time, and now he was bored and sticking him back in a box. Back in the closet, again. And Regulus would wait. And he would wait for James to come back and play with him again. And it would never happen, because he’d have Lily.)
“This isn’t a choice. I’m not choosing her.”
“Yes,” Regulus repeated. “You do. You always have a choice, and I know who you’re choosing.”
“You haven’t even asked me to choose,” James replied, voice coming out pathetic.
Regulus shook his head. He wouldn’t do it. He’d done it once, before, and it’d brought them right back here. Don’t go. Don’t go. Don’t go , he wanted to say, wanted to scream.
He didn’t.
“Ask me to choose,” James continued. “Regulus, please.”
Regulus scanned his eyes up and down James, feeling as though he were taking the littlest bit of power back.
He shook his head.
“I need to—”
And then, James—he sunk down, slowly, eyes trained on Regulus the entire time. To his knees. His hands hovering over Regulus’ waist.
“I need you to ask me, Regulus. I need you to ask me, because then I’ll be able to tell you the truth.”
Regulus suddenly found he couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak.
“And the truth is—I gave you half of myself, a year ago, when I stayed. And since then, I’ve given you all of me. Every single part of me—you’re holding it in your hands." James was inches from Regulus' waist, hands hovering in the air, encircling him in prayer.
“I can’t leave and not come back. I gave you part of me, and I can never take it back,” James stated.
Regulus took a careful step forward. “You know what you’re saying,” he started. “Right?”
James’ arms wove around his waist. He pulled in, and rested his chin against Regulus’ navel, gazing up at him with wide eyes.
“Ask me who I choose,” he whispered.
Regulus shook his head. He still couldn’t speak.
“I choose you, Reg. You and me.”
Nothing. Regulus gave away nothing—there was nothing—
“I love you.”
It was no more than a whisper. James’ eyes were glistening under the firelight. Regulus didn’t think he was supposed to hear it.
Cautiously, Regulus raised a hand to hold the side of James’ face. He pushed the hair back, up, far enough so that he could see all of his face, unobscured.
James loved him. James fucking loved him.
Regulus could feel the tears start to swim in his own eyes, though he didn’t dare to let them fall down his cheeks. They were just—hovering.
James closed his eyes, and then sighed, the warmth of his breath sinking into Regulus' shirt. Regulus took his hand and buried it in James’ curls, pulling a little.
He fucking loved him.
But he was leaving, anyway. He was leaving. He was going to Lily, and to Harry, and he was going to leave Regulus to the wolves.
He fucking loved him.
“Lion?” James asked, muttered into his stomach.
He pulled the hair harder, fist tightening all the way before he dropped the hand entirely. And then they waited at his own sides. Hovering.
“Regulus,” James repeated, this time more frantic. Regulus didn’t look down. He was staring straight ahead, to where the door was. To where Jaems would be walking away, once more, to go back to the life he’d always deserved.
And then a great silence fell over the room. Stifling. And it hit Regulus, that he had said nothing. James said he loved him, and Regulus said nothing back.
He couldn’t.
For a moment, Regulus considered not saying anything at all. Considered allowing James to crumble in the air.
Instead, he spoke only one word. “Go.”
( Don’t go, he wanted to say, like he did last November.)
James knelt for another moment, and Regulus could feel the slight wet of his own tears as they sunk down his cheeks. The only thing lingering was the sound of their breath, intermingling.
Then, slowly, James rose to his feet. When Regulus looked at his face, at last, it had hardened. As if Regulus were back upon a cot, soaking-wet, and James were holding him still. Still holding him.
And then James turned, and walked out the door, his coat sweeping in a plaid of red and gold.
* * *
The back of James’ neck tingled with the winter air.
He didn’t allow himself to cry. He wouldn’t. It was piercing, though; the feeling in his chest, the sound of Regulus’ voice reverberating through him, again and again and again.
Go. Go. Go.
Go, go, go.
Don’t go. Don’t go.
Don’t.
The voices blended. James wasn’t sure which Regulus he was listening to; the one of the night before all this, or the one from last winter. The one who’d asked him to stay.
And then there was his own voice.
I love you.
He didn’t hear it in his mind. James felt it, instead, as a beating in his chest. It was in the place of where his heart should’ve been, carved out for someone else. In his blood.
I love you, I love youIloveyou.
‡
Regulus toyed with the locket’s chain, wrapped around his knuckles tight.
It was mid-November, and outside the air cracked with winter.
He placed the locket squarely in the centre of the cell. Then, he backed away, retreating until his heels were just at the edge of the doorway. The magic was tenuous—one step backwards, and the cell would close completely.
Next to him, Sirius shifted nervously over his feet. It was distracting to Regulus, and so he pulled his already-thick occlumency wards up higher, not wanting to linger on the moment too long.
It was mid-November, and Regulus’ skin stung in the cold.
He raised his wand with a slight caution. The last time he’d done this, he’d nearly died. But the cell was here—a failsafe of his brother’s insistence. And Regulus didn’t need it. He wasn’t going to fail again.
He whispered the word, low. Fiendfyre. Too soft for even Sirius to hear next to him.
This time, Regulus knew he could control it. Knew nothing was in the way. Knew the fire burned in his mind, body, and soul. It raged at once, in a terrible crescendo of heat, engulfing the room in flame. From somewhere in its depths, there was the sound of hissing.
Regulus waited. And waited. And waited. He let the flame burn until the hissing ceased completely, and there was nothing but the sound of flames, climbing higher and higher in the cell, feeding upon nothing but magic and air.
Then, at once, he pulled the spell back. This time, he felt no hesitation with it; no worry that it would burn anything but himself. It turned out that the secret to it was that the fire kept burning, somewhere deep inside of Regulus. Regulus could still feel it all, a flame that kept rekindling, as though it were muscle memory. Some version of James that still lived under his skin.
Regulus shook the thought off. The fire had stopped, and in its place was a locket, burned into nothingness. The silver was scorched into black, and when Regulus stepped into the room, he knew at once that the fiendfyre had extinguished whatever was left of Voldemort’s soul, severed from the rest of him.
It didn’t feel like the fire had stopped, though. With every step towards the locket, Regulus burned.