PART I: REGULUS
They're in his father's garden in Scotland, the sun is out but it isn't too hot, the grass soft underneath them. James's eyes are bright, the tops of his cheeks flushed. He laughs at something Regulus says before leaning forward and nuzzling at his neck. The affection makes Regulus squirm but he doesn't pull away, if anything he leans into it.
The air smells sweet—they picked mint that morning and the scent still lingers on their fingers, their touches. Regulus takes James's hand, holding it above himself, turning it over a few times before pressing a kiss to the inside of his palm—to each of his knuckles. James grins stupidly at him.
Overhead birds twitter and bugs hum and the rest of the world feels very, very far away. They have no one to hide from and nothing to do. Regulus breathes in deep and then exhales, before pressing another kiss to James's wrist, feeling his pulse beat against his lips.
James hums happily, eyes drifting closed. "We should stay here."
"Okay."
"Forever."
"Okay."
Regulus keeps making slow, aimless kisses along James's forearm, enjoying the way it makes his cheeks grow rosier and his lips quirk up. James is a lot like a dog—he loves to wag his tail.
"Tell me more," James says lazily.
"More?"
"Of the story. We were just getting to the good part."
Regulus snorts. "What's the good part, exactly?"
Regulus is pretty sure James opens his eyes just to roll them at him. "The part where Achilles kills Hector, obviously.
Regulus arches his brow. "I thought you liked Hector?"
"Sure, but I also like Achilles kicking ass."
"Uh-huh," Regulus has to bite his lip to keep from laughing, he feels a little delirious right now. Maybe it's the sun. Maybe it's the way that James keeps looking at him.
James taps the toe of his foot against Regulus's heel. "Go on then."
Regulus sighs like it's some big inconvenience but the truth is, he loves telling stories. Always has. They're a kind of magic. They let you be anyone, anywhere, doing anything. He's not sure he would have survived his childhood without stories.
"As Dawn, in saffron robes, rose from the stream of Ocean, bringing light to gods and men," Regulus starts, voice soft, drifting on the breeze. "Thetis reached the ships bearing Hephaestus' gift. She found her beloved son groaning aloud, his arms round Patroclus' body, while his men stood by, weeping bitterly. The shining goddess came and took his hand, saying; 'My child you must let him go, however great your sorrow, and leave him here, dead for all time, slain by the will of heaven. Now, take up instead Hephaestus' marvellous armour, more beautiful than any that ever adorned a man's shoulders."
James scrunches up his nose, the expression so adorable that it actually takes Regulus's breath away, sucking his next words back down his throat.
"I don't think I could do it."
Regulus has to get control of his breathing before he can answer. "Do what?"
"Let you go."
His heart gives a pathetic leap. "Oh?" he has to clear his throat because his voice has grown far too sappy. "Even if I was a dead body?"
"Even then," James says quietly.
The next thing Regulus knows James is rolling on top of him, pining him to the grass. He hovers over Regulus, hair hanging down around his face. Always a mess. Always so lovely. "Even then," James murmurs against his lips.
Regulus lifts himself up, just enough to take James's mouth. Desperately. Needfully. He never has any shame when it comes to James. He feels the weight of the other boy slowly lowering on top of him. You'd think it'd be crushing but it isn't. More like it grounds Regulus. Holds him together, in place, while his pulse races, and every nerve in his body sings.
Don't let me go.
He thinks.
Don't let me go.
Don't let me go.
Don't let me—
"Christ Reg, get the fuck up!"
Something hits Regulus in the face causing him to shoot up, the world swimming around him.
"You're gonna be late for class Prefect," Evan sounds somewhere between annoyed and amused, standing at the foot of Regulus's bed, doing up his shirt.
It takes another few seconds for reality to settle in. Regulus is not in a garden in Scotland. Not being smothered by James Potter. Quite the opposite in fact. He looks down at his lap.
"Did you just throw socks at my me?" he asks, a little indignantly.
Evan smirks. "Might've."
Another, more worrying thought occurs to Regulus. "Are they clean?"
"Oh wow, look at the time, gotta go."
"Oh fuck you," he chucks the dirty socks at Evan's retreating back, the door swinging closed behind him as he cackles on his way down to breakfast.
Regulus sighs, bending his knees and dropping his head into his hands. Trying to settle himself. Slowly his anxieties push their way to the forefront; Dumbledore, James, Macdonald. Happiness leaches out of him like he's made of holes.
No,
he thinks pathetically.
Can't I just have it for a little longer?
He half considers going back to sleep even though he knows he can't.
Grumbling, he forces himself out of bed. Avoiding damp towels and dirty pants as he walks into the bathroom which is, of course, an absolute disaster. Thank God for house elves, they'd probably drown in their own dirty laundry without them. He finds his reflection in the bathroom mirror—hair a mess, eyes too pale to be anything but unsettling.
Little bits and pieces of his dream flicker through his head; gentle sun, fingertips, sweet lips. It fills him up with something warm—something that feels light and comforting and also aches. He sighs, gripping the edge of the counter.
It wasn't real, he has to remind himself. The last time he talked to James they'd been doing damage control not frolicking in a garden. Damage control was all they ever seemed to be doing these days. He scrubs at his face, tired of looking at it, tired of seeing his mother in his expressions. In his eyes.
His shirt sleeve slips up his arm and a quick movement draws his eye—the black tip of a slithering tail. Regulus freezes. Staring at it. He's gotten very good at avoiding his forearm. Avoiding the reality of his situation. He's worried that something has changed in him since this summer, that he's starting to lose himself a little bit. Not that he ever had a particularly firm grasp on who he was in the first place. He only ever feels sure of himself when he's with James.
It's pathetic really, the relief he feels when he tugs his sleeve back down, hiding the Mark from view. It doesn't change anything. Not really. Still, he can't help thinking the same thing he always does:
Just a little more time.
Just a little more time with him.
Please, please please.
He's not even sure who he's asking anymore. Himself? The universe? The rest of the Wizarding World? Please don't start your war yet. I'm not done being loved by him.
Regulus sighs, angry at himself for his stupidity. His weakness. He starts the shower, waiting until the water is scalding before he strips out of his pyjamas and climbs in. Hoping to wash all thoughts of gardens and forevers and love off his skin.
"Alright, today is an exciting day class," Merry-Thought claps her hands together at the front of the room, looking far too chipper for nine in the morning, at least in Regulus's opinion.
"Ooh," Cerci buzzes excitedly beside him. Speaking of too chipper.
Regulus is folded over his desk, chin resting on his arms, potentially regretting his choice of seat partner. He'd refused to sit with Evan and Barty after the sock incident this morning, but he's not sure he can quite stomach Cerci's energy at the moment.
"Now, this is quite a complicated bit of magic but you have proven yourselves to be a very competent class so far this term so I've decided to give it a try. Can anyone tell me what a Patronus is?"
That actually does get Regulus's attention.
"Are we learning how to cast a Patronus?" he murmurs, to no one in particular, but Cerci squeaks beside him.
"Merlin this is gonna be the coolest class ever. My mum can cast a corporeal Patronus, it's a duck."
Regulus blinks, turning to look at her. "Your mother's Patronus is a duck?"
Cerci does not seem to recognize how ridiculous that is. She just nods her head enthusiastically. "Yup, it's adorable."
Walburga can't cast a corporeal Patronus. Honestly she might not be able to cast a Patronus at all. His dad's is a greyhound, lean and majestic, Regulus hasn't seen him cast it for a long time now though. It hits him that he probably never will again. That his father is too far gone at this point. He tries to remember the last time he saw his father's Patronus but he can't. Honestly, his memory has never been that great, always a little fuzzy and muddled. He thinks it's because his mum and Bellatrix are always messing around in his head.
"Now I'll ask you to all get out your wands," Merry-Thought is saying at the front of the class, leading to a symphony of rustling bags and screeching chairs as they all get ready to perform the most interesting piece of magic they've been shown all year.
"This is very complex spell so I don't want any of you to get discouraged if you aren't able to get it today. We aren't aiming for corporeal Patronuses on the first try, any sign of a magical shield should be considered a success, alright?" she looks around brightly at the class.
For a Professor of the Dark Arts, Merry-Thought is an incredibly bubbly person. A slightly plump, middle-aged witch, she wears bright patterned robes and huge dangling earrings. And she is always smiling. Always.
"The wand movements and incantation are relatively simple, you'll want to make a circular motion with your wand—yes, just like that Miss Linnens, well done—the larger they get the more force you'll be able to put behind your spell. And the incantation is: Expecto Patronum. Now, I want you to all still your wands and just repeat that after me, alright? On three: one, two, three—"
"Expecto Patronum," the class choruses, with about as much enthusiasm as you can expect from a bunch of fifteen year olds at nine in the morning. Still, Merry-Thought is beaming.
"Very good, very, very, good. Now, for the difficult part, you'll have to find a memory or a thought, something that makes you happy. It should be something important, something strong, not just the feeling you get when your favourite cake is being served in the Great Hall," she looks around, getting one or two laughs. "This should be the sort of happy that feels overflowing, like it could spill out of you at any moment, okay?"
There are a few scattered nods about the class but apparently that's all the confirmation Merry-Thought needs.
"Excellent, well, go on have at it, make sure you're not pointing your wands at anyone!"
Regulus turns to Cerci who is practically vibrating in the chair next to him. "This. Is. So. Freaking. Cool."
He can't help but smile at her enthusiasm. "Sure," he says. "Why don't you try first."
"Okay, okay, okay," she closes her eyes and screws up her face, Regulus watching with mild amusement.
"What are you doing?"
"Shhh," she waves her hand at him. "I'm trying to pick my happiest memory."
"Ah."
"I need to concentrate."
"Okay."
"There are just so many."
He snorts, not worried that he'll have the same problem. In fact, he's fairly certain he won't be able to conjure a Patronus at all. Lots of Wizards can't, and emotion based magic has never been his strong suit. It's why he likes potions—it's exact, clean. Certain ingredient in certain quantities under certain circumstances produce known reactions. He likes the stability of it. The reason. Old magic like this makes no sense to him.
"Okay," Cerci pulls him out of his thoughts, her eyes opening again. "I have one, lets try," she holds up her wand and Regulus quickly pushes it to the side so that it's not pointing directly at him.
"Oh right," she laughs. "Sorry."
"My face is very important to me," he says flatly.
She shoots him a grin. "I can tell."
"What's that supposed to mean?" only slightly offended.
She shrugs, mischief still bright in her eyes. "That you look like the type of person who spends a lot of time on their hair."
His hand goes protectively to his curls. "I—"
"Shhh," she hisses again, though he can tell she's trying not to laugh. "I'm about to perform some very, very impressive magic here so please prepare yourself to be amazed."
He rolls his eyes. "By all means," he gestures to the empty space in front of their desk.
She sticks her tongue between her teeth, squinting as she moves her wand. "Expecto-Patronum!"
Nothing happens.
"That was very impressive," Regulus says flatly.
Cerci snorts, giving his shoulder a shove. "Yeah, yeah, first try. Like me go again."
So she does.
Again.
And again.
And again.
"Well, that was anti-climatic," she sighs, sagging back in her chair and blowing her bangs off her forehead. "I'm tired," she kicks his foot under the table. "Your turn."
"All that nothing did look tiring," Regulus says, ducking out of the way before she can swat the back to his head.
"Big words from someone who hasn't even tried yet," she says, though she's smiling. He wonders if her and Merry-Thought are related. If obscene good-cheer is genetic.
Regulus sits up a little straighter and pulls out his wand, realizing that after all that time watching Cerci struggle he still hasn't come up with a memory. What is his happiest memory? A few moments with his dad come to mind—especially his first time on a broom.
He'd been four, maybe five, his father still healthy enough to fly. He'd let Regulus ride with him, sitting him in front so he'd feel like he was the one driving even though, of course, he wasn't. It was the best feeling in the world, the first moment his feet had lifted off the ground. His father going higher and higher, eventually doing a few simple turns and rolls. In his memory everything is haloed in sunlight. His dad laughing the whole time.
Regulus blinks, bringing himself back to the present.
"You okay there?" Cerci asks, somewhere between teasing and genuinely concerned.
"Shhh, I'm about to do some very impressive magic," he shoots her a grin that makes her laugh out loud.
"Well, by all means," she says, doing a terrible impression of his posh accent.
Regulus stares determinedly at the empty space in front of him. He thinks about the feeling of being in the air, the sound of his father's laughter; "Expecto-Patronum."
Something pulls behind his belly button, just the lightest tug before a small puff of smoke comes out of the end of his wand. A barely-there mist.
"Oh my God!" Cerci claps her hands. "You did it!"
Regulus looks at his wand skeptically, "Barely."
"That was very good Mr. Black," he turns over his shoulder to see Professor Merry-Thought smiling at him. "You've got the right idea, but you probably need something a little stronger to ground yourself in. Remember what I said, about the feeling of happiness needing to be overflowing. That's where the power of the spell is coming from. The memory should feel almost like a well, something that you can keep drawing on as long as you need to."
"Thank you professor," he says, because he isn't sure what else to say. A well? What the hell does that even mean?
Cerci nudges him with her elbow. "Try again, try again, try again."
"It's not gonna be any better," he says flatly, which only makes her roll her eyes.
"Try it anyway."
Regulus looks back down at his wand and frowns. A memory overflowing with happiness? He finds himself thinking of the morning before Christmas break last year. He thinks of waking up with James Potter for the first time. Usually Regulus can't stand being touched, usually it makes him want to crawl out of his skin, but for some reason James's arms were different. Comfortable. Safe. He'd laid there for longer than he wanted to admit, just looking at James. When he'd finally managed to force himself to wake James up the other boy had smiled, had kissed him, like it was natural. Like he couldn't help himself. Regulus had never felt so warm in his life.
Those images are replaced by the pair of them in the forest, swimming by James's waterfall, lying in the sun. By James standing in the doorway of the Come and Go Room and telling Regulus that he loved him for the first time. The pair of them lying in the grass in his father's garden. Without any fears. Without a war hanging over their heads. James promising to never leave him.
"Expecto Patronum!"
There is nothing gentle about the tug in his gut this time. He thinks he actually jolts forward as a bright, white light spills from his wand and Regulus finds himself face to face with a...reindeer?
"Merlin," Cerci gasps beside him, the whole class going silent as the animal blinks at Regulus. He knows it sounds mad, but there's something...familiar about it.
"He's beautiful," Cerci breathes, causing the phantom reindeer to turn to her. She smiles at him like he's a real animal. "God, a stag, that's so cool."
"A stag?" Regulus repeats.
"Yeah," and then, at the look of confusion on Regulus's face she explains; "You can tell because of the antlers, my father hunts them on our estate all the time."
Regulus wrinkles his nose, looking back at the animal who steps towards him, bowing his head and nudging Regulus's fingers. He can't really feel it, not the way he would be able to if the animal was made of something solid. It's more like a slightly cold tickling sensation.
"Hey you," Regulus says dumbly, well aware that he's speaking to a bloody incantation.
Then, suddenly, the class irrupts in applause. Regulus looks over to see that it is, of course, being led by Professor Merry-Thought. "Well done Mr. Black," she says, beaming. "Really excellent work. Very, very, good."
He turns back to his stag who definitely gives him a look like: "isn't this a bit much?" which yes, Regulus thinks, it absolutely is, far too much honestly. He's glad they're on the same page.
"To disperse him you merely need to wave your wand," Professor Merry-Thought says.
Regulus looks at her and then back at his stag, who paws at the ground. "Oh," he says stupidly. "Right," he lifts his wand reluctantly, which is ridiculous. It's not a real animal. It doesn't have any feelings. Still, it seems cruel when he waves his arm and watches him dissolve into mist.
"Sorry," he says stupidly, blushing and hoping that no one is paying enough attention to hear him.
He tries and fails not to cringe when Mary Macdonald falls into step with him on his way back to the Slytherin common room.
"You look happy," she says, somehow managing to make it sound like a threat.
"Must be a trick of the light," he doesn't look at her, doesn't look down either—that would be too weak—so his only option is to keep staring straight ahead.
"Must be," she muses.
They pass a group of Ravenclaws who give them both a strange look. Of course, Mary Macdonald and Regulus Black walking down the hallway together is just food for gossips. Especially because she used to date Sirius. He's sure the rumours will be flying by dinner. Fucking Gryffindors, not a subtle bone in their bodies.
"Do you want something?" he growls eventually, after a long and uncomfortable period of silence.
"Many things actually," he doesn't need to look at her to know she's grinning. "You have Quidditch Practice tomorrow night, right?"
Regulus is momentarily thrown. "Er—yes?"
She nods sharply. "Good. I'll be in the bleachers. Come find me."
Regulus's hand tightens around the strap of his book bag. "Why?"
"To chat."
"About?"
"How you can be of use to me."
He cringes. Hating her maybe more than is justified. Hating himself for once again being in this position. Under someone's thumb. Powerless.
"And if I don't?" he grounds out, turning the next corner into an emptier hallway.
Mary snorts. "C'mon Regulus, you're a smart guy, I'm sure you can figure it out." When he doesn't answer she goes on. "I haven't decided who I'll go to first, James or Dumbledore." She knocks her shoulder against his like they're old friends, it makes Regulus's whole body tense. "What do you reckon is the better threat?"
Regulus grinds his teeth. "Fine. Tomorrow. After practice. Is that all?"
"Oooh, so snippy. You'd think you were the one who had their head bashed in."
Regulus stumbles, memories of Mary on the ground, the sound she'd made when she hit, the dark blood pooling around her head.
She puts her hand on his shoulder, it probably looks good natured to anyone passing by, anyone who can't feel her nails digging through the fabric of his shirt.
"I need information from you," she says, voice dropping down. "But I want you to know, that just because I'm not giving you up, doesn't mean you don't still make me sick."
It's work for Regulus to keep his expression neutral, but then, he's had a lot of practice.
"Noted," he manages to keep his tone flat.
She releases her vice grip on him, turning in the opposite direction and walking away without another word. Regulus doesn't look after her, doesn't slow his pace. He wonders bitterly if the day will come when the universe will finally give him a choice. Give him the freedom to make decisions about his own fucking life without being at someone else's mercy.
He doubts it.
PART II: REMUS
He needs to say something. He's been meaning to. But it's...delicate. Everything feels delicate between him and Sirius. Sirius is with him but he's also...not. It was bold, kissing him in front of all their friends like he did, and Remus should have known better than to read into it. Because in the end, Sirius has always been good at the performance—the big gestures—it's the quiet he can't handle. The moments when they're alone and he has to be himself. Be honest. Face what this is. If it is anything. Remus thinks that it might be. It must be. He hopes.
Usually something like this, something you've spent years building up in your head, wanting desperately, lets you down when you finally get it. In the light of day it loses its magic. Thing is, Sirius Black is all magic. Sometimes it's overwhelming. Sometimes, when it's focused on him, Remus doesn't know how to handle it, is certain he's going to crack. It isn't a disappointment, being with Sirius. What it is, is delicate. One big push and Remus is certain that this thing will shatter.
So he needs to say something before that happens. Before all the silences between them start shoving.
Sirius has his head on Remus's chest. Remus almost always sleeps in his bed now, with the curtains drawn and a silencing charm firmly in place. Remus loves it, loves the way the rest of the world disappears and it's just them—together, warm.
He's dragging his hand lazily through Sirius's hair while the other boy reads one of his Muggle fantasy novels out loud:
"That foul-tempered nag is the only thing he cares about,' muttered the bard, 'and as far as I can see, the only thing that cares about him. They're two of a kind, if you ask me."
"Adaon, sitting a little apart from the others, called Taran to him. 'I commend your patience,' he said. 'The black beast spurs Ellidyr cruelly."
Sirius, Remus has recently learned, has a talent for accents, and has taken it upon himself to give each of the characters in the book a specific voice. It makes Remus smile a stupid amount. There's just something so...innocent about it. So soft. Something Sirius doesn't let himself be often.
"I think he'll feel better once we find the cauldron,' Taran said," Sirius goes on. "There will be glory enough for all to share."
"Adaon smiled gravely. 'Is there not glory enough in living the days given to us? You should know there is adventure in simply being among those we love and the things we love, and beauty, too."
For some reason that last line makes something in Remus's gut squirm. "Do you think that's true?" he finds himself asking, cutting Sirius off.
"Do I think what's true?"
"That bit about, y'know, love being it's own glory?"
Sirius snorts. "Nope."
"No?"
Sirius closes the book and flips onto his stomach, causing Remus to let out an "oof" while simultaneously holding Sirius to him so he doesn't roll off.
"You agree with Adaon?" he asks, somewhere between genuinely curious and mocking.
Remus looks into his eyes and then away. "I don't know. A bit. Or—I think being loved and loving is worth more in the end, than, you know, slaying the dragon."
Sirius rolls his eyes. "Well sure, yeah, more than slaying the dragon, but not more than getting the bad guy."
"In my example the dragon was the bad guy," Remus smiles a little.
"A dragon isn't a bad guy though," Sirius goes on, clearly taking this very literally. "A dragon isn't bad at all, it's dangerous maybe, but it's not, you know, plotting world domination or anything."
"Right," Remus says slowly, feeling as though they might be getting off topic. "So you're saying that if the bad guy is bad enough, defeating him is more satisfying than being with the people you love?"
"I'm saying that love is nice and all, but it doesn't mean shit if the rest of the world has gone to hell."
Which Remus supposes is fair. "Alright."
Sirius gives him a look. "You don't think so?"
Remus shrugs—with difficulty considering that Sirius is still on top of him. "I think saving the world would feel a little hollow if there was no one I loved in it."
Sirius seems to consider this for a moment, bitting down on his lower lip in a way that Remus finds extremely distracting. "Alright, there's definitely a compromise here."
Remus arches his brow. "A compromise?"
"Yeah, like, you know...like saving the world WITH the people you love? Double glory."
Remus snorts. "That easy huh?"
"Sure," he shoots Remus a grin that makes his stomach flip. "After all, we're going to do it."
Remus feels his breath hitch.
"Oh?"
Did Sirius just—
"You, me, James, Peter. We'll finish off the Death Eaters. Voldemort. Save the world. Side by side."
Ah.
Of course.
"Right?" Sirius prods him when Remus doesn't answer.
He smiles. "Yeah, 'course."
Sirius smiles back before leaning forward and kissing him on the mouth. After a few seconds he pulls away but just enough to speak, Remus can still feel his breath against his lips. "We're gonna kick so much ass when we get out of here."
Remus can't help but laugh. "If you say so."
"I do," Sirius drops his head back onto Remus's chest and after a second Remus starts carding his hand through his hair again.
It's nice. More than nice really. But there's still a pit in his stomach that he can't quite shake.
"Pads?" he asks softly, feeling the slow rise and fall of Sirius's chest and knowing that he's getting closer to sleep.
"Yeah?"
Remus closes his eyes for a second, praying to every God he doesn't believe in that this doesn't turn into a fight.
"Can we...talk?" he winces.
"Haven't we been talking?"
"Yeah, yeah we have but..." he doesn't know how to broach this subject, doesn't know how to stop Sirius from closing off. From shutting him out.
"Moons," Sirius gives him a nudge, "what is it?"
Remus exhales. He just has to get this over with, he'll never be able to let it go otherwise. "You told Regulus that you weren't gay."
It isn't the label that matters so much, but the way Sirius had said it. Like it was something disgusting. Something he didn't want to be associated with. Sirius doesn't have to be gay—if the many girls he's been with are any indication he probably isn't. But Remus is pretty sure that he's gay, and he doesn't want to be something that Sirius is embarrassed of. Disgusted by.
Sirius stiffens against him but he doesn't pull away and Remus thinks that's probably a good sign. It certainly isn't a bad sign.
"Ah," Sirius says eventually.
"Yeah."
"I—" his voice cuts out, and Remus hears him exhale shakily. "Regulus has a way of getting under my skin."
Remus nods. "Right."
Sirius blows out another breath. "I don't think I can be that."
Remus's hand stills in Sirius's hair. "Be what?"
Sirius doesn't speak. Remus waits for an answer but none come. The silence stretching on long enough that he starts to worry Sirius has gone and fallen asleep in the middle of this.
"Can't be gay?" he hears himself say, filling in the spaces that Sirius won't touch.
"Yeah," Sirius croaks.
Remus's throat feels dry. "Because you like girls?"
"Yeah," and then. "No. I mean, I do, but—"
"There are other things, it's not just gay or straight or whatever. There are other things..." Remus is no good at this. He doesn't know anything, the only gay person he's ever met is himself. At least that he knows of. Actually, James too he supposes, though James is kind of like Sirius. Because he likes girls. Remus has never liked girls, not that way. Never had the choice. Maybe if he had he'd be more like Sirius.
"I don't think I'm those things either. I don't know. I can't—I just can't think like that. I start to get overwhelmed and that's when I run," he props himself up, chin on Remus's chest, eyes looking right at him. "I don't want to run away from you again Moony. So I just can't...I can't think about this," he motions between them with his finger, "as saying something about who I am."
It takes a lot of effort for Remus to control his expression, to not let Sirius see how much that hurts. Bites his lip so that he doesn't say the words crowding his mouth. Doesn't say that that sounds like a lonely fucking way to be with someone. Never thinking about it. Never acknowledging it.
Almost as soon as he has that thought Remus is overwhelmed with guilt. If it wasn't for him Sirius wouldn't have to deal with any of this in the first place, he could just continue on kissing every girl in the school, being the teen heartthrob he was clearly meant to be. It was Remus who started this. Remus who kissed him.
"Hey," Sirius flicks his nose, causing Remus to let out a startled laugh. "Stop it."
"Stop what?" he asks.
"Whatever it is that you're thinking. It's making you sad," something shifts in Sirius's gaze, Remus isn't entirely sure what it is but suddenly he feels himself being tugged down flat onto his back, Sirius hovering above him, hands on either side of Remus's head. He's held in place by those eyes, breath catching in his chest.
"I want you Remus," Sirius says quietly, even though no one can hear them.
Remus's chest aches. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he lowers himself down enough that their foreheads touch. "So bad. Always have. I don't know about the rest of it, but I know that. I want you."
Which is what he said that night in the common room. The night this—whatever it is—started. Hearing it still makes Remus shiver.
"Have me then," he whispers back, just like he'd done then.
Sirius doesn't need more than that, his mouth on Remus's, hot and desperate, like he has something to prove. Like if he kisses Remus hard enough maybe he won't have to think. Remus brings one hand to the back of Sirius's neck, the other to his lower back. Pushing them together until Sirius is groaning into his mouth.
This always feels a bit like fighting with them—pushing and pulling—-leaving their marks on one another. Remus flips them over, forcing the air out of Sirius's lungs as he covers him with his body. Remus focuses on ripping more sounds out of Sirius's willing mouth, letting his teeth drag along his throat. Sirius bucks, trying to regain control, but Remus has length on him, plus he has his arms pinned over his head.
"Fuck you," Sirius says breathlessly.
Remus grins. "I know you want to Black. The question is, can you?" he bites the junction between Sirius's neck and shoulder probably harder than he should but it just makes Sirius moan.
Thank Merlin for silencing charms.
"Such a fucking mouth on you," Sirius mutters and Remus can feel his breath on his overly hot skin. Sirius is good at this stuff. At the physical stuff.
I want you, that's what he says. That's all he ever says. I want you.
Remus pauses, looking down at Sirius whose eyes have gone slightly unfocused in that way they do when things get heated. Is this it? Remus almost asks. Is this how you want me? Is this all you'll let us have?
Sirius turns his head, kissing Remus's wrist where it has his arm pinned beside him. It's almost sweet. "Why'd you stop?" he asks.
For a moment Remus thinks he's going to say it. Going to follow this thing through. Not let Sirius get away with his vague answers and even vaguer promises. Except that Sirius Black is looking up at Remus like maybe he's the only thing he needs. Like he's desperate for him. His wild black hair fanned out around his head, his cheeks rosy in a way they rarely are outside of this bed.
"Sorry," Remus murmurs, shaking his head as he leans back down, bringing their mouths together. "I don't wanna stop," he says nonsensically against Sirius's lips. "Even if this is it I don't wanna stop."
He's actually kind of looking forward to Prefect duty, to being able to breathe for a moment, away from Sirius. Sirius who always takes up so much of the air in every room. So much of the space in Remus's chest.
Remus does try not to think the word love about Sirius. It's hard though. Everything with them always gets so muddled up. Friend, brother, lover. He means too much to me, Remus thinks every time he sees Sirius and feels like the sun is shinning out of his chest. The light slipping between his ribs. And then, the more frightening thought; I'll never recover from his. Whatever happens I'll never recover.
"Hello!"
The cheery voice startles Remus out of his thoughts as he looks up to see Cerci Greengrass walking towards him.
Oh perfect, he thinks dryly.
"Greengrass."
She wrinkles her nose. "Please don't, Cerci is fine. Better really. I've never liked the whole last name thing. Feels silly doesn't it? Like we're all a bunch of business associates instead of students."
Remus supposes she's not wrong. Though there are several people that he's more than happy to keep at a business-associate-length distance.
"Well, Cerci, shall we?" he nods down the hallway and she grins.
"Yes, lets!"
The last time he saw Cerci Greengrass she'd been standing next to Regulus Black watching him snog Sirius senseless. The memory makes him cringe. That had been reckless of them, they both knew it. Sirius hadn't so much as sat next to him for days afterwards.
"Soooo," Remus hears after a few moments of silence, barely suppressing a wince. The hallways are looking particularly empty tonight, which normally Remus would appreciate, but currently he'd take a hoard of first years launching stink bombs at him over making small talk with Cerci Greengrass.
"How are you?" she asks.
He nods curtly. "Good. You?"
"I'm great."
They keep walking, Remus not really making eye contact, not sure he could without blushing. He shoves his hands in his pockets just to have something to do.
"How's Sirius?" she asks. Ah well, now he's blushing anyway.
"He's fine," Remus says stiffly, able to hear the stupid giggly smile in her voice.
"Good," another pause that is not nearly long enough. "Did Regulus apologize? I told him he needed to, it was out of order the way he spoke to you two."
Remus would sincerely rather be eaten by the Giant Squid than have this conversation, but he can still appreciate that Cerci is being...nice.
"Er—yeah—he apologized," sort of. But Remus isn't about to go into detail. "Thanks for—er—saying that to him." He cringes at his own fumbling. He honestly has no idea what to do here.
"I think he was just...caught off guard, you know?"
"That makes two of us," Remus says dryly, causing Cerci to snort.
"Sorry, we should have knocked."
Oh my god.
He wants to die.
Remus wants to die.
Attacked by a werewolf at five years old but it's this conversation that's going to kill him.
He doesn't respond but it appears that Cerci doesn't need hm to.
"He's not usually like that, you know."
Remus finally manages to look over at her, brow arched. "A prick you mean?"
She smiles a little. "Yeah. He was—it's hard, stuff with his brother," she gives him a sidelong look. "Though I expect you know that."
Remus nods slowly. "Yeah, I know."
"Most of the time Regulus is actually pretty sweet."
Remus can't help it, he lets out a derisive laugh. "Sorry, but I find that hard to believe." He can maybe wrap his mind around the idea that Regulus isn't evil. But sweet? That's a step too far.
Cerci doesn't appear offended. "I'm sure, but it's true."
He looks at her and then looks ahead again, chewing on his bottom lip, thinking of James. Of Sirius. He wonders if Regulus is fooling all of them. If he just has a bunch of masks that he wears around different people so that no one ever really knows him. Regulus never helped Sirius at Grimmauld Place, not as far as Remus can tell, and he'll never forgive him for that. He's not sure what James sees in him that makes it so he can. James who loves Sirius just as much as Remus. He can accept that, that it's just as much, even if it isn't the same.
"How?" he finds himself asking, but too much time has passed and Cerci looks over at him with a furrowed brow.
"How what?" she asks.
"How is he...sweet?"
She laughs. "Oh—oh I don't know. He just...he remembers that I always forget my quills so he brings extra ones to class, or—I told him once that I was struggling with potions so he just started doing his potions homework with me, without even making me ask. He's honestly one of the smartest people I know but he never shoves it in your face you know? I'm not..." she trails off, tilting her head from side to side like she's trying to find the right words. "I'm not the best at school, but he never makes me feel stupid even though he could. Never mocks me..." she trails off, shrugging. "I know he seems prickly, but I actually think he's just shy."
Her speech is so earnest that Remus forces himself to hold in his skeptical snort at the idea that Regulus Black is shy. Instead he thinks seriously about what she's said, trying to fit it with the person he knows Regulus to be.
Eventually he shakes his head. "I've never met that Regulus Black."
"I know, I don't think his brother has either."
And despite the fact that Remus fully blames Regulus for the state of their relationship—or, at least mostly blames him—that thought makes something ache in his chest.
"So he's the smartest person you know huh?" Remus says, trying not to be a complete ass. He's not sure he'd much like to listen to someone rag on James or Sirius for a whole Prefect shift.
"Oh yeah," she nods her head enthusiastically. "Merlin you should see him do magic, like proper magic, it's so impressive. The other day in Defence Against the Dark Arts he produced a full corporeal Patronus, it was like the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
That, Remus has to grudgingly admit, is actually pretty impressive.
"It was a massive stag," Cerci goes on, "like taller than me."
Remus feels his feet stutter to a stop. "A stag?" he asks.
She looks back at him, a few paces ahead. "Yeah, I know right? I couldn't believe it either!"
Something uneasy shifts in his stomach. "You're sure it was a stag? Not just a deer or something?"
Cerci shakes her head. "No, it was definitely a stag. We have a bunch on my family's estate, so I've seen loads before."
Regulus Black's corporeal Patronus is a stag.
"Are you alright?"
His eyes snap up, met with Cerci's concerned gaze.
"What—oh—yeah, sorry. That's just...really—er—impressive."
He forces himself to start walking again.
"I think even Merry-Thought was blown away," she says, like it means something. In Remus's experience Merry-Thought is one of the easiest teachers to please. Still, he nods his head, letting her go off while his mind reels.
Regulus Black's Patronus is a stag.
A fucking stag.
The library is closed by the time he's finished his shift with Cerci but has enough books already that he figures one of them must have information on Patronuses. Peter and Sirius are already asleep, James's bed predictable empty, so he grabs an armful of textbooks and heads back down to the empty common room. He sits on the floor, spreading the books out in front of him, and starts looking.
He isn't sure exactly what he's looking for—maybe something that tells him that this actually doesn't mean anything. That it's just some fucked up coincidence. That the shape Patronuses take are in no way related to who someone is or isn't fooling around with.
He makes it through three books before he finally finds what he's looking for. He smooths the page out in front of him, eyes skimming over the text.
'This ancient and mysterious charm conjures...' blah blah blah '...The Patronus charm is difficult...' blah blah blah.. 'a guardian which generally takes the shape of the animal with whom the caster shares the deepest affinity.'
Remus's finger hovers over that sentence. What affinity could Regulus Black possibly have with a stag? Except—except James. But had James told him about his Animagus form? A cold chill runs along Remus's spine. Had he told Regulus about Remus? About—
Remus squeezes his eyes shut.
No.
He thinks.
Please no. I can't do this again. It was hard enough the first time.
But James wouldn't. He wouldn't.
That's what you thought about Sirius, says the nasty voice in the back of his head.
Remus forces himself to exhale, and after few seconds he opens his eyes and keeps reading.
There are instructions about the incantation, the wand movement, a section on corporeal versus incorporeal Patronuses. For the life of him Remus can't remember if James managed one when they were learning about them in class. Remus hadn't, but then, he hadn't been trying, too afraid of the shape his might take if he succeeded.
He keeps scanning through the somewhat bland practical information until his finger freezes again. Right near the end. One of the final sentences on the page:
'The Patronus often mutates to take the image of the love of one's life because they so often become the 'happy thought' that generates a Patronus.'
He blinks, reads the sentence again.
Then again.
The love of one's life.
That's what it says. In his textbook. Not in some Witch Weekly article or pop song, in his textbook. They mean that. Literally. The love of one's life.
Shit.
Oh shit.
Oh shit.
Oh—
The portrait hole opens and Remus slams his book closed, head popping up to see who it is. There isn't anyone though, which can only mean—
"James?" he says into the empty room.
There are a few moments of stillness before James appears, invisibility cloak in hand.
"Moony?" he looks at him quizzically, and of course Remus knows where he's been and who he's been with and a new wave of anxiety washes over him.
"Did you tell him?" his voice comes out small.
James steps closer, looking concerned. "Tell him? Tell who?"
Remus forces himself to breathe, to make coherent sentences. "Regulus, did you tell him about me?"
James's eyes go wide and then suddenly he's moving, crouching down in front of Remus on the floor.
"No, no never. Remus I would never do that," making sure to hold Remus's gaze. "I promise."
Remus swallows, trying to get his heart rate under control. Eventually he manages to nod. "Okay, okay good. Does he—does he know you're an Animagus?"
James shakes his head. "No."
Another nod.
"Moons," James reaches out, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "What's going on? Where is this coming from?"
Remus shakes his head. "I just, I had a shift with Cerci Greengrass and she said something that made me think that maybe he knew."
Thankfully, James doesn't seem to need anymore details than that.
"I would never do that to you Remus, okay? I told you I would keep your secret and I will until the day you tell me not to."
Remus lets out a choked laugh. "Right, of course you will. That was stupid of me, I don't know why—just—for a second..."
James nods like he understands. And maybe he does. After all, he was there that night in the shack. That night Sirius did the unthinkable.
But you forgive him,
he has to remind himself.
Because he does.
Of course he does.
"I was gonna head up but are you okay?" James asks, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Yeah," Remus smiles, though it feels forced. "Yeah, of course. I'll be just behind you."
James holds his eyes for a moment longer before squeezing his shoulder and straightening up. Heading for the stairs.
"Hey James?" Remus stops him before he gets too far.
"Yeah Moons?"
Remus swallows. "Did you—have you ever conjured a corporeal Patronus?"
Whatever confusion James might have about the random nature of the question is overshadowed by his desire to brag. "Hell yeah, fourth year."
Remus rolls his eyes. "Show off."
But James just preens. "Can't help it."
Remus clears his throat. "What—er—what was it?"
James gives him a look like that's a ridiculous question. "Stag, of course."
Remus makes sure to keep his expression neutral. "Of course," he says. "Sorry, just—I was thinking about talking about them in a paper so..."
James grins. "Well, feel free to quote me."
Remus rolls his eyes again. "Good night James."
"Night Remus," though he only makes it halfway up the stairs before he turns back. "You sure you're alright?"
Remus nods stiffly, throwing him another tight smile. "Yeah, just tired."
James nods and keeps climbing, bringing Remus's attention back to the textbook in his lap.
'The image of the love of one's life.'
The love of one's life.
He'd really been hoping this thing with Regulus was a phase.
"Fuck," he hisses under his breath, gathering his books in his arms. As though they didn't have enough to worry about without James being Regulus Black's bloody soulmate.
PART III: MARY
It's dark, the sky black, the Quidditch Pitch lit by a series of glowing orbs that've been levitated around the stadium. The bitterly cold December wind blows against Mary who's standing on the top level of the Gryffindor stands. Arms crossed over her chest, a light dusting of snow on the ground where the Slytherin players are still milling about after their practice. It's been a mild winter so far, but Mary has a feeling that that's about to change. She can feel it, the shift in the wind.
Technically she isn't allowed to be here, not just because it's an opposing teams practice but because, since her attack, students aren't supposed to leave their common rooms after eight, and if they do, they're required to be in pairs. She could have come with Marlene, could have told Marlene what happened with Regulus, with her memories coming back. What she planned to do about it. She knows Marlene would have been happy to listen—has practically been begging Mary to talk to her.
But she didn't.
Couldn't.
Didn't want to.
She doesn't want to feel better about this. Doesn't want to move on and heal and be the bigger person. These boy want to play dirty? That's fine by her. She can get down in the mud with the best of them. She may be a Gryffindor but Mary knows there's a well of bitter cruelty inside of her that would make Salazar Slytherin himself quiver. The bastard.
Mary didn't tell her friends where she was going tonight. Or who she was meeting. Or why. Because she didn't want to listen to them lecture her on how this isn't the answer, how fighting back isn't going to help. How she needs to trust Dumbledore. Ha. Mary has no idea how to heal, how to sit and reflect and find inner peace or whatever the fuck. But she sure as hell knows how to fight.
"Well you certainly took your time," she says mildly, as she hears Regulus slowly walking towards her. She doesn't turn away from the pitch.
"Be a bit suspicious if I all the sudden ran for the stands" he returns her tone, coming to stand beside her but not too close, more than an arms length between them, like he's worried she's going to turn around and push him off.
Smart boy.
Regulus is still in his Quidditch gear, though he appears to have stowed his broom away somewhere. His black hair is wet with sweat and quickly freezing to his face. The uniforms are alright when you're flying but in a few minutes he's going to be freezing. Mercy takes some pleasure in how uncomfortable he must be.
"Those'll shut off soon," she follows his gaze to the glowing orbs.
A slow leer pulls at the corner of her mouth. "Scare of the dark are you?" she asks.
Regulus only shrugs. "Do you want something or are we just here to chat?"
Mary turns back to the dark field in front of them. She hasn't been able to get on a broom since her attack and it's starting to make her twitchy.
"Mulciber, Snape, Avery," she says finally, feeling Regulus turn to look at her. "They were there." She phrases it like a statement but it's really a question. She needs him to confirm, to tell her once and for all that her head isn't well and truly fucked. That she can trust herself.
"Yes," Regulus says after a short pause and Mary has to stop herself from letting out a sigh of relief.
"Who else?"
Regulus goes stiff.
"Who else Black?"
She looks at him now, his eyes almost completely white in this light. She can't read his face, he just looks like every posh asshole—haughty and superior.
"There was no one else," he says eventually.
"Bullshit," because she can remember—hands and breath and hair. Flashes of a person. "Who else?"
But Regulus doesn't speak, doesn't move, just stares blankly back at her with those pale fucking eyes.
"Who else was there Black?"
He shakes his head. "Me."
She laughs bitterly. "No. Someone else. There was someone else."
"I don't—"
"Who raped me Regulus?"
He winces, taking a step back like she's just slapped him. For a minute she wonders if it was him, his reaction is so big, but no. He's too small, and those grey eyes—like Sirius's—it isn't right.
"No one," Regulus finally forces through his clenched teeth.
Now she really is considering throwing him off the top. "Fuck. You."
But Regulus just shakes his head. "I stopped them. That never happened. I swear I stopped him."
It's the first break in Regulus's voice, the blank expression and flat voice melting away. His voice cracks on the word "that" like he can't stand to think about it. To face it. Coward, Mary thinks coldly, eyes running him up and down.
"You stopped him," she repeats derisively. "And then you went into my head and stole my memories. You think you're any different Regulus Black?" he flinches again, taking another step back, he'll run out of room at this rate. "You're every bit as guilty as the rest of those creeps."
"I know," he says quietly.
"Good. Now tell me who the fuck you took out of my head or I swear to God I will go right to James Potter's bed and tell him that you were there. That you helped them do it."
That was the one that would hurt the most, she could see it in his eyes. Dumbledore was scary, but James was the one that would tear him apart.
Regulus just keeps staring at her with wide eyes, like he's trying to find the loop hole. She sees him twist his forearm before she sees the wand sliding out of his sleeve. She almost laughs.
"Expelliarmus," she snaps, he's barely able to do more than touch the wood in his hands before his wand is flying off into the seats beside them. She has her own wand raised and pointed at his face. "What were you gonna to do Black? Erase my memories again?"
He doesn't respond, expression back to an empty mask. He looks at her like she's boring him.
"Tell me who it was," she says again, because she needs to know. She needs to know. She'll never be able to sleep if she doesn't know. Never be able to walk down the corridors without feeling skittish, without worrying about every boy she passes. Never going to be able to stop feeling like she's losing her mind. She needs to know.
After a few seconds Regulus sighs, shoulders slumping. "Barty."
Silence.
"Barty Crouch?"
He shoots her a look and she thinks he's going to say something snippy but instead he just growls; "Yes. Barty Crouch."
And of course.
That day in the hallway.
Of course it was him.
For a moment she closes her eyes and exhales. "Okay," it feels better, having answers. Not great. But better. She opens her eyes again, wand still on Regulus.
"Are we done here?" he asks coldly.
A cold laugh bubbles out of Mary's mouth. "No."
That gets a reaction out of him—something like poorly repressed fear.
"You're going to tell me their schedules, you're going to tell me the password to the Slytherin dormitory, and you're going to let me know every time they leave."
Regulus blinks back at her. "And how exactly am I going to do that?"
Mary grins, reaching into her back pocket and enjoying the way it makes Regulus tense. She pulls out two Galleons, and tosses one to Regulus who fumbles, barely catching it. He turns it over in his hand before looking back at her.
"Are you trying to bribe me? You do know I'm quite wealthy don't you?"
Mary ignores him, holding up her own coin. "Squeeze it."
He looks at her quizzically. "What?"
"In the centre of your palm, squeeze it."
Hesitantly, he does as she asks, causing the coin between her fingers to start to glow. Regulus blinks, looking from his coin to her's.
"Impressive," he manages finally.
"I am." She slips the coin back into her pocket and lowers her wand. "Now we're done."
And as if they've heard her, the glowing orbs hovering around them flicker and blink out. Plunging the pair of them into the dark.