PART I: REMUS
It's always a bit awkward. Being a werewolf. Especially when you're a guest in someone's home and also about to transform into a monster. There's no polite way for someone to ask if they can please lock you in their basement now. Though the Potter's certainly try their best.
"You sure you don't want anything to eat?" James's mum asks as she places a set of folded sheets on the bed they've brought down for him. All the other furniture has been removed, but despite that the Potter's still have the nicest basement Remus has ever seen. Warm butter coloured walls, hardwood floors, exposed brick, a fireplace—currently disconnected from the Floo network and unlit—it's nothing like his basement back home. This room was made for games and movie nights and sleepovers. It makes Remus fidget. More acutely aware of how much of an imposition he's being. He should have gone home. Should have dealt with this himself.
"Remus?"
He looks up, finding Euphemia still standing by the bed, concern clear in her eyes even when she smiles at him.
"You okay kiddo?"
He nods stiffly, not bothering to bring up the aching in his bones or his head or the nausea that hasn't subsided since this morning. She knows all that already. Besides, it's not really what she's asking.
"I'm worried about the walls," Remus finally forces himself to say, hands shoved in the pouch at the front of his hoodie, eyes not meeting her's.
A wrinkle appears between her eyes. "The walls?"
"It'll—" he coughs. "I mean I'll," lets not shy away from it now Remus. "I'll scratch them up."
She arches her brow, looking a bit bemused. "Don't worry, honestly, it doesn't matter."
Remus swallows, throat dry, eyes trailing around the room, spotting all the places that photos and paintings have been removed. Pictures of James practically plaster the walls in this house. Remus doesn't know if his parents ever took any family photos. If they did they certainly never hung them up.
"There so nice though," he says eventually. Pathetically.
Euphemia makes a pitying noise that has Remus flinching. "Oh love," she's gentle when she wraps her arm around him, when she presses a kiss to the top of his head.
"Not as nice as you," she says, letting him go after a moment. "Besides, a wave of my wand and it'll all be good as new anyway, one of the many perks of being a witch," she gives him a wink.
Remus isn't sure if she's waiting for a response but he can't quite manage one.
"You're sure there's nothing else you need?" she asks eventually, standing by the bottom of the stairs.
He shakes his head. "No, thank you."
"Well alright then, we'll see you in the morning," she smiles. "Mimi's making pancakes." Remus does his best to smile back, he's not sure how well he manages it.
After she leaves he spends a long time just staring at the bed on the other side of the room, trying to imagine what he'd be doing tonight if he was normal. He'd probably be upstairs with James, Sirius and Peter, playing exploding snaps or chess. The other night, after Peter left and James fell asleep, Sirius dragged Remus outside and convinced him to ride on the back of his broom. Remus isn't overly fond of flying, but with Sirius's warm body pressed to his chest and the star filled sky wrapped around them, he couldn't help enjoying it at least a little. Afterward, they'd crawled back into bed, smelling like winter and laughter, and kissed until they'd fallen asleep.
He brings his hand to his chest like the ache there is a physical thing. After a few more seconds of sulking he sighs, walking over to the wall and sitting down on the ground, ignoring the bed. It reminds him too much of the shack. Maybe that should be comforting but it isn't. He folds his arms over his knees and rests his forehead on top...waiting.
That is, until he hears the door open. He doesn't lift his head right away, assuming it's Euphemia, that she must have forgotten something, or brought him some food even though he told her he wasn't hungry—mums never listen when you say you aren't hungry. But then:
"Hey Moons," comes a soft voice.
Remus instantly jerks upright, which hurts, a hiss escaping his mouth before he can stop it, the room spinning.
"Woah, you okay?" Remus can hear Sirius stepping forward even though the world remains too fuzzy to see. "You just got like three shades paler."
Remus has to squeeze his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath before opening them again.
"What are you doing here?" he whispers, the horror plain in his voice.
Sirius sits down in front of him, legs crossed. "D'you really think we were going to leave you down here alone?" he gives him a wink.
Remus's mouth feels too dry. "It's not safe," not that it's ever safe.
"I'll transform when you do," Sirius shrugs, like its no big deal. Which doesn't sit well with Remus at all.
Mary thinks that Sirius is fucked up because of his parents. But sometimes Remus worries it's because of him too. That Sirius can act so casually about his—about Remus turning into a werewolf—it isn't...normal.
"The Potters?" he finally manages to ask, eyes automatically going to the ceiling over their heads, like he can see Euphemia and Fleamont milling about above them.
"James is covering for me," Sirius says. And when Remus can't muster another reply he reaches out, softly taking Remus's hand and squeezing. "It'll be okay."
He wants to believe him.
"You should transform," Remus says on his next exhale, voice shaky. He should try harder to get Sirius to go but the truth is, he doesn't want him to. Selfishly he's glad. Glad that he's risking his life to keep Remus company.
Merlin, he really is fucking him up isn't he?
"We still have time," Sirius says, his thumb making soothing circles against Remus's palm. "How're you feeling?"
Remus lets out something sort of like laughter. "Shitty."
Sirius smiles. "Yeah, I figured." Then, reaching behind himself with his free hand, he pulls a chocolate bar out of his back pocket. "I brought you something."
Remus's stomach simultaneously growls and lurches at the same time. "Oh," he says.
"You don't have to eat it now obviously," Sirius slides it across to him. "But, just figured..." he shrugs.
Remus doesn't know why he's feeling choked up about a bloody chocolate bar. The Moon always makes his emotions go haywire. Though maybe it's not the moon, maybe it's that Sirius Black, who famously never thinks of anything or anyone but himself (and on occasion James), thought of Remus. Or maybe he's just really happy there's chocolate—it's honestly hard to tell at this point.
"Thank you," his words are barely audible.
Sirius smiles so brightly Remus almost has to look away. Almost. He's going to say something else, because there's always more to say with Sirius. He makes lists of all the things he wants to share with him—thoughts and ideas and jokes. He still hasn't decided which one of those things he's going to say when he opens his mouth, but it doesn't matter anyway because what comes out is a groan.
"Fuck," he curls forward, forehead pressed to his knees as a lancing pain shoots through his head. He feels like his skull is splitting apart.
"Where does it hurt?" Sirius asks softly, not sounding the least bit disturbed by the trembling mess Remus is quickly becoming. But then again, he's seen it all before. Something like embarrassment curdles in Remus's stomach but he pushes it down.
"Head," he manages to gasp. "Everywhere. But—mostly my head."
He isn't looking at Sirius. Isn't looking at anything. The idea of opening his eyes right now feels impossible. When Sirius reaches for him his hands are soft—gentle—Remus so lost in their touch that he doesn't realize what they're doing at first.
"Sirius."
"Sh, sh," Sirius murmurs, as he slides between Remus and the wall, fitting Remus between his legs before pulling him back against his chest. Despite himself Remus feels his body relax, sighing at the contact, at the feeling of being so completely and utterly held.
"Its not safe," he says half-heartedly into Sirius's neck. "We shouldn't be this close."
"We have time," is all Sirius says before his fingers come up and start expertly massaging Remus's temples.
Remus lets out a small noise of satisfaction.
"Good?" Sirius asks.
"Yeah, Merlin, where'd you learn to do that?"
He feels Sirius shrug behind him. "Looked it up."
Remus's eyes fly open—something he instantly regrets, immediately closing them again. Seeing is too hard right now. "You—you looked up head massages?"
Another shrug. "You get headaches a lot. Thought...least this was something I could do."
Remus feels his eyes start to burn. It isn't fair really, for Sirius to do this to him on a full moon when he's already a mess, barely able to string two thoughts together.
"Sirius Black, you're being very sweet for Hogwarts's resident bad boy."
Sirius laughs, a low rumble that's all chest, giving Remus goosebumps. "Don't tell anyone, wouldn't want to shatter the illusion."
"Your secrets safe with me."
"Oh I know."
And there's more in those words than just a little witty banter.
A few minutes of silence pass, with Remus sinking further and further into Sirius's touch. His fingers don't stop the pain but they definitely help. All of him helps.
"Does talking make it worse or better right now?" Sirius asks eventually.
It's Remus's turn to shrug. "It's fine. What's up?" his eyes are still closed and he can hear the drowsiness in his own voice.
Sirius lets out a sigh. "Something's going on between Mary and Regulus," he says after a brief pause. That's enough to get Remus's eyes open again, though he doesn't move, not even when Sirius goes on: "And I think James knows about it or—I don't know—is involved in it somehow."
Well. Remus hadn't seen this coming.
"Um...why do you think there's something going on?" he asks tentatively.
Sirius sighs again. "Walked in on them having some sort of secret conversation that was either Mary propositioning him or threatening his life. It was honestly hard to tell."
Despite himself Remus laughs. "Sounds like Mary," Sirius makes a noncommittal noise of agreement. "James wasn't there though?" Remus clarifies.
Sirius's nose tickles the back of his neck when he shakes his head. "No, Mary just...just said I should ask him if I wanted to know more."
Damnit Mary.
Remus swallows with difficulty. "And—er—have you? Asked James I mean?"
"No," another pause. "He's been in a shitty mood."
Remus scrunches up his face—which actually hurts right now. "Since yesterday you mean? I noticed that too. Lily was also acting weird."
Sirius blows out a breath that tickles Remus's neck. "Nah, he's been in a shit mood since we left school. Something's going on with his boyfriend, and considering who he is—"
"You don't even know who he is," Remus interjects, mostly just to sooth his own anxiety, needing to hear Sirius confirm it.
He grunts, fingers stilling on Remus's head, and it takes everything in Remus not to whine in protest. "I know he's a Slytherin, which is enough," and then; "You could tell me you know."
"I can't actually."
"Remus—"
But he makes a protesting noise, burying his face in Sirius's chest. "You're making my headache worse."
Sirius scoffs, sounding more fond than annoyed. "Pulling the full moon card are you?"
"It's not a card," Remus says, voice slightly muffled by Sirius's shirt.
"No," Sirius agrees softly, hand travelling from his temples to his hair, which Remus can't complain about. "Do you think he'll tell me if I ask?"
Remus presses further into him, hating that he's lying to him right now. "If you ask who he's seeing?"
"No," Sirius huffs. "I've tried that, his valour is too bloody strong. But if I ask about Mary and Reg?"
Remus bites his lower lip, holding back a yelp as a hot streak of pain shoots through his back. It's a few seconds before he can speak. "All you can do is ask," is what he says, feeling like a coward.
"Yeah," Sirius agrees, hand still carding absentmindedly through Remus's hair. "I'll ask when we get back."
Remus nods, happy to put an end to this conversation. His whole body feels like it's on fire even though he's shivering. It can't feel nice for Sirius, to be this close to him when he's all sick and clammy, but he doesn't pull away.
"You'll have to let go of me eventually," Remus says, not knowing why, since it isn't at all what he wants.
"I know," Sirius says, unconcerned. "You tell me when and I will."
Like it's simple.
"Thank you," he hears himself say before he can help it.
Sirius is silent and Remus is pretty sure he isn't going to respond, but then he bends down and kisses the top of Remus's head.
"I'm always going to be here Remus, I promise," he sounds like he means it. "I'm not doing you a favour I'm just...this is where I want to be, okay?"
I love you.
Remus thinks without meaning to.
Almost says out loud. But then another burst of pain explodes behind his eyes and he's forced to rip himself from Sirius's arms, falling forward onto his hands and knees. Breathing heavy and using all his willpower not to vomit.
"Remus?" Sirius asks gently.
"You should change," he chokes, and then—Merlin, it never gets easier, you'd think after all this time he'd have some way to mange the pain but—suddenly it feels like hooks have been stabbed through his torso and are being yanked in all different directions, pulling him apart. He thinks he starts screaming, but he can't be sure. Reality bends and twists around him. When he comes to again his sweaty forehead is pressed to the cold basement floor. Sirius whispering softly beside him, hand making soothing circles on his back.
"Change," he chokes. "Sirius, please. Please change now."
Sirius's hand stills, and then; "Okay."
Remus looks up, meeting his eyes for the first time all night, his breath catching the way it always does.
I love you, he thinks again. Hunched over on the floor, barely able to breathe. He watches Sirius's face disappear. Hidden behind fur. He almost says it out loud then—it's easier when he's a dog. Less scary. But before he can speak he's screaming. The sound of his back breaking filling up the room.
PART II: REGULUS
He goes back to school tomorrow. All and all it's been a rather uneventful visit. Everyone is busy. Except for Kreacher and his father, which, if Regulus is being honest, is exactly how he likes it. If it hadn't been for his run-in with Mary Macdonald he might even have enjoyed himself. As it is, he's been wracking his brain trying to figure out how to once again get out of doing the thing he's been telling himself he needs to do for months.
Is there something he can say—some way to phrase it—that won't send James running? That will make him understand.
Understand what?
Asks the cruel voice in his head.
That you're every bit the coward Sirius has always said you are? That you don't care much one way or the other, Death Eater or Mudblood, you just want to survive?
That you were trying to protect him. To keep him at arms length. But you've changed your mind?
Regulus shakes his head, trying to push all those thoughts out. They're pointless and unhelpful. He knows what will happen once James knows, regardless of the words he chooses or excuses he makes. He's always known.
"Mon chou," his father's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. Regulus looks up from the book in his lap to find his father watching him with concern in his eyes. "What has you looking so upset, huh?"
Regulus can only hold his stare for so long before looking away. "I'm not upset." He grimaces at the high, tinny sound of his voice.
His father kisses his teeth, reaching over and lightly tapping under Regulus's chin, forcing him to look up. "Come now, no lying to your Papa."
Regulus rolls his eyes. "It's nothing—it's—just—school and—" he waves his hand in the air unable to say the rest of it. Even in this house, the one place that the Mark on his arm is something to be proud of, they don't really talk about it. About the people who have been coming and going and the meetings Walburga has been having. Nobody has said anything to Regulus—invited him to sit in or asked him how he's been forwarding their cause at Hogwarts. He's not sure how much longer his invisibility will last but he is grateful for it.
"There's something else," his father pushes, voice soothing as always, like waves against the haul of a ship or a breeze through the trees. Grimmauld Place hasn't been good for him—is it ever good for anyone?—he's paler and thinner than he was the last time Regulus saw him.
"You're afraid," it's not a question so Regulus doesn't answer. "Afraid of me mon cher? Afraid to tell me?"
Regulus swallows with some difficulty, looking away again, out the window. It's dark out, but then, it's dark inside too—the only real light coming from the fireplace. He can just make out the stars. Eyes automatically looking for Sirius.
There is a weight to his father's attention, he can feel it even if he can't see it. It's something he's always craved, though at this moment he would very gladly give it up. His father is waiting for an answer and honestly, Regulus isn't sure why he isn't just giving him an excuse. He has them, a dozen, a hundred—all saved up to pull out whenever anyone asks a question that cuts too close. His brain a catalogue of the different lies he needs to tell to get through the day.
"Regulus?"
He loves his father. Probably more than anyone else in the world. He loves his father and his father is dying. That's his excuse, for the words he lets out of his mouth. His chest. The box buried deep inside him. He loves his father. And his father is dying. And he just wants to know, before he loses the chance. He just wants to know if his father loves him back.
"I'm gay Papa."
He wonders if James would be proud of him—for saying it. Admitting it. His single act of bravery.
There's silence. Regulus doesn't take his eyes off the window, forces himself to focus on the stars outside, trying to figure out which ones they are. Trying to find himself. Sirius. Orion. Trying not to think about the slowly growing ache in his chest or the vomit inching up the back of his throat.
We'll always be together up there,
He tells himself, trying to calm his speeding pulse the same way he had when Sirius left.
Whatever else happens we'll always have that.
Eventually his father clears his throat and Regulus barely manages to suppress a wince.
"And that makes you upset?" Orion finally asks. Regulus has no idea what to do with that. He tries to dissect his father's tone but he can't tell if it's angry or bewildered or both.
He keeps his eyes on the window, afraid to find out for certain. "Doesn't it upset you?"
More silence. It goes on too long. Regulus should leave. He should leave. He has no idea what to expect, his mother has always been the one to punish him, he isn't sure what his father will do. Tell her—is the obvious answer. Just the thought makes him shiver. Fuck. This was a mistake. What did he think was going to happen?
"Mon chou—regarde-moi s'il-te-plaît."
Regulus's hands are trembling as he shakes his head.
"I'm sorry," the words barely audible. "I didn't want to let you down," it's easier to say it without looking. "I don't know why I'm like this. Why I can't ever seem to—do anything the right way."
"Non, Regulus, enough. Look at me please?"
Feeling like he might be sick he finally manages to turn his head. Instantly his father reaches out, taking his face in both hands.
"Regulus," he says softly, and for some reason that makes Regulus want to cry. "You are my son. You are the light of my life. The joy. I am stuck in this bed withering away but I die happy knowing that I gave the world you," his father's hands are shaking. "You are so beautiful my darling," he wipes Regulus's tears away with his thumbs. "You could never let me down."
All Regulus manages is a wobbly, "oh" before his father is pulling him closer, the book falling out of his lap as he steps towards the bed, allowing himself to be hugged.
"Je t'aime Regulus, toujours, toujours, toujours," he whispers in his ear.
Regulus tries to steady his breathing. Settle his nerves. "Thank you," he says, which makes his father laugh, pulling away just enough so he can hold his face again.
"I'm your Papa," he says. "It's my job."
Regulus is grateful. So grateful. But he can't help thinking of Sirius and wondering where this man was when Sirius needed him? As if hearing the thoughts in his head, his father's expression shifts, becoming more serious.
"But Regulus, your maman—"
Now it's Regulus's turn to laugh, though perhaps a bit more bitterly. "No I won't—I won't tell her."
His father nods, letting his hands fall away. And there it is, Regulus supposes, the answer to his question, the sin Sirius can never forgive. Because their father loves them. Just not enough to fight for them.
"Tell me," his father smiles now, a mischievous look in his eyes, "is there someone special?"
Regulus's throat grows tight. He should change the subject. He should lie. "Yes," he says instead—daringly—toeing too close to the edge.
His father beams at him. "Is he very handsome?"
That manages to startle a laugh out of Regulus. "Yes," he exhales, shoulders falling away from his ears. "Yes, very handsome."
"And kind?"
Regulus's chest squeezes and he wonders how his father—the man married to Walburga—can ask that question without choking. "Oui—yeah, he's—yeah. I've never met anyone—" he can't seem to finish that thought, hand going to the base of his throat like he can free the words that have gotten stuck there.
His father tilts his head to the side. "What is it?"
Regulus just shakes his head. "Nothing, I'm being ridiculous."
But his father reaches forward, squeezing his arm "We've come so far mon chou, no more lying, hmm?"
He wonders if his father realizes how ridiculous a request that is in this house. But he doesn't argue. "I can't have him," he whispers.
He sees the understanding brighten his father's eyes. "Ah," he says, "well, there are ways to...accommodate such things."
Regulus really does laugh now. "Are you suggesting he be my mistress?" the thought is so ludicrous and so addictive that Regulus can't help imagining it, just for a moment. They could have a house, some place to meet, that was just their's, that no one else would know about. It wouldn't just have to be for a few hours either, they could get away for days, for weeks even, at least every once and a while. Regulus squeezes his eyes shut, mentally shaking himself.
"I couldn't," he finally manages. "He would—he would never want that." Regulus can't quite believe he's having this conversation. "He doesn't want to love in secret. It's not who he is. He's too—too honourable for that."
His father's eyebrows raise to his nearly nonexistent hairline before Regulus realizes his mistake. "Love?"
He flushes, turning away.
"Oh mon cher, tu l'aime?"
"I think that's enough truths for tonight."
But when he looks back his father still wears an expression somewhere between fondness and pity. "L'amour est la lame la plus tranchante, n'est-ce pas? Une douleur que nous méprisons et désirons tout à la fois."
Regulus rolls his eyes. "Enough Papa, I misspoke, don't go making a whole thing of it."
His father laughs, opening his mouth to speak when a loud crack draws both their eyes towards the door.
"Kreacher?"
The house elf fidgets, eyes larger than normal as he looks imploringly from one face to the other. "I am being very, very sorries sirs, but Madam has sent for Master Regulus."
Regulus blinks. "Oh," he gets up, Kreacher still looking unusually twitchy, "is that all?"
Kreacher dances from one foot to the other, one of his hands coming up to tug nervously on his ears. "She—she is not alone Master Regulus sir," he makes a nervous humming noise that causes something to twist in Regulus's stomach.
"Who is she with Kreacher?" he asks carefully.
Another whimper. "It—he is here. It's him Master Regulus. He is here. In the dining room. He is..." the house elf shivers instead of finishing his sentence.
Regulus can relate, feeling something cold suddenly dripping down his own spine. "He," Regulus repeats numbly. "You mean..."
Kreacher gives a jerky nod. "The Dark Lord is waiting sir."
PART III: JAMES
So yeah, he's being a bit reckless. Or a lot. Definitely a lot. But Sirius and Remus are locked in the basement together and Peter went home and James just—he can't sleep. And he knows. Knows that he'll see Regulus tomorrow. Knows that he can't see him tonight. But he just...because he can't get Mary's words out of his head. He tried reading and rearranging the furniture in his bedroom before he gave up and went outside to fly laps around the back garden. Flying usually helps clear his head—or at least exhaust him—but this time it didn't. His mind was just so loud and so cluttered and there was no one around to stop him or distract him and then suddenly he wasn't flying laps around the back garden. He was flying to London.
So. Yeah. Bit reckless.
He's never been to Grimmauld Place per se, but Sirius has talked about it enough that James knows where it is. Well, he knows what street it's on, knows where it would be on the street if it didn't have whatever charms it does that are currently preventing him from being able to see it. So he's sitting in the park across the street, it's empty and dark, one or two street lamps flickering around him, broom clutched in his hand, fingers frozen, face numb.
It feels both worse and better, knowing that Regulus is right there. James hadn't been old enough or strong enough to save Sirius himself. To physically drag him out of this house. But he reckons he could do it now. He's older. Well. A bit older. Enough older. He reckons he would stand a chance, if he caught them by surprise. Or if could find Regulus's room, sneak him out the window. At this point he'd Body-Bind him and carry him out if he wouldn't come on his own. This has gone on long enough. James has already stood by helplessly and watched Walburga destroy one person he loves, he isn't doing it again. He isn't waiting until the moment she hurts Regulus so badly he can't recover from it. He's ending this now.
Or...he would be...if he could see the bloody house.
"Paranoid bitch," he whispers under his breath which freezes in front of his mouth. It's bloody cold out, which is good, means there are fewer people. Fewer people to see him sitting suspiciously on a park bench all alone and fewer people to see him flying halfway across the country on a broomstick. He flinches thinking about that last one, really hoping that in the dark no one was able to spot him.
Okay Potter, he thinks, foot tapping impatiently on the ground as he continues to glare at a bunch of posh looking townhouses. What's the plan? We're here. We did it. So what's next?
He fiddles with the wand that's still half up his sleeve, turning it in between his fingers. Does he try a revealing spell? A summoning charm? What kind of magic makes a whole house disappear? And not in a "there's a big empty space here" kind of way, but in a "literally doesn't exist" kind of way.
"Are you lost little boy?"
James's foot immediately stops tapping. He knows that voice. Hasn't heard it in a while but...
"Narcissa?" his wand is now clutched more firmly in his hand as the blond haired witch walks toward him, dark cloak dragging behind her. She hadn't been blond the last time he saw her but he'd been—what? Eleven? Twelve?
She stops in front of the bench he's sitting on, cold eyes staring down at him. "What are you doing here Potter?"
He should really be doing something—like running. Flying. Moving in any and all directions that are away from her. And yet, for some reason, he finds himself frozen.
"D—do you live here?" he asks dumbly.
She arches her brow. "No. I'm visiting my aunt. Which brings me back to my original question: what are you doing here?"
James realizes he still doesn't have an answer to that. "Visiting your aunt?" he offers up weakly, surprised when he sees Narcissa fight back a smile.
"Touché."
"Bonjour?"
"Are you just saying random french words?" she asks.
"Isn't that what you're doing?" He's overcompensating. When he gets nervous he gets cocky.
Narcissa snorts, running him up and down with her eyes. "I can see why Sirius likes you so much. You're practically the same person."
"I'm prettier though right?" his hand tightens around his wand, pulse beating a bit too fast.
Narcissa steps forward and James fights the urge to flinch away. "Did somebody send you here?" she asks, voice a low purr.
"No."
"No?"
James shakes his head. "I swear."
She steps closer, James considers pulling out his wand, considers aiming it at her. But then, that's a stupid move unless he means to use it. And he's not sure that he does. I mean, technically he can't. And he isn't entirely sure that the Ministry will side with him if he claims self-defence against Narcissa Black.
She tilts her head to the side. "Does that mean no one knows you're here?"
James feels his whole body go tense. Because, yes. Yes, that's exactly what it means. Narcissa clearly notices because she smiles. She's beautiful in the way that all the Blacks are beautiful. But she has none of warmth of Sirius or Regulus. Her eyes feel hollow. James doesn't like it. Doesn't think she laughs very much.
"Well isn't this a fabulous prize," she takes hold of his chin, jerking his head back so she can get a better look at him, forcing him more fully into the light of the street lamps. "Tell me, James, what do you think your father would give up to make sure you came home safe?"
James's heart starts pounding against his ribs. "What?"
"If I snatched you right now," her nails dig into his chin. "How far do you think he'd go to get you back, huh? Would he write a few new laws? Give up some names? Some hideouts? You're the only one right? The only child?" something flickers in her eyes, something vulnerable that James can't quite figure out. "They tried for a long time to have you, I remember the rumours. I don't think they'd let you go easily."
The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt his parents. He wonders if he could convince her that they have a strained relationship, that he really isn't worth much. He's not sure he could pull it off, so he stays silent. Eventually she lets him go.
"No one sent you," she says. "And my disaster of a cousin has already fled. So what, baby Potter, are you doing here? I'm honestly intrigued. What inspired this level of idiocy?"
James doesn't answer, wondering what she would do if he just jumped on his broom and took off. There would be plenty of time to hex him on the ascent—well, at least enough time. But would she? Out here in the street? How much control do the Death Eaters really have over the Ministry? Enough to overlook kidnapping? Is she bluffing? He can't tell. He looks at her and tries to crack open her expression but he honestly has no idea.
Fuck.
"Oi!" she snaps her fingers in front of his face, causing him to start. "Answers, now, or I'm getting Lucius."
And suddenly James goes very still.
He'd forgotten.
Forgotten that she isn't Narcissa Black. Not anymore. She's Narcissa Malfoy.
And just like that all his nerves and fear are burnt up by near unbearable rage. The desire to break Lucius Malfoy into a hundred little pieces.
"Do it," he growls, standing. He's taller than her, broader—he has quidditch to thank for that—forcing her to instantly step back.
Her eyes narrow, running him up and down—reassessing. "Do you know my husband?" she asks.
James gives his head a sharp shake. "We've never met." Which seems like the safest answer but it does nothing to dim the new curiosity in her eyes.
"There's more."
"Call him here—you bring him here." James's wand slides properly into his palm now, a movement that Narcissa doesn't miss.
She watches his wand for a moment before her eyes come back up to meet his. "Has he done something to you? Your father?"
"You know what he's done." It's a vague statement, it could mean anything, but it makes Narcissa's eyes narrow further.
"He's done many things. You'll have to be more specific."
"Where is he? The Ministry? Is he in there?" he jabs a shaking hand in the direction of the street, where he knows Grimmauld Place is even if he can't see it. "Tell him I'm here, tell him I'm waiting. Lets see how much of a coward he really is, or if he has enough of a spine to pick up his wand."
That startles a laugh out of her, "He's not going to fight a child."
"Oh so he'll fuck kids but he won't fight them?" He sees the minute she understands. It's the same minute he realizes what he's done.
"Regulus," she whispers, taking a step back, eyes going almost unwillingly to the houses across the street like she can't help herself. "He told you? He told YOU?"
James isn't having this discussion. Especially not with Narcissa bloody Malfoy. "You get your fucking husband here now."
There is no mask anymore, dozens of conflicting emotions splintering across Narcissa's face. "Why? Why would he tell you? He hates you."
James tries not to flinch. Tries not to care that that was probably true at some point. But then, you could say the same thing about him. He had hated Regulus hadn't he?
"I don't get it," Narcissa mutters, clearly irritated by that fact.
"You don't need to get it," James pushes into her space again. Righteous indignation is a hell of a drug.
For the second time that night he sees something click in Narcissa's eyes. "Oh shit," she whispers under her breath. "Oh goddamnit Regulus. It's you, isn't it? Lucius has been banging on about Regulus having a boy. It's you. James fucking Potter."
I'm so sorry Reg.
"You knew didn't you?" he goes on, because he's already so far in, and there's no way he's leaving this conversation without hearing her admit it.
"Knew?"
"About Lucius," the words are ground between his teeth, anger vibrating his bones. "You knew—not just after but during, didn't you? Knew what he was doing and you did nothing. You married him."
Narcissa at least has the decency to look ashamed. "We all pay a price to be part of this family."
It's so horrible that the only thing James can do is laugh. "That's sick that is. That's fucking sick. How can you live with yourself? He was a kid—he's still a kid—how can you get in bed with that monster."
"Oh don't you moralize at me you fucking infant—like you have any idea how the real world works," she shoves him back. "Human beings are disgusting and vile, either learn to live with it or, I don't know, throw yourself off a cliff. Regulus hasn't bled for this family anymore than the rest of us. He'll get his reward in the end."
It takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to hit her. Not to throw her on the ground. "His reward?" his voice so tight it nearly snaps.
There's a moment's pause before she smiles at him, something vaguely sinister about it. Empty. "Oh haven't you heard? We are chosen," she opens her arms wide. "Our blood is pure, our magic is ancient. We will rule the world and crush the rest of you into dust." The sleeves of her robe slip down, revealing two pale, naked forearms. No Marks to be seen. Somehow that makes her speech seem a little less sincere.
"Looking for something?" she snaps, bringing his eyes back to her's. Her gaze a weird mix of anger and pain. Eventually—after too long, really—she drops her arms again. This time looking exhausted.
"Go, Potter. Go home. Now."
James blinks. "I—what?"
"Get the fuck out of here," she snaps.
James knows that he should take the out but he's too bewildered by it to be relieved. "You're just going to let me go?"
She glares at him. "This time. For Regulus. But if I see you sniffing around here again I promise I will lock you in the fucking basement, do you understand me?"
"For Regulus?" James says derisively. He knows he's pushing his luck here but he can't let it go. "Are you pretending you care about him suddenly?"
She gives him a cold look. "One day," she says slowly. "You'll understand that loving someone is a complicated thing," he doesn't appreciate the way her stare lingers on him. "One day real bloody soon."
There's a crack, which has James stumbling back into the tree behind him. He hadn't been expecting her to Apparate. It takes him a minute to catch his breath, to be sure that she's really gone. His hands are shaking slightly when he grips his broom, throwing one leg over before casting a glance back at the row of houses across the street, like maybe suddenly he'll see it. He's so hopped-up on adrenaline right now that he's pretty sure if Grimmauld Place materialized in front of him he'd kick the door down. Consequences be damned.
Alas. There's still no twelve. The houses jumping from eleven to thirteen, with no space between.
"I'm sorry Reg," James sighs. "I hope you're safe. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" And then he kicks off, flying back into the night.
James is asleep almost as soon as he sits down on the train, slumping into the corner with his head pressed against the glass.
"Jesus," Sirius mutters. "You'd think HE was the one who turned into a bloody werewolf last night."
James doesn't open his eyes, just gives Sirius the middle finger and burrows further into his corner, using his jacket as a pillow. If Remus had been there he probably would have hit Sirius but he's already at the Prefect meeting. He'd looked surprisingly well for the morning after a full moon—it's obvious that having Sirius with him had helped.
James drifts in and out of consciousness, the light casting shadows through his eyelids as the train pulls through Scottish countryside. Every once and a while Sirius and Peter's mumbled conversations drift through the compartment but he's never awake enough to really understand what they're saying. He just wants to get back to school. He just wants to see Regulus. He isn't sure if Narcissa will have told him that James showed up at Grimmauld Place—if she did he'll be in for a dressing down but he doesn't care. Regulus can yell at him all he wants. Just as long as James can see him. Touch him.
The compartment door slams open, startling James upright and causing him to kick Peter in the process.
"Ow! What the hell Prongs," he rubs testily at his side.
"Sorry," James yawns, running a hand over his face before he looks up to find the cause of the disturbance. Remus is standing in the doorway, a grimace on his face.
"Finally finished with your official duties?" Sirius asks, tugging lightly on Remus's robes but Remus doesn't look down.
"James can you c'mere for a minute?"
"Er—" James's still half-asleep brain isn't quite able to process that request.
"You want to talk with him...in the hallway?" Sirius asks, clearly as confused by this as James.
"Yeah, ah, Lily has something she wants me to tell him, so—James?"
Sirius lets out a low whistle. "Shit, what'd you do Prongs?"
"I—" he'd almost forgotten about Lily. Well, no, okay, that isn't quite right. He hadn't forgotten as much as he'd just been completely unable to processes it. A lot had had happened all at once.
"You aren't really gonna make him go in the hall are you?" Sirius goes on, seemingly not expecting an answer from James. "You know he's just going to tell me everything anyway."
Remus rolls his eyes. "I promised Lily I would deliver the message privately, what he does after that is his own bloody prerogative. James? Please?"
James finally manages to get to his feet, fighting with Sirius on his way out the door as the other boy tries to trip him, Sirius laughing as the compartment door slides shut behind them.
James huffs, straightening out his shirt and staring at Remus. "Well, what—"
But Remus shakes his head. "Not here," he hisses, before he starts walking quickly along the train. James has no idea what to do other than follow him. They're nearly at the end of the car before Remus turns into another compartment—an empty one, James realizes.
"Moons?" he asks, stepping inside and watching Remus shut the door behind them before casting a Muffliato.
Remus sighs, bringing his hands to his face and then wincing when his fingers drag across the still fresh cuts. James waits for him to speak but he doesn't, just stands there looking like he'd rather be anywhere else.
"Okay, Remus? You're starting to scare me now."
He sighs again. "Sorry, sorry I just don't know how to..." he trails off. "Maybe you should sit down?"
James arches his brow. "Is this really about Lily?"
Remus shakes his head. "Though I do think you're going to have to talk to her at some point because there was definitely something...off, today. You never said what happened on—"
"Moons," James interrupts. "You're rambling, and as much as I would love to listen to you for hours I'm gonna need you to tell me what's going on."
"Right," Remus nods. "Yeah, of course, sorry."
They go back to standing in silence.
"Moony?"
His eyes flutter closed for a minute, and James watches him take a deep breath before he opens them again, a new determination in his eyes. "It's Regulus, James."
Which may be the most terrifying sentence James has ever heard, his stomach instantly dropping into the soles of his shoes.
"What's Regulus? What do you mean?" fear is plain in his voice but James makes no attempt to hide it.
Remus looks at him sympathetically. "He isn't—he didn't come back."
"What?"
Something cold cascades down his spine, pools in his chest. He's going to be sick. Going to pass out.
"That's not—how—are you sure?"
Remus nods slowly. "He wasn't at the Prefect meeting so I asked Cerci Greengrass. She said he never showed up. That she went looking for him but Barty and Rosier haven't seen him either. Don't seem to know where he is. Or if they do they wouldn't tell her."
James shakes his head. "No."
No.
No.
No.
"James?"
Black spots have started appearing in his vision. What if Narcissa went to Walburga? Went to Lucius? What if this is his fault?
"James? James breathe—fuck—breathe."
He feels Remus's hands on him, feels himself being guided into one of the seats, his head pushed gently between his knees.
"I—can't—I have to go—I have to go get him."
He'd been right there. He'd been so close.
"You know you can't."
"No—please, please Remus. You have to help me. I can't—I can't leave him there. I can't leave him with them. They'll hurt him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is my fault. This is my fault. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I just wanted to keep him safe." He really isn't breathing anymore, words tripping out of his mouth tangled up in one another—all half sobs.
"James—God, James—It'll be okay. We'll figure something out, I promise. But right now I need you to breathe. Please, for me," he feels Remus's hand squeeze the back of his neck.
"In, out James. In, out."
"I can't. It's my fucking fault. He told me to stay away and I didn't. He told me what would happen if they found out and I told him I didn't care. I can't. I can't."
"Sh, sh," Remus says calmly, hand still a steady weight at the back of James's head. "Don't go thinking up worse case scenarios okay? We don't know what's happened."
James still feels like he's choking on every inhale. "What if it was Sirius?" he whispers, feeling Remus stiffen next to him.
"I promise I'll help you," Remus says, barely louder than James. "I promise."
James wants to tell him that he believes him but he can't quite manage it. Eyes squeezing shut, head still between his knees.
I'm sorry, is all he can think. Over and over again.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.