PART I JAMES
Regulus is just staring at him, eyes wide, something complicated twisting up his face that James can't quite interpret.
"Reg?" he asks cautiously.
But Regulus doesn't respond, at least not right away, his body rigid at James's side. Eventually he manages to force his expression into something vaguely blank, which James knows is a bad sign.
"Sirius knows about us," he repeats robotically. "Does he know because you told him?" there is something brittle about his voice.
James wants to say no, that he would never betray Regulus's trust like that, but he's not about to throw Remus under the bus.
"You were missing," is what he says instead. Which Regulus seems to take as an admission of guilt.
"Fuck James," he hisses, before he grips his knees, head dropping down between them. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."
"Hey, it's okay," James says, even though he has absolutely no idea if that's true.
"I can't deal with this right now, I don't even—Fuck—I can't."
"Reg—"
"He'll never forgive me for this," and then he laughs, head still between his knees, breaths coming in and out in wheezing gasps. "No, that's stupid. He was never going to forgive me anyway. But now he'll hate me. Properly hate me—"
"Regulus," James says again, trying and failing to stop his spiralling.
"I don't want to fight with him. I don't want to hurt him. I'm so tired of hurting people."
Who have you hurt? James almost asks before he stops himself. "Regulus you have to breathe okay?" James's hand goes to the back of Regulus's neck, squeezing just enough that he can feel it. "No one is fighting anyone," though he isn't sure he can promise that, not knowing Sirius as well as he does.
"What if he never speaks to you again?" Regulus sounds out of breath. "You'll resent me. You'll hate me too—"
"This isn't your fault Reg, I knew what the consequences were," though he can't help the panic that rises up in him at the thought of Sirius cutting him out of his life. "I won't hate you."
"You will. You fucking will," another choked laugh bubbles out of him. "But I guess that doesn't matter either," he's talking to himself, James realizes. "I already made sure you would."
James feels those words like they're hands twisting his gut. "Regulus," he says more sternly, squeezing his neck again, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to anchor him, to keep him grounded in his body instead of his unraveling nightmares. "Breathe. Now. Breathe with me. In and out."
"I—"
"No, no more talking. Just breathe, okay? Open your mouth and inhale."
After a few seconds James hears the sound of breath being slowly taken in.
"Good, that's good. Again, do it with me." And so they breathe together. In, two, three, out, two, three. In, two, three, out two three. Again. And again. And again. Until James feels certain that Regulus isn't about to pass out. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Regulus's temple.
"You need to trust me."
He feels Regulus sag against him. "That isn't the problem."
"Then what is?"
Reg doesn't speak, and after several minutes James gives up waiting, letting out a heavy sigh. "Reg," he says softly, "keeping things from me? Things you think I can't handle? That's not trust."
Regulus presses back against him. "I don't want you to know everything I know," he says quietly. "I don't even want to know everything I know. Some things you can't take back. Can't forget. I don't want to do that to you," another pause and then; "Please don't make me do that to you."
James squeezes his eyes shut and resists the urge to break something. To tear the world apart for everything it's done to Reg. "I'm so sorry," he finally manages.
"No don't—I don't deserve it."
"Reg," his voice aches but Regulus quickly pulls back, sitting up and rubbing his face.
"We should go," his voice has turned cold. A defence mechanism. "It's too early to be disappearing and I've already missed enough lessons as it is." He gets to his feet without looking at James.
James wants to tell him to stop. That they can stay here all day. All week. Forever. Tucked away in their little corner of the universe where James can keep him safe. But he knows a brush off when he sees one. Knows what Regulus looks like when he's locked himself away. The boy in front of him doesn't want to be coddled or comforted or touched. This isn't Reg anymore. It's the heir to the noble and most ancient house of Black. James has learned to spot the difference between them.
"Okay," he says eventually, getting awkwardly to his feet as Regulus goes about righting his robes, returning his appearance to its normal immaculately quaffed state. You'd never guess he'd been vomiting his fear up only a few minutes ago.
"I'll deal with Sirius okay?" James says, earning him a tight nod.
"If you think you can." His tone is dismissive but James knows that Regulus is terrified of what his brother will do next.
"I can," James tries to put as much confidence into those words as he can, even if it's confidence that he doesn't feel. But it's hard when Reg won't meet his eye.
They're nearly at the door when something else starts nagging at the back of James's mind. "Hey Reg?" he stops him with his hand on the doorknob. The younger boy looks at him over his shoulder.
"Mary said—Mary Macdonald—-she said something to me, over break."
Regulus goes unnaturally still. "Oh?" he says mildly, tone not at all matching his posture, the effect is unnerving.
"Er—yeah. I was just—just wondering," there's no good way to ask this but James struggles to find one anyway. "What happened," he lands on eventually, "the night she was attacked?"
Regulus's expression remains blank. "You know what happened."
"Do I?"
There's a tense moment of silence during which James tries and fails to crack Regulus's mask. "I don't know what to tell you James," he says eventually. "I wasn't there."
It hits James square in the chest. The feeling of wrongness. For one blissful second he doesn't understand it—doesn't understand why his skin suddenly feels like crawling off his bones as he stares into Regulus's empty eyes. But then he realizes;
Regulus is lying.
He's lying to me.
Which means—
"Is that all?" Regulus asks, breaking into James's thoughts. "I'd rather not get detention on my first day back."
James blinks at him, mouth dry "Um—yeah. Okay. Sorry. That's all."
Regulus nods, opening the door and pausing halfway through. When he looks back for the second time there's something a little more human in his stare. More like the boy who'd just been sitting with James on the floor.
"Tonight?" is all Regulus asks.
James offers him a shaky smile. "Tonight," he agrees, watching Regulus nod before slipping out of the room. He finds he can't move, a trembling breath scratching its way out of his lungs.
"Fuck," he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Oh fuck Reg. What did you do?"
PART II REGULUS
He's barely in class for thirty minutes when a silvery translucent phoenix flies through the doors and up to Professor Flitwick's desk. Regulus grits his teeth and looks back down at his parchment. It's probably nothing. He's sure Dumbledore sends messages to his teachers all the time. Granted, he's never seen it happen before but that doesn't mean—
"Mr. Black?"
Every muscles in his body tenses as he looks up to find Professor Flitwick's eyes on him.
"Professor Dumbledore would like to see you. He said to bring your books. You won't be back before the end of class."
Fuck.
Regulus nods at Flitwick before he starts inelegantly shoving his books back into his bag. He knows that it's the least of his problems right now, but he really wishes that Dumbledore could have waited until lunch or something. He hates that he's already missed the first few weeks of the winter term. He's behind. And Regulus is never behind. He likes school, he's not embarrassed about that, even if Evan mocks him mercilessly for it. He's good at school, and, not to be too much of a Ravenclaw, but he really misses learning things.
"Shit Reg," Evan whispers beside him. "You've only been here a few hours, what the fuck did you do to get summoned to the Headmaster's office?"
Regulus only shakes his head as he slides his bag over his shoulder. "No idea," he mutters. "See you at lunch?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course. Hey, tell Dumbledore to eat a dick for me will you?" he shoots Regulus a grin that actually manages to calm his nerves a little bit.
"You're a moron Evan," he says fondly, heading out of the class and into the largely deserted corridor.
Regulus assumes the password to Dumbledore's office is the same as it was before Christmas and he's proven right when the ugly stone gargoyle guarding it shifts to reveal the stairs. With every step he takes he can feel his pulse speeding up, his palms and underarms growing sweaty. It's stupid, to be afraid of this after having just spent two weeks in Azkaban, but at least there he'd known what to expect. Well, sort of. Here though? Here he doesn't know what Dumbledore is capable of. What he can do to Regulus. He just knows that Dumbledore's the only one whose power is equal to Voldemort's—magically and politically. And he also knows that Dumbledore doesn't like him.
"Come in," the Headmasters's voice calls out after Regulus knocks tentatively on the large doors at the top of the stairs.
The cluttered nature of Dumbledore's office automatically puts Regulus on edge every time he steps into it. Not only because he likes things ordered, but because it makes it difficult to get his bearings. He doesn't know if there is another door, he thinks there must be, connecting to the Headmasters's private rooms, but he can't see it. Doesn't know if it's the only one or if there are more. He's not even certain that they're alone. Someone could easily be hiding amongst the trinkets and oddities that Dumbledore has piled around himself like he's a dragon collecting treasure.
"Sit," the old man says, gesturing to the single chair in front of him, he smiles at Regulus but the expression doesn't reach his eyes. In Regulus's experience it never does. Dumbledore is already sitting behind his desk, half-moon spectacles at the tip of his nose, hands laced in front of him.
Regulus does not relax when he sits down, back straight, barely touching the wood. "You wanted to see me?" he asks, when Dumbledore allows the silence to drag on.
Dumbledore tilts his head forward, still smiling. "I did." Another painful silence stretches between them and it takes every ounce of self control Regulus has not to fidget, not to let his gaze drop.
Regulus isn't at his best. That's the truth. Two weeks in Azkaban, a week at Grimmauld before that, his nerves are too close to the skin. His body and mind and heart too sensitive. He was barely able to keep it together with James this morning. Well, if you consider vomiting keeping it together. He hopes none of that shows on his face but he has a sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore already knows. That that's why he wanted to speak with him so soon.
"You took an extended vacation I'm told," Dumbledore says, and Regulus nearly sighs with the relief of having the silence broken.
"Family emergency," he says calmly.
Dumbledore arches his brow. "Oh?"
"Yup."
Dumbledore tilts his head to the side, assessing Regulus. "Your teachers tell me you're quite bright," he says, the sudden shift in the conversation startling Regulus.
"Er—do they?" he hates the uncertainty that he's allowed to slip into his voice.
"They do. And I've been struggling to understand why someone so intelligent would willingly waste his talents on the bigoted crusades of a mad man."
Regulus blinks, opening and closing his mouth, not sure how to respond. No one ever speaks to him about this—about Voldemort—so bluntly and Regulus isn't sure what he should deny and what he should own up to. Is he meant to feign ignorance in this situation? Does Dumbledore actually know anything or is he just making guesses?
"I'm sorry Professor," Regulus says when he finally manages to find his voice again. "But I'm not quite sure what you mean?"
"Ah, of course, I'm sorry, I've been told I can be rather obtuse sometimes," he laughs, the noise causing the hair to stand up on the back of Regulus's neck. "Let me be more clear."
He slides something across his desk and it takes Regulus a minute to focus on it, to cut through the buzzing anxiety fogging up his brain and properly read the words in front of him. It's today's edition of the Daily Profit, he realizes. The front page of the Daily Prophet to be precise. When he finally reads the headline he feels his whole body recoil before he can get control of himself. He tries to clamp down on the fear that swells inside him, that he knows is playing across his face right now, but he doesn't quite manage it.
"Prisoner Murdered in His Cell," Dumbledore reads the headline out loud. "Ministry in Uproar."
All Regulus can do is stare back at him with wide eyes. Dumbledore apparently takes that as permission to continue.
"Jonathan Van Wheeler was murdered late last night in his cell in Azkaban. The twenty-two year old was being held on suspicions of Death Eater activity. Aurors refuse to comment on whether or not his death confirms or refutes his connection to the terrorist group."
A little bit of doubt, Regulus thinks numbly. It's what Voldemort had wanted and it's exactly what he got.
"Van Wheeler's family vehemently denies that the young man had any such associations, his father saying, in a statement made early this morning; "What has happened to my son is a great injustice. The Aurors had no right taking him. They just wanted somebody. Wanted to feel like they were doing something. So they took my boy. My beautiful boy. I blame the Ministry more than anyone else for his death. He never should have been in Azkaban."
"Stop," Regulus says, voice raw. This couldn't have worked out better for Voldemort. Not only are the Aurors still unclear about whether or not they've been following a false lead, but now public opinion is turning against them.
"I'm sorry," Dumbledore says mildly, looking up from the paper. "What was that family emergency again? I'm afraid I forgot to ask?"
Regulus is pretty sure if he tried to speak right now he would choke. All he can mange is holding Dumbledore's stare and not throwing up. He hadn't known the man's name before. Jonathan. He can conjure up his face so easily— pale and desperate and begging for mercy.
"It isn't mentioned in this article, because the Ministry doesn't want anyone to know, but along with a murder, it appears there was also an escape last night. A relative of yours I believe, Rabastan Lestrange. Perhaps that is the emergency to which you were referring?"
Still Regulus doesn't speak. Can't. His brain is a mess of half-formed thoughts and memories he is desperately trying to force back down into the corner of himself where he keeps everything else he can't think about.
"I'll not pretend that I don't find your actions reprehensible," Dumbledore goes on, apparently bored with waiting for a response. "But it would be of great value to me to have a set of eyes in Tom's inner circle. Especially one in a family like yours. So I will ask you again, work with me, and maybe you'll be able to wash some of this blood from your hands." He gives Regulus a look that is more like disgust than pity. "You don't strike me as someone who has the stomach for murder."
Regulus almost laughs. Considering the amount of throwing up he's been doing that might literally be true. Then something else occurs to him. Something equally hard to stomach.
"Is that why you left us there—left Sirius?" he's proud that his voice comes out at least relatively even.
Dumbledore doesn't flinch. "Left you where?"
It's an irritating question, but Regulus answers anyway. "At Grimmauld. I bet the second James Potter brought Sirius home his parents were begging you to let them take him. But you never did. Never did anything even though you must have known—"
"Known what?" Dumbledore interrupts, voice betraying nothing but casual interest.
Everything in Regulus begs him to shut his mouth. These are all the things they don't say. All the things they never say. Hide the bruises. Smile and stand up straight. Dress smart. No one will notice. No one will know. We are the Noble and most Ancient House of Black. We do not cry. We do not whine. We certainly don't ask for help.
"What they were like," he half-whispers, not sure he can mange more honesty than that. "What was happening to us in that house. You never lifted a finger until the day Sirius left himself. Was that because of this," Regulus gestures to him. "Because you wanted—what did you say again? Eyes?"
Considering how blunt he's been throughout this encounter, Regulus really shouldn't be surprised by the words that come out of his mouth next. But somehow he still is.
"Yes," Dumbledore says, without shame. Regulus finds himself well and truly speechless. "It was necessary. Ideally Sirius would have remained there until he graduated but oh well. Best laid plans and so forth. Luckily," he runs Regulus over with his eyes, "there's still you."
And oh.
Oh isn't that just.
Just exactly what his fucking mother thought.
Regulus takes a deep breath and tries to asses the situation in front of him, tries not to lose control, to hold himself together long enough to get out of this fucking office.
"The last time we spoke you wanted my wand," he says slowly, ensuring his words come out strong. Stable. Freed of the fear and anger strangling him under the surface. "I'm assuming you weren't able to get a warrant from the Ministry to do so?" he needs to make sure he knows where he stands. Knows what cards Dumbledore is playing with.
Dumbledore pauses, blue ice like ice staring into him. "I was not."
Regulus nods. So he tried and he failed. That's good, it means their hold on the Ministry is strong, it means that legally Dumbledore has no power here.
"That's why you brought this then," Regulus points at the paper. "You needed new blackmail material?"
Dumbledore arches his brow. "And what on Earth would Jonathan Van Wheeler's death have to do with you?"
"Nothing...of course," Regulus says sharply, holding Dumbledore's stare. "It has nothing to do with me. So we're done here?"
He really wishes he could look away but he doesn't want to seem weak—at least, not weaker than he already does.
"This is the last time I will be making you this offer Regulus," he says in that deep all-consuming voice of his. "I will never again offer you an olive branch. There will be no changing your mind from this moment on."
Regulus nods, the motion jerky because he's shaking so badly. "I understand."
"Do you?"
Regulus doesn't dignify that with an answer. He wants out, of course he wants out, but he doesn't trust Dumbledore. And at least his mother needs to keep him alive.
Eventually Dumbledore sighs. "Then yes. We're done."
Regulus gets up from his chair but doesn't quite make it out of the room. He knows that Dumbledore doesn't care, that Regulus is nothing but a piece on the board to him, which seems to be all he is to everyone these days. But for some reason he still says it.
"I could have used you when I was eleven," he looks back over his shoulder. "You could have made a difference then."
Dumbledore holds his gaze, stare unblinking. "The world doesn't owe you anything Regulus," his voice hits Regulus somewhere low in his stomach. "And I certainly don't." Despite his best efforts Regulus feels the burning sensation of shame wash over him.
Without wasting anymore time he pushes through the door and sprints down the stairs.
He doesn't know where he's going. It's not quite lunch yet but he can't stomach the thought of walking back into class. He can't stomach the idea of being anywhere if he's honest. He just wants to disappear. To scrub the skin off his bones. He hates the way his body feels, hates the things it's done, hates the sound of his own thoughts in his head.
Breathe, he tells himself as he walks belligerently through the corridors. No purpose, no direction, just the desire to move and not think. The word is said in James's voice. The ghost of his touch burning into the back of Regulus's neck.
Breathe, breathe, breath—
"Well look who's back."
Regulus whips around, wand drawn as he comes face to face with a smirking Mary Macdonald. She doesn't even flinch, just arches her brow as Regulus feels his heart start to beat again.
"Jumpy much?" she asks.
Regulus doesn't lower his wand right away, which is stupid. They're in the middle of the corridor, and the last thing he wants is to give Dumbledore anymore excuses to call him into his office.
"You gonna hex me Black?" she steps forward until tip of his wand is pressing into the base of her throat. "Or, sorry, I mean again. Gonna hex me again?"
Regulus's hands are shaking and he can't help thinking of the last time he had his wand pointed at someone.
I'm a good man, Jonathan had begged.
I swear.
I'm going to get married.
Please.
He drops his arm but doesn't put away his wand, keeping it firmly clutched in the palm of his hand. "Not now," he bites out. "I can't—I can't do this right now."
"Unfortunately I really don't care," she says, sounding like she means every word. "We had a deal you and I."
Regulus wants to scream.
"I gave you two weeks."
"I was unavoidably detained," he says flatly.
"Well, you're here now, and you're meant to be selling out your friends to me."
Regulus had actually forgotten about that. So much has happened since their meeting on the Quidditch pitch. This mess with Mary had felt so big and important then, but now? Regulus can barely bring himself to care. Too busy trying to navigate his way around the two titans currently vying for his loyalty.
"I haven't even been back a day," he finally says, sounding nearly as exhausted as he feels.
"Yes, well, I've been here for weeks, so you'll excuse me if I'm not feeling particularly patient."
Regulus grits his teeth. "I'll give you your information—though, I'm not entirely sure you've been holding up your end of the bargain."
She arches her brow, looking amused more than anything else, which Regulus finds infuriating but he pushes his anger down. It won't do him any favours to act out right now.
"Is that so?" she asks mildly.
"James has been asking questions, said you told him stuff over the break. You know anything about that?"
Regulus had been certain his heart was going to drown in the pit of his stomach this morning when James asked him about Mary's attack.
The Gryffindor smirks. "James isn't exactly known for minding his own business is he?"
"So you're saying he, what? Figured it out on his own?"
Mary shrugs. "I'm saying I gave you two weeks. But I still haven't breathed a word to Dumbledore. It was his office you just came from yeah? I could always go have a chat with him."
Regulus's hand squeezes his wand. "I told you I would keep you informed and I will."
Mary smiles with all her teeth. "Good. Then we shouldn't have any problems should we?"
Regulus doesn't bother responding to that. Doesn't see the point. "I'm going to lunch now, that alright with you?"
She laughs, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. "Sure babe."
Regulus has barely taken two steps before she speaks again. Words crawling down his spine.
"He still doesn't know about the Mark," she says recklessly, though Regulus supposes it isn't her life she's gambling with. "I left that one for you. But you have to tell him."
Regulus doesn't sop. Doesn't turn around.
"Yeah," he mutters under his breath, ignoring the ache in his chest. "Yeah, I know."
PART III JAMES
Remus doesn't show up until dinner. James would have had no idea where he was if it weren't for Peter. Even still, it makes him nervous. This mess isn't Remus's fault and he doesn't want him to have to bear the brunt of Sirius's anger. Or any of it for that matter.
"There," Peter nudges James's foot under the table and he immediately stops nervously tapping his cutlery and turns to watch Remus walk towards them. He looks tired but okay.
Tired and alone.
"Hey," he says softly, as he drops down into the seat beside James.
"He was there then?" Peter asks, leaning across the table.
Remus nods. "Yeah, he was there. It was a good guess Pete."
Peter preens.
James watches as Remus rubs at his eyes, hair mussed and clothes covered in dirt, all very unlike the pristine front he normally presents. There are so many things he wants to ask him that he doesn't know where to start.
"Are you okay?" he decides on eventually.
Remus gives him a weak smile. "I've been better, but I've been worse," he pauses, taking in a deep breath. "I think we'll be...okay," he says, though his words are shaky, like they aren't quite sure of their footing.
"That's good," James says, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "How—ah—how is he?"
Remus doesn't manage to hide his grimace. "He needs...time, I think."
"Can I talk to him?"
"James," he says wearily.
"Please I just—"
"James," he repeats more sternly, eyes locking with his. "Did you hear what I just said?"
James does his best to bite back the frustration that flares inside him. "He needs time," he repeats stiffly.
Remus nods his head. "Yeah. He just needs to be alone for a bit."
"Alone with you?" James isn't able to keep the bitterness out of his voice. And yeah, he knows he's out of order, but there was a time when he was the person that Sirius wanted at his side when he couldn't stand the sight of anyone else. When he was the one to comfort him. Put him back together. Save him from himself. And he's jealous. Because this—this new development between Sirius and Remus, it feels like being replaced. It feels like losing something.
"Yes," Remus replies, not unkindly, because it's Remus and he is the bigger person in nearly every situation. "Alone with me."
James doesn't know what he's supposed to say to that, but thankfully McGonagall saves him from having to figure it out.
"Mr. Lupin, I am told by your professors that you and Mr. Black were absent from class today. Care to explain yourself?"
Minnie knows how to be intimidating when she wants to be, towering over them with a stone cold stare and unsmiling mouth. Remus doesn't even flinch.
"Sorry Professor, I have a note from Madam Pomfrey," he reaches into his bag and does, in fact, pull out a note. It is work for James to keep his face neutral. "Sirius got sick this morning, I took him to the infirmary and stayed with him."
McGonagall takes the note from him and inspects it thoroughly. "I see. And you needed to remain with him because...?" she looks back up in time to get the full force of a Remus Lupin sheepish smile. It's truly a thing of beauty. All soft and self deprecating. The guy could get away with murder using that thing.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but Sirius is a bit of a handful on a good day, let alone when he's ill."
James actually thinks he sees McGongall trying to bite back her own smile. Everyone thinks Remus is the goody-goody, but he's a duplicitous little bastard when he wants to be.
"Very well, give Mr. Black my regards, and Poppy as well, she'll need them after a day with you two."
"I will professor, of course," he flashes her another one of those smiles as she walks away, note in hand.
When Remus turns back to the table he slumps, like that performance took it out of him.
"Holy shit," Peter gasps, echoing James's thoughts exactly. "Remus did you just forge a sick note? You?"
Remus looks up at him, frowning. "It's not forged," and when the pair of them continue to stare at him unconvinced he sighs, rubbing his forehead. "Well, not completely. She gave me a few, in case I needed to...take time off, around the full moon. I just...adjusted it a bit."
"To include Sirius?" James asks.
Remus nods wearily. "To include Sirius."
James laughs, shaking his head. "That's brilliant that is." But Remus continues to look unhappy about it.
"She gave them to me because she trusts me, this isn't something to be congratulating me on."
"I dunno," Peter says thoughtfully. "Pretty impressive if you ask me."
"Very quick witted," James agrees.
Remus only rolls his eyes. "You two are a terrible influence."
"Hey!" James holds his hands up in a show of innocence. "You're the one forging legal documents here."
"A sick note is not a legal document," Remus hisses as he starts piling food onto his plate. "And would you keep your voice down?"
"We just didn't know you were such a delinquent," James teases.
"It's the Prefect thing," Peter adds. "Really threw us off."
"I'm ignoring you both now," Remus says, causing Peter and James to snicker.
It takes a few minutes before James realizes that Remus isn't just putting food on his plate, but on the napkin next to him as well. James looks blatantly at it, brow raised. At first he thinks Remus doesn't see, but eventually he sighs.
"It's for Sirius."
"Ah," James tries to ignore the pulling in his gut. "Not coming in then."
"No."
"And you're going back?"
Remus doesn't meet his eye. "Staying the night."
"Ah," James says for the second time, not sure he can manage much else.
"Blimey that's going to be bloody uncomfortable," Peter shivers across the table and Remus gives him a small smile.
"I've done it before."
"Suppose so," though Peter doesn't sound convinced.
James can feel Remus shooting him glances as they keep eating, the silence between them now a little awkward. But he does his best to ignore it, to focus on the food on his plate. His mashed potatoes are absolutely fascinating tonight.
"Listen, James," Remus says eventually, voice dropped low "We should—we need to talk."
James looks over at him. If they'd been dating this would be the moment when James would start worrying Remus was about to break up with him, but since they're not, he isn't exactly sure what "we need to talk" means.
"Okay?" he says eventually, instead of the obvious: we're talking right now?
"I have something to tell you—that you should know. Maybe before I—" But Remus quickly cuts himself off as Marlene and Dorcas get too close.
"Hey boys," Marlene says cheerily, dropping into the seat next to Peter, Dorcas on her other side. "What's shaking?"
It's a weird moment, remembering suddenly how normal this day has been for everyone else, like being woken up from a dream. Reminded that the rest of the world still exists.
"Er—guys?" Marlene starts to look concerned when none of them reply, apparently all experiencing the same strange feeling as James. It's like he can't remember how to hold a regular conversation because his entire life at the moment is a disaster.
"Nothing much," Peter quickly jumps in. "Except—oi, did you hear about Zabini and Richardson?"
"Oh my God yeah, what the hell?" Dorcas laughs. "Weirdest couple ever."
"Are they a couple though?" Marlene says frowning. "I thought they just hooked up?"
"Fair," Dorcas concedes. "Hard to tell where the line is, between hook-up and relationship," she sends Marlene a significant look that the Gryffindor either doesn't see or willfully ignores.
"Apparently they basically put on a porno in the middle of the Slytherin common room."
"Jesus Peter," Remus says, exasperated.
"What?" Peter demands. "I'm just saying what I heard."
"To be fair," Dorcas interjects. "I also heard that."
"Me too!" Marlene agrees.
"Wait, what?" James has finally managed to regain control of his thoughts. "I didn't hear any of this, what the hell are you guys talking about?"
"Merlin James, it's been all anyone has been able to talk about all day. Where have you been?" Marlene demands.
James opens his mouth but finds he doesn't actually know what to say. He's been here, technically, he just hasn't...his eyes go to the Slytherin table.
"Maybe he's just not interested in salacious gossip about his peers?" Remus intercepts, saving him. James sends Remus a quick look of thanks.
Marlene rolls her eyes at the same time that Peter says; "Since when?"
"I've been a bit out of it today," James finally manages. "Go on, tell me the gossip."
Marlene immediately launches into the story, complete with over the top hand gestures and a very bad impression of Richardson's Irish accent that has Dorcas barely keeping it together. James listens and laughs in the right places, but he finds it difficult to be present. To care.
"You saving those for later?"
James blinks. Peter and Marlene are arguing over the details of the story—Peter adamant that Richardson got fully naked in the common room and Marlene insisting that she heard he only got down to his pants. But Dorcas, James realizes, is looking at the small pile of food on Remus's napkin. Remus blushes but his expression remains neutral.
"I get a little peckish after dinner sometimes," he says.
"A little peckish?" which is fair considering the size of the pile.
"Don't you guys have like, secret access to the kitchens?" Marlene pulls herself away from her argument with Peter who is looking thoroughly dejected at this point. "Aren't the House Elves completely in love with you?"
"Can you blame them?" James shoots her a grin, feeling a bit like he's on autopilot. Marlene sticks out her tongue at him.
"I don't like to make them do extra work," Remus mumbles, looking down at his plate.
Marlene's face softens an almost comical amount. "Oh wow, that's adorable."
Remus's ears turn bright red.
"That's our Moony," James reaches forward and pinches Remus's cheek. "Adorable." He gets a sharp jab in the side from Remus's elbow, forcing the air out of him like he'd just been punctured. "Adorable and sharp," James corrects, causing the others to laugh, even Remus, a little.
It's at that moment that James sees Mary walking towards them and his stomach drops. He needs to talk to her, he knows he does, needs to ask her to explain everything she said on New Years. Needs to be sober when she does it. But watching her approach he realizes that he vehemently doesn't want to. That he's actually afraid of what she might say. Of what he might hear if he lets himself listen.
"Sorry, just remembered I forgot something in class," James stands abruptly, not really looking at anyone, though he can feel Remus's concerned gaze on him. "I'll catch you guys back in the common room yeah?"
Dorcas and Marlene both wave goodbye, Marlene already distracted by Mary's approach.
"James—" Remus tries as James starts making his way between tables.
"It's fine Moons," he says, feeling itchy and nervous and suddenly claustrophobic. "I'll see you..." his eyes go to the extra pile of food, "tomorrow I guess."
"Tomorrow," Remus agrees, though it doesn't sound like he likes it.
James doesn't pause much longer. He needs to get out of there, needs some fresh air. The second before he exits the hall into the corridor his eyes go back to the Slytherin table, but Regulus isn't there. James grimaces, pushing through the doors and trying to ignore the way Regulus's absence makes his stomach twist.
He doesn't want to be the kind of boyfriend that has to know where Regulus is all the time. It feels...controlling. Not something James has ever considered himself to be. But he can't help the automatic panic that runs through him when he can't check on Reg. Being the newly appointed heir to the House of Black is a precarious position these days, and Regulus doesn't care enough to protect himself. Doesn't think he's worth the effort. The very thought makes James's chest ache.
It takes a few minutes before he's able to make it to one of the school's courtyards, practically gasping as he steps outside. It's cold, but James doesn't mind, welcomes it in fact. The biting at his skin helps keep the panic at bay. He needs to get it together, the sight of Mary Macdonald can't send him into a fucking anxiety spiral.
You have to talk to her. That's how you fix this.
says the annoyingly reasonable voice in his head.
And yes, okay, it's right. But he just got Regulus back. Can't they have a little more time before he goes prying into things? Looking for answers he doesn't want?
But what if—
the voice demands.
What if he was there? What if he helped them hurt her? What if he hurt her himself?
James shakes his head.
Regulus would never do that.
He just wouldn't.
"Hey?"
James whips around to find Lily Evans perched in the alcove behind him. She has a book open on her lap but no coat or gloves. Like she's impervious to the cold.
"Hi?" he says dumbly, standing in the centre of the courtyard staring at her. It's magic hour, the sun low, everything glowing gold and pink. It makes Lily look like she could be part of the castle—painted or carved—a work of art.
He shakes his head. "Sorry—er—I didn't realize anyone was out here."
She nods, smiling a bit. "Yeah, I got that."
James's head is still a bit of a mess so it's a struggle for him to drag together a thought coherent enough to say out loud. "What're you doing?" turns out to be the best he can manage.
Lily's smile grows as she gestures to the book in her lap. "Homework. What are you doing?"
"Breathing," the answer comes to him so quickly he doesn't have a chance to realize how absolutely mad it is until he's hearing it out loud. Lily arches her brow but rather than try to explain himself James just pushes forward. "Aren't you cold?"
Lily shakes her head before picking up the wand sitting next to her. "Warming charm."
"Ah," James says, "well, in that case," he shoves his hands into his pockets before stepping forward. He feels it instantly, the minute he's inside her magic, a warm tingling feeling rushing through him and something citrusy in his nose and mouth.
"That's better," he says unprompted.
Lily bites her lower lip. "I'm glad."
There's a moment of silence during which James feels her watching him but can't quite bring himself to meet her gaze, looking instead at the school grounds, watching the sun's quick retreat towards the horizon.
"You can sit you know?" Lily says eventually.
"What?"
She nods to the spot across from her. "You can sit."
"Oh," and then; "Right, okay, thanks."
It's a pit of a squeeze, his feet bracketing her's as they sit across from one another. James can't help but feel that she's still watching him. Not just looking—but searching. Seeing.
"You okay?" she asks eventually.
James lets out a big breath, blowing the hair off his forehead. "I—" but for some reason the rest of the sentence doesn't make it out, leaving his mouth hanging open in awkward silence.
A look of concern flickers across Lily's face. "James?" she asks softly, reaching out to squeeze his knee.
He swallows, trying to start again. "Sorry," he says, voice a little tight as he passes a hand over his face. "Its been a bit of a day."
Lily nods like she understands though James isn't sure how she could. Despite that it doesn't feel insincere. Nothing Lily Evans does ever feels insincere and maybe that's why James finds himself saying more than he means to.
"I think someone is lying to me," he nearly chokes on the words. "Or—someone tried to tell me that they were lying, but I wasn't ready to hear it." He's floundering, with too many feelings and thoughts and fears. But Lily doesn't waver.
"Are you ready to hear it now?" she asks, without judgement.
James lets out an empty laugh. "No." and then; "But I think I need to anyway."
Lily nods her head. "Then I'm sure you will."
"Really? Cause I'm not. That's why I'm here, just the thought of it had me running scared," his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He's not usually the type of person to run away from things.
"Sometimes you need to make a few false starts before you can jump into the deep end. But you've already made it to the edge, I don't doubt you'll take the last step eventually."
James meets her eyes, bright green and shockingly warm. "Why?"
Lily shrugs, the smile back in the corner of her mouth. "You're the bravest person I know, also the stupidest mind you, but, I imagine there's a lot of cross over between those traits."
James cant help it, he laughs, the sound a little overloud in the empty courtyard, but it feels good, loosens some of the tension in his chest. It's then, just as he's beginning to feel better, that he notices the tightness in Lily's face. Subtle, but there.
"Hey, why are you really here?" he asks, tapping her heel with the toe of his foot.
"Told you, homework."
James arches his brow. "Studying outside, in the middle of January, during supper?"
"Yeah well..." she trails off, clearly not able to come up with an excuse.
"Wow," James says dryly. "Very convincing that."
She scowls at him, though he doesn't think it's quite genuine. "I just—I just needed to be by myself."
"Why?" James knows he's prying but he can't help it.
Lily lets out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's stupid."
"Excellent," James rubs his hands together. "As you just pointed out I'm an expert in stupid. Lets hear it."
That manages to eek a smile out of her, though only until she starts talking again. "It's my mum...I'm...I don't know...I'm worried something's wrong."
"Wrong?" James asks. "Like what kind of wrong?"
Lily shakes her head. "I don't know, it's just—something about her letters. They feel the way they did right before my dad died. Like she's hiding something from me." She shakes her head. "Sorry, I realize that sounds mad."
"Hey, no, it doesn't," James says quickly. "Considering what happened with your dad I think it's reasonable that you would be extra sensitive to this sort of stuff," he pauses, chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip. "Would it help to see her? To talk face to face? I'm sure if you told McGonagall she'd let you use her fireplace."
She smiles sadly at him. "It's a bit more complicated than that."
James scrunches his nose. "What do you mean?"
"Well," she sighs, "my mum isn't a witch so she doesn't have access to the Floo Network. In order to get access you have to get permission from the Ministry and then they have to set it up for her. Last time—when my dad died—I think Dumbledore talked to them, but like, it's not as though I can ask him to do that just because I'm feeling nervous."
James looks at her thoughtfully. He'd never considered how difficult it must me for Muggle borns to get in contact with their parents. "I'll talk to my mum," he says eventually, causing Lily to arch her brow.
"You'll talk to your mum?"
James shrugs. "She knows people at the Ministry and she's also the only person I've ever seen tell Dumbledore what to do. If I tell her you want to talk to your mum she'll make it happen."
Lily's eyes go wide. "I—no that's—I'm probably just being silly."
"I don't think so," James counters, "what's silly is that the Ministry doesn't immediately set up all Muggle-born families with a connection to the Floo Network," when Lily continues to gape at him clearly at a loss for words, he goes on, tapping her foot again. "You should be able to talk to your mum Lily, Merlin knows I'd go barmy if I thought I couldn't talk to mine when I needed to."
She lets out a bemused laugh. "Thank you James that's really..." she trails off like she can't find the words. "Just thank you."
"Of course," he tries to ignore the fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but Lily presses on before he can think too much about it.
"You and your mum are close huh?"
James nods. "Honestly, she was my best friend before I met Sirius," he realizes as he says it that he doesn't know if it's still true—if Sirius is still his best friend. If he'll ever be again.
Lily laughs. "James Potter, trouble-maker and momma's boy."
Despite the tightness in his chest he manages a grin. "You can mock me all you want but I'm never gonna be embarrassed of my mum. She's like, the most bad ass person I've ever met. You'd like her."
Something softens in Lily's eyes. "I'm sure I would."
James goes on unprompted. "She'd like you too." It makes his stomach flip, saying that out loud, remembering all the times he'd fantasized about introducing Lily to his parents. Introducing her as his girlfriend. It was bit pathetic maybe, but he hadn't been able to help himself.
There's silence but it isn't awkward. The sun has all but set now, the sky a dark navy blue, the stars only barely visible as light flakes of snow start to fall. They catch in the moonlight and both James and Lily watch them. Entranced.
"I've always thought snow looked like magic," Lily says eventually, before laughing. "I can't explain that so don't ask me to."
But James just nods. "No, you're right, it totally does."
The flakes sparkle and glint as they land on the ground, instantly melting. Watching it James feels himself relax for the first time.
"Hey," he says, breaking the silence again, "would you mind if I...just stayed here for a bit? This is sort of the most okay I've felt all day."
When he looks back at Lily finds an expression on her face that he can't read.
"Sure," she says softly, and then, clearing her throat. "Er—as long as you don't mind me reading."
James smiles. "I don't mind."
"Okay then."
"Okay."
Their feet press against one another, neither of them acknowledging it as Lily drops her eyes back to the book in her lap and James watches the snow.
By the time James makes it up to the Gryffindor common room everyone is back from dinner. He does a quick scan of the room before sidling up to Peter who appears to be in the middle of a breakdown. Aka doing Potions coursework.
"Hey," James says, causing Peter to look up from the parchment in front of him, black ink smeared across his chin.
"Hi—you okay?"
James arches his brow before nodding towards the parchment. "I'm fine. Are you okay?"
Peter lets out pitiful noise. "No, I'm completely fucked. This is due tomorrow and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Usually Moons helps me but..."
"He already take off back to the shack?"
Peter nods miserably. James claps him on the shoulder but before he can respond someone across the room catches his attention.
"Listen, Wormtail, I'll help you okay?"
Peter looks like might actually cry. "Really?" he asks hopefully.
James very nearly laughs. "Yeah, really, I just need to talk to someone first but then I'll be back."
"You're my hero."
Now James does laugh, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he pulls away. The moment he starts walking his nerves return. Everything in him says turn around. Says not now. Not yet. But he manages to keep going, manages to make it all the way across the room.
"James?" Mary asks, looking up at him when he stops in front of her.
James shoves his hands in his pockets in an attempt to stop them from shaking. "Yeah, hey. Um—I was wondering if I could talk to you for a second?"
Mary has clever eyes, the kind that pick you to pieces between every blink. "Yeah alright," she says eventually, getting up and sending Marlene a look that James does not remotely understand.
"My room okay?" he asks, because it's the only place close by where he knows they'll be alone.
Mary snorts. "The rumours tomorrow morning are going to be glorious."
With the way a pack of first years are eyeing them on their way upstairs James knows that she's right. He rolls his eyes. Why can't people just mind their own damn business?
"So," Mary says, dropping down onto Sirius's bed while James closes the door behind them, "what's up?"
James doesn't know how to answer that question, suddenly feeling vaguely sick. He starts pacing. Having this conversation feels like a betrayal. Even thinking that Regulus could have anything to do with Mary's attack feels like a betrayal. Like James is no better than everyone else, everyone who only sees Regulus's name and family and not who he is. Who James knows that he is.
"Potter!" Mary snaps, bringing his attention back to her. "Would you stop? You're making me sea sick."
"Sorry," James says, stumbling to a stop and wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans. After a moment's pause he walks over and sits on the bed across from her, letting out a deep sigh. Even then it takes a few more minutes before he's able to speak.
He lifts his eyes to meet Mary's, sharp as always. "I need you to tell me again, what you told me on New Year's Eve. I need you to explain it to me. All of it. Everything that happened and what the hell Regulus has to do with it."
Mary's face betrays her shock, which is a first. James doesn't think he's ever shocked Mary before. "Oh?"
He nods, hands gripping his knees, nails digging in so deep they find skin. "I wasn't ready to listen before, but I'm ready now." Which James thinks is not exactly true but he doesn't take it back.
After a moment Mary nods. "Well okay then," she says simply. "Lets start from the beginning."