𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐬 // 𝐉𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐮𝐬

Chapter Fifty-Four

PART I TOM

Little boys never do know their limits. Always pushing. Running too far. Too close to the edge. Asking too much.

Mummy please.

Please.

Please.

And she gives in doesn't she? Makes him spoiled and weak until one day he calls and she doesn't answer.

Mummy please.

Please.

Please.

The beauty of having a mother who's dead, is you learn early on that no one is coming. Innocent or guilty. Fair or unfair. No one is ever coming.

So you better know how to swim.  

Empty grey eyes stare up at him. Wide and unseeing. The body floating on top of the water, starting to bloat. Tom draws it to him with his wand, watches as it bobs against the island's edge. He crouches down, running his knuckle along the side of its face.

Regulus Black really is a handsome boy. Even half-rotted.

Clever too.

You never can trust the clever ones.

Or the pretty ones for that matter.

Tom knows that better than anyone.

Standing up he walks towards the basin at the centre of the rocks, reassuring himself, once again, that the locket is still where it should be. He lingers on it for a moment. The snake that's carved into the front distorted by the liquid on top of it, making it look as though it's squirming.

When he'd first learned of his connection to Salazar Slytherin as a boy he'd been rather delighted. Proud. But the more he learned of the Founder the more that feeling dulled. Salazar had no dreams of power. Merely defence. He wanted to build a wall around the magical world. But Tom, Tom wants to watch it grow.

Wizarding kind has become complacent. So many magical abilities remaining underdeveloped, so many possible avenues of study untouched—because they're seen as immoral. It's provincial and small minded thinking. Tom has no patience for it. Even at school he found the idea that some magic is "dark" tedious. That there was a "restricted" section of the library, laughable. These antiquated ideas have to be done away with. Especially if he is to achieve that which he wants above all else.

His eyes go back to the locket, thin fingers skimming the top of the potion before pulling away. He's here because Regulus Black has been missing for three days. And Tom doesn't need Lucius whispering in his ears to know that Regulus Black's loyalty is paper thin and that he's smart enough to do Tom's plans serious damage. Especially not after he found that book in Regulus's room. The one that had set Tom on this path in the first place.

So he decided it would be prudent to check on his locket. To make sure all was as it should be. And lo and behold...

He considers the dead boy, pressing the bottom of his boot into his cheek. He wonders if he even managed to get across the lake? Did he find the boat? Or did he try to swim? Tom supposes in the end it doesn't matter. The cave's defences worked.

He could bring the body back. He knows Walburga and Orion will want it. They're very touchy about these sorts of things—the old Wizarding families—with their crypts and traditions. But after the stunt Dumbledore pulled with the bodies at the Ministry, Tom thinks he'd rather use Regulus to send a message.

You keep mine. I keep yours.

He'd suspected Dumbledore of having a spy for a while now, even though Pettigrew swore he didn't. He hadn't trusted Black, but he hadn't quite believed that he had the courage for this type of betrayal either.

You never can trust the clever ones.

Or the pretty ones.

No, he'll be leaving Regulus Black here. Unburied.

Many believe that to be killed by the Inferi is to become one, but that is not the case. You have to be enchanted. Tom cocks his head to the side before pushing the body away from the shore with his foot. An eternity as the undead is too good for Regulus Black.

He can rot.

On the rocks outside the cave Tom pauses, closing his eyes and letting the wind blow through him. Exhaling. He'll tell everyone that Regulus was a traitor. He'll make it known that he killed him and that there's no body left. That ought to scare anyone else thinking about doing the same. Maybe he'll throw in something about how loudly Black screamed.

Opening his eyes he looks out at the water stretching endlessly before him. It's all coming together, he's out maneuvering all of Dumbledore's roadblocks, and soon it'll be over. He just has to finish his acquisition of the Ministry. Just has to deal with the contents of the prophecy. Just has to push a little harder, inch himself over the finish line. And then he'll have it all.

Little boys never do know their limits.

PART II SIRIUS

His gloves are wet, his fingers starting to go numb as he packs the snow more tightly. All in all it's a rather impressive fort, if he does say so himself. He clearly has a future as an architect.

"Make sure the walls are solid okay?" he calls over his shoulder. "We don't want any holes."

He wishes he knew a drying spell. Also wishes he had a wand. Sometimes his father lets him cast things with his wand but he isn't allowed in the fort. No one is allowed in the fort except for Sirius and Reg. This is their home now. And they'll be safe here. Sirius'll make sure of it.

"Reg?" he calls out again. "Did you hear me?"

There's another pause and then;

"So this is where you keep us, huh?"

Sirius whips around.

Regulus is sitting behind him, leaning against one of the fort walls, knees bent. He's big. Hair longer than Sirius has ever seen it—their mother never lets it get past their ears—and he isn't wearing any of his snow stuff. No jacket. No snow pants. No gloves.

"What're you—" his voice has dropped, and when Sirius looks down at himself he sees that he's now in his pyjamas. Well, t-shirt and boxers, but he doesn't feel the cold anymore. Doesn't even feel the dampness of the snow.

"Not real then," he murmurs, looking back up in time to catch the dry smirk in the corner of Regulus's mouth.

"Not quite."

"Dream?"

"Mmm," Regulus hums noncommittally.

He squints at Regulus, inspecting him. He's surprisingly detailed for a dream. He looks old. And Tired. And thin.

"Your hair is ridiculous," Sirius says eventually.

"You're one to talk."

"Please, my hair is an institution."

"Merlin, spare me."

Sirius grins, sliding against the wall across from Regulus, their feet almost touching—it's a snow fort after all, there isn't much space.

"Well," Sirius sighs, "this isn't how this dream usually goes."

Regulus quirks his brow. "You have this dream a lot?"

Sirius shrugs. "Used to have it loads. Less now though. More to think about I guess."

Regulus is silent for a moment, the noise of the wind howling outside their fort filling the empty space between them. "Tell me how it usually goes?" he asks eventually.

"Surely you know. You're there."

There's something a little sad in Regulus's eyes. "Tell me anyway."

Sirius exhales, blowing the hair off his face. "Well, we build this magnificent fort," he gestures to the walls around them. "And I try to convince you that we should add a swimming pool—"

"To a snow fort?"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Yes, that's exactly what you say, every time. It's really sad you know, your lack of imagination."

"And my grasp on reality."

"Yeah," Sirius smirks. "That too."

"What happens after I convince you that building a swimming pool in a snow fort would be a logistical nightmare?" he sounds eager, like he genuinely wants to know.

"Well, usually we play Exploding Snap, because, of course, being the genius I am, I had the foresight to bring a pack with me."

"This dream sounds thrilling."

"Oi!" Sirius kicks his foot. "I like it."

There's the glimmer of surprise in Regulus's eyes before he quickly shuts it down. "Why would you like this?"

"Because snow forts are awesome."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "Yeah but...why not dream about building one with Lupin or—" his voice cuts out, James's name sitting awkwardly between them. Sirius just stares at his brother for a minute.

"I never built a snow fort with them. Bloody shame actually, now that I think about it."

"Really? That's it? That's the reason? Now who has no imagination?"

Sirius sighs, though he feels something uncomfortably like emotion growing in his belly. "After Exploding Snap," he goes on instead of answering. "It starts to get dark, and we don't have any lights out here, so I ask you if you want to go inside because I know how you feel about the dark," Sirius has to clear his throat, has to look away from his brother's face and stare at the blank wall across from him.

"And you say—you say you're not afraid of anything when you're with me."

He lets that sentence drift for a minute, unanchored, just floating in the air. It's a while before he feels confident enough to speak again. He's surprised Regulus hasn't said anything but when he turns to him he finds his brother's eyes blown wide. Innocent and vulnerable. Regulus on full display—a rare sight.

"This is one of the last times I remember," Sirius says finally, waving his hand vaguely around, "that you really felt like mine."

Sirius can see Regulus swallow. "Yours," his voice strained.

He shrugs. "I asked you to run away with me and you said yes. Just to the back garden mind you, but still, that felt far back then."

Regulus is staring at him with an oddly vulnerable expression. He used to look like this a lot, when they were kids, his face wide open, his feelings spilling out. Sirius helped him fix that. It made him an easy target for people like Bellatrix and Lucius, who like to watch their victims squirm. Or their mother, who hates weakness. Still, Regulus has never been very good at doing things half-way. Once he shut himself up he never let himself out again.

Well. Except with James. Apparently.

"What is it?"

Sirius blinks, coming back to the present. Whatever had been on Regulus's face is gone now. Molded into something more passive. Less revealing.

"What is what?" Sirius asks testily.

"You're scowling."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am not times a thousand."

Regulus rolls his eyes. "You can't even see your face."

"I can feel my face."

"What were you thinking about," Regulus presses on, ignoring him. "That made you angry?"

Sirius glares at him, he doesn't like being so easy to read. "None of your business."

"Jesus Christ Sirius you're such a child."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"Am n—"

"We're not doing this again."

"Fine," Sirius crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his head back against the snow wall behind him and closing his eyes. "We can just sit in silence until I wake up then."

"Really?"

"Really."

There's some mumbled complaining that Sirius can't quite make out but he pretends he doesn't hear.

They do sit in silence, for an impressively long time all things considered. And by "things" Sirius means himself and his almost pathological hatred of sitting still. It's honestly a relief when Regulus speaks even if he pretends to be annoyed.

"What were you thinking about Sirius?" he sounds tired—tired enough that Sirius opens his eyes, his brother's grey meeting his. He really isn't planning to say it, he doesn't fancy sharing things with Regulus. It's not a particularly smart move.

But.

Well.

It's only a dream after all.

It's not like it's really him.

"James," Sirius says finally.

Regulus looks confused. "You were thinking about James?"

"You and—" Sirius grimaces. "James."

"Oh."

"Yeah oh."

Regulus looks down at his knees, fingers fidgeting with a piece of loose thread. It's the first time Sirius notices that his brother isn't wearing shoes—his socks wet.

"He wanted to tell you you know," Regulus says finally.

Sirius blinks, tearing his eyes away from his brother's feet. "What?"

"James," he clarifies, "he wanted to tell you about us. I wouldn't let him. In case you thought—"

"Thought what?" Sirius snaps. God he fucking hates talking about this. Thinking about this. "That he happily lied to me for a year? If James had wanted to tell me he bloody well should have."

"I made him promise."

"What, did he make you an unbreakable vow Regulus? Because otherwise that's not good enough."

"Same thing to him isn't it?"

"Clearly not. Because he had no problem breaking the promises he fucking made to me!"

His hands have curled into fists, his voice overly loud in the small space. This is why he doesn't talk about this. It picks at some sore part of him. Some unhealed wound. James knew, more than anyone, James knew what Regulus had done. He'd been there the night they broke Sirius down into little pieces, until he could barely remember how to talk. Until he could barely remember where he was or what was happening. James knew how much Regulus had let Sirius hurt. Had hurt him himself. So how could he. How could he—

"Sirius—"

"Go away!" he snaps, dropping his forehead onto his knees so he doesn't have to look at Regulus anymore. "Get the fuck out of my head. I don't want to talk about this."

There's a moment of silence before he hears Regulus sigh.

The next thing Sirius knows his alarm is going off.

He's tired and grumpy when he drags himself to the Ministry. He's wearing one of Remus's jumpers which, yes, is pathetic, but he doubts anyone will notice. The sleeves are the biggest giveaway—too long, almost completely hiding his hands. He put it on by accident, stumbling around in the dark. And then he just...couldn't quite bring himself to take it off.

Whatever. He's pathetic. He doesn't care. It's not exactly new information.

He cuts across the Atrium without any real purpose. Laces slapping against the stone floor. The fountain has been decorated for Christmas—the statues dressed in Santa hats and elf ears. Hung up around the walls tinsel sparkles, fake snow falling from the ceiling and then disappearing the minute it hits the floor.

Leaning against the wall by the lifts he spots Dorcas. She's also wearing an oversized jumper—though Sirius doubts it's Marlene's therefore making her less pathetic than him. She's also holding a small paper cone in her hands.

"Are you eating chips?" he asks when he gets close enough.

"Yup," she pops her 'P' before lathering an insane amount of ketchup on her next bite.

"It's like eight in the morning."

"Eight-twenty," she looks up at him. "You're late."

Sirius rolls his eyes before reaching for a chip. Dorcas swiftly kicks him in the shins.

"Ow—fuck," he hops around, grabbing at his leg and glaring.

"Get your own chips," Dorcas says flatly, before turning towards the lift doors and pressing the down button.

"I didn't have time," Sirius mutters, reluctantly standing next to her, though not within kicking distance.

"You're twenty minutes late and you didn't have time?"

"Yes."

"Interesting."

The doors open and a small witch in magenta robes pushes passed them, followed by a very harried looking owl. They step into the lift after her, avoiding the bird droppings as they do, Dorcas pressing the button for the basement.

"You know what room we're in today?" Sirius asks, staring longingly at her chips. Dorcas does not seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn't care.

"Love."

Sirius pulls a face that makes her snort.

"Not a fan of love?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "It's eight in the morning," he mutters finally, staring down the lift doors like they've personally offended him. "I'm not a fan of anything."

"Eight-twenty."

Sirius shoots her a flat stare but Dorcas has gone back to picking at her chips, expression blank, though Sirius swears he can see the smirk in the corner of her eyes.

The Love room is kept under especially tight watch. Besides the regular security checks that they have to go through when they get down to the Department of Mysteries—making sure they aren't Imperiused, aren't taking Polyjuice, don't have tracking spells placed on them or any recording devices—they also have the pleasure of having their minds probed by a skilled Unspeakable. A skilled Unspeakable using a charm to blur their face and disguise their voice, keeping their identity a complete mystery.

Not exactly confidence inspiring.

"Mister Black," the Unspeakable's patience is clearly being tested. "If you will not allow me to enter your mind we will have to consider you hostile and you will be asked to leave."

Sirius grits his teeth. This was a fairly easy process for Dorcas, took barely two minutes. But Sirius...

"I am letting you enter," and he is. Sort of. Well he's trying to anyway. It's not like he's running away or punching the bloke. But he just...he's had people in his mind before. It's not a pleasant experience. Whenever his mum would do it Sirius would feel bruised for hours afterwards. The memories she had invaded sore, making him wince every time he thought of them. Like they didn't belong to him anymore.

"Your Occlumency skills are truly inspiring. However, not useful in the current situation. Shall we try again?"

Sirius glares at the blurry face in front of him. "Yes."

The Unspeakable doesn't have to say the spell out loud, Walburga never did either. But Sirius feels it, feels it the minute he pours himself into his head, like poison in his ear. He winces.

Your defences Mr. Black.

The foreign voice echoes in his thoughts.

Lower them please.

He breathes out slowly, heart still catching, fear squirming in the pit of his stomach. But this isn't his mother and he isn't a child and goddamnit he just needs to get through this. Forcing himself to breathe, he lets a door appear in his mind.

That's more like it.

The Unspeakable throws it open. Like it's nothing. The sensation of having his thoughts revealed like nails scraping down Sirius's spine.

Images start fluttering through his head, the Unspeakable flipping through his memories and thoughts like they're the pages of a scrapbook. He's meticulous. Professional. But every moment that passes makes Sirius's stomach churn.

He sees Remus, asleep in their bed.

He sees James, smiling shyly as he tells them Lily is pregnant.

He sees Reg.

Reg in their snow fort.

Sees his socked feet.

Sirius gasps as his knees hit the hard stone floor. He's covered in sweat, shaking all over, eyes out of focus.

"Okay," he sees Dorcas's shoes as she steps forward. "That's it. We're done here."

"He kicked me out before I was able to finish my examination!"

"Did you find anything incriminating before that?"

There's an unhappy silence.

"That's not the point," the Unspeakable say finally, Sirius still trying to catch his breath on the floor.

"Actually, that's literally the whole point. He's clear. I'm clear. Now let us do our jobs."

Dorcas doesn't shout. Everything she says is very matter of fact. Delivered with calm confidence. It reminds Sirius of Remus.

"Very well," the Unspeakable mutters. "But I'll be writing about this to the Head Auror."

"Yeah, you do that."

A second later Dorcas is crouching down beside him, Sirius can't bring himself to look at her. Fucking embarrassing this is. Can't even get through a routine security check without having a mental bloody breakdown.

"You good?" she asks softly.

Sirius swallows. "Yeah."

"Good."

A second later she has her arm wrapped firmly around him, hauling him to his feet. His legs buckle for a moment but eventually he gets himself together, turning his head into his shoulder, breathing in the smell of Moony.

Pathetic.

Still. It works. Sort of. Settles the parts of his brain going haywire. Sparking and twitching and crossing.

Dorcas lets go of him but still eyes him with concern. "You're sure you're good?"

Sirius nods stiffly. "Lets just go, yeah?"

He starts walking, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans and trying to pretend like he doesn't want to go home. Crawl back into bed. And hide under the covers like a little kid.

After a few seconds of tense silence, their footsteps echoing around them, Dorcas clears her throat: "Want some of my chips?" she holds the nearly empty container into the space between them. Sirius looks at them and then at her face.

"Are those pity chips?"

She shrugs. "Might be."

He considers refusing them on principle, but then, that would contradict his other principle, which is to never turn down free food.

"Thanks," he says eventually. The chips are cold at this point, and greasy, and covered in too much vinegar. But somehow, they still make him feel better.

He was six, he thinks, the first time his mother used Legilimency on him. They'd been playing a game—him and Reg—he can't even remember what now, but something with a ball. In any case, Reg was only five, he threw it too hard and too far, cracked a window. An easy fix with a wand. But even at that age they'd known that wouldn't matter to their mother.

So Sirius had lied. He told her he'd done it. To this day he doesn't know why she didn't believe him. It was just as probable as it being Reg—more really. But she had whipped out her wand and torn his mind apart. Found the memory. She'd found other things too. Thoughts. He was already hiding things back then. Things he knew would anger her.

He's been told, many times, by many smart people, that Legilimency does not have to hurt. That it shouldn't hurt. It isn't that Sirius thinks they're lying to him. It's just that he's never had someone invade his mind who wasn't trying to take something from him.

When they get to the door of the Love room—an unassuming, boring, black door—Dorcas knocks. There are a few awkward seconds of just standing there, blurry faced Unspeakables rushing down the large dark corridor behind them, before the door is swung open by a man whose head barely reaches Sirius's shoulders.

"Who in Bezoar's name are you?" he has thinning hair, ginger, sticking out of his head in little tuffs. And small, round, wire glasses resting on the tip of his nose that Sirius does not believe are helping him see anything. He doesn't know why his face isn't blurred—but then, he seems like the type of person who might forget about that kind of thing.

"Er—the Auror Department sent us sir," Dorcas says. "We're providing security for this room today?"

The man rolls his eyes. "Very well, come in, come in," he turns away, letting go of the door and nearly slamming it in Dorcas's face. Sirius stops it with his boot, the pair of them exchanging equally startled looks.

"Stay by the front, don't come any further than the fountain, and don't disturb me. Do you understand?" the Unspeakable says while walking away from them, hurried little steps slapping against the stone floor.

The ceiling of this room is significantly lower than the corridor, automatically making it feel more intimate. The walls covered in red velvet, not that you can see much of it what with the hundreds of paintings hung up around them. Some move. Others stand still. The lights are low, there's a fireplace, and floating candles near the ceiling, making everything warm and soft. Somewhere, Sirius is almost certain a piano is being played. And there, in the centre of the room, is a giant fountain.

"What is this? Fucking Versailles?" he mutters as he turns around himself, trying to take it all in. The air here is thick—it smells like cinnamon, vanilla, chocolate—breathing feels decadent.

"Excuse me?"

Both Dorcas and Sirius turn towards the small wizard waiting impatiently in the archway behind the fountain.

"Did you hear anything I said?" he demands irritably.

"Er—yeah," Sirius rubs at the back of his neck. "You want us stay here?"

"Sir," Dorcas interrupts, causing the Unspeakable to let out an impatient sigh. "We're supposed to do rounds of the whole area. It allows us to provide more thorough security."

"Not here you're not," he says dismissively. "You're lucky they're even letting you in."

Sirius struggles not to point out that this is, in fact, their jobs, and not something either of them is simply doing for fun. "Lucky" is not the word he would use.

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure. Any other questions?" neither Dorcas nor Sirius speak. "Excellent," he turns around, practically sprinting from the room. "And don't touch anything!" he shouts over his shoulder.

For a moment the pair of them just stand there, the noise of the running fountain and distant classical music filling the silence. Eventually Sirius can't hold it in, he laughs, causing Dorcas to arch her brow.

"Oh come on, this place is fucking mental."

Their shift is ten hours long. How the hell is Sirius going to survive ten hours in a room that looks like Valentines day just threw up all over it?

"It's kinda cool," Dorcas says mildly, looking around.

Sirius gives her an incredulous look. "Are you not hearing the bloody piano serenading us right now?" he gestures indignantly at the air.

Dorcas bites her lower lip, clearly trying to hold back a smile. "Bit much that, fair point."

"This place is disgusting."

Dorcas laughs. "Merlin, Sirius Black, I had no idea you were such a curmudgeon when it came to love."

"I'm not a curmudgeon. I just have taste."

Dorcas arches her brow, leaning back against the wall behind her. "Oh really? Do you? Because I distinctly remember you and James walking around for a week in third year wearing nothing but yellow robes with red polka dots."

"Oh that. Well that was funny."

"Mm, also there was that time you burnt part of your hair in potions class and instead of taking a hair growth potion you decided to cut it into a mullet."

Sirius rolls his eyes. "These are isolated incidents, you're being a little unfair here I—"

"Didn't you show up to the Auror meeting a few weeks ago in leopard print trousers?"

"Oi! Those look good on me!"

Dorcas gives him a flat look that suggests she does not agree.

"Fine!" he throws his arms up in the air. "Maybe I have made some questionable style choices but this," he gestures at the space around them. "This is another level of awful, you've gotta admit that?"

Dorcas shrugs, eyes trailing slowly around the crowded room before coming back to Sirius. "There's a lot of stuff in here."

Sirius looks at her suspiciously. "Yes. I've noticed."

"None of it appeals to you? Not one thing?"

"This stuff is all bullshit!" he really means that, he realizes, suddenly growing much more sincere. "None of this is...love."

He glares at a particularly gooey painting of two figures snogging. They're dressed in medieval looking clothes—the girl in a blue dress, the man all dashing in his dumb giant hat and jacket, bending her over in the most aggressive display of PDA Sirius has ever seen.

"I mean, it's part of it, don't you think?" Dorcas asks, bringing Sirius's attention back to her.

Something in him twinges, like stepping on a twisted ankle or pressing on a bruise. He runs a hand over his face and turns away, staring at the ridiculous fountain. "Fuck, I don't know. Maybe. It's not like I know shit about love."

He starts pulling at his jumper—Remus's jumper—which suddenly feels scratchy and heavy and all wrong. And he wants to take it off, but of course, he can't just start stripping, and he's already had his one allotted public meltdown for the day so he tries to get his fucking brain to shut up.

"Who's the first person you remember loving?" Dorcas asks after what feels like years of silence.

"Regulus," Sirius says without thinking. Because he doesn't have to think. It's an easy answer.

"Huh," that noise makes him turn around, finding Dorcas with a contemplative expression on her face.

"Huh?" he asks.

But she only shrugs. "That was just a very honest answer."

"We're you expecting me to lie?" Sirius fidgets, suddenly worried he's given too much away.

Dorcas takes her time answering, eventually doing so with a wry smile on her lips. "You don't strike me as someone who's quite that self-aware, that's all."

"Oh fuck off."

Dorcas laughs and Sirius turns away again and starts pacing, unable to stay still. He trails his fingers along the paintings he passes, over the gilded frames, like they're braille. Like seeing them isn't enough. He needs to touch them to understand.  

"How did you know?" Dorcas asks eventually.

Sirius doesn't look back, still making his slow progression around the room. "How did I know, what?" He side-steps a Grecian looking statute of two figures wrapped around one another.

"That you loved your brother?"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Now you're just taking the piss."

"I'm not, I genuinely want to know."

Sirius comes to an abrupt stop. In front of him the floor has split open to allow for a tree—a whole fucking tree—to sprout from the ground. Admittedly it's a bit stumpy, not much taller than Sirius, with thick branches making a V shape. The leaves are green and big and nestled in the centre of them are small, round, fruits. Plums maybe? He thinks as he reaches out. Or—

"Figs," he says as he gets one in his hand.

"Sirius!" Dorcas is on the other side of the fountain, not quite visible. "Tell me about Regulus!"

He rolls his eyes again, turning the fruit over in his hands. "He's a prat. What else is there to know?"

He hears her snort and he thinks she's going to let it drop but then; "How did you know you loved him? If he was the first person, how did you know?"

"He's my brother."

The fig rolls between Sirius's palms, squat and purple. He's not sure he's ever seen a fresh one before. At his parents' fancy dinner parties sometimes Kreacher would cook them. Candied and caramelized and baked. He can't for the life of him figure out what they're doing here?

"You're not obligated to love your family," Dorcas says eventually.

Sirius snorts. "Instinct though, isn't it?" his nails puncture the skin of the fruit.

"Is it?" Sirius doesn't answer that one. Doesn't even try. "Besides, you didn't say your family—didn't say your mum or dad—you said Regulus."

The juices from the fruit begin to snake down his wrist as his grip gets tighter. "Yeah," he clears his throat. "Well...he was the only other human being in that house so."

"And that's why you loved him?"

Sirius sighs, dropping the mangled fruit from his hand and vanishing the mess. "I don't know, I—"

There's only a little more than a year separating Sirius and Regulus. So he can't remember life without him. You'd think that would make them more like twins than big brother and little brother but it didn't. The first memories Sirius has of Regulus he's taking care of him. He was good at it, he thinks. He could always make Reg smile. Make him laugh. Scare his monsters away.

Sirius never much liked being himself, but he'd loved being Regulus's big brother. At least for a little while. Before things got bad.

"He was kind of my whole world when we were little," it's easier with the room of stuff separating them. Easier when he can't see Dorcas's face. "I wanted to look after him, to keep him safe, to make him happy. He felt like...mine, you know? That house was so fucking miserable and cold and Reg...Merlin you should have seen him, when he was small, he just...he used to light up. He had these huge fucking eyes and just...he noticed everything. Wanted to know everything. Never stopped asking questions."

Sirius lets out a heavy breath, hand running through his hair. "I felt like I had a purpose, being his brother, it gave me a reason to...be." He could stop there probably, but instead he pushes forward, "My mum, she has this...talent," he laughs humourlessly. "She's real good at making you feel like you shouldn't exist. Before Hogwarts. Before James. Regulus was the only thing that made me certain that I should."

He regrets dropping the fruit now. He needs something to do with his hands. Something to distract him from that truth.  

"He really broke your heart huh?" Dorcas asks softly, sounding close, and when Sirius looks up he realizes he's done a whole lap. Found himself back where he started, Dorcas leaning against the wall a few feet away.

It's a second before he can speak. "Yeah, 'course he did." Because Sirius had thought that was obvious. Had thought everyone knew that. Thought James knew.

After a moment she smiles. It's kind. Maybe a little sad. "See? And you said you didn't know anything about love."

Something in him twists. A wave of nausea washing over him. "I'm worried I'm doing it again," he says, jaw clenching tightly immediately after, embarrassed.

Dorcas's eyes widen just a fraction. "Doing what?"

He shakes his head, boot scuffing against the ground. "Whatever I did to push Regulus away, to make him be...the way that he is. I'm worried I'm doing it to Remus. I'm worried he's making a mistake and that it's my fault. Because he's a good person, better than me, and so if—if he's doing something wrong—" but he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, hands balling into fists. "I don't think I'm very good for people."

He can't meet Dorcas's eyes, doesn't know why he's telling her this. It must be the perfumed air and the thousands of painted eyes staring down at him. Oh and the fucking piano. He pulls at his jumper again. He needs it off. He needs out. He needs to fight. Or fuck. Or both. He just...needs.

"I don't think that's true," Dorcas says finally, causing Sirius to laugh coldly.

"You don't know—" don't know that I told Snape how to get past the tree. That I get mean when I'm angry. That I kissed Mary because I was lonely. "The first person I ever loved is a Death Eater," he looks up at her and then away again. "That should tell you something."

"Regulus's choices aren't your fault."

"You don't think?" he asks bitterly. "I raised him. I taught him how to shut his fucking emotions off. How to not think and feel. I taught him that he needed to be harder. And I wasn't always nice about it either," he shakes his head, nails biting so viciously into his palms that they've started to draw blood.

"I thought I was protecting him," he goes on, because apparently he can't stop himself today. "I thought I was keeping him safe but—but look who I fucking created? I raised him. Not my mum. Not my dad. I was with him every day until I was eleven years old. Telling him how to act and what to do. So whose fucking fault is it? Whose fucking fault?"

Silence.

The problem is, Sirius has been on his own too much. If Remus wasn't gone this wouldn't be happening—he wouldn't be spilling over like this. Usually he goes to James and Lily's for dinner when Remus isn't home but recently James has been away on assignments and the silence of the flat is getting to him. Everything Alice told him sitting on his chest. Crushing his ribs. Making everything feel wrong, taste wrong. Nothing soothes him. Nothing is comfortable.

"And then," he goes on, because it's not as though he has any self-respect. "And then I left him."

"Sirius," Dorcas says kindly, ducking her head, trying to catch his eye. "I don't even know you that well, and even I know that you couldn't stay in that house."

He tells himself the same thing—that he couldn't have stayed. That it would have killed him. But it feels a little weaker every time.

"It was bearable when I had Regulus," he says instead. "It was only once I was alone that—" he clears his throat. "It feels a bit like that. With Remus. Like he's slowly drifting away. And one day I'm going to wake up and he'll be standing right there but it won't be him anymore. Won't be someone I know."

Finally, he forces himself to meet Dorcas's eye. "It's terrifying that. Looking at the person you love and not being able to recognize them." Seeing Regulus at Hogwarts sometimes used to make Sirius's skin crawl. Like looking at a corpse.

"Sirius," she says calmly. "Remus isn't Regulus."

And he knows that of course.

He knows everything about them, everything about this, is different.

But for some reason it still feels so fucking similar.

"Okay," he offers her a shaky smile. "Therapy session over, consider me officially emotionally tapped out."

She offers him a smile back but he can see the hesitancy in her eyes. "Are you sure? Because I really don't mind talking you know?"

"Thanks but—yeah I just—" there's really no smooth way for him to exit this conversation. "I'm good."

"Okay."

"And um, if you wouldn't mind," he rubs awkwardly at the back of his neck, messing up his hair, "Maybe don't tell Marlene about...this."

"Of course."

"Thanks," there's a beat of awkward silence that Sirius absolutely can't allow at this moment so his mouth fills it with the first thing he can think of; "Speaking of Marlene, how're, y'know, things with you two?"

Dorcas gives him a look like "really?" but Sirius doesn't back down. More than happy to shift the focus of the conversation away from him. A first really. Usually he loves being the centre of attention.

"Well, I mean, we're perfect, obviously."

Sirius sticks up his middle finger and Dorcas laughs.

"Oh you know," she waves her hand in the air. "It's hard. She's gone. I'm gone. Neither of us know where or for how long. We're scared all the time. We snap at each other more than we probably should because of it. It's hard."

Sirius nods. "Yeah," he wishes his chest would loosen up.

"But then, that's probably a good thing you know?" she goes on, drawing Sirius's questioning eyes back to her. "Means it matters. Means we have something to lose."

Yeah, Sirius thinks before he can stop himself. That's what I'm afraid of.

His gloves are wet, his fingers starting to go numb as he packs the snow more tightly. All in all it's a rather impressive fort, if he does say so himself. He clearly has a future as an architect.

"Make sure it's solid okay?" he calls over his shoulder. "We don't want any holes."

There's no response.

"Reg?"

If he's gone and wandered off again Sirius swears he'll—

"You can probably stop that now."

Sirius blinks. And just like the night before, his gloves disappear, replaced by the clothes he went to sleep in, his adult body now crouching in his childhood snow fort. And behind him, sitting against the wall, is Regulus. Older too. And in his socks again.

"Oh motherfucker," Sirius collapses down across from him. "I just want to sleep, is that too much to ask?"

"Sorry." Though he doesn't sound remotely sorry, the little prick.

"What the hell is going on with me? Why the fuck am I dreaming about you?" Sirius pinches the bridge of his nose. No doubt his conversation with Dorcas didn't help.

"Maybe you miss me," Regulus says teasingly.

Sirius scoffs, dropping his hand. "I got over missing you a long time ago Reg."

The younger boy flinches before he's able to get himself under control. "Ah," he clears his throat, "right."

Sirius hates that he feels guilty. But he also hates that he said it. Which is always how it is with Regulus. No matter what Sirius does it always feels like the wrong thing.

"Sorry," he says eventually, hating that word and the way it reminds him of being a scared little boy, standing in front of his mother. "I shouldn't have said that."

Regulus shrugs. "It's fine," and then, a bit stiffly; "not like I'm real right?"

Sirius watches him for a moment before slowly nodding his head. "Right." He leans back against the snow behind him, looking up at the very questionably constructed ceiling that seven year old him was so proud of it.

"Is it true?" Regulus asks eventually.

"Is what true?"

"That you don't miss me anymore?"

Yes, the spiteful part of Sirius's brain wants to say.

The part that's always a little too close to the surface when his brother's around.

That wants to make Regulus hurt the way Sirius hurt.

"No," is what eventually comes out of his mouth. The truth might not be that simple, but this is as close to it as he's willing to get right now. He thinks he sees Regulus smile a little.

Sirius points a finger at him. "Don't let it go to your head."

"No," Regulus says wryly. "Of course not."

Sirius remembers building this fort. Remembers him and Regulus stomping through the snow all the way to the very back of the garden where they could barely be seen from the house. He'd really thought they were doing something. Proving something. He'd really thought he could build them a new home. A proper one. The type he read about in books.

"Do you remember the first time I tried to teach you how to fly?" Sirius asks suddenly, arms resting on his knees.

"Yeah, I fell off and you laughed."

"Oh yeah," Sirius grins. "To be fair, you were only three feet off the ground, and the squeal you made!"

"Oh don't start with the squeal again."

"Like a little pig."

"Yes, you called me piglet for weeks."

Sirius laughs. "One of my better nicknames. I don't know why it didn't stick." He looks at Regulus then, tilting his head to the side. "You do kind of look like a pig."

"Fuck off!" Regulus kicks him and Sirius kicks him back, still laughing.

"It's your little nose," he reaches over and flicks Regulus's nose, causing Regulus to make an indignant squawking noise that does not help his case at all.

"You picked it up fast though," Sirius goes on, Regulus still glaring at him. "Merlin, watching you fly..." he trails off.

Later on, when they were at Hogwarts, when things got bad between them, it would make  Sirius jealous. The way Regulus handled himself in the air. The skill. The technique. But before then, when it was just the two of them at the country house in Scotland, he always felt so fucking proud.

"You should have been a bird," Sirius finishes finally, snapping himself back to the present. "You were always happiest in the sky."

Something aching passes over Regulus's face. "I haven't flown in years, you know?"

"What, no Death Eater Quidditch team?" it might have been funny, if it weren't for the bitterness in his voice.

The words sit between them for a moment before Regulus eventually clears his throat.

"No," he says finally. "No not quite."

Sirius shakes his head, looking away. "I can't just sit here and pretend that I don't know what you are."

"It isn't who I am Sirius."

"Still can't take fucking responsibility can you Reg? Death Eater isn't something you get to be part-time. You chose to get that Mark—"

"I didn't choose anything!"

"Fine!" Sirius snaps back, eyes jumping to his little brother, meeting his defiant stare. "You accepted it then. Can we at least agree on that? You accepted this. You accepted what they wanted, what they were asking of you. Maybe you didn't choose this life but you didn't fight it."

Regulus looks as though he's grinding his teeth.

In real life, this would be the moment that one, or both of them, would draw their wands. Reg would say something awful and Sirius would say something equally awful back, and it would all fall apart. Nothing but curses and punches. He's never sure if they actually mean it—any of what they do to one another. Because sometimes he thinks he really does. Sometimes he really thinks he could kill Regulus, given the chance. And other times he wishes he could go back in time. That he could stop himself from leaving that house without his little brother in his arms.

"Okay."

Sirius blinks, not understanding. "Okay?" his brow knits together.

Regulus sighs, defeated, running a hand over his face, "You're right. I accepted it. I didn't fight it. I couldn't see the point."

That last sentence causes Sirius to pause, words tripping on his tongue. "Couldn't?" he repeats. "As in past tense?" Regulus's eyes widen a fraction at being called out but he doesn't say anything. "Can you see the point now?"

Regulus swallows. "Yes," his brother whispers, like it's some big secret. "Yes I see the point. Sirius I—"

And his alarm goes off.

"You're late again," Dorcas is exactly where she was yesterday, leaning against the wall, white high-tops crossed at the ankles.

"And you're eating chips again," he reaches forward but she slaps his hand away.

"Get your own bloody breakfast Black, Jesus," she presses the button for the lift, an army of paper planes zooming out when the doors open.

"You let me have some yesterday," Sirius says petulantly as they step inside.

Dorcas rolls her eyes. "That's cause you were looking all sad and pathetic."

Sirius looks down at himself—jeans slightly too big for him, boots scuffed, same jumper as yesterday—he looks back at Dorcas. "I don't know, I feel like I'm still pretty sad and pathetic."

Dorcas's eyes run him over, performing the same assessment. Eventually she sighs, reluctantly holding out her chips.

Sirius grins. "You're a goddess you know that?"

"Uh-huh," she snatches them back before he can get too many.

"Smo whamt room ware we win tmoday?" he asks, mouth full.

Dorcas is giving him an incredibly unimpressed look. "Death."

Sirius's eyes widen, before he swallows with great effort. "Well that's...cheery."

There's no Legilimency today, thank Merlin, only the regular security checks. Apparently Death is not taken quite as seriously by the Ministry.

"Well, to be fair," Dorcas says as they walk down the large black tiled corridor. The torches that light their way have blue flames in them. "Can you imagine if Voldemort was able to make us all fall in love with him?'

Sirius pulls a face. "That's a disturbing image Meadowes."

"Exactly!" they round the next corner. "I'd rather be dead honestly."

"Fair point."

There's no Unspeakable to greet them at this door. The room they walk into is completely empty. It's round, with a domed ceiling and grey stone pillars holding up the edges. And in the centre, on a raised floor, is an archway.

When he listens, Sirius thinks he can hear voices.

"This is..."

"Depressing?" Dorcas offers, shoving her hands into the pockets of her checkered trousers and stepping forward, inspecting the arch.

"Pretty much yeah." Sirius doesn't move. Something in him itches at the sight of the archway, desperately pushing away. Trying to get out of his skin.

"Death is so freaking bleak in England," Dorcas says suddenly, which is such an absurd statement that it startles a snort out of Sirius.

"Pretty sure death is bleak everywhere."

But she shakes her head. "Nah, when my grandad died we partied for like a week."

"Not a popular guy I take it?"

"My grandad?" she looks back at him. "He was amazing. Wouldn't have been anything to celebrate if he hadn't been," and at the look of confusion on Sirius's face she goes on; "I told you, this," she gestures to the bare grey walls surrounding them, "is very English."

"Where'd your grandfather die then?" he asks, leaning back against the pillar behind him.

"Trinidad."

Sirius blinks.

"It's an island in the—"

"I know where Trinidad is," he cuts her off indignantly. I mean, okay, he doesn't really. But he's not about to admit to that is he? "What was he doing there?"

Dorcas gives him a bemused look, letting the pause stretch on like she's expecting him to figure it out on his own. He does not.

"He lived there," she says finally, the "duh" is heavily implied. "All my family—well, extended family anyway—live there."

This is frankly shocking news to Sirius who already feels like Remus being from Wales is foreign and exotic. "I didn't know you were from Trinidad?"

"I mean, technically I'm from Lincolnshire, but my parents are from Trinidad."

"You've never mentioned that before."

Dorcas shrugs. "You never asked."

Which. Ouch. Okay. Not great.

"Sorry."

She shrugs again. "It's alright, you were busy with," she waves her hand vaguely in his direction; "being Sirius Black."

Sirius arches his brow. "Isn't everyone busy being themselves?"

"I guess," she wobbles her head from side to side. "It just always seems like more of a full time job for you."

Sirius grimaces.

He's self involved, he knows that. Wrapped up in himself and his thoughts. He's so fucking loud, even to his own ears, it blocks the rest of the world out. He hates that about himself. It reminds him of his mother.

"Well, go on then. What's death like in other places?"

Dorcas raises her brow, like she doesn't believe he really wants to know, but Sirius doesn't take the question back.

"Well," she says eventually, sitting down on the sloped floor facing him. "For my grandad we did this thing, it's called Nine Nights, basically does what it says on the tin. For nine nights you have a sort of wake, where everyone shows up at the dead person's house and they bring food and alcohol and music."

"Sounds like a proper party."

"Yeah, I mean, that's the point. You're meant to celebrate. To remember how beautiful that person's life was, to recognize how many people they impacted, how their spirit lives on in them. It's about being together, you know? Helping each other, helping the spirit move on." She pauses for a moment, clearly thinking. "Here, there's so much emphasis put on what you've lost, but there, it's all about what you had. What you still have. It isn't...it isn't so—" she gestures at the gloomy, lonely room they're in.

Sirius feels something oddly achy in his chest, eyes drifting over to the archway as one of the voices gets particularly loud. Not enough that he can hear the words but...it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"That sounds...nice," he says finally. Certainly nicer than anything happening in this room.  

Dorcas nods, looking distant for a moment. Like she's lost in thought, the archway illuminating her from the back, making her hair look like a halo. "Lots of things are different over there," she says finally. "Sometimes I wonder if things here were different too maybe...y'know, all of this wouldn't be happening."

Sirius isn't quite following.

"Different how?"

"Well, the "statute of secrecy" isn't taken very seriously on the islands so there's a lot more cross-over between Muggles and Wizards. It's like," she looks up, searching for the words. "It's like magic is just another culture in a place full of cultures, and they all kind of," she brings her hands together, interlocking her fingers, "mix."

"Huh," Sirius can't quite picture it, so much of his life has been defined by the hard line separating Muggle and Wizard. It's difficult for him to imagine a place where that line doesn't mean anything. Where it blurs and fades and is easily crossed.

"My parents have moved back there," Dorcas goes on, "they went when things got...intense here."

"Is it safer?" Sirius asks, having not considered how this war might be playing out in other countries.

Dorcas shrugs. "For now. If Voldemort is able to take over the Ministry I can't imagine that will last. But I think they feel like—or at least my dad—that if they're going to put their lives on the line fighting for freedom, it's not going to be in Britain."

Sirius's face scrunches. "How come?"

"Well," she goes on, with the air of someone explaining something obvious to a very small child. "Trinidad only just got independence from Britain. I think they're a little bit keener to protect that than they are to protect the person who was trying to control them before Voldemort."

Sirius blinks, feeling like he's just been dropped on another planet. "I didn't realize that was still..." he sort of waves indistinctly at the air, "a thing."

"What? Colonialism?"

"Well," now that's she's said it out loud it does sound a bit dumb. "Yeah. Seems very...Victorian."

"Shockingly, it's lingered."

Silence falls over them, Sirius's eyes trailing back to the archway, unable to ignore it, the ghostly white veil flowing between its pillars. It taps into some feral part of him, some animal instinct that says run, run, run. Honestly he doesn't know how Dorcas can stand to sit so close to it. But then, clearly her relationship to death is different.

"I'm sorry," he says finally, doing his best to swallow the wince that word always causes. His eyes go back to her's in time to see her face scrunch in confusion.

"For what?"

And he doesn't quite know how to explain. As with most of his apologies, there's so much. "For not asking you more questions when we were in school." He grimaces, because it sounds stupid, because it's clunky, because there are so many other things he means, he just doesn't quite know how to say them.

Dorcas considers him for a long moment, too long really, Sirius trying and failing not to fidget.

"Thank you," she says eventually.

Sirius nods, wishing he could make himself a different person. A less selfish one. A less careless one. Wishing he could cut all of Walburga out.   

His gloves are wet, his fingers starting to go numb as he packs the snow more tightly. All in all it's a rather impressive fort, if he does say so himself. He clearly has a future as an—

"Oh for fuck's sake," he looks behind himself and, of course, there's Regulus. Fully grown and sitting against the wall. Sirius sighs, dropping back into his spot across from him.

"This is becoming a habit," he mutters.

Regulus nods, not looking at him.

He watches his little brother for a moment, watches him struggling with whatever it is he clearly wants to say. Resists the urge to tuck him under his arm and tell him it'll be alright. It's not like it's true. It never was.

"I was scared," Regulus says finally. "I saw what they did to you, when you spoke up or acted out and it scared me."

Sirius is momentarily silenced by those words. It's a hell of a way to start a conversation."See that's what I don't understand," he says eventually. "I was always the one who got the worst of it. Always the one she hated. Even before..." before he started trying to be, is what he means to say. There was a long time, as embarrassing as it is for him to admit, when Sirius wanted desperately for his mother to love him. A time when he was brutally denied that love over and over again.

"She always hated me most," he finishes finally.

"You were the heir. You mattered more."

"Yes," Sirius says bitterly. "And you were the perfect son. Always doing exactly as you were told. If anyone had a right to be scared of them it was me."

Regulus looks up finally. "I was the easier target."

"I protected you."

"Not in the end," Regulus says sharply. "Not once you had James."

Sirius feels his hackles raise. "Lets leave him out of this shall we?"

Regulus gives him a look that is somewhere between exasperated and sad. "He's a part of this Sirius. We have to—"

"So it's my fault then?" Sirius interrupts, because he doesn't want to talk about James. To think about James. Not here. Not with this.

Regulus looks startled. "What?"

"My fault for not being there, for having a life outside of that goddamn house, for leaving. My fault for not sacrificing myself for you even when you were barely speaking to me."

"No," Regulus says sternly. "Stop it. You know that's not what I'm saying."

"I actually have no clue what you're saying Regulus. You became their puppet—"

"I told you, I was scared."

"The fuck do you think I was?" Sirius demands. "You think I was having fun? You think I didn't feel like throwing up every time I saw her raise her wand? But I still stood in front of you. Still took the worst of it for you. So how can you sit there and blame it all on fear when you had me and I had no one."

Regulus looks pained, hands rubbing over his face, through his hair, disheveling his usually meticulous curls.

"I'm not trying to make excuses," he finally says, but Sirius is too riled up for this. Too tired of going in circles.

"Fuck making excuses, you want to blame me—"

"No!"

"Bullshit!" Sirius's hands are shaking so he grips his knees. "You blame me for leaving—you've always blamed me and I'm sick of it. I'm so tired of being the bad guy in this story when I had to leave," his voice cracks. "I had to leave."

"I know," Regulus says weakly. "I know."

And Sirius isn't sure when they both started sounding so wrecked, isn't sure where the pressure behind his eyes came from or the trembling in his mouth.

"I had to leave," he repeats, like he can't stop himself. "Because you drew your wand."

"I know," Regulus is crying now. Sirius might be too.

"She asked you to hurt me and you drew your wand."

"I know. I know. Sirius—Sirius I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You don't get to blame me, not after that. It isn't fair. It was never fair."

Let me forgive myself. Let me let this go. I'm so tired of carrying this guilt around.

Regulus nods, sniffling and wiping at his face with the sleeve of his jumper. "It wasn't your fault. You had to leave. I promise I know that. You had to leave. You had to leave me."

Sirius feels something in him break, something profound, and he can't look at Regulus anymore. Tilting his head back against the wall and shoving the heels of his hands into his eyes. The emotions tear through him like a landslide, leaving broken homes in their wake. He's waited years to hear Regulus say that.

You had to leave.

He's waited fucking years.

You had to leave me.

It a long time before he's able to take a proper breath.

"I'm sorry Sirius, for so much, honestly," Regulus says eventually, voice rough. "But I need—I need you to understand, that you weren't always there. That you couldn't protect me from them."

Sirius's eyes find his brother's. It's another long moment before he's able to force himself to ask the question he never allowed himself to before. Never even allowed himself to think.

"What didn't I see?"

Several emotions flicker across Regulus's face—too quickly for Sirius to figure out what any of them are.

"It doesn't matter."

"Reg—"

"No, I can't, I can't," his eyes close and Regulus lets out a shaking breath. It's been years since he's seen Regulus show this much. Feel this much. "I just need you to know—to know that I had things to be afraid of that you couldn't protect me from."

Sirius winces, glad that Regulus can't see him. It isn't that he didn't know this, deep down, it's more that he didn't want to know it. Believing that he'd saved Regulus from the pain his mother inflicted on him, believing that by the time he left they loved Regulus too much to hurt him, let Sirius live with himself.

"Why won't you tell me Reg?" The truth is, he's not sure he wants to know. Not sure he could bear it. Not sure it wouldn't make him tear the world apart.

"Because," Regulus sighs, "because if I do it'll be all you see when you think of me. And I don't want that. I don't want this to become all that I am to you. I'd rather you hate me because of what I've done. Not because of what was done to me."

For a second all Sirius can do is stare at his younger brother. Because that really is so spectacularly fucked up. He feels like a bolder has replaced his stomach. Feels like the weight of all the unsaid things between them will crush him.

Eventually he swallows, reaching his foot out and nudging Regulus's. "Reg," he nudges him again. "Reg, look at me. Hey?" nudge, nudge.

Regulus seems to open and roll his eyes simultaneously.

Sirius takes a moment, gathering his thoughts. "I'm so...so fucking angry at you. For so many of the things you've done. The things you're still doing. I've been angry for a long time. Sometimes it...it blocks out everything else. Everything we were before. I'm angry Reg," he takes in a breath,"but I don't hate you. I never have."

He sees the surprise in Regulus's eyes. His brother opens and closes his mouth like he can't quite find the words. "Me either," Regulus finally manages to croak. "I never hated you. Never."

Regulus has told Sirius that before of course. Years ago, back in school, sitting in an empty classroom after downing a vile of Veritaserum. But it hadn't felt real then. Potion or no potion. Maybe Sirius just hadn't been ready to hear it. He doesn't know why it's realer now, even though it's objectively anything but.

Only a dream.

This boy, this version of his brother, talking and feeling, a figment of his imagination.

"Thank you," he says anyway, not even clear what he's thanking him for.

Regulus nods, and then: "Sirius."

"See, when you say my name like that I feel like I'm not going to like what comes after it."

Regulus gives him an unimpressed look. "We have to talk about James."

Sirius groans. "God, no, fuck, we don't. We really don't."

"Why everything but this? All the other terrible shit between us but not James?"

Sirius bites the inside of his cheek and tries to refrain from lashing out the way he wants to. The way he wants to rip James's name out of his brother's mouth. He digs his fingers into the snow beneath him. Wishing this wasn't a dream. Wishing he could feel the burn of the cold against his skin.

When Sirius continues to refuse to speak Regulus sighs. "You have to—he's going to need you," Regulus finally manages to get out, bringing Sirius's gaze back to him. "He's going to need you and I won't be there so you have to get over this. You have to get over this so you can do what I—what I can't."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Regulus runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter, I just—I need you to forgive him for loving me too okay? I need to know that he'll have someone."

"He didn't—" but Sirius cuts himself off. Old habits die hard. He's so used to the pair of them trying to take jabs at one another, that he keeps forgetting that isn't what they're doing. That somehow they've formed some sort of truce. Only in his dreams.

"He did love me—does love me," Regulus's voice is fierce when he says it but Sirius can see the doubt in his grey eyes. At least until he closes them again, shaking his head. "Please," he whispers. "Please don't take that from me."

But he's mine, the childish part of Sirius wants to scream. I saw him first, I needed him most, why did it have to be him? Out of everyone. Why did you have to take him away? Because he had. For a year that lie had sat between James and Sirius, festering and growing and pushing them apart.

Eventually Sirius clears his throat. "Is your Patronus really a stag?"

Regulus actually laughs, eyes glassy when he opens them again. "Yeah, yeah he is."

"He?" Sirius arches his brow.

"I call him Boo."

"Wow, that's..." Sirius rubs at the back of his neck, "surprisingly wholesome."

Regulus snorts. "Yeah, well, I didn't choose it."

"But you kept it."

Regulus lets out a breath, dropping his head back against the wall of the snow fort. "Yeah, I kept it."

Sirius can hear the wind howling outside, can remember how it had felt as a kid, constantly listening for footsteps, for the sound of his mother's voice. Or his father's. Coming to take them away. Coming to lock them back in that house.

"For so long," Sirius starts talking, not looking at Regulus. "I always knew where James was. At my side. Always at my side. And then one day I turned around and he wasn't there and it felt like..." he forces the breath out through his teeth, body tensed. "The day you drew your wand on me, and the day James started lying to me, they feel the same. Maybe that sounds stupid but...I didn't see either of them coming. I really fucking didn't."

He feels more than he sees Regulus roll his head towards him. But it's another few seconds before he speaks. "I didn't take him from you Sirius," and when he scoffs Regulus presses on. "Not because I'm a nice person, not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't. I don't think anyone ever could," Regulus laughs dryly. "I might have needed James, but I think the only person James has ever needed is you."

Finally Sirius looks back at him, chest too tight—too tight to be healthy, to be normal, to let his heart beat in any regular way. And then, before he can stop himself, he says; "Why didn't you need me?"

Regulus's eyes go wide. "I—" words stumbling, tripping on his tongue. "I did. Of course I did I—" but he stops abruptly.

At first Sirius just thinks he's crying. Water suddenly spilling over the corners of his eyes. But almost immediately the streams become too thick and consistent to be tears—like rivers running down his face—like he's leaking.

"Regulus?" Sirius sits up, watching as his brother feels the water rushing over his cheeks, his drowning eyes returning to Sirius.

"Shit," he sounds chocked, and Sirius suddenly sees the small drips of water escaping from the corners of his mouth. "I thought we'd have more time."

"Regulus what—" but Regulus's eyes roll back into his head and his hands go to his throat. Sirius lunges forward, pulling Regulus into his lap as he—as he drowns in his arms.

"Reg? Reg? Hey? What's happening? What the fuck is happening?" he doesn't know what to do, doesn't know how to stop this, just keeps holding him, arms squeezing tight. "It's going to be okay," Sirius says shakily, even though it's clearly a lie. "It's gonna be okay."

So much water is pouring out if him that it's begun pooling around them.

"Regulus?" his brother shakes in his arms, horrible gurgling noises coming from his throat. "Regulus I lo—"

His alarm goes off.

When Sirius shows up at the Ministry Dorcas doesn't even make him work for it, just gives him one look and holds out her chips.

"We're in the Time Room today," she says as they ride silently in the lift.

Sirius nods.

He feels simultaneously exhausted and buzzing with tension at the same time. A pit of anxiety weighing heavily in his stomach as his mind constantly replays his dream over and over again, no matter how many times he tries to get himself to focus on something else.

The look on Regulus's face.

The water.

The noises he made.

"Do you want to talk about?" Dorcas asks. The time room is the busiest one they've been in so far, with at least a dozen Unspeakables buzzing about doing god knows what.

Sirius gives her a weak smile. "I'm okay, thanks."

Dorcas does not look remotely convinced but after a long pause, she nods. "I'm here if you need to."

His smile is feeling more brittle by the second. "Thanks."

When he gets home the flat is still empty, not that he thought it wouldn't be but there's always the chance...in any case, he tries to eat but can't quite manage it. It's like he has a hive of bees living inside his skin.

He wants to sleep but he tosses and turns for most of the night. Not managing to finally drift away until nearly morning.

He doesn't have any dreams.

When he wakes up the buzzing under his skin is worse. He doesn't have guard duty today so there's no reason to get out of bed. Except that the silence. The stillness. It's eating him alive.

He wanders around the flat, puts on a record, turns the volume all the way up, adds firewhisky to his coffee. But the foreboding feeling never leaves him. A cold hand on his shoulder. A sob caught in his throat.

Eventually he firecalls James.

"Hello you," Lily says, hair spilling out of a messy bun on the top of her head, freckles on full display as her face pokes through the fireplace.

Sirius tries to put on an easy grin. "Hey gorgeous, how're you?"

He must be doing a shit job at seeming okay because he can already see the flickers of concern in Lily's expression, but then, she's always been too smart by half.

"I'm alright, you know, getting by," it's the tone that really gives it away when she says; "What about you?"

He tries not to wince.

"Living the dream baby," his voice is too tight, he knows it, sees all pretence drop from Lily's face.

"Sirius—"

"Is—er—is your worse half there by any chance?" he cuts her off, not sure he can handle lying to her directly.

Lily grimaces. "Shit, no, sorry. Frank asked him to go into the Ministry and help teach some of the rookie Aurors how to handle their brooms."

Sirius arches his brow. "Sounds kinky."

Lily snorts. "I'm not sure Frank could even say the word kinky without blushing."

"It's always the quiet ones who are into the weirdest shit, I'm telling you."

Lily wrinkles her nose. "Okay, enough, I don't need to be picturing Frank in full body leather."

"Ew! Lily! Stop giving me mental images!"

"You started it!"

"Well, you're supposed to be the reasonable one not me," Sirius fires back—rightly so he feels.

But Lily only rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at him. "Reasonable one my ass," she mutters under her breath.

"Careful, the baby might hear you."

That makes Lily laugh. "He's heard worse than that in this house I promise you."

"Speaking of—uh—how's that going then," he gestures vaguely towards her. "The whole, growing a person thing?"

She gives him an amused look. "Alright. I mean, early days still so he's not really doing much but," she looks down at what Sirius imagines is her belly. "I think we're getting along okay," there's a softness in her eyes that Sirius doesn't think he's ever seen before, and he isn't sure why it suddenly makes him feel so horribly lonely.

"Well," he coughs. "I should—uh—I should go and...you know...but it was lovely to chat with you."

When Lily looks up the concerned expression is back on her face. "Are you sure you don't want to talk about something? I know I'm not James but..."

I feel trapped, 

In my body.

In my mind.

I want to unzip my skin.

I want to live in something softer.

Kinder.

I want to pull the thoughts from my head like teeth.

He gives her a shaky smile. "Nah, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"James will be back tonight, I'll tell him to come round yeah?"

Sirius's chest feels tight. He wants to see James. Needs to see him really. But part of him also hates that, hates that everyone knows it.

"It's okay, I'm sure he'll be tired."

But Lily only scoffs. "Please. He misses you. Expect him around eight, yeah?"

Sirius doesn't know why that makes him feel so delicate. "Alright, thanks."

"Of course," she smiles. "Call anytime Sirius, okay?"

He nods, not quite trusting his voice as he pulls away, lets the fire flicker until there's nothing there but wood and ash. Sirius closes his eyes and tries to get a hold of himself. He flexes and curls his fingers, taking deep breaths.

"It was just a dream," he murmurs.

It doesn't help.

He takes about three showers but none of them make his skin feel like it fits right. Like it belongs to him when he brushes his fingers over it. He can't sit still long enough to do anything, bouncing from empty room to empty room. He stops putting coffee in his mug and starts just putting whisky.

That doesn't help either.

Eventually he ends up on the sofa, knee bouncing up and down, elbows resting on his thighs, staring into the fire. He needs to go somewhere. Needs to get out. He just doesn't know where. He stares so hard his eyes start to water and he has to look away. Focusing instead on a picture on the wall.

It's one of Alphard's, though at this point his uncle's stuff and his stuff has become so intermingled that he sometimes forgets it didn't all always belong to him. In the picture Alphard is smiling, close mouthed, a bit camera shy, as three young girls laugh and giggle and joke around him. Sirius has clearly never looked at it closely before because if he had he would have thrown it out. Too many enemies in that frame, too many memories.

His eyes snag on one face in particular.

It doesn't take long. For him to decide. It never does.

A second later he's off the sofa and out the door. Jacket and wand in hand.

He's never technically been here before, only seen the address on a few birthday cards. He takes one or two wrong turns but eventually he's landing his bike in an open field, a quaint little farm house a few yards away from him.

Most of the area is barren, what with it being winter, the sky above grey and dark even though it can't be later than three. Sirius silences the engine of his bike and climbs off, hand running over his hair, making sure it's all still secured in the small bun at the back of his head, eyeing the house in front of him. Now that he's here the nerves are starting to kick in.

"Well," he says, straightening his jacket, "here goes nothing."

Sirius takes no more than two steps forward before he runs into what feels like a brick wall. Or, well, a brick wall that's also running into him—throwing him backwards so that he slams into the ground a few feet behind his bike.

"Fuck," he wheezes, trying to get the air back in his lungs. He curls onto his side, coughing.

Wards.

He should have seen that coming.

Idiot.

"Really?"

His head pops up at the voice, dots appearing in front of his eyes—probably the result of slamming his head into the ground—he blinks them away, bringing into view a young woman holding the hand of a toddler with strikingly pink hair.

"You thought you were just gonna be able to walk right up to our front door did you?" the woman asks, amusement clear in her voice.

Sirius groans, pushing himself up to siting and rubbing at his eyes. "Yeah, might not have thought that one through a hundred percent."

"You think?"

She walks towards him, her dark hair in lose waves down her back, eyes sharp.

"I was wondering if you'd come by," she says, letting go of the kid's hand—her kid, Sirius assumes, though her skin is darker than her mother's. Andromeda helps him to his feet.

"You were?" he asks. It seems a strange thing to say, considering he's never come by before.

She shrugs. "Just a hunch. Good to be around family in times like these and...well...we only have so much family we can be around."

Sirius assumes by "times like these" she means the war. Though he still feels a little wrong footed. Like he's walked into a scene without knowing his lines.

"Right," he says finally. "Yeah."

She gives him a long look. "It's been a while, last time I saw you you were..."

"Fourteen," Sirius answers. "Well, I think anyway." His mother held a dinner a month or so before Andromeda left the family. Ran off with her Muggle boyfriend. Probably the only reason Sirius ever considered running himself. If it hadn't been for Andromeda he wouldn't have believed it was possible to get away from them.

The corner of her mouth twitches ever so slightly. "You've grown up."

Have I? Sirius almost asks. Because most of the time he doesn't feel much different than he did at fourteen. Or maybe he feels completely different but not in any helpful way. Not more mature. Not more knowledgeable. The opposite really.

"And you've grown a person," he looks over at the kid and smiles. She crowds against her mother's leg but smiles back nonetheless.

"Dora, say hi, this is your cousin Sirius," she gives the kid a little nudge and Dora raises her hand.

"Hi," she says, with that slight lisp children sometimes have.

Sirius beams back. "Hey, I like your hair."

No sooner has he said that then the pink starts to drain away, replaced by dark brown—nearly black—tied in a bun at the back of her head.

"I wike your hair," she says quietly.

For a second all Sirius can do is stare, but then he laughs. "You don't say," he looks up at Andromeda for clarification.

"I know, as if being a toddler wasn't terror enough, this one's gotta go and be a Metamorphmagus," Andromeda looks down at her daughter fondly, mussing her hair. "Do you want to explain what a Metamorphmagus is to your cousin my darling?"

Dora gives her mother a big grin, showcasing her missing front tooth. "It mweans that—it mweans that I can do—um—funny things with mwy face!"

Sirius snorts, watching Andromeda frown slightly.

"Well," the older woman says eventually. "Fair enough I suppose." She turns back to Sirius, nodding over her shoulder. "Come on then, it's freezing. Lets get inside."

Sirius looks at the space in front of him warily and his cousin rolls her eyes. "Oh come on you big baby, they'll let you in now."

Sirius believes her. Mostly. But he still walks behind her with both of his hands held in front of him, bracing for impact.

  Andromeda's house is sweet. That's the best way Sirius can think to describe it. A Tudor style cottage, with a dulled orange roof. There are rose bushes under the front windows that have clearly been magicked to bloom all year round, and thin green vines snaking up the walls.

"Just kick your boots off anywhere," she says when they get inside, Dora tearing off her jacket and running through the house. Andromeda rolls her eyes. "What have I said about leaving your things on the floor Dora!" she calls after her, shaking her head as she hangs up her coat on one of the available hooks near the door.

Sirius takes off his shoes but keeps his jacket on. It makes him feel...protected somehow.

"Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Something stronger?" Andromeda asks as he follows her into the kitchen, her hair staticky from her winter clothes.

"Er—" the house is warm. A little cluttered. Discarded newspapers, and books, and toys spread about. There are dirty dishes in the sink, and a half-eaten piece of toast on the counter. The whole place somehow smells like lemon cake—Sirius thinks it must be a spell cause he can't see anything baking. It makes him smile though. Reminds him of the Potters'.

"Sirius?"

He blinks, finding Andromeda leaning back against the counter watching him. Then he sees her eyes do a quick circuit of the room.

"Oh yeah, sorry, place is a bit of a mess. I'd tell you it's not always like this but that would be a lie."

"No it's good, I like it. It's—" he falters, throat a little tight. "You did good Andy."

Her expression softens and he wonders if she's thinking about it too—the houses they grew up in. Everything in its place. Nothing meant to be touched. Not even the people.

"Thanks," she says eventually. "Now? Firewhisky? I feel like the occasion calls for it."

He scrunches his face. Occasion? Him showing up, is that what she means? He's about to ask when—

"Babe have you seen my turquoise shirt? I can't find it—" A tall, dark skinned man walks into the room. He's shirtless, which is a bit of a shock. Not that Sirius is complaining.

The man's eyes grow wide as they travel from Sirius to his wife. "Uh..."

"Well now I feel overdressed."

Andromeda rolls her eyes. "Ted, this is my cousin Sirius, Sirius, this is my husband Ted."

"Your cousin?" Ted repeats, not seeming at all reassured by that information. To be fair, knowing their family, Sirius wouldn't be either.

He leans closer to Andromeda and fake-whispers: "I don't think you're helping."

"Oh stop looking like that Ted, he's harmless."

"Oi!" Sirius says indignantly. "I can be plenty harmful I'll have you know!"

Andromeda arches her brow. "Now who's not helping?"

"I didn't know you had harmless relatives," Ted says, warily.

Andromeda makes a face that seems to say something along the lines of "Yeah, fair enough."

"Sirius is a bit of an anomaly."

"And also, I would like to once again point out, not harmless!"

"Aw," Andromeda puckers her lower lip. "Of course you're not sweetie."

Sirius scowls, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm starting to regret this visit."

"Yeah, yeah, go sit down and I'll pour you a drink. And Ted?"

Ted blinks, clearly still thrown by Sirius's sudden presence in his kitchen. "Huh? Yeah?"

"Go put on a shirt."

"What?" he looks down at his torso. "Oh shi—sorry. Totally wasn't even—wow this is super embarrassing, I am—yup—okay, definitely going to do that now. Nice to—er—meet you."

He nods at Sirius briefly before ducking out of the room.

Andromeda shakes her head, pulling a pair of glasses down from the cupboard. "He's ridiculous."

Sirius smiles. "I like him."

He can see her fighting the urge to smile back. "Well I do too, obviously, but don't go telling him that."

"I think marrying him might have tipped him off."

"Eh," Andromeda pours their drinks, carrying them over to the table. "You'd be surprised, men are unimaginably dense. No offence."

"None taken."

They fall into silence, Sirius passing his glass back and forth between his palms, watching the condescension it leaves behind on the table.

"So," Andromeda says finally. He can feel her eyes on him, without even looking up.

"So."

"You've never visited before."

Sirius grimaces down at the table. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Hey, not a judgement, just an observation."

Sirius doesn't know exactly what to say, or how to explain what he's doing here. Why he thought this would help. I mean, it is helping, he feels better not being alone in his flat. But he's not sure he wants to explain that to Andromeda.   

"Sirius," she reaches out and gently taps the top of his hand, bringing Sirius's eyes to her's. She smiles, just out of the corner of her mouth. "I'm glad you came."

It really is pathetic that that makes him feel choked up.

"I—"

"MummyMummyMummyMummy!"

Andromeda rolls her eyes. "Sorry, children have no sense of timing whatsoever."

Sirius only smiles, privately disagreeing. He is more than happy to be spared the struggle of coming up with a reply.

Dora speeds into the room, hair still an exact replica of Sirius's. Strands slipping from the bun and hanging around her face. She has, in her hands, a stuffed animal. It's a scruffy thing, well loved, missing an ear.

"I wanted to show Sirius mwy wolf."

"Ah," Andromeda says knowingly, sitting back in her chair and taking a sip of her drink. "Well then, by all means."

Dora shoots Sirius a look and then shuffles forward. "This is Soup. He's mwy wolf."

Sirius arches his brow, shooting Andromeda a quick look. His cousin sighs. "It's my fault, I called him "ton loup" and, well," she gestures at the stuffed toy with her glass.

"Soup," Sirius says, laughing a little as he looks back down at Dora. "Makes perfect sense."

She grins, missing tooth and all. "I thought you'd like him, your hair is kinda similar."

He hears Andromeda snort.

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment." He kicks his cousin under the table.

"Do you wanna pwet him?"

"Hel—"

Andromeda coughs.

"—ck yeah I do!"

She offers up the little wolf and Sirius gives him a good scratch behind the ears. Trying not to think about his own wolf.

"There you are!"

Sirius looks up to see Ted in the doorway—fully clothed this time.

"Sorry," he brushes his fingers over Andromeda's shoulders before bending down to pick up a giggling Dora. "I was trying to keep this little gremlin out of your hair." He tickles her belly and the giggling intensifies, Soup being whipped around in all directions.

When she settles Sirius sees that her appearance has changed again, hair now shorter and curlier, mimicking her father's.

"He's her favourite," Andromeda says, leaning towards Sirius ever so slightly. "Doesn't matter who else is in the room, she always chooses him."

Dora and Ted are trading words back and forth, quick and quiet. Every few seconds Dora will let out a wave of childish snorts, Ted beaming at her, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"She has good taste," Sirius says eventually, struggling against the uninvited jealousy in his chest. He used to feel like this a lot back in the early days, when he would visit James. But then, Effie and Monty adopted him so quickly that the jealousy never really had much to feed off of.

"That she does," Andromeda says, staring fondly at her family.

"Alright bubba," Ted settles Dora on his hip. "Time for your bath."

Now, Sirius was under the impression that baths were something of a controversial subject when it came to children. Personally, he doesn't remember them fondly. But Dora, Dora's eyes light up.

"Bath time," she says, in a little awed voice, as though she's never heard anything so lovely.

Ted smiles. He has a nice smile, Sirius decides. It reaches all the way up to his eyes, big and vulnerable. He understands why Andy might be drawn to him. To a man who smiles with his heart instead of his teeth.

"Well," he glances over his daughter's head at the two of them sitting at the table. "I'll leave you lot to it then."

He gives Andromeda a look that Sirius interprets as "do you need me to rescue you? Blink twice if the answer's yes" but Andy only smiles back, taking another sip of her drink.

"Have fun, do try not to flood the bathroom again."

Ted rolls his eyes. "That was one time!"

"Bath time!" Dora interrupts, clearly having enough of this, Sirius doesn't blame her. "Bath time! Bath time!"

"Yeah, yeah," Ted kisses the side of her head, before turning to Sirius. "Sorry, when this one's down for her nap, I might be able to come out and meet you properly."

Sirius smiles back. "No worries, I expect bath time's more fun than chatting with me anyway."

"Bath time! Bath time! Bath time!" Dora agrees.

"Certainly is for one of us," he offers Sirius another parting smile before hauling his chanting six year old back out of the room. Sirius watches them go, feeling the familiar itch in his chest.

"I know," Andromeda says eventually, snapping him out of his thoughts, bringing his gaze back to her. She nods down the hall where her husband and daughter just disappeared. "Not fair is it?"

Sirius doesn't know how to respond to that so instead he takes a sip of his drink. It's good. Strong. Burns on the way down just like it should. After another few seconds of silence Andromeda sighs.

"So look, Narcissa wrote me about the funeral," she runs a hand over her face. "I wasn't going to go but," she looks at him. "If you want to, I'll go with you."

Sirius blinks back at her.

"What?"

There's a sickening moment of stillness in which he sees several emotions flicker across her face—confusion, realization, horror.

"Oh no, oh Sirius don't do this—tell me you know? I thought—why else would you all the sudden show up here?"

And stupidly. Irrationally. He thinks it's Remus. Which makes no sense, because why would Narcissa know about Remus's death before him? And if anyone was going to be planning his funeral—but no, Sirius has to shut that thought down right there as an overwhelming wave a nausea washes over him.

"Who?" Sirius finally manages to ask.

The pity in her eyes. "Sirius—"

But he cuts her off. "Please Andy, tell me. I can handle it. Just tell me."

She looks like she'd rather do just about anything else but instead she nods. "Yeah, okay, okay," exhaling. "Sirius I'm so sorry, I'm so fucking sorry. If I had known—" she shakes her head. "Never mind. It's Regulus. Regulus is dead."

For a moment Sirius's head goes silent.

But I just saw him.

I just saw him.

We were building a snow fort.

"No."

Andromeda reaches out, taking hold of Sirius's hand and squeezing it. "I know. I know."

"He—" the word chokes itself and Sirius closes his eyes, trying to stay in control. "How?" he finally manages to get out. The room suddenly lacking in oxygen.

"Voldemort caught him trying to runaway," a pause and then: "There's no body."

He lets out something strangled. A laugh and a sob all rolled into one. He makes the noise with his whole chest.

Fuck Reg.

There's no body.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Those big eyes.

Those socked feet.

"Sirius? Sirius are you okay?"

He hears Andromeda getting out of her seat, feels her sliding into the one next to him. Wrapping her arms around him. He isn't crying, that would be too simple. And nothing between him and Reg was ever that.

He squeezes his eyes more firmly shut as he lets her hold him.

"I thought we'd have more time."

Water pouring from his eyes. Pooling around Sirius's knees.

"I thought we'd have more time."

And Sirius doesn't know if it's him or Regulus speaking.

PART III JAMES   

  James Potter is a coward.

This truth is inescapable as he sits in his bedroom, head in his hands, knees bouncing up and down, trying once again to figure out what the fuck he's going to tell Lily.

He knows he's waited too long.

Regulus could have turned up by now. Could turn up any second. And that would be...that would be bad.

I mean, okay, it's all bad.

But that would be worse.

It isn't how he wants to...do this. Whatever the hell this is.

His nails dig into his scalp, pulling at his hair.

He's fucked up. He knows that. He does. He feels bad. Not...not maybe as bad as he should. Because he doesn't...regret it. Which is, admittedly, another layer of fucked. For the hundredth time he tries to pull his ribs apart, to poke and prod some answers out of his bitch of a heart. But he gets nowhere.

He loves Lily.

Loves their life and their home and the idea of starting a family with her.

But there hasn't been a day, since he was sixteen, that he hasn't felt the absence of Regulus like a hole in his chest. He hadn't realized how much until he was sat across from Walburga Black, listening to her tell him he'd lost. Tell him he'd been the reason she'd pushed Regulus to get the Mark when she had. So young. So fucking young. He hadn't quite been able to appreciate that at the time. What children they were.

I love you both so much,

he thinks for the thousandth time.

And I just...I just want that to be okay.

He grimaces.

I know it isn't. I know. But I just—I just want to be whole.

Please don't make me choose.

Please.

He groans, scrubbing at his face before he collapses back onto the bed.

He has to tell Lily. Tell her everything. All of it. He doesn't like keeping things from her, he knows she can tell he has been. Sees it in the looks she shoots him out of the corners of her eyes. This isn't fair. It isn't right. But every time he goes to open his mouth the words evaporate.

How is he meant to explain something he doesn't understand?

How is she ever going to believe him?

Forgive him?

"James?" Lily shouts up the stairs.

He's going to tell her. He is.

"Yeah?"

"Sirius is calling, says it's important."

Shit.

James looks over at the clock. It's nearly 8:30. He only meant to come up here and change and then he was going to head over to the flat. Lily said Sirius rung earlier, that he hadn't looked well. Remus has been gone again. James knows it's been hard on him.

Merlin he's such a shit friend.

"Tell him I'll be over in five, yeah?" he shouts back, getting off the bed and looking around for a clean shirt.

"He's not at home. He says it's important he—James it looks important."

Something in her tone makes his blood suddenly go cold. He drops the clothes in his hands and heads for the door, taking the stairs two at a time. Lily is waiting at the bottom, chewing on her lower lip.

"What is it? What did he say?" he asks as he heads towards the room he still thinks of as his father's study.

Lily shakes her head. "Nothing really. Just that he wasn't home. That he wanted to speak with you—just you," she pauses at the door, James's hand on the handle. He turns back to her.

"Just me?" he asks, confused. If it's serious, if it's an emergency, why wouldn't he want Lily there?

"Just go okay?" Lily looks scared but then, they're all scared these days. "He needs you, whatever it is, I don't like seeing him look so fucking sad. So go work some of your James Potter magic and fix him," she gives James a small smile and he can't help leaning forward and kissing the top of her head.

"I love you," he says automatically, feeling a spike of guilt cut through his stomach so sharply he nearly doubles over.

"I love you too."

He's going to tell her. He is.

He closes the door behind him, walking towards Sirius's face in the fire. He looks distant. And...something else James can't put his finger on.

"Hey," he says softly, kneeling in front of him. "What's up? What's wrong?"

"James."

The broken way he says his name makes James want to jump through the fire.

"Where are you?" he asks, "I'll come get you."

A shaky smile flickers across Sirius's face. "Are you going to rescue me James?"

"Don't ask stupid questions. Just tell me where you are. Tell me who I have to fucking murder." Tell me who put that bruised look in your eyes. Promise it wasn't me.

"I'm okay," Sirius says eventually, and apparently seeing the look of absolutely disbelief on James's face he goes on: "I mean I'm safe. I'm at Andy's."

James blinks, momentarily taken off guard. "Andy's? As in your cousin Andy?"

"That's the one."

"What are you doing there?"

Sirius looks like the question makes him tired. "I just needed to...not be in an empty flat. And you were busy so—"

"Listen, I'll come over okay? I'll come over now—"

"James," Sirius stops him.

Something is wrong.

It isn't just Remus being gone.

Something is wrong with Sirius and it's starting to make James panic.

"I think I'm going to stay here, for the night anyway," Sirius goes on.

James shakes his head, not understanding. "Sirius, tell me what's happening? Because I'm so fucking lost."

Sirius shifts, sitting with his knees bent, hands clasped in front him. "I thought—I wanted you to hear this from me," he looks up and then away, and James swears he's going to lose it if Sirius doesn't start explaining himself because he can't take the anxiety. The building pressure in his chest.

It's Remus,

the horrible voice in his head says.

Something's happened to Remus.

Though James doubts Sirius would be this calm if that were the case.

Sirius sighs, scrubbing at his his face. "Regulus is dead."

James just looks at him. "What?"

"I guess he got cold feet, he was trying to get out, Voldemort caught him."

No.

No.

No.

"What?"  

"There's no body," Sirius is just rambling on, barely listening to James, barely looking at him, like he can't wait to have this all out of him. To stop tasting it in his mouth. "But they're having a funeral anyway, something small, in a few days. Me and Andy talked about it but I don't think we're going to go. We're not technically invited and it would probably just end in a fucking duel anyway."

James's whole body has gone cold, a faint sort of buzzing in his ears. "He—"

But that's as far as he gets. Nothing else comes out.

He can't think. He can't think. Because every time he tries—

"James? Are you—are you okay?"

Nothing is making sense.

"I—"

He promised.

This time he promised.

So many years, and so many fights, and finally he was going to leave.

"I just can't quite—" nothing is coming out of his mouth. Nothing is coming into his head. Stuck between shock and the desire not to make this worse for Sirius. Sirius who looks so small right now. James has always done his best to protect him. It's second nature. Even if what he's protecting him from is himself.

"No, I can't really either," Sirius lets out a heavy breath. "I mean, fuck him, fuck him for all of it, but I never thought this was as far as we would get you know? I thought there was going to be more than this, I thought eventually he would fucking...try to fix this."

James squeezes his eyes shut. It feels as though his body is getting smaller and smaller, caving in on itself.

"He did try to fix it," James croaks. "Like you said, he was trying to get out, that's what—"

"Yeah but who knows where he was going or why he was leaving. Him being too chicken shit to do whatever they were asking him to isn't the same as him realizing he was wrong."

James wants to tell him—needs to—but he can't fucking breathe.

And suddenly he's back in the Astronomy Tower.

And Regulus Black has just kissed him for the first time.

He should have seen it coming. He didn't. But he should have.

He's so warm.

His mouth.

His hands.

For a boy who walks around like he's made of stone Regulus touches like the sun.

"James?"

It's okay. This is okay. This can be okay.

It's just a kiss.

Except it isn't.

It's Sirius's brother.

It's Regulus Black.

It's a boy.

Breathe.

In and out.

In and out.

A boy who touches like the sun.

"James!"

His eyes fly open, and they're wet but he isn't crying, though he's almost certain that any second he's going to be sick. He's going to scream. He's going to start digging into his chest. To get it out. Get it out. The ache. The pain. Get it out. Get it out.

"Sorry," he croaks. "Sorry it's been a long day and I can't really—this is doing my head in."

Sirius gives him a concerned look. "I know, I—" There's a voice in the background, Sirius's head turning for a second. "Yeah," he says over his shoulder. "Thanks." He looks apologetic when he returns. "Sorry, that was Andy, she's just letting me know there's food."

James nods, hoping it doesn't look as shaky as it feels. "You should go."

He doesn't want to break down in front of Sirius. It doesn't seem fair. It isn't what he does. He's the strong one. He's the one that Sirius is supposed to be able to count on in moments like this. To lean on. He doesn't want him here while he crumbles into dust.

"I don't have to—"

James swallows. "It's helping, being with them?"

He sees the surprise on Sirius's face and then the slight pinking—embarrassment. He's always embarrassed every time he admits to wanting a family. Like it's some dirty secret.

"Yeah," he says finally, voice a little rough. "Yeah, it's helping."

James nods. "Then you should go."

Sirius hesitates for a moment before finally conceding. "Okay, yeah I'll—yeah. Take care of yourself okay? We'll talk later."

"Yeah, you too."

The minute he's alone James collapses forward onto his hands and knees. Gasping for air. Dry heaving. He ought to find a bin, something to be sick into, but he isn't sure he can move.

I just want to hold him.

It's a stupid thing to think. But his brain won't let it go.

I just want to feel him. The warmth of his skin, the weight of him, the pressure of his head on my chest. Knowing he's safe because I have him. I have him and I'm not going to let anyone hurt him. Not anymore. Not again.

I just want to hold him.

But he can't.

Because Regulus is dead.

Regulus is dead.

Regulus is dead.

There isn't even a body.

James screams. He screams hoping it'll tear him apart. Hoping it will drown out every thought in his head. Every feeling in his chest. He screams and he screams and it isn't enough. It isn't fucking enough.

You're going to be insufferable aren't you?

Yes. God yes.

These screams have claws, dragging pieces of James with them on their way out. Good. Get it out. Get it out. Get the pain out. It's driving him mad. He can't take this. It's driving him all the way out of his head.

You're gorgeous, you know that?

You're drunk.

Yeah, but it'd still be true if I was sober.

He needs a knife. Needs something sharp.

I'm glad you came.

Go to sleep James.

He's started scratching at his skin, vicious red lines left behind. Get it out. Get it out. He's panicking. He knows it. But people were not built to lose this much. His body can't hold it.

Not everyone can be a hero.

There aren't any heroes, remember? You said that. No heroes, no villains, just people.

It's harder to believe that standing next to you.

I don't know who or what made you give up on yourself Regulus, but I need you to stop.

James—

You are worth saving.

"James? James!"

Lily is on the floor in front of him, she's blurry, but definitely there, pale faced and shocked as she grabs hold of his wrists, stopping him from tearing himself apart. He's crying now, voice gone, unable to make sense of his own thoughts.

"What happened?" she lets go of his wrists, hands coming up to his face, thumbs desperately trying to wipe away his tears.

He is overflowing. Spilling out of himself. Staining the carpet. For generations people will find pieces of him between the floorboards.

"James please," Lily says softly, hands steady, as they hold him. "Tell me what's happened?"  

He tries to blink through the tears, tries to find her, to use her as an anchor. But nothing feels solid enough to hold onto.

"He's dead," the words come out as a whine. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, he's dead."

He would give anything to be unconscious right now.

"Who's dead? James, who's dead?"

His breaths are choked and stuttered, getting caught in his chest. He finds her green eyes through it all—strong, like the rest of her. He tries to inhale, it's hard, hard when he feels like he's made of fault lines. Of earth quakes.

"Regulus," he whispers, certain Lily's hands are the only things keeping him together. "Regulus is dead."

He wants to start screaming again.

"Oh."

He can't make sense of her expression, can barely see it, but for some reason, now that he's started he can't stop. "He—he was," James closes his eyes. "We were together."

There's a moment of stillness.

"Yes," Lily says finally. "I know."

James's eyes fly open. "What?"

Lily smiles sadly. "Sixth year, someone important to you was missing, you gave me the little Quaffle—beautiful magic that was, really, the charm work—but in the centre, your initials were tangled around one another: J R. A few days later Regulus was back in school."

He shakes his head. "But you never said?"

"I figured it was none of my business," she shrugs. "If you'd wanted to tell me you would have. It—it doesn't matter to me James, surely you know that?"

James Potter is a coward.

The worst kind of coward.

James Potter is also full of cracks.

"I saw him," he chokes.

Lily's brow furrows. "What?"

"I saw him."

She still looks confused. She won't in a second. "You saw him when? Where?"

"A few weeks ago. Grimmauld Place."

Her eyes shift, gaze growing just a tad bit colder, hands falling away. "You went to his house?"

"Yes."

They stare at one another, James shaking, trying his best not to look away. It's the least he can do. Her eyes run him up and down. Clever. Always able to read him. He sees the moment she understands. Really understands.

"You went to his house," she repeats, a new edge in her voice.

"I'm sorry," James blurts out. He means it and he doesn't. Because he wouldn't take it back. But he wishes he hadn't done it. And he doesn't know how to make sense of those two feelings.

Lily has gone almost frighteningly still, her face blank.

"I'm sorry," and he is. Sorry to both of them. "I'm sorry."

"Okay," Lily says finally, her voice careful. Her voice on a tight leash. Like she's afraid if she gives it too much length it'll get away from her.

James's surprise must show on his face because she keeps going; "I don't mean okay, as in "it's okay" I mean okay as in..." she takes a deep breath, frustration and anger and something else all building up around her. "As in, we'll talk about this when you're not in the middle of having a fucking break down. Okay?"

"Okay," the word trembles. "Okay. I'm sorry. I love y—"

She holds up her hand, cutting him off. "Yeah, I'm going to need you to not say that to me right now."

Which hurts, but it's not even close to all the other hurt so he barely feels it. Nodding his head because he doesn't trust himself to speak. He collapses back against his father's desk and pulls his legs in, burying his face in his knees.

He doesn't know what else to do.

Doesn't know what else to do but sit here and bear it.

He hears shuffling distantly. He assumes it's Lily getting up. Walking away. He certainly doesn't blame her. Except that a second later he feels the weight of a warm body at his side, and then, with a sigh, an arm wrapping around his shoulders and pulling him into her.

"I'm sorry."

"Shh," she quiets him. "Later." She tucks him under her chin and lets him sob into her shirt.

He isn't sure how long it is before Lily drags him up to bed. She gets him out of his trousers and shoves him under the covers before putting a sleeping potion in his hand. He's grateful, downing it the second he has the cork out, welcoming the blissful emptiness of sleep.

He doesn't dream.

When he wakes there's light outside. Morning probably, James has never been one to sleep in. There's no sign of Lily, her side of the bed unused. His eyes are swollen, his throat sore. James manages to last a whole five minutes of being conscious, of remembering, before he goes to the bathroom and pulls out another sleeping potion, quickly tucking himself back into bed and drifting away again.

The next time his eyes open the sun is setting. According to the clock on the wall it's nearly 7:30. He lies in bed for a long time, staring at the ceiling. He feels hollow. And somehow still tired. He doesn't want to move. He doesn't want to be awake. He doesn't want to put one foot in front of the other. He doesn't want to get through this.

He does, eventually, manage to pull himself out of bed. Riffling through his dirty clothes for a pair of track pants. The first floor is dark but there's a light on in the kitchen. He stops in the doorway when he sees Lily at the table, she's in an oversized grey jumper she always wears when she isn't feeling well, her hair piled on top of her head, a glass of water between her hands.

James hovers in the doorway, suddenly unsure if he's allowed to enter. "H—" he has to clear his throat, "hey," it still comes out scratchy and warn.

She's looking at the glass and not at him when she says: "You should eat."

"Probably," but he doesn't move. He's almost positive if he tries to eat he'll throw up. Won't make it past the second bite.

After a few more moments of stiff silence Lily sighs. "Well, if you're not going to eat then sit down," she gestures to the seat across from her. James tries to ignore the small itch in his chest as he sinks down into the chair.

Lily is chewing on her lower lip, expression serious before she brings the water to her mouth and takes a long sip. When the glass bottom hits the table again her eyes don't follow it, finding James instead.

"Go on then. How exactly did you end up at Regulus Black's house a few weeks ago, and why am I only finding out about this now?" her voice is steady, controlled. Dangerous.

James swallows, scratching at the tabletop, just to have something to do with his hands. "It was the day of the attack at the Ministry, Regulus was there, he got hurt pretty bad," he does his best to push away the memories. To talk clinically. To not let himself think about what he's actually saying.

"Kreacher—his house elf—he came and found me. Told me Regulus needed help. So I—so I went with him. Helped patch Regulus up."

Lily's stare is unwavering, James isn't even sure she's blinked. Her face a mask. He's seen her like this before of course, it's the way she looks in a fight. A duel.

"And then you fucked him, right?" she asks flatly.

"Lily—"

"No, don't you say my name like I'm being unreasonable. You just told me a few weeks ago you nursed your Death Eater ex-boyfriend back to health after he tried to kill our friends, there is literally nothing I could say right now that could possibly be unreasonable."

James takes a deep breath, nails digging into the table, "I didn't fuck him," he says eventually, voice cracking. He needs to keep it together. Lily deserves that much.

"You're a terrible liar James."

"I didn't fuck him," forcing the words out between his teeth. He sighs, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. "But I—we kissed."

At first Lily doesn't react, but then she raises her glass. "Cheers."

"Lily—"

"You sure do like saying my name. I hope it didn't slip out while you were with your boyfriend, that would be well awkward wouldn't it?"

James figures he deserves that.

After a few seconds he sighs, scrubbing at his face with his hands. He wishes he could stop here. Wishes he didn't have more to say. Not now that it doesn't even matter, now that Regulus is d—he feels that thought get stuck in his throat, feels the ache it drags to the surface and attempts to shove it down again.

"I asked him to come back with me," he's staring at some distant spot on the floor when he says it, but he can feel Lily stiffen, feel the new tension crackle between them.

"Come back with you? Come back with you where? Here?" her voice has gone flat again.

This all feels so twisted now. He'd had this whole speech, been going over the words since he left Grimmauld, it wasn't supposed to be this ugly.

"Yeah," he croaks. "Yeah here."

Silence.

And then she starts to laugh. It's enough to make James look up, there's a...manic quality to the laughter. Not the way it usually sounds. There's no warmth in this. No joy. No comfort. He isn't sure when she starts crying. When the tears start slipping from her eyes, and the subtle shift occurs from giggle to sob. He feels his whole body cave in.

"Oh Lily," he says before he can stop himself.

She only shakes her head at him, getting to her feet and walking over to the counter, bracing her hands against it. He wants desperately to go to her, to gather her up in his arms, but he knows that's about the last thing in the world she wants right now so he stays in his seat.

Several seconds pass before Lily inhales, her breath hitching slightly on the way out. "Sorry," her voice is impressively steady, if not a little thick. "I told myself I wasn't going to do that."

"You don't have to apologize to me."

She lets out a dry laugh. "I know. I'm mostly apologizing to myself."

He doesn't know what to say to that so he just waits for her to keep going.

"What is this James?" she asks finally, she almost sounds scared. "We're having a baby—fuck" she gasps like even saying that hurts right now, head dropping between her arms. "What is going on?"

He doesn't know.

That's the reason he hasn't been able to...talk about it.

He doesn't know what this is.

What's going on.

"I love you," he manages finally, causing her to scoff, but he keeps going before she can react. "I love you," he squeezes his eyes shut. "But I love him too."

And it is love.

Love.

In the present.

Always.

Time or space or death.

It will always be love.

"So what was the plan James?" she still isn't facing him. "You were just going to bring him back with you and...put him up in our guest room?"

"I don't know."

"Were you going to leave me?"

"No."

"No? Just have someone else around for you to kiss then? When you got bored?"

"No," James says frustrated. "I don't know. I—Lily he was so lost. He needed help."

She laughs, shaking her head and turning to face him. "Yeah, they always do don't they? And we're gonna be the ones to fix them right? To save them? That's what we tell ourselves?"

"What are you talking about?"

She arches her brow. "You think I don't know what it's like to care about someone on the wrong side of this war?"

It takes James far too long to work out what she means. "Regulus isn't Snape. Snape had a choice."

"And so did Regulus. Sirius is proof of that."

James only shakes his head. "It's not that simple."

"And things with Severus are?"

He grits his teeth. "Yes."

"Because you don't love him?" Lily asks coldly.

That question takes him off guard. "Are you telling me you're in love with Snape?"

"Why?" razor sharp, eyes pinning James to his chair. When her words come she delivers them slowly, pushing each one in deep. "Would that hurt you?"

Yes, James thinks automatically. Realizing, of course, the hypocrisy of it.

"Can you imagine," Lily goes on. "What you would have done if I invited Severus to come live with us? If I had kissed him?" James opens and closes his mouth, unable to answer.

It's different, his thoughts scream.

It is.

It has to be.

He doesn't say it.

He knows it isn't true.

Eventually he sighs, dropping his head into his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry," he says finally. "I know what a mess this is. I know how fucking unfair it is. I just—" his voice cuts out for a minute and he has to wait for it to come back. "I love you both so much. I just wanted you to be safe. I just wanted to take care of you."

There's a long silence. It feels like neither of them is even breathing. Both holding themselves still, waiting for everything to shatter.

"You have such a big heart James," Lily says eventually, which is not at all what he was expecting. He looks up, meeting her eyes. "Really, it's incredible, it is. But sometimes..." she trails off, shaking her head like she can't find the words, "sometimes you feel so much you forget to think. Sometimes James," green eyes right on him, "you can be so fucking thoughtless."

James doesn't manage to suppress his wince. "I know," his voice splinters. "I'm sorry."

It isn't enough.

Not even close.

After another endless stretch of silence that leaves James feeling mildly sick Lily sighs. She walks back to her chair but doesn't sit down, instead pulling something out from under the table. A bag. James's pulse starts racing.

"Lily?" he sounds desperate even to his own ears.

She slips the bag over her shoulder. "I'm going to go to Mary's for a bit. Until I can...sort this out."

James feels something scrape along the inside of his stomach, hands trembling between his knees. He doesn't know what to say. He just knows that looking at her standing there with a bag swung over her shoulder makes him want to break things.

"Please," he manages finally. "I don't want you to go."

Her eyes are sad, maybe even a little wet, and after a few seconds she walks over, placing her hand on the back of his head and bending down to kiss his hair.

"Call someone okay?"

"Lily—"

"I don't think you should be alone right now," she pushes on, no longer looking at him. "I don't want you to be alone. I just—it can't be me James. Not this time."

She's walking away.

And he doesn't know what to do.

Doesn't know how to stop it.

"When will you be back?" he finds himself asking as she reaches the doorway. Her hand is gripping the strap of her bag so tightly he swears she's going to snap it. They sit in silence for so long that James starts to feel a new anxiety bubbling under his skin.

"You—you are coming back, right?"

She hangs her head for a minute before looking at him over her shoulder. She gives him a weak smile but her eyes are glistening. "I don't know."

No.

No.

No.

"Look, I'm—I need to talk to someone," her face screws up for a second. "I'm going to tell Mary what's happened...is that okay?"

At first, in all the horribleness that's happening inside him right now, James can't understand what she's asking. And then it hits him.

"Mary already knows," and at the look on her face; "Not—just that we were together in school," god it all hurts so much. "Marlene knows too, and I reckon Alice has a pretty good idea about it," no point lying.

A small laugh falls from Lily's mouth. Desperately sad. "James Potter and Regulus Black, the worst kept secret in the Wizarding World. But then, you never could love quietly," he sees her mouth twitch and knows she's trying not to cry. "I know that better than most people I imagine."

"Lily," he reaches for her.

Don't leave.

Don't go.

He wants to get down on his knees and beg.

But she only shakes her head. "I'll see you James."

He can't speak. Can't move. Watches her walk away. Listens as the front door slams behind her.

He's lost them both.

After all of that.

He's lost them both.

He goes back to bed. Pulls the blankets around himself and buries himself deep. You'd think sleeping would be hard, considering he can't possibly be tired, but it isn't. The minute his head hits the pillow the warm dark creeps up and pulls him under. It reminds him vaguely of something Madam Pomfrey said once, when she was talking about Remus waking up after his transformations: it helps if you want to wake up. Want to come back to yourself.

James doesn't want either of those things.

When his eyes do eventually blink open they're heavy and crusted. He reaches up to wipe them clean, his whole body aching. He doesn't know what time it is. Or what day honestly. The curtains are drawn so he can't see if it's light or dark outside. For a while he just lies there, hoping he'll be able to drift away again, but when it becomes apparent that that isn't going to happen he forces himself to sit up.

The room is dark and stale. He smells like sweat, his mouth dry. He can't remember the last time he ate or showered. Two days? Or has it been three? Eventually his eyes find the clock on the wall. 5:00 AM it tells him. Did Lily leave last night? The night before?

He pulls himself out of bed, dots prickling across his vision as he gets momentarily light headed, walking on unsteady legs down the hall to the bathroom and turning on the shower. He makes the water burn the way he always did after a bad Quidditch match. The pain of the scalding water on his skin feels good. He stands in it until the water starts to go cold, then pulls himself out, drying quickly and not bothering to look in the mirror. He doesn't want to see himself.

He dresses in a Quidditch jumper and baggy tracky bottoms, before heading downstairs. The light in the kitchen is still on. Lily's water glass still sitting on the table. He stares at it for a while before picking it up and throwing it—perhaps a bit aggressively—into the sink.

He needs to eat something, he's already feeling like he's going to pass out but impossibly he still isn't hungry. He makes some toast anyway. Butters it and forces it down his throat. It's the only thing he can manage.

After he finishes he just sits at the table for a while. Staring into space. He still feels like he's asleep in someways. His brain, his body—tired and sluggish. Everything a little bit dull. A little bit fuzzy. Eventually he forces himself to get up, to go call Sirius. To make sure he's okay. He tries the flat but no one answers. Not Sirius. Not Remus. After that he tries Peter just—just because he could use a friendly face. But there's no answer there either.

He ends up returning to the bedroom, still with the curtains drawn and the lights out. Still dark even though it must be nearly mid-morning by now. He stands in front of the door, not really knowing what to do, until his eyes snag on the dresser. It's a bad idea, he knows that even before he starts moving, but it doesn't stop him.

He throws open the first drawer, scrambling around for the box hidden at the back, feeling his breath hitch when his fingers wrap around it. He holds it gently in his hand, thumb running over the smooth wooden lid as he stumbles back until he's sitting down on the end of his bed.

He remembers when Reg gave this to him. Remembers it so clearly.

Did you get me a present?

Don't make this into a big thing.

That's adorable.

Fuck you.

Oh my god you were going to wrap it and everything! Did you get me a bow?

I honestly hate you so much.

Nah, I don't think so. You don't get Christmas gifts for people you hate.

He should never have let him go home that Christmas. He should have put him in a full-body bind. Should have carried him to Godric's Hollow over his shoulder.

It wouldn't have mattered,

mutters the voice in his head.

He already had the Mark by then.

Well then he shouldn't have let him go home for the summer. Or the Christmas before. He should have listened to his mother. Should have gone and gotten him the minute Sirius showed up on his doorstep.

"Fuck," the tears have started again and he wipes at them uselessly with his sleeve. "Fuck Reg." He opens the lid, the little red ball sitting there, J R proudly facing out.

I want to give you everything James.

Everything.

With a shaking hand James reaches for it, but the minute he touches it he knows something is wrong. He lets it roll into his palm, watches it sit there. Motionless.

It's the magic.

The magic is gone.

James wraps it up tightly in his hand, lying back on the bed and curling in on himself, the wooden box dropping to the ground as he clutches the ball to his chest.

Eventually he manages to fall asleep again.

He still has no idea how much time has passed. Everything blurs together, none of the lines of his life clear. But when he manages to pull himself out of bed again Lily still isn't home. The house is still empty. The kitchen light still on. The Quaffle still refusing to fly. James slips it into his pocket. He thinks it's morning again but he can't be sure. Forces himself to scarf down another buttered piece of toast.

He tries Sirius, but there's still no answer at the flat. He considers calling Mary's but he knows that would be a mistake. Lily needs space. He owes her that. He's about to go back to bed when something tapping at the kitchen window catches his attention.

He finds a very irate owl waiting for him, holding today's paper in its mouth and standing on yesterday's neglected copy.

"Sorry," James says when he opens the window, relieving the owl of his delivery. He's a small, auburn coloured thing and he glares mutinously at James, stamping his clawed feet on yesterday's paper.

"Yeah, yeah, I know—er—" he looks around, fumbling for the can of owl treats they keep by the window. "Here you go," he offers up a generous handful which seems to have the bird mollified. Or at least he doesn't peck James's eyes out before he flies off, which James counts as a win.

He throws both papers on the table, halfway out of the room when something starts nagging at him. So he picks up one of the copies and skims through it. Not entirely sure what he's looking for until he finds it: a tiny box at the bottom of one of the last pages. An obituary. There's no picture, no fanfare, nothing like it should be considering the importance of the subject.

Regulus A. Black

is bolded at the top of the small paragraph of text which reads:

Died in tragic accident, survived by his two parents: Walburga and Orion Black. Regulus was a Hogwarts Prefect and Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team. He will be dearly missed by all who knew him. His final resting place is to be the family crypt in Highgate Cemetery, London.

And that's it.

That's all there is.

James stares at that square for a long time, hands shaking. After all that Walburga did to him, all she put him through, all he gave up for her—this is all she gives him? He isn't sure why he's surprised.

Before he knows what he's doing James drops the paper back down on the table and heads for the door. Grabbing his jacket as he slips outside. Apparating as soon as he's passed the wards.  

You can't Apparate into cemeteries directly, of course. It only took one person ending up in an empty grave for that restriction to be put in place, so James finds himself on the pavement outside of Highgate. The front entrance looks almost like a castle—made of grey stone with tiny turrets above the gate. All very medieval.

James walks forward, not knowing exactly where he's headed, except that he's looking for a mausoleum with the Black family name on it. It's cold and James pulls his jacket more firmly around himself, the ground beneath his feet covered in a light dusting of snow. He walks through rows of headstones, along the winding gravel pathways, everything looking like it's from another time. Even the trees, now bare without their leaves, have an ancient quality to them—to their thick twisting trunks and reaching branches that seem almost to be guarding the bodies below them.

He isn't sure how long he's walking for before he sees it—a small rectangular stone building, columns on either side of the door which has a stained glass window making up the top half. It shows a snake. That's what catches his eye first, the dim light sparkling off the green glass. And then his eyes travel up to the ornately carved name above;

Black

It's only when he 's standing in front of it that he realizes he has no idea why he's come. Regulus isn't even here. And maybe that's for the best. This place looks fucking depressing. Besides, Regulus was never meant to be shut-up underground. He always belonged in the sky.

"You're late," a voice croaks, thin and frail and barely carried on the wind. "The funeral was yesterday."

James turns around to see an old man being pushed towards him by a vaguely familiar looking girl with dark brown hair. When her eyes meet James's she gasps.

"James Potter?"

It takes him a minute to place her. He knows they went to school together but he didn't have many interactions with Cerci Greengrass, only vaguely knew her as a Prefect and Regulus's friend. His eyes drop back down to the old man—thin, wispy strands of white hair haloing his head.

"Er—hi." He hadn't expected to run into anyone and he isn't exactly sure what to do now. Cerci is currently looking at him like she thinks he's some kind of hallucination and he's trying to remember whether or not he should be afraid of her. He feels like as a general rule it's best to be afraid of most of Reg's friends.

"What are you doing here?" she asks, she hasn't moved since she spotted him so her and the old man are still several feet away.

"I'm..." but he doesn't know what to say. Doesn't want to tell them anything because, well, Reg never wanted anyone to know about them. It feels wrong somehow, to break his trust, even now. Maybe especially now. James grits his teeth as something aching hollows out his chest.

"He's here for my son, yes? At least one of them," the old man squints. "Though which one I'm not sure."

James feels his mouth go dry. "Your son?" he repeats.

The last time he saw Orion Black in the flesh he was maybe seven or eight. At some Ministry function his father dragged him to a few years before he went to Hogwarts. Orion had felt like a giant to James then; six-five, head and shoulders above everyone else, and strong too, like a Quidditch player, a beater—broad shoulders pressing against the fabric of his robes. His hair had been dark and slicked back, his face full, square, solid.

The man before him now is...unrecognizable.

Cerci seems to wake up all of the sudden because she starts pushing him forward again. Orion's eyes firmly on the mausoleum in front of them, Cerci's still firmly on James. Her gaze has taken on a new scrutinizing quality he doesn't appreciate.

"You're Fleamont's boy?" Orion says, as they stop beside him.

James blinks, surprised by the question. "Er—yeah."

Orion nods slowly. "I liked Fleamont." James snorts before he can stop himself, earning him a sidelong look from Orion. The old man's lips twitch upward. "Not personally, perhaps, but he was smart, which is more than I can say for most people, and he was honest. Blunt. Never afraid of me. I appreciated that as well."

James just stares at him, knowing full well his father would have hated being anything that Orion Black appreciated.  

"It's a shame," the old man goes on, "what happened to him and your mother."

It's work for James to restrain himself from reacting the way he wants to. Which would be by decking Orion in the face.

"It wasn't a natural disaster," he says finally, voice tight, causing Orion to look up at him. "It didn't just happen. It was done. They were poisoned. Though I expect you know that."

Orion holds his gaze, a shell of the intimidating man he once was. Regulus had cared deeply for his father, James knows that, it's unfortunate that his father didn't care as much for him. That he couldn't bring himself to protect his sons.

"I merely meant that things could have been different," Orion says finally.

James nods, barely restraining his anger. "That's why we're here isn't it?" he gestures to the building in front of them and Orion's eyes follow him.

"Yes," he says quietly. "I suppose it is."

They stand in silence, staring at the gothic structure, a few hundred years old at least, rust and mold gathering in the sharp corners, making the stone darker.

"You never did say who you were here for," Orion goes on eventually. "Sirius or Regulus?" James looks down at him.

"Sirius isn't dead." Even suggesting he could be sends a spark of fear shooting through James's chest. "And if he was I wouldn't bring him here."

"That's good to know, though it isn't what I meant," Orion says, and then, after a moment, "Sirius has always needed you to do a great deal for him. It would not surprise me if he needed you to mourn his brother for him as well."

For the second time James has to resist the urge to punch him. Cerci must sense this because he notices her shifting Orion's chair slightly further away from him.

"What the hell makes you think you know anything about Sirius?"

Watery grey eyes meet James's and he's struck, suddenly, by how much they look alike. All of them.

"He's my son."

James stares at him. "No," he says after a few seconds. "He's Fleamont's son."

There's a flare of something in Orion's eyes but James can't tell what—anger? Pain? Orion might have his sons' eyes but the rest of his face is nothing like them. Full of feelings, lines crisscrossing, scars telling stories. There is so much emotion woven into Orion's features that James feels overwhelmed. Doesn't know which one's he's caused and which ones were already there.

"So you're not here for Sirius then," the old man says eventually, voice slightly more strained.

"No."

"You're here for Regulus," no longer a question, but James answers anyway.

"Yes."

The two men continue to stare at one another, neither backing down or looking away. Orion is now regarding James with the same scrutiny he's been receiving from Cerci this whole time.

"Regulus told me once," the old man finally goes on, "about a boy he was in love with."

And that.

That James wasn't expecting.

He didn't think Regulus had ever told anyone about them. Let alone his father. It makes him feel wrong footed. The floor under him tilting somewhat.

"What?" because it's all he can manage.

Orion either doesn't hear him or chooses to ignore him, pressing on; "He told me that this boy was kind and honourable and handsome."

"He used pretty with me," Cerci pipes up, and James looks at her.

Both of them? Regulus told both of them?

Suddenly James is having trouble breathing again, and he doesn't want to completely lose it. Not here. Not in front of Orion Black of all people. But this grief is still fresh and he hasn't figured out how to hold it yet.     

He takes a few steps away, turning his back to them and grabbing hold of his knees. His breaths come in short gasps as James desperately tries to push the stinging in his eyes away. He needs to be stronger than this. What is he gonna do when Sirius comes home? Remus? Lily? He needs to have it together.

He feels a gentle hand press between his shoulder blades and when he looks up he sees Cerci standing beside him.

"Slow now," she says softly. "Breathe in with me yeah?" She inhales and James follows. She exhales and James follows. Once. Twice. Three times.

"I didn't think he told anyone," his voice makes it out somehow. "I didn't think he wanted anyone to know. He never wanted me to tell anyone I thought..." he squeezes his eyes shut.

What had he thought? What does it matter? Hardly their biggest problem. Or maybe it was. Because as long as Regulus wanted to keep them a secret it meant that he didn't want things to change. Didn't want to jeopardize his place here, in this world. It meant he didn't want something different with James. Or if he did, he was too afraid to do anything more than dream about it. It meant he thought they were doomed.

"Ah well, Regulus was always a bit of a dragon with his feelings wasn't he?" Cerci says, hand still on James's back even as he straightens up. When he stares at her she explains; "Guarded them like gold."

James manages to laugh wetly. "Not always."

Cerci's eyes soften. "No," she says quietly. "Not always."

"You managed to make both my boys fall in love with you James Potter," Orion draws their attention back to him, sitting in front of the crypt that has no more of Regulus than his name but is still somehow the closest any of them can get to him now. "You'll have to tell me your secret."

James doesn't respond, certain he couldn't manage anything civil. Instead he turns towards the mausoleum, eyes running over the decrepit exterior one more time before he lifts his wand. Flowers begin to sprout from the snowy ground, bright and colourful, vines with small blossoms pouring from the roof and wrapping around the pillars. He makes the stained glass shine.

"It's beautiful," Cerci says quietly from beside him.

Finally, he faces Orion again, the old man watching him intently. "Regulus deserved better than this," and he doesn't just mean the crypt. He means all of it. It wasn't fair, childish as it might be to say, everything he went through, it wasn't fair. Someone should have stopped it. Someone should have helped. He doesn't know why he didn't—why he failed. It's all muddled in his brain now. How he let this happen.

Orion is quiet for a long time, tongue running over his cracked lips. "We do our best."

"Was this your best?" James asks, nodding his head towards the grave, watching the old man wince. "Because it sure as hell wasn't mine."

He watches as Orion's grey eyes bounce around, agitated, anxious, watches him fidget in his seat. Cerci walks over to him, places a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Orion barely seems to notice her.

"I tried to...to show them how to...navigate this world. But I could never save Sirius from himself. In the end...I could not save Regulus either."

James stares at him. "I don't think it was themselves they needed saving from."

"Yes, well, you are young. You do not understand that you cannot simply do whatever you want or have whatever you want. Life is treacherous and you must be smarter than that. You must...how do you say..." his brow furrows, frustrated with himself. "If you wish to survive in this world you must never forget who the gods are and your place next to them. My sons..." sadness fills his eyes. "Regulus forgot."

The wind rattles through the naked branches surrounding them and James sees Orion shiver, sees Cerci murmur a quiet warming charm, sees the dampness on the old man's cheeks.

"Voldemort isn't a god."

That makes Orion laugh. "You don't think so?" he asks amused. "I have seen many things but never anything like him. He has the world on its knees. Power beyond anything we have ever seen. You believe he is just like you or I? Truly? Just a man?"

James grits his teeth. "Yes."

"And what about Albus Dumbledore then? Is he nothing but a man? Do you not make sacrifices at his alter, hoping he will keep you safe? Protect the people you love?"

James flounders for a moment. "He doesn't make us sacrifice things to him."

"No?" still with that same dark amusement. "You make all your own decisions? You follow all your own orders? He does not tell you where or how to be?"

James opens and closes his mouth, frustrated when he finds himself with nothing to say. Trying not to think of all the secrets that exist between him and his friends at Dumbledore's request. Of all the days that someone is missing and no one knows if they're dead or just on a mission. How little control they have over their own lives.

Orion nods, taking his silence as confirmation. "Be careful mon fils, you would do well to remember what power you play with. If not for your own sake than for your father's."

That catches James off guard, every mention of his parents making his heart feel tender. Delicate. More than it did already. "My dad is dead," he says, unable to further explain himself. That nothing he does can hurt his parents now. Can help them. Can heal them.

Orion smiles sadly. "I could be in the depths of Hades, and I promise you I would still feel the loss of my boys like a dagger in my heart."

He doesn't know if Sirius has any idea that his father still feels this way, to this day. That he talks about his sons. Plural, always. That he doesn't deny him the way that Regulus's obituary did. The way Walburga seems to. But then, if Orion loves him, it makes it all so much more egregious. Because how do you let someone you love be torn apart the way Sirius was? The way Regulus was? How do you stand by and do nothing?

James would fight the heavens if he needed to.

If that's what it took.

To keep them safe.

Let the gods come.

They've been standing in the cold for a while, small snowflakes beginning to peel off the clouds overhead, James's hands going numb. He gives the mausoleum one last look but doesn't feel anything. Whatever he was looking for it isn't here. Regulus isn't here.

"I should go," he says finally, not sure if it's necessary. "It was...interesting meeting you," he gives Cerci a curt nod as he starts walking away, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Will you tell Sirius—"

"No," James cuts Orion off before he can start, looking back at the old man from the gravel path. "If you have something to say to him he deserves the curtesy of hearing it from your mouth. I'm not passing along messages."

There's a small pause before Orion smiles. "C'est bon. You will protect him yes?"

"With my life."

"That is all I can ask."

"I'm not doing it for you," James says shortly, but Orion doesn't seem bothered, only nodding his head.

"Goodbye James Potter, I doubt very much we shall speak again."

James has nothing to say to that, so he pushes through the snow, teeth starting to chatter as he heads for the gates.

"Wait!"

It isn't Orion causing him to pause this time—Cerci Greengrass running up the path towards him.

"Wait," she huffs, breath coming out in great clouds as she stumbles to a stop in front of him, her cheeks flushed, Orion watching them in the distance.

"I have something for you," she's barely able to get the words out.

James arches his brow. "For me?"

She nods. "I've been boxing up some of his stuff, for his parents," she goes on. "And I found a letter—I didn't know who it was for, he didn't use a full name, but it's addressed to J and...well, I assume that's you?"

James's stomach drops. "A letter—Regulus wrote me a letter?"

I have something for you.

I thought about writing one for every day, but it seemed excessive.

"Can you wait for me? I just have to take him home," she gestures to Orion over her shoulder. "But if you go to Grimmauld I'll meet you there."

I'm not sure I understand...

Well I know—I know I can't send you post, over the summer, so, I thought I'd give them to you now.

Cerci waves her hand in front of his face. "James?"

He blinks, his head feeling heavy. "Sorry? What?"

She gives him a curious look but doesn't question it. "12 Grimmauld, you know where that is?"

He almost laughs. "Yeah," gruffly. "I know where that is."

"So you'll wait for me? It won't take me long to Apparate Mr. Black back to Scotland and then I can give you the letter."

They're all dated so you can read them like I'm sending them to you in real time. I just thought...I didn't want you to be alone all summer. Maybe that's dumb—actually—now that I'm saying it out loud it's definitely dumb. Sorry, you don't have to—

"I'll wait for you," he manages to get out.

Cerci nods, snow peppering her dark hair. "Good. I think he'd want that," something sad flashes across her face but in the next moment she's gone, jogging back to Orion's side.

Thank you. I love them. I love you.

James feels uneasy standing outside Grimmauld Place. The scratching of grief in his chest growing more insistent, his brain dragging up images of the last time he was here. He bounces impatiently back and forth between his feet, trying to keep them from going numb. His teeth chattering so hard they nearly chop his tongue in half once or twice. He could cast a warming charm, he's not sure why he doesn't. The windows of Grimmauld watching him.

He starts at the sound of a "pop" turning his head to find Cerci walking down the pavement towards him.

"Sorry, Walburga is sometimes a little challenging to get away from."

James can't help the snort that comes out of him. The fucking irony. "So I've noticed," he says dryly.

Cerci only nods, gesturing to the house in front of them and sighing. "Well, shall we?" she takes a step towards it but James shakes his head.

"I'll wait here," he eyes the building before looking away, the thought of stepping inside there again right now makes his stomach drop.

He sees the question on Cerci's face and then he sees her swallow it. She looks back at the house and James thinks she's going to keep going but she doesn't. "He told me you took him on a date to a waterfall once, is that true?"

James blinks, the question coming so out of left field he's not even sure he really heard it. "I—he called it a date?"

She shoots him a look. "Was it not one?"

"I mean—yes—I just...I don't know, I didn't think he'd see it that way." Apparently James understood very little about how Regulus saw them. He wishes he could talk to him one more time. Or two more times. Or a thousand more times. That he could hear all of this from him.  

Cerci considers James for a moment before speaking again. "Regulus saw good things as being fragile. Talk too much about them and they're more likely to break. But you should know, that when he let himself take you out, the way his face would brighten," she shakes her head, smiling. "I'd never seen him like that. So I don't know if he somehow managed to make you think this thing between you wasn't precious to him, but I promise you it was."

James's whole body has gone tense with the effort of not falling apart, not crumbling to pieces on the side of the road. Somehow he manages to nod stiffly. "Thank you," he practically whispers.

"Of course," Cerci replies, in a similarly soft tone. "Well, I'll just go get that letter shall I?" she takes the front steps two at a time, the door practically swinging open for her when she gets to the top.

"Hello Kreacher," James can hear her sing before it closes again.

James exhales, eyes shutting briefly as he tries to fight back the overwhelming desire to cease existing. To fight back the parts of him that are certain he will never find his way out of this pain.

His eyes snap back open at the sound of the door closing again. Cerci doesn't bother to look both ways before she jogs across the street, an envelope in her hand.

"Well," she says when she reaches him, "here we are then."

James stares at it for a minute, stomach tangling itself in knots before he's finally able to reach out a shaking hand. He sees it there, scrawled across the front. No address, no name. Just the letter J.

"Do you know when he wrote this?" he asks, staring down at it, held delicately between his two hands.

"No, I mean, I can guess. But I don't know for sure."

His eyes flick up to her. "Guess then." Because if it's before—before Kreacher brought him here, before everything that happened on that day, James doesn't know if he'll be able to bear reading it.

But then, maybe he won't be able to bear it either way.

"A few days before he died—well, before he disappeared in any case—we came across some love letters. Regulus was a little obsessed with them," she smiles again. "In the letters, the author only ever used initials for him and his lover, so.."

She trails off, gestures to the front of the envelope.

J

James thinks of the wall back at Hogwarts.

Thinks of the Quaffle in his back pocket.

Somehow, it feels so wrong. To see the J all on its own.

Stupid thing to think.

He shakes his head, slipping the letter into his jacket. "Thank you," he says to Cerci, meeting her warm brown eyes.

She nods. "Like I said, I think he would have wanted this. I'm glad I found you."

He wracks his brain for memories of her at school but he still can't come up with much. He knows Regulus mentioned her but he can't think of anything specific.

"You cared about him," he says, a bit redundantly, but Cerci doesn't seem to mind.

"More than anything," there's the smallest fraying at the ends of her words, though the smile doesn't slip from her face. "He was my partner."

James has no idea how to take that. Honestly he isn't sure he wants to know. "I'm glad that-" his voice breaks and he has to force himself to press forward. "I'm glad that he had you. That he wasn't...alone...in there," he nods towards the house in front of him.

For the first time he sees her mask crack, pain flooding her eyes. "I should have been here more."

James almost laughs. "Yeah, well," he clears his throat. "We all should have been. Fat lot of good that does him now."

Cerci looks at him pityingly, and he can't stand the idea of whatever it is she's going to say next to try and make him feel better. Try and make either of them feel better. When he isn't sure they deserve to.

"Thank you, again, for the letter," he says briskly, and before anymore can be said he's throwing himself through space. Desperate to get as far away from that house as he fucking can.

His aim is a little off. It happens when he's upset. Or drunk. So he ends up a few streets over instead of in front of his house. Exhausted and cursing himself, he flicks the collar of his jacket up against the wind and crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his hands in to shield them from the cold. Too afraid to use his pockets. To crush the letter. To touch it. He swears he can feel it weighing him down, even though he knows that's irrational.

He spends most of the walk staring at the ground, so he doesn't notice that someone's waiting for him until he's half-way to his front door. Looking up and stopping dead in his tracks.

"Hey," Frank says, getting up off the steps. James just stares at him—probably for longer than is socially acceptable.

"Er—" Frank bounces on the balls of his feet. "Any chance we could talk inside? I'm kinda freezing here."

That wakes James up. "Right. Yeah. Of course, sorry." He doesn't know why his voice sounds like that—all choked up. Well, okay, he does know. Because he's fucking lonely. Because he's so glad that Frank is here.

He fumbles a bit with the door, feeling entirely twisted up and all over the place and too fucking raw.

"You know," Frank says as he steps inside, stamping his boots clean on the welcome matt. "You really need to increase the strength of your wards, I was able to just walk right up here."

"Well yeah, you're keyed in," James shrugs his coat off, hanging it on one of the hooks by the front door and enjoying the momentary relief of finally being somewhere warm. He eyes his coat pocket for a minute but decides he'd rather not have to explain the letter to Frank.

"I'm keyed into your wards?" Frank sounds surprised, following James into the kitchen. "I've only been here twice."

"Three times now," James says, opening the fridge and pulling out two bottles of butterbeer. He offers one to Frank who is looking, James thinks, unreasonably aghast.

"James, how many people are keyed into your wards?" he asks very seriously. They sit down at the table.

"I don't know," James shrugs. "Fifteen? Twenty?"

"Twenty! Have you not read any of the safety protocol the Order sent out?"

"Er...I think I read the first few?" In truth, he read "Safety Protocol" and then immediately put it down.

"Merlin," Frank looks genuinely distressed. "You aren't supposed to have more than five people keyed into your wards at a time."

"What? That's ridiculous," he takes a sip of his drink and then; "Wait, does that mean I'm not keyed into your wards?"

Frank rolls his eyes. "You shouldn't be—"

"Oi!"

"—but Alice isn't exactly following protocol either."

That sounds about right.

James snorts. "I've alway liked that girl."

"Yeah well, it's an ongoing discussion."

James gives him a skeptical look. "Is it though?"

Frank doesn't bother responding, grumbling something about the importance of following rules in times like these while he sips on his bottle.

"So," James says, once a somewhat awkward silence has fallen over them.

Frank meets his stare. "So."

"You're here."

"Yeah."

James looks down, passing his bottle back and forth between his palms. "Lily send you?" Because it's the only reason he can think of for Frank just turning up here out of the blue.

"Yeah," Frank says cautiously. "Alice is over at Mary's right now but, when they called Lily asked if I'd come check up on you so..."

"So you came."

"So I came."

There's another pause and then, still looking at his bottle: "Did she...say anything else?" he feels something like fear swell up inside him. Of all the people he's never wanted to let down, Frank is pretty high on the list. If you'd asked him at eleven who he looked up to the most he would have said Frank. He's not sure the answer is much different now.

"No," Frank says. "No, I—I mean obviously I know that something is going on between the two of you but...she didn't tell me the specifics."

James sags with relief, though he still can't quite make himself look up. After a few moments of silence Frank finally speaks again.

"I—listen, I know it isn't any of my business, but I want to—I want to help, if I can. But it's hard to help if I don't know what's happened?"

James lets out a shaky exhale. "Thing is—" he starts, but his voice is too strained, snapping right away. He takes another drink, anything to give himself more time. "I'm worried," he manages eventually. He means to say more but somehow it doesn't make it out.

"About what?" Frank asks gently.

He laughs without humour. "That if I tell you...you won't—" he grimaces, frustrated with himself, with the broken shaky way his words are climbing out of his mouth. "I just..." eyes closed. "I don't want to disappoint you."

The silence seems endless, James keeping his eyes closed, hands gripping the bottle in front of him like that will somehow keep him anchored.

"James," something about the way Frank says his name reminds James so much of his mother that he very nearly cracks in two, "you could never disappoint me."

It takes a minute for him to recover from that before he's able to let out a shaky laugh. "Liar," he forces his eyes open, forces himself to look up. "I could miss an open hoop in a tied game against Slytherin."

Frank laughs too. "Yeah okay, you COULD do that. But you would never."

"No," James agrees, "never." He swallows, feeling his face fall again. "I fucked up Frank."

The other boy nods. "Okay."

"I—I just wanted—" he shakes his head, back here again. Back to what he wanted. Back to not knowing what the fuck he thought he was doing. What the fuck he thinks he's doing now. "I hurt people," he says finally. Because it's true. Lily. Regulus. He hurt them both in the end. He failed them both. "I think I'm the villain in this story."

"You're not the villain."

"You don't know that."

"I know that villains don't think they're the villains. They do the most horrific, immoral things imaginable and they convince themselves that that makes them the hero. You think Voldemort thinks he's the bad guy? You have to care about people in order to feel guilt. Villains? Real villains? It never even crosses their minds to care about the people they've hurt." And when James doesn't respond;

"You're not a villain James. You fucked up? Okay. You hurt people? Okay. But that doesn't make you a villain. It just makes you a person."   

James shakes his head, not willing to accept that. Not yet. "I think my mum would be fucking ashamed of me," he admits miserably, a thought that's been bouncing around in his head for a while now. "I don't know what I'm doing. I just wanted to keep him safe. I don't know how I got it all so wrong."

He doesn't know when he started crying. Hates that he has. Embarrassment flushing his cheeks.

"Jesus kid," he hears Frank stand up. "You're killing me here."

He's at James's side a minute later, pulling him to his feet and into his arms.

"James? Listen to me okay?" and when James just sniffles Frank pulls back, holding his face in his hands. "You are not a bad person. You might have done bad things but that doesn't make you bad."

"I'm supposed to be better than that," his voice wobbles pathetically. "I'm supposed to be better."

"Says who?"

"Everyone. Everyone says it. I'm supposed to be James Potter. But I don't even know who the fuck that is anymore."

He sounds like such a little kid. Feels like one, when he sees the pity on Frank's face.

"You're not even twenty-one years old James, you've just lost your parents, you're in the middle of this shit show of a war. Cut yourself some slack."

But Frank doesn't understand. Understand who James is supposed to be.

"They need me," he almost whines. "I have to—I can't be like this. I can't be this person. They need me to be James Potter."

"You are James Potter."

"No, no I'm not. I used to be, maybe, but not anymore. Maybe not for a long time. And I have to—nothing would be falling apart if I could just be that person. Remus and Sirius and Peter and Lily and Re—nothing would be falling apart. Because James Potter would fix it. So I just, I have to be him again. I have to be him. And then I'll be able to fix it."

"James, breathe."

That's the second time today someone's had to tell him to do that.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just breathe."

"I'll figure it out. I always figure it out. I can do this."

"James, the only thing you have to do right now is breathe so just shut up and inhale for me okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

And he does. Because he always listens to Frank eventually, even if he gives him shit for it first. Always trusts him to know what to do. So he inhales. And then he exhales. Inhale. Exhale. Wash, rinse and repeat.

"Better?" Frank asks after a few minutes, his hands have dropped from James's face to his shoulders.

James nods. "Sorry."

"Don't. Don't apologize. I—Merlin, I'm sorry."

James blinks, surprised. "What?"

Frank sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Your parents died. Your parents died and I should have been here."

"You came to the funeral."

"That's not what I mean," he sighs again. "I knew that you weren't going to take care of yourself and I should have been here. I should have made you let some of that weight you've been carrying around go. Some of that responsibility. It's too much James. You need to put some of it down because you're eating yourself alive."

James doesn't know what to do with any of that. His brain all foggy. "That—that isn't your job," he manages finally.

Frank gives him a weak smile. "Yeah, it is. You're family. I should have been checking in. This shouldn't be the third time I'm visiting. I got caught up in—in everything. But you get to need people too, James. You certainly get to need me."

It shouldn't mean so much, hearing those words, it's not like he doesn't know it. Deep down somewhere. Not like he doesn't understand that he's allowed to ask for things. It's just that it doesn't always...feel that way. It's just that he knows that no one expects him to. Sometimes it feels like no one wants him to.

But he can't quite bring himself to say any of that out loud so instead he shakes his head, pushing gently on Frank's shoulder. "Merlin, fuck off, you're just trying to make me cry again."

Franks smiles, "I promise it's very much the opposite," and then, after a brief pause: "I think there are things you need to say?"

James feels his heart squeeze, the anxiety scratching against his skin again. "Yeah."

Frank nods, "But first, have you eaten?"

That takes James by surprise. "Er—toast, this morning I think?"

"Merlin, sit down, I'm making food," Frank turns towards the kitchen. "You have pasta somewhere here? Tomato sauce? Garlic?"

"Yeah, cupboards next to the sink."

"Excellent."

Sitting at the table watching Frank cook is probably the best James has felt in days. Maybe weeks. Maybe since his parents died. It's the comfort of feeling, for a moment, as though someone else is in control. That they have things in hand. That everything is going to be okay.

James puts on one of Lily's records and Frank whistles while he boils and chops, his cooking a weird mix between muggle and wizard techniques. He talks to James about nothing—his mother's garden, the Cannons's new seeker, an article on a specific broom polish he read—it's nice.

There's a knock at the door.

Both of them freeze, looking down the hall like they'll be able to see through the walls of the house.

"Do you know who that is?" Frank asks, shoulders pulling back, face serious as he jumps into Auror mode.

"Sure," James says, walking towards the door. "It's one of the twenty people keyed into our wards."

"Jesus Christ James—wait, you can't just go opening the door!"

"Frank relax, I doubt that Voldemort knocks," James says as he swings open the front door and feels himself startled into stillness for the second time that day.

For a moment there's a weird merging of the past and the present. Of Sirius standing on his doorstep, looking absolutely fucking heartbroken at fifteen. And Sirius standing on his doorstep now, looking nearly the same.

"Hey," Sirius says, sheepishly, like he isn't sure if he should be there. "I've been at Andy's but I was kind of over staying my welcome. I just couldn't stand the idea of going back to that empty goddamn flat so I...So I came here. Is that...is that alright?"

For a second James just stands there and then he's wrapping his arms around his best mate. "That's a stupid fucking question and you know it," James says, partially into his shoulder.

Sirius laughs. "Sorry, you're right, I'm an idiot."

"Completely moronic."

"Absolute dunce."

"Fucking pea brain."

"Dummy."

"Dummy?" James asks, pulling back. "Really?"

"Oh come on, it's no worse than pea brain."

James's mouth twitches upward. "I like pea brain, very visual."

"James?" comes a concerned voice from inside.

James rolls his eyes. "It's alright Frank, I'm not dead, it's only Sirius."

"Frank?" Sirius asks. "Why is Frank here?"

James's budding mood flickers. "It's fucking freezing," he says instead of answering. "Come in yeah? Frank's almost done supper."

Sirius arches his brow as he lets James usher him inside. "Frank can cook?"

"Apparently."

The warm smells wafting from the kitchen envelope them as James closes the door. Him and Lily have been too busy lately for much cooking. For much of anything really. The house feels more alive with the smells and sounds of dinner being made. James half expects to see his mother and Mimi when he walks back into the kitchen.

"Sirius," Frank says by way of greeting, his back to them as he stirs something, "can you tell James he needs to up his security measures? He has twenty bloody people keyed into these wards."

Sirius turns to James, brow raised. "Twenty? Really? And to think, you used to be popular."

James rolls his eyes, shoving Sirius who shoves him right back.

"Oi! Not near the food!" Franks says as he desperately tries to protect the pasta he's plating.

"What did you make?" Sirius reaches over and swipes his finger along the top of the tomato sauce, earning him a smack to the back of the head.

"Were you raised in a barn!" Frank demands.

"Victorian mansion sadly, a barn would've been wicked though."

Frank lets out an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Will the two of you just sit down please?"

James and Sirius exchange a look. "Think we're bothering him?" James asks.

"What? Us? Can't be. We're a delight."

"You're right, must be something else. We should probably stay close."

"Good call Prongs. I reckon the closer the better," they both inch nearer to Frank, coming at him from either side.

"Oh—Jesus," Frank curses as they crowd him, poking and flicking, and generally just making the older boy squirm. "I forgot that you lot were like this."

"Practically perfect in every way?" Sirius bats his eyelashes at Frank.

"Supremely good company?" James adds.

"Fucking intolerable—sit down or no one's getting fed!"

Sirius rolls his eyes. "Jeez Frank, all you had to do was ask."

"Yeah," James agrees, the two of them sharing a smirk as they sit down at the table. "No need to shout."

It feels good. Smiling. Teasing. It's the most human James has felt in ages.

"Here, not that you deserve it," Frank grumbles as he brings over their plates, sitting at the head of the table like the dad he is. Something snags in James's chest at that thought, it's a thoroughly uncomfortable feeling. Because Frank really is going to be a dad soon.

And so is he.

That kid is going to be...so...loved.

I hope so. I want to be a good dad.

You will be.

"Hey," the voice is soft and accompanied by the feeling of someone nudging his foot under the table.

James blinks, realizing that both Frank and Sirius are watching him. That Frank is the one who spoke but Sirius is the one pressing their feet together.

"You okay?" Frank asks.

James swallows, smiling tightly. "Yeah. Fine."

They eat in silence mostly, with Frank and Sirius occasionally trading small talk back and forth, James piping in here and there. Sirius never takes his foot away. They get through the whole meal before he finally asks:

"Where's Lily at anyway? Her and Alice hanging out or what?"

James goes tense, watching Frank's eyes bounce from him to Sirius and back again, clearly confused.

"Have you two not...been talking recently?" he asks eventually, which has Sirius sitting up, James can practically see his ears twitch, he might as well be Padfoot.

"I was at my cousins," he's looking at James. "What happened?"

What happened.

James doesn't think he has it in him to explain. Luckily, it's Sirius, so he doesn't need to. All he has to do is look at him. It's only a second before the other boy's eyes grow wide.

"Oh. Shit."

Frank watches them intently but doesn't comment.

"She?"

"Yeah."

"And then she?"

James nods. "She's been staying at Mary's the last few days." At least he thinks it's been a few days, his grasp on time isn't the strongest at the moment.

Sirius sits back in his chair, letting out a low whistle. "Shit," he says again.

"Shit." James agrees. He scrapes his fork across his empty plate, silence falling over them.

"Not that that wasn't a fascinating bit of Legilimency to witness but," Frank leans forward, ducking his head, trying to catch James's eye. "Someone want to fill me in?" His tone is filled with concern. Of course it is, he was here for James's meltdown. He grits his teeth, embarrassment returning.

He doesn't know how to explain.

Doesn't even know where to start.

You're my person.

What?

You wanted to know what you are to me. You're my person. You're mine.

Okay Reg. Yeah, I'm yours. You're mine too.

"Regulus is dead," James winces when Sirius finally says it, grateful to him. He knows that it hurts him too. Maybe differently. But pain is pain.

Frank blinks, clearly surprised by this sudden new information. "Regulus? Your brother Regulus?"

"That'd be the one," Sirius's voice is carefully blank. James has heard that tone before. It's never good.

Frank lets out a breath. "Wow, jeez, okay I—how?"

Sirius shakes his head. "Don't know. He was running away, that's what Andromeda thinks, Voldemort caught him. Or someone else did and brought him to Voldemort. Either way...well, you can imagine how that went."

James squeezes his eyes shut.

No.

He won't.

He refuses.

"I saw him you know."

That's enough to make James looks up. "You saw him?"

"At the Ministry," Frank explains. "During the attack. I saw him, he looked..." Frank's eyes go a little distant. "I mean, listen, I never liked the kid much, no offence Sirius—"

"None taken."

"He was a damn good Seeker but other than that he was a bit of a prick. But..." Frank shakes his head, "the look on his face that day? When he saw me? I don't know...it was...painful. Broke my heart."

James bites down on the inside of his cheek trying to keep himself from doing something stupid. Saying something stupid. Fucking crying again.

"I don't understand though," Frank goes on after a brief pause, and James does his best not to cringe when he feels Frank's gaze fall on him. "What does that have to do with you and Lily?"

"Um," he starts, the sound shaking in his mouth. "Well, I—"

You're my person.

Okay Reg. Yeah, I'm yours. You're mine too.

"I—"

Then why? Why do you want me to come with you?

Because I love you too.

James's fingers have started anxiously tapping on the tabletop. "I was...I was with him."

Inadequate.

How fucking inadequate.

"With him?" Frank repeats, looking briefly at Sirius and then back to James. "When? When he died?"

No.

No.

He did that alone.

I left him alone.

James manages to shake his head. "I was with him—I—we were together."

There's a beat of silence.

"Together?"

James can't read Frank's tone. Can't look at his face.

"Yeah."

There's another pause.

"When?" Frank asks again, but there's a different sound to his voice now. A different weight to the question. And James finally forces himself to look up, to hold the other boy's gaze.

"At school," Sirius answers for him, clearly thinking he's helping. Saving James again. But Frank doesn't look away and neither does James. "Right? James?"

He doesn't want to answer.

Doesn't have it in him for another fight.

"The day of the attack," he finally manages, voice quiet.

To his credit, Frank doesn't flinch.

"What?" Sirius demands. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

James swallows, his throat tight, turning to Sirius who is far less calm.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" And then, as though the information is only just sinking in. What James really means. What he's saying. Anger flashes clearly in Sirius's eyes. "Wait, let me get this straight—you were with him? With him with him? The day of the attack at the Ministry? "

"Yes."

Sirius's expression is thunderous. A storm on the horizon. James feels the weight of it in his chest.

"What about Lily?"

James just stares helplessly back at him. Naked. Without excuses.

"It's been fucking weeks."

"I know."

"You didn't say anything."

"I know."

Sirius shakes his head, a cold laugh falling from his mouth. "Jesus fucking Christ, you know, you and Moony have really got this lying thing down pat—"

"Sirius—"

"I never figured myself for naive. Thought my mum fucked me up a bit too much for that, but you lot? You lot are really proving me wrong."

"Sirius—"

But Sirius is on his feet, slamming his chair back so hard it falls over, storming out of the room. James braces himself for the sound of the door slamming again. For the hollow aching feeling of being left. But all he hears is Sirius's footsteps on the stairs. James wonders if he's going to his old room.

For a moment neither James nor Frank seem able to move. To speak. Until finally Frank sighs.

"Well...I didn't see that coming."

James smiles shakily down at the table. "Surprise."

Frank huffs out a laugh. "So, at school?"

James does his best to work around the lump in his throat. "Yeah."

"For how long?"

"Bit more than a year."

Frank makes a noise of affirmation that James can't quite decipher. "That's a long time in school," he says eventually.

It had felt like it. Like all the rest of his seven years could fit into hours, but the time he'd been with Regulus took up years. Decades. Lifetimes.

"Yeah," is all he says, the word barely a whisper.

Frank reaches out, hand wrapping around James's wrist and squeezing. "I still don't think you're the villain James."

Something that was supposed to be a scoff but ends up being more choked comes out of James's mouth. "You're the only one."

"They're hurt. It's not the same thing," James doesn't bother replying. Something Frank lets him get away with for about thirty more seconds before he starts talking again. "I told you, I saw him that day. If it was heartbreaking for me I can't imagine what it was like for you."

James's chest gives an unpleasant twist, and he exhales, slow, measured. Like he's just been hit by a Bludger and he's trying to stay on his broom.

"I could count his ribs," he says, voice small. "Being there was killing him. I mean really—really killing him. I've never seen someone...waste away like that." His voice trembles and Frank tightens his grip. "I just wanted to get him out. I just wanted to keep him safe."

"James," there he goes, saying his name like that again. "His death wasn't your fault, you know that right?" But James shakes his head.

"I asked him to leave. I asked him to leave and they killed him."

"Listen to what you just said," Frank pushes on fiercely. "He was dead if he stayed anyway. At least leaving gave him a chance."

This doesn't feel like a chance.

This doesn't feel like anything.

James pulls away, wiping at his face even though there aren't any tears. "I should go check on Sirius," he says eventually, forcing his voice to behave normally. "Make sure he isn't setting the house on fire or something."

Frank hesitates for a moment before nodding his head. "I'll clean up down here. Shout if you need backup, yeah?"

James shoots him a shaky smile. "Yeah. Okay."

He isn't exactly sure what he's expecting to find. Certainly some sort of destruction. Some evidence of violence. What he isn't expecting, is for Sirius to be lying calmly on his back in his old bed, staring at the ceiling. It's so unexpected James actually questions whether or not he's in the right room. None of the lights are on, the only brightness coming from the sliver allowed in by the door.

"I'm so tired of secrets," Sirius says finally, breaking the silence. "I thought we were done with that. I thought at least you and I were done with that."

James stands in the doorway for a second longer before walking forward and lying down on the bed next to him. The way they used to when they were kids. Curtains pulled around their fourposter beds, whispering for hours. They're a bit bigger now mind you, but James still manages to fit, and Sirius doesn't instantly try to push him off so he takes that as a good sign.

"I'm sorry," James says finally.

There's a long moment before Sirius talks again. "Sometimes I feel like I don't even recognize us anymore," his voice is small, curling up and lying in the space between them.

James squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

He can feel Sirius shake his head but he doesn't say anything. At least not at first. "You want to hear something really stupid?" he asks eventually.

James turns his head to look at him. "What?"

He can only see Sirius's profile, highlighted by the light spilling in from the corridor. "I really thought we were going to be happy," a joyless smile tugs at his lips.

James thinks he can hear the cracks forming in his chest.

"Yeah," he says softly. "Yeah me too."

There isn't much to say after that.

James isn't sure how long they lie there before Frank comes up, stopping abruptly inside the door.

"Are you napping or are you dead?" he asks.

"Neither," Sirius answers.

Frank wobbles his head from side to side. "Fair enough. I take it I'm not going to need to separate you two then? We've worked through our issues?"

James snorts, because the idea that anything that is happening right now can be worked through seems funny to him.

"I think we'll manage not to scratch each other's eyes out, don't you Prongs?"

"I should hope so, your eyes are your best feature."

They're attempting normalcy. Brevity. They don't quite manage it. Both of their voices too scratchy and too tired to make any of it believable.

"Uh-huh," Frank says from the doorway. "Well, I'll leave you to it shall I?"

"Excuse me?" Sirius calls out. "Where do you think you're going?"

Frank turns back to them and even in the dark James can see the confusion on his face. "Er—to find the guest room." Technically they're currently in the guest room but James doesn't bother pointing that out.

"Get in the bed Frank," he says instead.

Frank laughs. "Yeah, no, I don't think so."

Sirius looks at James. "He thinks we're joking."

"He must not know what jokes are then."

Sirius nods in agreement, turning back to Frank. "Get in the bed Frank. This is not a joke."

Frank's eyes move from one boy to the other, something between bemusement and shock on his face. "Don't be ridiculous. There's not even any room!"

Rolling his eyes, Sirius sits up, sliding his wand out of his sleeve and casting an extension  charm on the bed that causes it to accordion out into the room. The pair of them then look at Frank expectantly but the older boy only shakes his head.

"I'm not—"

"Frank," Sirius cuts him off, sounding very serious, "we're sad."

Frank looks back at them, trying to hold out, but clearly defeated. Eventually he sighs. "This really is ridiculous you know," he mutters, noxing the light in the corridor and reluctantly climbing into bed with them.

When they were kids and they would lie like this, curtains drawn, talking, it was inevitable that Remus would eventually find his way next to Sirius, that Peter would come, sleepy-eyed and wrapped in a blanket, the four of them falling asleep on top of one another. A many limbed, many headed, monster.

This isn't like that exactly. The cruelty of the past, is nothing is ever as it was. But it helps. As James closes his eyes listening to the soft breathing of his two friends, pressing against him on either side, limbs sleep warm and reassuring, James feels his grief loosen. Still ever present. Just a bit less choking.

At some point in the night James wakes up. He lies there for a minute, blinking the sleep away, unclear if there's a reason for his sudden consciousness or if it's just because Sirius has started snoring. He smiles a little at that. He's missed the sound. Which is not something he ever thought he would say.

He stays still for a little longer before he feels something start to tug—on his thoughts, his stomach, the heart in his chest. He slips quietly out of bed, a bit difficult since during the course of the night Sirius has seen fit to throw his arm over James, burying his face in his shoulder. By some miracle, however, James manages to escape. Avoiding the creaky floorboards he's had memorized since he was a kid, following the tug down the stairs and into the front hall. Following it all the way to his jacket pocket.

He lights one of the lamps in the sitting room with his wand, dropping onto the sofa, the letter held delicately in his hands. For a long time all he can do is stare at it, thumb tracing along the elegant J on the front. He knows this was written days ago. Weeks even. But it'll still be the last thing that Regulus ever says to him. And he's not sure he's ready to face that.

Eventually, fingers shaking, he slides his hand under the wax seal and pulls the pieces of parchment out of the envelope. They glow in the low light.

Dear J,

It starts...

I've been thinking about dinner. About which one of us would do the chopping and which one would do the stirring. Which one would set everything on fire. I've been thinking about laundry too. Who would put it off the longest (you) who would have a whole system in place for it (me) who would do the folding (you like mind numbing tasks don't you?). See what you've done to me? I've been reduced to fantasizing about household chores.

You described to me once, the life you wanted us to have, that you pictured for us. I didn't believe in it then. But I believe in it now. I think about it all the time James. You were right when you said I gave up last time, but I promise I won't do it again. Not now. We've wasted so much time. I've wasted so much time.

I know it must seem like I'm still wasting time, but once I've done what I need to, once I've done it you'll understand. I know it won't make up for all the bad, but it's a start right? I wanna try this time, I really want to try. Sirius did it after all. It can't be impossible.

I love you James. Pathetically and desperately and always. Even when we didn't speak. Even when I hated you I still loved you. Wherever you want me. However you'll have me. I just want to be near you that's all. I'm so tired of you being so far away.

Sorry, it's getting late and I'm feeling overly sentimental. Mostly I just want you to know that I'll see you soon. That I'll make things right. I promise.

Yours, always.

R.

PART IV CERCI

It was Barty Crouch of all people, who told Cerci about Regulus.

He sent her an owl. Brief. To the point.

Greengrass,

Figured you should know.

Regulus is dead.

He tried to get out.

There's no body.

Cheers,

B. C

And of course she hadn't believed him. Not for a second. Apparating to Grimmauld Place immediately only to be met by a wall of impenetrable wards. It wasn't like it had been last time—after the attack on the Ministry—these wards didn't feel like Regulus at all. Didn't feel like his magic.

Because.

Of course.

They weren't.

Even now, thinking about that moment, that realization, feels like breaking her ribs. Cerci's life is a much lonelier place without Regulus Black. Once she'd calmed down, she'd written Barty back. "Tried to get out, no body" was not nearly enough information for her. But he never responded.

She had fully intended to track him down and demand answers. Answers no one, so far, had been able, or willing, to give her. Not Regulus's father, who wept when she told him how much Regulus had wanted to visit, how much he had loved him. Or his mother, who recoiled at the mention of her son's name. Embarrassed by his death. By his life. She was certain they had to know more than they were saying, but she was also certain, that she was far more likely to crack Barty Crouch than Walburga Black.

She'd been coming up with a whole plan. Perhaps one involving a little kidnapping and intimidation. But then. Then James Potter had appeared. The last person she ever expected to find outside the Black family crypt. The last person she had ever expected of being Regulus's...well...anything. And the shock of it, had jogged loose another memory of James Potter.

Or at least a story.

Of him beating the living daylights out of Lucius Malfoy in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic.

And suddenly, there was someone else she wanted answers from.

Which is how Cerci Greengrass finds herself outside the gates of Malfoy Manor for the first time since she was nine years old and her parents dragged her along to some sort of Christmas ball. Cerci has a vague memory of eating some bad chicken and vomiting on the Floo ride home. Plus, she'd been forced to wear a terribly uncomfortable dress—too many bows—even just thinking about it makes her nose wrinkle. All in all, not an enjoyable experience.

Still. Here she is.

"And you are?" a magical voice demands out of nowhere.

"Cerci Greengrass."

There's a moment's pause and then. "There's nothing in Mr. Malfoy's itinerary about a social call from a Cerci Greengrass."

No. There wouldn't be.

"Tell him I'm here to talk about Regulus Black."

She had been there, for the week or so after the Ministry attack, when Lucius had relentlessly pushed against Regulus's wards. Every day. Without fail. Sometimes multiple times a day. She hadn't quite understood it then. Still doesn't quite understand it now. But she reckons that that kind of obsession doesn't just disappear. In fact, she suspects Lucius Malfoy is dying to talk about Regulus.

There's a longer pause this time before the voice returns. "Access has been granted. Please follow the walkway to the main house. You will find Mr. Malfoy in the first floor sitting room, third door on the left."

The grand gates in front of her creak open, revealing an unnecessarily long driveway carved between two lawns which remain green even now at the end of December.

When she makes it to the main house her steps echo through the entryway. She isn't sure what she was expecting—in her memories the mansion is filled with people and music and light. Of course, that had been a ball, but it all feels rather different when it's empty. The grey winter sun filtering in through the windows, the grand corridors and high ceilings making everything feel cold and hollow. Cerci shivers at the thought of having to live in a place like this.

"Third door on the left," she murmurs to herself as she starts walking.

She isn't sure if she's meant to knock. After a few seconds of standing outside the room she decides "polite knocking" is not quite the energy she's going for and decides to just push on through.

Lucius Malfoy is sitting in a high-backed chair upholstered in green velvet, looking every inch the villain she's sure he thinks he is. He's reading something, long black pipe in his free hand. He doesn't look up when she comes in.

"Close the door," he says, sounding bored.

Cerci's wand twitches as she lets the door slam behind her. It has the desired effect, Lucius's eyes snapping up at the noise, Cerci not bothering to hide her smug smile as she slips her wand back up her sleeve. No reason to put him on high alert just yet.

"Miss Greengrass," he says, snapping his book closed and leaning back in his seat. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I want to talk about Regulus."

She doesn't miss the flash in his eyes. "Yes. So you mentioned. Though I'm not sure why you would wish to do so with me?"

She arches her brow. "Aren't you?"

Cerci doesn't buy any of it. Not the forced casual tone, not the book, not the pipe, not the confused look on Lucius's face which is quickly disappearing. It all feels like an act to her. A piece of theatre.

She takes the chair across from him without being asked, eyes meeting his. She doesn't speak—contrary to popular belief it is actually possible for her to be quiet. And silence is particularly good at getting people to start saying things they shouldn't, just to fill the void, all of us so desperately uncomfortable with the emptiness.

Regulus taught her that.

A few minutes pass before Lucius's eyes narrow. "What did he tell you then?"

"Was there something to tell?" Cerci asks mildly, smiling politely at him. "I thought you had no idea why I would want to talk to you?"

Now Lucius's face forms a full blown scowl. He isn't old, but when he makes this expression, you can see how he will be one day.

"I'm not interested in playing games little girl."

But Cerci's smile does not diminish. "Sure you are, or you wouldn't have opened the gate."

Lucius appears to have no response to this so he simply scowls harder.

"Why were you trying to break through Regulus's wards?" her voice is calm, level—even pleasant. But if you were observant enough, something Lucius certainly is not, you would be able to see the knives in the corners of her mouth. In the centre of her iris's. The violence in the set of her shoulders.

Lucius lets out a breath of laughter. "I'm not sure what you're expecting but it's nothing spectacular; I wanted to see him, that's all. "

"Clearly he didn't want to see you."

"Yes well," Lucius's posh accent somehow manages to grow even more condescending as he flicks a bit of lint off his trousers. "Regulus was not a very good judge of what was good for him."

Cerci agrees. Though she doubts very much that Lucius and her are thinking of the same things.

"And you were good for him?" she asks, same calm tone.

"Of course," as though suggesting anything else would be absurd. "I've been his closest ally since his brother left him."

No, Cerci thinks, that isn't true. Regulus always kept his allies close, even in school. Even if he didn't particularly like them as people. Which means that whatever Regulus saw Lucius as, it wasn't that.

"You two didn't seem particularly close," she says finally.

A twisted smirk curls the corner of Lucius's mouth. "Oh, I assure you. We were very close."

Something about the way he says it makes her skin itch. She isn't exactly sure what he's implying but she knows she doesn't like it.

"I've got another question for you."

Lucius snorts. "Go on then."

She gives him a long look. "Why did James Potter attack you?"

There's the smallest flicker, a twitch of his lip, and when his words come out next he's practically snarling. "Because he's unhinged I imagine. I've never experienced anything so uncivilized in my life."

Cerci lets that sit between them for a moment. "So he just went off, unprovoked?"

"Ask anyone who was there," Lucius gestures with his pipe. "I did nothing to him."

"Did you do something to someone else."

She can feel it. The tensing in his posture. The way he draws himself up a little higher, holds his nose in the air a bit more. Wrapping his superiority around him like a shield.

"You're going to have to be more specific, I have done a great many things to a great many people."

Cerci is still smiling, though it is beginning to feel a bit strained. "I'm sure you have," she inches her wand slowly towards her palm. "But what did you do to Regulus Black?"

There's a pause, Cerci can hear the clock on the fireplace mantle ticking, hear the sound of her own pulse pounding in her ears. Then, the older man sneers.

"Nothing he didn't want."

Cerci never figured out how to put all the pieces of Regulus together, never quite managed to see the full picture all at once. It's one of the many things that breaks her heart—knowing now she never will. That so much of the boy who was her best friend, her family, will remain a mystery to her. But she does have a very clear memory of Regulus standing in the Slytherin common room, struggling to breathe, to put one foot in front of the other, a boy who couldn't be touched.

It would come and go, Regulus's aversion to other people's hands. It was in the moments when he was at his worst, the moments you wanted to touch him the most, that you had to keep away. She had worked that much out at least.

Looking at Lucius Malfoy now. She thinks she can perhaps work out a bit more.

Cerci doesn't know what her face is doing but it makes Lucius roll his eyes. "Oh don't give me that look," he says dismissively. "Whatever Regulus said, it was just him trying to get your attention. Your sympathy. He was always like that, a bit of a worm if you will. I'm not surprised it got him killed," he laughs cruelly. "What a meaningless little life he ended up living."

Cerci is fairly certain Lucius doesn't see the wand slide fully into her hand. He certainly seems surprised, when a second later he's being thrown from his chair and into the wall behind him, body hitting with a satisfying "thud".

"Bitch," he wheezes, the force of the spell knocking the air from his lungs. He reaches for his wand but Cerci is too quick.

"Expelliarmus," the small piece of wood flicks across the room as she steps towards him.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? DOBBY! Narcissa!"

"I cast a silencing charm on the room the minute I stepped through the door," Cerci says calmly, pressing the tip of her wand to the older man's neck. "You must have missed it, while you were pretending to read your book."

Lucius bares his teeth, but he isn't able to wipe the fear from his eyes. "This is a very bad idea little girl."

"I disagree."

"What're you going to do? Truly? Kill me?" he sounds like he's verging on hysterical. "You expect me to believe you're capable of that?"

She looks at him thoughtful. "No," she says after a brief pause. "I don't expect you to believe I'm capable of anything." No one ever does. "Crucio."

Lucius screams. She doesn't let it go on for too long. Just long enough. His skin shiny with sweat as he collapses back against the wall, shivering.

"Cunt."

Cerci ignores him, lifting her wand again and watching Lucius desperately try to scramble backwards even though he has nowhere to go.

"What the fuck do you want from me?" his voice is almost painfully high.

I want you to take it back,

she thinks hopelessly.

I want you take it all back.

All the pain you caused him.

I want you to take his place.

"What happened to him, really? How did he die?" she asks.

Lucius shakes his head, the hair that's slipped out of his plait whipping around his face. "I don't know, honest to Merlin."

Lie.

Cerci steps forward.

"Look, he went missing for a few days—"

"Yes I was there for that bit."

"No one knew where he was, no one, not even the Dark Lord."

"And then?" she prompts.

Lucius swallows—it's a showy swallow, his Adam's apple on full display, bobbing up and down in his abnormally long, skinny neck. "And then one day the Dark Lord went somewhere on his own. And when he returned he said that Regulus was dead, that he'd been trying to defect and that there was no body."

Cerci considers this for a moment. "No one else ever saw him, Regulus? Just Voldemort?"

Lucius cringes at the use of the name. "Yes," he answers.

It was the Horcrux.

It had to be.

Regulus found out where it was and went after it.

But why didn't he bring me? asks the small voice in the back of her mind.

She notices Lucius attempting to inch towards his wand. She doesn't hesitate. "Afflicto," wand pointed at his arm. There's an instant crack as the bone snaps and the older man begins to howl, clutching the broken limb to his chest. She watches him writhe around for a few more seconds before stepping forward again, wand back at his neck, knocking his chin so that he's forced to look at her.

"I want you to listen to me," she says, gaze steady on his darting eyes. "I want you to hear this. To know it in your bones," he whimpers, holding his arm closer. "You could live for a hundred years. A thousand. But you will never matter the way that he mattered."

Finding no escape his eyes reluctantly meet her's. She makes sure her stare is relentless.

And then she pulls away.

Walking around the overturned chair, through the door, down the hall.

She makes it all the way to the front gate before the tears start.

Cerci writes Albus Dumbledore a letter.

She considers going to see him in person but she can't bring herself to. Too afraid maybe. Too tired more likely. Of all these men and their war.

So Cerci Greengrass writes Albus Dumbledore a letter.

She explains it all. The Horcrux, Tom Riddle, Salazar Slytherin, how she thinks Regulus's death is connected. She includes their notes. Their research. And at the end, right at the end of all that, she asks that if it turns out to be true, he tells people. Tells people it was Regulus who saw it first. Who tried first.

And then she sends it away.

She doesn't expect him to listen.

But for Regulus's sake she has to try.

Actually, she has a small list of things she has to try for Regulus.

"Cerci!"

She looks up as Moira walks through the Leaky Cauldron towards her. Cerci's sat at a table by herself currently taking out her anxiety on the napkins.

"Hey," Cerci smiles, wiping the dozens of shredded pieces of paper quickly onto the floor. She'll vanish them later.

"It's so good to see you," Moira has about the loveliest smile Cerci has ever seen. It's just so...warm. It makes her feel safe. "You didn't bring your entourage today."

Cerci blinks. "My—what?"

Moira motions at the empty booth around her. "The boys who were with you last time?"

"Oh," Cerci does her best not to wince. Not to look at the spot that Regulus had sat in. Instead she swallows, opening her mouth to say what she came here to say when—

"So what'll it be?" Moira asks, the QuickQuotes Quill standing at attention beside her. "The usual? Burger and chips?"

"Er—" crap. "Y-yeah, yes, great." This is not going well. Why did she think this would go well? She doesn't know how to ask somebody out!

"No whisky this time?" Moira teases, and Cerci thinks her smile must be strained.

"Just pumpkin juice is good thanks."

"You got it," Moira gives Cerci a wink. "Anything else I can get you?"

And the thing is, she doesn't have to. Ask Moira out that is. No one knows she's here. No one even knows she has feelings for someone anymore. Reg was the only person she ever told. She could just walk away. No harm no foul.

Except.

Except she can't help thinking about Regulus, who could only ever speak about the boy he loved in bits and pieces. When he was upset. When he had an escape. When he was drunk. Or James Potter, who didn't even know that Regulus had managed that much. Who didn't think that anyone in Regulus's life had any idea about them. And how much it had clearly meant to him, to find out the opposite was true.

So many things were left unsaid between them. So many things that Regulus must have thought he would have time to say one day.

"Cerci?"

She blinks, coming back to the present, Moira's head cocked to the side, a slightly confused look on her face.

Cerci shakes herself awake. "Sorry I—sorry I was just," she takes a deep breath. "I was actually just wondering if maybe you might be interested in going out sometime?" she says in one big rush, barely leaving any space between her words.

There's a pause.

"Just in general?" slightly amused. "Or was there someone specific you were thinking I could go out with?"

"Oh," Cerci laughs nervously, running her hand through her hair, feeling her cheeks heat. "Right, yeah, forgot that bit."

"It's an important bit," and Cerci thinks—maybe—just maybe—there's a little blush colouring Moira's cheeks too.

"Well, um, I was wondering if you'd want to go on a date with...me?"

And there comes that smile, the one that makes Cerci feel safe. Comforted.

"I would love to," Moira says. "I'm off work Saturday."

Cerci nearly chokes. "I—you—really?"

"Am I really off on Saturday? Yes."

"No I—okay, okay great. Yes. Cool. Saturday then. It's—ah—it's a date."

Moira is still smiling. "It's a date." There's a small moment of stillness during which the two of them just smile at one another like idiots. "Well," Moira says eventually, "I guess I should go get your burger then."

"Oh," Cerci had completely forgotten she ordered anything. "Right."

She watches Moira walk towards the kitchen feeling her heart stutter in her chest, hands all clammy and something—maybe butterflies—humming in her belly.

"Did you see that Reg?" she whispers, unable to keep the smile out of her voice. "I did it."