Regulus has more than one cup of rosewater and lemon tea; he doesn't keep count of the piling teacups, merely dismissing their increasing number and continuing to pour the heated liquid down his throat whenever it's at his disposal.
It tastes like James lying under the sun and smiling up at him.
Regulus shakes his head in rapid motion, feeling shame burn his cheeks. He tries to refocus on the book about Horcruxes laid in front of him, but that's harder said than done.
Regulus is sure there's more Horcruxes. He knows it, with the knowledge rattling deep inside his bones. But how is it that Voldemort exists and Regulus could still wax poetic about James fucking Potter?
"What's a chocolatier got to do?" Regulus sighs.
It's then that Mary storms into the room — the bedroom that once prospered with something at least akin to life, rather than this endless ditch of loneliness — and her eyes find their way to Regulus. To his surprise, they seem to soften — not pitifully, but strangely understanding, like some part of Regulus's miserable life relates to hers.
"Won't you visit Sirius?" Mary asks suddenly. She drops down onto the bed beside Regulus, as if this is a normal thing between them; friendship or companionship or simple tolerance, Regulus does not know, neither can he quite differentiate.
"No," Regulus responds sharply. He wields his tongue like a blade and his eyes like an impenetrable shield. "I do not care for Sirius. Not since a long time ago. Nor does he exactly care for me, I imagine."
Mary scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous. Sirius loves you and you know it, you bastard." She shakes her head with disappointment. "He hates it that you left so suddenly the other day. You know you'll have to visit him at some point, right?"
"Of course." Regulus closes the book in his hands and tucks it aside. "But there are more important matters to focus on."
"Like the tension between you and James?"
"Like the next Horcrux we have to hunt down," Regulus snaps.
Mary grows quiet at that. "You think you know what it is?"
"Ravenclaw's diadem, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's locket... the last must surely be Gryffindor's sword. Yet..."
"You said the sword could break the Horcruxes, not be one," Mary recounts, eyes wide.
Regulus sighs. "I know. I don't know. It's complicated. What if it can be both?"
Mary's face pales. "Then Merlin help us all."
There's the crashing of china cups downstairs, then the sound of the door opening again, only to reveal somebody neither of them expected.
Lily Evans is scowling at Regulus.
"You're back," she exclaims, "and alive!"
"Yes..." Regulus says slowly. Mary jumps to explain their situation, but Evans just raises a hand to silence her.
"You, Regulus Black, have been the reason my hair is falling out. Well, that and the baby, too. James is- you need to talk to James. Before I rip your head off, most preferably."
Regulus and Mary blink at her in confused shock. It's Regulus who replies first, trying not to smirk at this surprising bit of entertainment. "I think I'd prefer that too," he says.
Evans glares at him. "Don't give me any of that snark, Black. I really do hate you, for quite a lot of reasons. I do not care whether you nearly died trying to do good or not, because many have died trying to do good. Now, I only care about James, and James cares about you, so I suppose if this is what it must come down to..."
Regulus averts his eyes. "You can't tell Sirius."
Evans snorts. "He'll find out eventually, like all of us."
"Maybe, but not so soon. He would be mad at James, and then..."
Lily's eyes soften. "Yeah, I know."
Mary snaps her fingers and stands. "How about I fetch us all a good bottle of gin?"
Regulus is glad as the tension in the room shatters and fades away.
•••🍫•••
Sirius Black does not take notice of Regulus's visit, nor when he leaves. Regulus makes sure of it.
He doesn't say any goodbyes, except to Dorcas and Mary, effectively now the only people he currently likes working with.
When Regulus arrives at the shed again (he's thinking of making the place have a bit more class, maybe starting by naming it something other than The Shed), it scares him that there's no-one there.
No-one except, thank goodness, Kreacher.
Regulus has always liked Kreacher in some ways, unlike Sirius, so it does help to contain the sudden rise of panic in his chest.
"Where is Lupin?" Regulus asks first, then adds, "Charlie?"
Kreacher hobbles toward Regulus, hair green and skin orange, and sniffs snobbishly. "The werewolf has disappeared, Mast- Willy Wonka. As for the boy, he left to help that young girl."
Regulus scours his memory. "You mean Noodle? Charlie went with Noodle?"
"Apparently," Kreacher mutters.
"And Lupin is...?" Regulus has never quite felt so confused, except for maybe that one time he caught Barty role-playing as a sexy maid and pretending to seduce a very mortified Evan. But even then, there have been worser things to witness.
Just then, the shed door bangs open dramatically, like someone was coming back from a very maddening situation. Regulus swears he smells Lupin before he sees him.
"I had to sort something out," Lupin says, almost snarling. That's all the acknowledgement he gives Regulus, then promptly flops onto the couch.
"Okay then." Regulus shakes his head, trying not to look too disdainful. "What's your opinion on sprucing this shed up a little, Lupin? Not like I need advice from a creature of dark magic, but here we are."
"Don't call me that."
"A creature of dark magic?"
Lupin grunts. "And as for your little 'sprucing up,' I suppose it's up to you. Put a plant or two in here. Hang up a painting."
"I did have my eye on this one painting of a ship sailing the sea."
"Ah. Always the expensive things. I would have to go on an art heist for a painting like that."
"I would willingly plan an art heist just for the sake of going on an art heist."
Lupin snorts. "You're a menace."
"And you're not?"
"Not in the same way you are."
"Well... a chocolatier's got to do what a chocolatier's got to do."
"And that includes... killing people?"
Before Regulus can reply to that, there's a shout.
"You've killed people!?"
Regulus sighs. "And where have you two been?"
"Not killing people, for one," Charlie is the first to respond.
"Charlie was just getting me a few strawberries so we could dip them in some melted chocolate later..." Noodle mumbles. Her eyes shoot to Lupin and back so fast Regulus nearly misses it. Interesting. "Now what's all this business about killing people?"
"Wonka here isn't a murderer, if that helps," Lupin comments, ever so secretly teasing. "Oh, wait..."
Regulus glares at him. "It doesn't matter. My past is none of anyone's business, got that?"
"Have you really killed people?" Noodle whispers, eyes large and afraid.
"... Not in the slightest. That isn't what Lupin meant to say," Regulus turns to Lupin, eyes piercing, "was it?"
"No," Lupin hums, "it was more of a psychological question. You'll understand when you're older."
Noodle raises her brow. "Like 'Would You Rather?'"
Lupin nods. "Would you rather get charged for a murder you didn't commit and do time for it or kill a loved one and get away with it?"
"That's dark," Regulus snorts. For some reason, he finds himself answering. "I'd rather get charged for a murder I didn't commit. Actually, that depends on the loved one. Let's just say I'd kill a Zeus but never an Icarus."
A smirk quirks the corner of Lupin's lips. "Well, there you go."
"What do you mean?" Regulus scowls.
"I'd do the same as you," Charlie chirps.
Noodle seems to think about it, then shakes her head. "This is ridiculous. But maybe... maybe I would kill a loved one and get away with it." She looks away and doesn't explain why.
"Great. So we've established that we're all somewhat psychos," Regulus sighs.
"Only somewhat." Lupin's eyes twinkle when Regulus looks at him.
"Yes. I did say before that a chocolatier's got to do what they've got to do. I'm not taking that back."
"You would if you could."
Regulus doesn't respond. He knows that the truth to that statement lies within the parts of darkness in him he can't deny.
He ignores the ghostly feeling of familiar warm fingertips brushing his.
Maybe there is reason for cold darkness to coexist where there is hot light. If only one's touch didn't create distance and one's touch didn't begin to burn.