Re’s Room

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Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Regulus Black
& Remus Lupin, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Remus Lupin, Regulus Black, Sirius Black, James Potter, Peter
Pettigrew, Lily Evans Potter, Mary Macdonald (Harry Potter), Marlene
McKinnon, Dorcas Meadowes, Emma Vanity | Slytherin Quidditch
Captain, Barty Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, Pandora Lovegood, Minerva
McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore, literally everyone
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No
Voldemort, Post-Sirius Black's Prank on Severus Snape, Angst,
Hurt/Comfort, Magical Theory (Harry Potter), Bittersweet Ending,
Friends to Lovers, Secret Relationship, Mutual Pining,
Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault,
(not between main characters), No Lily Evans Potter Bashing, POV
Regulus Black, POV Remus Lupin, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-
Typical Sexism, Not Beta Read, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Series: Part 1 of Written in the Stars
Stats: Published: 2024-07-23 Completed: 2024-08-20 Words: 123,126
Chapters: 32/32
 Re’s Room
by cosmosbooks

Summary

“Boys,” Euphemia says sternly. “What I’m hearing is that you have a prophecy about Death
Eaters, you’ve been gallivanting through the Forbidden Forest, Remus has done something to
that poor Severus boy again, Bellatrix has escaped prison, and the Death Eaters are
regrouping like never before.”

They all blink at her, realizing the weight of what she’s saying. James sucks in a sharp breath,
rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and leaning on the two back legs of his chair. “Well,
when you say it like that. . .”

Roughly a decade after Dumbledore defeats Voldemort, the world is perfectly normal again.
Remus Lupin is still reeling one year after Sirius Black’s betrayal. He finds solace in the most
unexpected of places, the Astronomy Tower, where Regulus Black smokes and draws in his
journal. However, the stars don’t want them to be normal kids. And you know what they say.
The stars picked them, and the stars get what they want.

OR

Two boys read “Giovanni’s Room”, try to stop falling in love with people they shouldn’t, and
maybe save the English wizarding world in the process.

Notes

This book has individual trigger warnings before the beginning of each chapter. But please be
aware of these overarching ones:

-Mentions of vomit/squeamishness, especially for some of the more violent scenes.

-Consumption of drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, and this story’s version of vaping while underage.

-Self-hatred and destructive thoughts. This applies mostly to Remus’ POV, especially in Acts
one, two, and three, and you can also read between the lines for other characters. He does get
better as the story progresses.

-Mentions of struggling with the effects of SA as a child. Never graphic. One slightly more
detailed explanation with the perpetrator grooming them: very brief, easily skipped in
Chapter 15.

-This does contain battle/war scenes, which I believe are graphic.

-Sacrilegious and blasphemous conversations/thoughts. It happens twice, and the muggle

characters do say “Oh my God” and such. Please remember these are wizards, and it does not
reflect my thoughts on the Christian religion or any religion. It’s all in the name of poetry.

-Regulus has semi-frequent anxiety/panic attacks.

Please let me know if there are other warnings I should include. Take care of yourself and
heed the warnings, please.

Other less Sirius warnings:

-Not Beta Read, but it is proofread by myself and free Grammarly. This is my first long work
and also the first fanfic I’ve written. Constructive criticism is encouraged, haters will be
ignored, lol. This probably won’t be very good, but the story won’t leave me alone.

-There are lots of foreshadowing and references to other popular Marauders fics and canon.
Try to find them all!

-These characters are flawed, I’m sorry. Some people might view Regulus and Sirius as
mean, and they are. I’m trying my best to merge canon and the fandom’s ideas. Sirius is not
feminine in this fic. Sorry.

-Also, I don’t own the rights to any of these characters or the world itself. It all belongs to
J.K. Rowling. The names of the chapters are the titles of songs, I didn’t come up with it
myself.

Donate what you can and spread awareness when you can during these times.

AND FUCK JKR!!

content warnings for this chapter

-mentions of ill/dying parents

-mild description of an anxiety attack

-physical and emotional parental abuse

 ACT ONE: Bohemian Rhapsody

Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide, no escape from reality
Open your eyes, look up to the skies, and see
I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because I’m easy come, easy go, little high, little low
Any way the wind blows doesn’t really matter to me, to me
-Queen

Remus is running.

He’s in a strange place that disorients him, the walls are painted a rich shade of blood-red.
The walls and floors are endless, their height looming over him. Snapes’ yells bounce off the
walls.

Remus is fucking running.

He doesn’t know why he’s running, he can’t remember where he is. But Remus is part
animal, part rabid, raving human, and both of his instincts tell him to keep going. They all
say to ignore his heart threatening to beat its’ way out of his chest, ignore the burning of his
lungs, ignore his aching feet. James’ terrified eyes follow him, Regulus’ cigarette smoke fills
his nostrils and he can’t breathe. Sirius’ laughter richotes off the walls, a taunt, an echo, an
answer.

It catches up to him, whatever’s following him. Remus trips and falls, his palms stinging. He
scrambles back, looking at the darkness looming over him. Voldemort laughs, wild and
unhinged. Lily’s warm laughter floats through to comfort him, and his shoulders drop in
resignation.

He’s about to die, he can feel it. The comfortable warmth of death surrounds him, welcomes
him, sends a spark down his spine. There’s so much he didn’t do. He’s never figured out what
Regulus scribbles in his sketchbook and he’s never figured out if Sirius is truly sorry. Remus
is facing death, looking it square in the eye, and he’s afraid. He’s not afraid to die, but he’s
afraid of what he leaves behind. There are books on his shelves he hasn’t read, a new jumper
hasn’t worn yet, a full fucking life he hasn’t lived, and it’s over. It pisses him off. He reaches
for a wand that’s not there. He reaches for a friend that’s not there—

“MAM!” It’s the last word Remus shouts, and then—

He jolts awake. Birds chirp outside, sunlight shines through the thin curtains. For one
terrifying second, Remus doesn’t know where he is. Sweat clings to his heated skin, and his
oversized shirt slips off his shoulder. His room is small and cluttered, there’s humming
somewhere in the house. . .
It’s summer, he’s not in Hogwarts.

“I’m okay.” Remus pants through his exhaustion. He rubs his hands over his face. He laughs.
“I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” Remus calms down, then warily gets up. He follows the
hums downstairs. Mam is in the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist. She turns around,
grabbing the chocolate chips on the other counter. She sees Remus and screeches, freezing up
as her throat goes taunt.

“Remus, you scared me.” She waves around a whisk covered in batter, the other pressing
over her heart. It splashes into her hair and over the counter. “I forgot you were here.”

Remus can’t help but frown. “Mam.” She’s been showing worrying symptoms: forgetfulness
and fogginess. He tried to figure out what was wrong, but his general diagnostic spell showed
nothing. The more complicated texts are reserved for those actually going down the Healer
route. He’s asked Pomfrey, but the incantations are tricky and his mum hates being a lab rat.

She waves the whisk again. “I’m fine, Remus. It’s old age.” She points at her singular grey
hair.

“I don’t like how he leaves you alone all the time.” Remus shakes his head, sitting at the
kitchen island.

Mam sighs. It’s not the first time Remus has said this, and it definitely won’t be the last. Lyall
works too hard and leaves little time for anything else, including his own wife. “There’s
nothing to be done. You know he needs to work.”

“And he knows that we don’t need to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere when I’m
barely even here.”

Mam’s face grows grave. She drops the whisk into the bowl. “Remus, I’m a grown woman. I
can take care of myself. I don’t need him to babysit me.” She dumps in the chocolate chips,
smiling again. “Now, pancakes?”

Remus eats his pancakes, even though he’d like to debate a bit more. He sits with his mum by
their fireplace and tells her the pranks he and the Marauders have done throughout the years.
She laughs so hard she chokes on her tea and goes purple. They make cinnamon scrolls
together, then while they’re in the oven, he gives her a massage.

They don’t talk about The Prank.

Remus doesn’t think about it. The event doesn’t linger between them awkwardly like a
tightrope. Remus doesn’t care that one of his closest friends betrayed him. Even if it’s the one
with pretty, silky, curly long hair as dark as ink. Grey eyes like dark storm clouds and skin
like pastry. Christ, Remus can wax poetry about Sirius for as long as he lives.

Could have, he means. He could’ve waxed poetry on Sirius for the rest of his life.

Once the cinnamon scrolls are done, she smears a thick coat of icing over the steaming rolls.
“Now, you want to wait about five minutes. It’s warm and gooey without being too hot—”
She sways, suddenly dazed and unsteady.

Remus’ hands are already there, bracing for a fall. “Mam,” he scolds.

“I—I’m fine. Just a little dizzy.” Remus gently but firmly hauls her out of the kitchen and
leads her to her bedroom.

“Take a little kip, might help,” Remus keeps his tone soft.

“Alright. Couldn’t hurt.”

Remus draws the curtains and shuts the door.

She sleeps for hours. Remus has a cinnamon scroll after five minutes. Another one after
fifteen. He practices his magic outside, sending curse after curse into innocent trees, then
sprawls on the grass while holding back tears. He reads the letter Effie Potter has sent him.

Dear Remus,

I was sad to hear you didn’t want to come over this summer, but I understand. Lily went into
a proper strop when she found out. Take as much time as you need, Remus. Our door is
always open.

Love,
Effie.

The sun sets and Mam is still sleeping. He makes what she was planning to do for dinner, and
makes a plate for her. Remus makes another cup of tea and settles on the couch with a book.
He has to remind himself not to strangle it.

He waits for his father to come home.

After a week spent strengthening his magic at Uncle Cygnus’, Regulus steps into Grimmauld
Place, and his mother and father don’t greet him at the door.

It’s how he knows he did something wrong.

He’s uneasy the whole time he unpacks his luggage. Regulus keeps his compass in his
pocket. He got too hooked on cigarettes during the school year, and now he’s paying the
price. He’s not allowed to have any muggle inventions while he’s in Grimmauld Place. The
unease and his nicotine withdrawal combine and make him antsy. He stares at the Dark Lord
propaganda he has littered around his room. It’s not like he can take it down without seeming
suspicious. His leg bounces like he’s James Potter, or something. Kreacher doesn’t pop in to
say hello.
Regulus fiddles with his compass, fiddles with his rings. He brings out his journal and stares
at the pages, his fingers growing sweaty around his quill.

He did something wrong.

Regulus is top of his class. Without him, the Slytherin Quidditch team would be a wreck. He
doesn’t hang out with Lupin outside their patrols, even though he wants to. He’s made friends
with Barty and Evan like he was supposed to. Regulus ignored Sirius when he got kicked off
the Gryffindor Quidditch team, not even checking to ensure he was okay. He’s been the
perfect pureblood heir, he’s made sure of it. Sure, he has another journal filled with fantasies
and things he shouldn’t draw, but it’s warded to high hell and he only draws in it alone at
night or with Pandora.

Shit, what did he do? Is it possible they somehow found it?

Regulus allows himself thirty seconds for an anxiety attack. He puts his head between his
knees and feels an impending sense of doom so strong he can’t move.

Slowly, Regulus uncurls. He picks up a book with twitching hands, and he waits.

10:30 at night. The front door creaks open. Shoes scuffle against the hardwood floor. A sigh.
Lyall steps into the living room and freezes at the sight of Remus.

“Remus,” Lyall says with a nod. He crosses the living room and goes to the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” Remus says, following him.

“Work,” he grumbles. Lyall brings out the plate Remus made for Mam. He gets a fork and
digs into the plate Remus made for Mam. Remus takes a deep breath. It’s the first time he’s
seen his father since he came for break a week ago. Remus had asked Mam where he was,
and every time she said he was at work.

Yet she couldn’t tell him what he was doing, more than two of his coworkers’ names, or
when he’d be home. Remus comes out with it. “You cheating on her?”

Lyall freezes. His brows furrow in anger. He chews once, jaw straining. “What did you say to
me?”

“You’re not home for more than a couple of hours a day, Mam can’t even name a piece of
legislation you’ve passed in the last decade—”

“We don’t talk about work—”

“Dad—”
“Dammit, Remus, we don’t talk about work!” He roars. “You’ve been here for a total of—
what? A couple of days? And suddenly you know exactly what’s going on? Don’t talk to me
about loyalty and responsibility when you wouldn’t know it if it smacked you in the face,
boy.”

Remus shrugs as his father turns around. “I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m so fucking sorry that I got bit
—”

“Remus.”

“—I’m sorry I have an education you provided me and I have to leave to get it done. I’m
sorry that when Greyback broke through those wards, I didn’t push my five-year-old body
enough to fucking fend him off.”

“Remus,” Lyall says. His fingers clutch at the counter, knuckles white. He’s surprisingly
calm. “Go to your room.”

“She’s sick.” His voice cracks. He tries to hide his trembling lip. “There’s something wrong,
and I can’t handle it by myself.”

Lyall strikes him on the side of his head. Remus clutches at his ringing ear with his hand, and
when he looks at it, there’s vibrant blood smeared all over. Where Lyall’s palm reached his
face, it throbs. His ear still rings. “I think you shattered my ear drum.” Remus can’t recognize
his voice. Lyall doesn’t hurt him often, but it’s never a shock when he does, not any more.

Lyall takes out his wand and heals his ear. Blood drips onto his shoulder. Lyall looks guilty,
his lips set in a thin line. Remus thinks he’ll apologize for striking him like he did last time.
Remus thinks that, beneath all of it, there might be someone who loves him or loved him
once. A person who was the first person to smile at him, change his diaper, make him laugh,
and help him walk.

Instead, Lyall rubs a hand over his face and picks up his fork. “Go to bed, Remus.”

“He’s sick,” Regulus parrots slowly, fighting to keep the glee off his face.

Walburga blinks rapidly. “Is that not what I just said? Goodness, Regulus, how do you keep
up in your classes with comprehension so poor?” She snaps her fingers, and Kreacher pops in
to refill her wine glass. “We might need to get you a tutor or pull you out of that ridiculous
school. Lady Greengrass told me they’re starting to say it’s okay to be a squib in the middle
of class! I didn’t say anything when they started to hire mudbloods on staff, but getting
political in the classroom is too far.”

Regulus wonders how saying it’s fine that a group of people exists is ‘political’. “Maman, my
education is crucial to me. Moreover, the connections and networking I get wouldn’t translate
to homeschooling.” He cuts into his steak, it’s red on the inside. The potatoes and broccoli
are unsalted so as not to upset Maman’s sensitive sodium levels.

“Well I didn’t ask for your permission, nor what you thought, did I?” Walburga snaps. She
looks frighteningly similar to Bellatrix. “The best healers at Mungo’s are working on your
father.” She sniffs. “They’re sure he’ll make a full recovery.”

Regulus quickly deduces that his mother screamed and threatened them to do their best. He
can’t help but hold out hope that his father dies. He’d finally be made Lord of the House of
Black and wouldn’t have to deal with Walburga or her seasonless food.

The Black family went to James’ birthday party when he was a kid. Regulus is sure Sirius
doesn’t remember it, but Sirius and James immediately ran off with Peter. Regulus wouldn’t
have remembered it either if it wasn’t for the food. Lady Potter is something called Desi and
Lord Potter is Latino, which means they make great food and listen to even greater music.
Lady Potter explained it all when they were sitting at the dining table. He can understand
why Sirius chose the Potters over him, they’re very pleasant.

Regulus is released to his room after dinner where he stares at the wall and fiddles with his
compass, trying to decompress.

Regulus doesn’t indulge in beauty. He smells like plain products: eucalyptus and cedar. He
doesn’t use Sleekeazy’s because Maman has a vendetta against the Potters. He can’t paint his
nails or get a piercing like Sirius. Regulus is plain. But in the dark corners of his room, he’s
not thinking about how Dorcas or Dora is doing, and he’s not thinking about class material.

He’s letting beauty wash over him like generous spring showers. It intrudes and weakens
him. He gets lost in the whipping, violent storm.

Regulus gets ready for bed. He drifts off to the thought of warm brown eyes, citrus-scented
skin, and large sturdy hands.
 anything
Chapter Notes

content warnings

- brief references to walburga and orion's A+ parenting

- little bit of violence

Weren’t we the stars in Heaven?

Weren’t we the salt in the sea?

-Adrianne Lenker

The train car’s deathly silent. The tension is lightning crackling through the air, but Remus
doesn’t particularly care. He slouches further in his seat and stares pointedly out the window.
He knows he’s not good company. Remus was in a strop at the train station, because for the
first time, he wasn’t happy to be back.

He wanted to stay and take care of Mam, but she pushed him back to Hogwarts, which was
mostly Remus’ fault. Ever since he was young, she would worry about him. Every break he’d
go and curl into her bed and let her pass her fingers through his hair as he talked about how
much fun he was having.

Blood painting the wall—screams slicing through the air—the heavy, intoxicating scent of
terrified humans. The wolf throws its head back and howls in pure delight. Moony recognizes
the scent of Prongs, sharp citrus and sandalwood, even though it’s faint. They hate the other
scent. It bares it’s sharp canines in a cruel smile. This one, it’s allowed to kill.

Remus hasn’t had much fun in a long time.

“Moony, come on, mate.”

Remus blinks hard. He looks at James’ weary face beside him. His black hair is a mop on his
head. As they pass through a spot with lots of sun, James’ brown skin glows. The sun reflects
in James’ glasses and causes Remus to squint or else go blind.“Huh?”

“We have a prefect meeting soon.”

Remus focuses on James’ wrinkled robes and the Head Boy pin. Peter is across from Remus,
reading a book Remus had recommended ages ago. Diagonal from Remus is him, arms curled
around his chest and clutching his sleeves. Remus almost snarls by instinct. He’s all hunched
over, long black curls covering his face, and Remus knows that he has some sad, defeated,
puppy-dog-eyed face behind all of it.

Something twinges in Remus’ chest at the thought.

“Mate, are you alright?” James whispers. “If you need to talk—”

“I’m fine,” Remus snaps.

And there it was, the slight frown and scrunched eyebrows. It was so similar to—God, no!
Stop thinking about Sirius Black! It’s a horrible habit of his that grew worse over the
summer. He wondered if he wore his leather jacket during a heat wave, how vanilla ice cream
looked melting on his pink tongue, if he felt brave enough to bring girls around the Potter’s
house. It was the worst, sitting around his house while Mam stared at the wall, knowing they
were all laughing.

Laughing while going on shopping sprees, laughing over hot meals cooked by Effie with
Monty trying to distract her, and they were doing it without him. Perhaps they thought it was
better, that family nights were better when Remus was a country away. Remus couldn’t help
his jealousy then, and he can’t help it now. If only he had been born into a wealthy family and
had never been bitten by Greyback, if only he weren’t Remus Lupin, awkward and lazy and
dangerous. If only, if only, if only. Remus rots his mind with those.
Remus sighs, running a hand over his face, suddenly aching for a cig.“Later, Prongs.”

James nods as Remus rises, clearly intending to stay behind. Before the door even closes, the
Marauders break into whispers. Remus grinds his teeth. Every time they’re together feels like
when Remus was forced to shake some new neighbor’s hand and smile.

“Oh, you moved from England? I definitely care, tell me some more.”

It’s stilted, something their conversations never used to be, filled with betrayal and secrets.
They realized that they never knew each other at all.

James has already forgiven Sirius, even though he pretended not to for a while, and Peter’s
happy enough to pretend Sirius doesn’t exist after Sirius usurped him as James’ best friend.

Small mercies, he supposes.

“Moony!”

Or, maybe not.

Remus keeps walking, faster than he had before. If he could make it to the—

A hand catches around his arm, and Remus recoils out of the grasp by pure instinct. Remus is
right. Sirius is making a sad, defeated, puppy-dog-eyed face. Remus can’t stand to look at
him. Sometimes, he looked at Sirius, stared, and tried to get his old feelings back. The warm
and fuzzy ones that he used to wrap himself up in when he went to sleep.

Now all he feels is pure disgust, and his chest twinges and twinges and aches deep. Another
thing ripped from him. Another good part of himself lost.
“Don’t touch me.” It makes his skin come alive and sizzle. Remus couldn’t hold back his
snarl this time. “And you know better than to call me that.”

“Remus, please.” He looks away because he’s been waiting to hear these words. Sirius
doesn’t plead or beg. He walks with his back straight and chin held high. Smiles like he’s in
on a terrible secret. And it’s terrible that the first time Sirius said sorry to him, he was in a
hospital bed and trembling, scared and confused.

Madam Pomfrey hovers over him, her diagnostic spell brighter and stronger than he’s seen it
in a while. His hip was dislocated, his head throbs because of his mild concussion, and new
scars litter all over his body. It’s not the worst moon he’s had, but it’s certainly up there. He
needs to know if they’re okay. Peter’s probably fine because he’s smaller, and James
sometimes sleeps in instead of coming to see Remus, but Sirius is always there when he wakes
up.

Usually, when Remus’ eyes flutter open, he sees dark eyebrows scrunched over concerned
grey eyes, Sirius’ hand clasped in his, and when Sirius realizes he’s awake, his entire face
lights up. He perks, his mouth splitting into a smile. Remus smiles back and squeezes his
hand to let him know he’s fine.

There’s none of that, and when the curtain flings open, Remus smiles reflectively at Sirius.
Something beeps, and Madam Pomfrey goes running to the other side of the infirmary, yelling
for potions.

“Hey, Pads.”

Sirius wrings his hands and shakes his head, his brows pulled over his eyes. He stumbles
forward, and Remus sees the fear that’s written on his face better.

“Hey.” Remus grabs Sirius’ hands and Sirius lets out a tortured breath. “Hey, hey. What’s
wrong? Did I hurt someone?”
Sirius shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut like it pains him. “I’m sorry. Fuck, Moons,
I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I wasn’t thinking. I—”

Something beeps again, and this time Remus looks up. Through the billowing curtain, he sees
Pomfrey casting spell after spell, and it’s Snape’s body she’s casting on. Remus jolts back.
“What?” he asks softly. He swallows. None of this makes sense. “What happened?” Because
what he thinks happened makes no sense. None of it makes any. . .

Remus turns to Sirius, who’s hyperventilating now. He’s squeezing Remus’ hands so hard it
starts to hurt.“Moony, I’m so—”

Remus hasn’t processed it yet, can’t even put the pieces together, but there’s guilt written all
over his face. Three things make up Sirius Black. Sirius doesn’t say sorry. Sirius doesn’t feel
guilty. Remus’ core is uneasy, and his brain is screaming at him to run away. Remus doesn’t
know him.

His hands slip out of Sirius’.

No, Remus doesn’t know him at all.

The third thing that makes him? Sirius doesn’t betray his friends.

“What the fuck—” There’s a strong laugh down the hall. They can’t have it out in public, so
Remus grasps Sirius’ arm and drags him into the nearest empty train car. Remus has never
been more thankful for being a prefect as he throws up a silencing charm. “What the fuck do
you want from me?”

“Remus—”

“You know, I never would’ve expected you.” Sirius’ jaw audibly snaps shut. “James, I could
see him accidentally letting it slip. Maybe it’d be around Lily, he’d be comfortable enough to
make offhand about being Animagi, and he’d ramble all the way to Azkaban. Peter would do
it to save his arse, but you, I thought you saw me as more than that.”

“I did! I do!”

“Well, you don’t!” Remus hates shouting, especially at Sirius, but he shouts then. “And you
can sit there with your guilty look all you want, but I’ll never forgive you. You hear me? You
ruined us.” Remus had hope. He thought he could escape from his nature. He thought he
could be normal. “You ruined me.”

Sirius shakes his head, nostrils flared and jaw clenched in determination. “That’s not true. I
can fix it.”

There wasn’t anything to fix. Years of friendship and secrets and small smiles passed in the
dark were destroyed. Remus couldn’t think at night, sometimes. His head was too busy going
over every single moment in his head, probing at sore spots and relishing in the burn.

Did Sirius love me there? Did he think of me as a monster here?

Remus loves torturing himself with their first moon together. What did Sirius think of him
here? When his eyes widened, was it in shock, awe, or realization that he had a suicidal
soldier? Someone dispensable.

Remus laughs. “How are you going to do that? How are you going to get me to trust you
again?” They passed cigarettes under moonlight. Pale fingers brushing tanned scared ones.
They whispered conversations in the dead of night, covering the other’s mouth when they
laughed too loudly. Remus supposes it was a sign. He should’ve noticed they could only like
each other in the dark. He goes still, cold, remembering everything he told Sirius. He
remembers the day when everything came together. Shattered glass being fit together, jagged
and right.

James was out trying to woo Lily, Peter was at Chess Club, and Remus got his letter of the
week from Mrs. Potter and a new record she’d sent him. Remus had watched as Sirius
listened to “Think” by Aretha Franklin for the first time. The childish, radiating joy of him
realizing someone felt the same as him, even in different situations. That day was perfect. His
hip didn’t hurt, Sirius laughed at all his jokes, and he didn’t have homework.

Remus watched the resolution in Sirius’ face as he said he’d never be like his parents.
Focused on the smooth line of his jaw, the softness of his hair spilled like ink on Remus’
pillow. A permanent claim to the spot that Remus sees constantly. And then Remus was
blabbering before he could stop himself, words tangling until Sirius promised. Sweared. “Did
you tell them?” Remus says now with a level of panic he’s never felt before. His voice is
deceptively calm, his muscles tense and ready to strike.

“Tell them what?”

Remus grabs Sirius by his collar and watches as pretty pink lips stretch around a gasp. “Did
you tell them that I’m gay!”

Light enters his eyes.“What? I didn’t. I wouldn’t do that to you, Moons.” His face goes soft,
but Remus knows better. Sirius used Remus like he used a cheap pack of smokes. Remus
wanted to hit him. He wanted Sirius to feel the gaping hole he put in Remus’ heart. But he
won’t. Remus is too weak to lay a hand on him. Remus lets go.“Wait, Remus, I didn’t mean it
like—”

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

“I won’t stop. You can’t make me. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Remus does a quick Tempus to check the time and realizes he’s already late for the prefect
meeting. He rubs a hand over his face and shrugs.

“I just don’t know if that’s enough.”

 —

“You can’t be angry every time I even talk! What the hell do you want from me? ” Sirius
yells.

James tugs on the back of Sirius’ collar. “O-kay I think you guys need a breather—”

“I already fucking told you!” Remus shouts right back. He dumps loads upon loads of clothes
onto his bed. Where the hell is his prefect badge? “Don’t talk to me! Don’t look at me! You
don’t have the right!”

“I’m worried about you, Remus.” Sirius swallows thickly. “You’re not acting like yourself.”

Snape screams, his face as white as the moon outside, and the wolf preens at the compliment.
Prongs in human form pushes Snape out of the way, making Moony slam straight into the
wall. It began to whine as its head pounded.

“Go!” James yells. “Go, Go!”

“The door’s spelled shut!” Snape cries.

Moony growls low, the entire world rumbling. It couldn’t walk straight, and its head was
dizzy, but it wouldn’t let its prey leave this room. Sharp claws and teeth out, Moony pounces.

The scariest part is that Remus can’t remember. James’ pensieve plays on a loop in his mind,
but he knows exactly what he was thinking. It was the same voice that sometimes lingers in
the back of his mind. It’s himself if he was angrier, more unhinged. Remus is an absolute
abomination, and he can’t control himself when he’s like that. He wakes up every day after
the full moon not knowing how much damage he’s done.
“I wonder whose fault that is,” Remus mumbles at last.

James sucks in a breath. “Remus. . .” he warns.

“Oh, what now? I can’t be upset he almost made me kill a guy?”

“I mean,” Peter says quietly. Everyone turns to him. He cringes under the attention but keeps
going.“It’s almost been a year, man. And it’s your feelings, you were the one who was
betrayed. You’re here, but you aren’t here. Pads’ been going through a lot lately.”

Remus is speechless. Peter’s the last one he thought would come to Sirius’ aid, especially
against Remus. Quite suddenly, he realizes he’s alone in this. They’ve all moved on, and he’s
still in that shack. He still has Snape’s blood on his hands, he’s still listening to James’ pleas
for him to stop. Lyall is right about him. He’s still a monster.

Sirius steps up. “What do I have to do? Do you want to hurt me back? Do you want revenge?
Remus, tell me, and I’ll do it.”

The worst part is that Sirius is completely and utterly sincere. It would’ve been better if
Sirius was pure evil, and he did it and never apologized and Remus would live the rest of his
life never trusting a person he loved again. Remus looks into Sirius’ beseeching eyes that
chip his walls down with each gaze.

Remus still can’t trust him. The issue ran so deep, that he practiced religiously over the
summer to improve his magic. He wouldn’t be pushed around and made vulnerable again.
Not by Snape’s endless vague comments about his lycanthropy or Sirius’s betrayals. He holds
out his hand and (wordlessly and wandlessly) Accios his prefect badge to his hand. Sirius’
eyes widen at his sudden magic. Without saying another word, Remus walks out, slamming
the door behind him.

By the time he arrives to relieve the prefects on patrol, he’s wound up tight like an Auror
waiting to give the final blow.
“You’re late, Lupin,” a voice drawls. Regulus Black waits for him at the end of the corridor.
Remus doesn’t even dignify that with a response because he can’t deal with another Black
today. Regulus seems happy with the arrangement because the silence between them isn’t
awkward or uncomfortable. Actually, for the first time in hours, he feels relaxed.

He doesn’t know much about Regulus. Remus knows he’s a “horrible, back-stabbing,
dramatic little bitch” and “extremely vain” and “happy to walk in mummy and daddy
dearest’s shoes.” Which from the dramatic lens of Sirius Black’s eyes doesn’t say a lot. The
night Sirius escaped, he’d been beaten half to death and showed up at the Potter’s house via
Floo, which wasn’t originally a part of the plan.

A month after the Aretha Incident, Sirius told the Marauders he wanted to leave. James, who
had been pushing Sirius to leave since the first year, had told Sirius to simply not go back for
break.

With the help of Peter and Remus, they developed a stealth plan. He’d go back for the
summer and vacations, and slowly but surely start moving his possessions to his Uncle
Alphard’s place. They reignited the Floo link to Uncle Alphard’s flat in Soho and the Potter’s
main house in Yorkshire in case of emergency.

Except about a week into school last year, Alphard had died, leaving his entire fortune and
flat to Sirius. A day later, The Prank happened. When Sirius left for Christmas break, he’d
been angry enough to make his parents snap. He’d been living at the Potters ever since.

Peter had no idea what he was talking about. Even though Remus never asked one of the
Marauders what was happening, Effie kept him updated on everything that happened, even if
it cut a little deep. Such as:

Peter came over today and Monty and I took all the kids to Diagon Alley. We got ice cream
and laughed until our stomachs ached when James snorted Rocky Road out of his nose.
Wished you were here.

or:
Sirius seemed a bit down a couple of days ago. I know you two are on the rocks, but I know
you, Remus. And even if you two are never close again, I know you don’t want him to be
unhappy. Maybe you could send him something to keep his spirits up? I only ask that you
think about it.

or even:

I MISS YOU!!!! Please come over soon! I’ll quarantine Sirius in his room if you want. I’ve
been meaning to give you some muggle books to read.

Regulus suddenly stops and sits down on a bench outside. He pulls out a fag and lights it with
his wand, the orange bud lighting up his face. The soft wind blows through his hair, making
his soft midnight curls ruffle. Remus sits down next to him, noticing that Regulus already has
a singular grey hair, and takes a fag when offered.

Regulus sighs. “So what the hell’s been going on with you and my brother?”

Remus decides he likes Regulus more when he’s silent. “Why do you care?” It’s a valid
question. Sirius had tried to connect with Regulus if the screaming in the hallways was
anything to go by.

He shrugs and mumbles, “Only trying to start some conversation.”

Remus stares at him. The thing that Remus noticed about Regulus Black is that he’s a
watcher, very observant. Regulus is so good at potions, that he was moved up to his class a
couple of years back (which Sirius didn’t fail to complain about for at least two months). He
knew Regulus was watching when he brushed off Sirius every day. He knew Regulus
watched as Snape threw jinxes at him and sneered. When he slid into the prefect train
compartment late, Regulus was already watching with cool grey eyes.

And doesn’t it sound like the beginning of a bad joke? Two observers are locked inside a
room . . . which one is the observer and which one is observed?
They’d gotten close over the past year. By close, he means sometimes they make polite
conversation and sit next to each other in the Astronomy Tower while they smoke and read
and draw.

Regulus probably already had half of the situation figured out, so it wasn’t that important to
him to try to stop Regulus from being an overprotective brother.

Remus blew his smoke into rings. “I can’t tell you the whole thing because Dumbledore and
magical promises are involved.”

Regulus swears under his breath. “What did that idiot do now?”

Remus laughs. “I had a secret, he told Snape, Snape almost died. . .”

Moony ambles up the stairs where Prongs’ attempting to undo the wards he’s unraveled
before. It swipes out its paws and scratches deep at Snape’s back, arms, and legs, basking in
his screams. Blood sprays over the walls. It licks up the sharp, metallic taste of blood and it’s
ears perk up at the taste. Moony’s mouth hovers over Snape’s neck when James relaxes and
says, “It’s okay, Remus, I forgive you. It’s not your fault. I already forgive you.”

The door opens, and James scrambles to drag Snape out while Moony stays frozen.

“Was it bad?”

“It was terrible.”

“Your secret.” Regulus stares at the side of his face, but Remus doesn’t look back. “Is it that
you’re a—”

Remus closes his eyes. He doesn’t care if Regulus figured it out, he just can’t face what he
truly is right now.
James puts a hand on Remus’ shoulder. Peter holds Remus’ hand. James slowly explains
what happened. Sirius was in a bad mood, he told Snape how to open the Whomping Willow,
Sirius, Sirius, Sirius. . .

Remus covers his mouth and tries not to vomit. Instead, tears leak from his eyes.

“Please don’t say it.”

They’re in Dumbledore’s office. Remus is in the middle of his parents, his father stiff,
disappointment rolling off him waves, and his mother runs a hand through Remus’ hair. The
Potters are there, James in the middle of them, his hair more wild than normal. Snape and his
dad are there too, and so are the Blacks.

James’ pensive plays. Mam’s hand slowly falls from his hair as the screams get louder. Remus
watches as it grazes its teeth into Snape’s abdomen. He feels Walburga’s curious gaze on him,
Snape’ burning one as he refuses to look at the memory, but Remus can’t tear away his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but it’s so quiet under the screams. It goes unheard except by Mam.

“Oh, Remus,” she says, tilting his head so it lays on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, trembling. His eyes are open as far as they can be, taking in what
he’s done, what the horrible monster that lives inside his body has done. The shame of his
actions revealing itself to Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes and Sirius’ horrified ones. James’ are
squeezed closed and his hands are clamped over his ears.“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m—”

It’s silent as they finish their cigarettes.

“Well alright.”
 Ribs
Chapter Notes

no content warnings :)

This dream isn’t felling sweet

We’re reeling through the midnight streets

And I’ve never felt more alone

It feels so scary, getting old

-Lorde

Regulus Black has been watching Remus Lupin for years. Well, that sounds creepy. He’s
been watching Sirius and all of his friends for years. That certainly doesn’t sound any better.
Tip #6 of making friends: if you consider yourself brutally honest or blunt, work on your
delivery.

The point is, Regulus knows what he’s doing.

Peter is Wormtail, Wormy, occasionally Pete. He’s quiet, a gossip, and surprisingly has the
best menacing stare out of all the Marauders.

Sirius is Padfoot, Pads. He’s loud, brazen, thinks he’s cool because on Hogsmeade days he
wears a leather jacket.

Always three feet away from Sirius is Prongs. He’s loud, popular, nice, he supposes. Quite
boring if you were to ask Regulus. Which you wouldn’t. There isn’t any reason for anyone to
ever ask Regulus about James Fleamont Potter. James doesn’t even seem to realize that
Regulus is there. Sometimes, James will look him in the eye and not recognize him for a few
seconds. Or James’ll look at him, open his mouth, say “Pad—” and shut his mouth so hard
his jaw rattles.

That doesn’t hurt at all.

Regulus is fine with it. It’s preferable, actually. He doesn’t want to be within three feet of
Potter. He can’t stand the smell of him: citrus, broom polish, cool air. He can’t stand the fact
that Potter thinks he’s all that. And most of all, he can’t stand that Potter is the opposite of
Regulus, and yet Sirius likes James better. Sirius likes James so much, he openly proclaims
how much he loves him, how much he’s like a brother to him.

Now that, that doesn’t sting at all.

And Moony. The one that sticks to the shadows, the one that the rest of the boys seem to
gravitate around. Sirius always looks at him with the face he uses to pick up girls. James
always goes to him when he needs to calm down. And Peter and Remus play chess together
in the Gryffindor common room as often as possible (don’t ask how Regulus figured that
out).

It all changed about a year ago. The pranks stopped. Remus looked more haggard before and
after the full moon than he used to. The rumors stirred up when Remus disappeared from
meals, Sirius and James always looked miserable, and Snape was in the infirmary.

Remus, practically alienated, started spending more time with Regulus. They nod when they
see each other in the hallways, they share fags if the other runs out, and if one of them is
especially desperate, they’ll ask for help with homework. The comfortable silence they exist
in doesn’t need to be filled. Regulus’ mother told him he needed to be more outspoken and
friendly. Remus doesn’t seem to mind when Regulus snaps at him. He simply raises an
eyebrow and turns away.

Remus doesn’t try to change him, try to touch him, or try to make him talk. They circle each
other seamlessly as planets and moons that work in tandem. If his brother wouldn’t treat
Lupin right, he would.
And if it garners the attention of a certain messy-haired boy, Regulus wouldn’t be unhappy
about it.

If you told Remus Lupin that he’d be going up to Lily and asking to share every prefect
patrol with Regulus Black, he would’ve laughed in your face.

Sure, they have a level of understanding and respect, but every day with that prick? I’d drive
Remus crazy. But crazy doesn’t seem too bad these days. He’d take any other experience
over the repeat of that night. If hanging out with Regulus and his scowls and sourness is what
Remus needs to forget, then he’ll crawl into bed with him to sleep for fuck’s sake.

After breakfast in the kitchens, he’s begging at the feet of Lily Evans. Lily only gives him a
strange look (Remus would do the same if he were Lily) before hesitantly nodding. Remus is
only a little late to Potions class, so he calls it a win. When he’s rounding the corner, he
bumps into someone. Remus is all elongated limbs and skinny muscle, and if it were any
normal person he’s run into, they’d already be sprawled on the ground.

Regulus Black has never been a normal person.

“Ah, shite, my bad mate,” Remus says, trying to look unaffected by Regulus’ unyielding
stare. “Well, I’ll just squeeze past you—”

Regulus blocks his path.

Remus laughs, brushes a hand through his hair, and tries to move past again. They engage in
a little dance for a bit in which Remus is sure he’ll give out on first (bad joints, not a
Quidditch player). “Black, I’m trying to get to class.”
“I have to tell you something.”

Remus lifts an eyebrow.

“We’re friends now,” Regulus deadpans.

Remus has somehow impressed the Slytherin Ice Prince. He should probably have more of a
reaction and tell Regulus to fuck right off, but he can’t be arsed. He’s not afraid to admit that
he’s been lonely. Lily is a great study buddy, but he seems to cease to exist when she and
Mary get to teasing. The Marauders are more than a little awkward, so Remus exists in a
strange grey space. It’s not unlike how it was before Hogwarts. Remus was the weird kid who
gained scars every month and was homeschooled. The children on the playground would zip
past him laughing. They’d give him hesitant, judging looks when he asked to join games.

Remus has always been a lonely child.

He doesn’t want to be one again. “Naturally.”

“And what’s something friends do?”

“Let the other go to class?”

“No, they sit together.”

Completely lost, it’s in Remus’ best interest to agree. “. . . Okay?”

Regulus gives a firm nod, seeming immensely satisfied. “So you’ll sit with me in Potions, at
food breaks, Quidditch matches, and the library.”
“Oh, sure. Let me clear my plans and make way because Regulus of The Most Ancient and
Noble House of Black demands my presence.” Remus rolls his eyes, the audacity of the
Black brothers.

“As you should.” Regulus finally moves out of the way, and they continue to class together.
“It’s not like you have better plans. Unless you want to sit with your little Marauders.”
Regulus does this thing with his mouth that Remus thinks is supposed to be a smile.

“Not like your friends are any better.”

“Well, now you’re only insulting yourself, Lupin.”

“Do you call all your friends by their last name?”

“Most of them.”

Remus pulls open the door to Potions and bows low, sweeping his hand out. “My liege.”

Regulus sniffs.“It’s lord.”

They step inside. Slughorn is in the middle of a demonstration. His cauldron is bubbling pink
as he and the rest of the class look at them.“And where have you two been?” Slughorn asks.
Slughorn has never liked Remus, so he’s not expecting to get off easy. “By being late, you’re
disturbing my lesson. My reprimanding you is taking time out of my day and your
classmates. I expect better from you, Regulus. Det—”

“Professor Slughorn,” Regulus says aghast. “You mentioned last year that the first thing on
our agenda when we came back was reviewing Amortentia.” Amortentia is written in capital
letters on the board. Regulus slips his nimble fingers into his robe pocket and slips out two
vials. “I read a book over the summer explaining the benefits of using rose thorns and petals
harvested on a full moon. I don’t have the facilities to harvest enough for the whole class, but
I thought you’d like to try it out. I was trying to remember where I put it when Lupin came to
tell me I’d be late for class.” It’s the most Remus has heard him speak since he’s known him.

Slughorn holds the vials with the utmost care and reverence. “I—that is very considerate of
you, my boy! Five points to Slytherin.” His expression hardens. “I’m sorry, but I still have to
—”

Regulus frowns harder than he usually does. “My mother will be so disappointed you don’t
like it. She picked the thorns herself.”

Slughorn completely crumbles at the mention of Walburga. Remus bites the inside of his
cheek to keep from laughing. “Well, I suppose if it’s just this once. . .”

Regulus turns his head away from the class and smiles at Slughorn. It’s not one of his creepy
smirks or a sarcastic grin. It’s a real, hearty, beam of light that steals the breath from Remus’
chest. Never in a million years would Remus do anything with Regulus, but he can still
appreciate his graceful, timeless beauty.

Dazed, Remus follows Regulus to the very back of the room.

“You planned that, didn’t you? You dirty dog,” Bartemius Crouch Jr. says with his crazed
eyes gleaming. Regulus sits down next to Remus and raises his eyebrows in response.
Bartemius turns on his stool and leans his elbows on their table, getting all up in Regulus’
face and batting his eyelashes. “I wonder what that smart mouth of yours could do to me
tonight,” he purrs.

No one flinches at the comment. Everyone knows that the only things Barty loves are having
a good time and pissing off his father. He flirts with everything that moves and has
propositioned Remus once. Now that Remus has stopped holding out hope that Sirius will see
the light and fall in love with him, he regrets saying no.

“Barty,” Evan Rosier drawls. “Manners. Turn around.”

Bartemius grumbles but follows the instructions like a dog called to halt. Evan bites
something back that has Barty fuming. He shoves Evan. Evan shoves Bartemius back. They
bicker and shove each other, but there’s no heat to it. Their banter has an ease that only comes
with being close for a long time.

Watching them, Remus allows himself a moment of weakness. In the quiet of his mind, he
lets himself feel a pang in his chest. It’s the longing and yearning for a friendship that can’t
ever be the same.

Regulus and Remus collect the ingredients for Amortentia. They listen dutifully and stir it as
instructed. Regulus smells his potion and freezes. A couple of seconds pass, and he’s still
frozen. Remus sighs and decides to give him an out. “I knew the ingredients smelled weird.”

Regulus blinks, startled. “What?”

“The rose petals must have wilted. What you smell, it’s defective.”

Regulus studies him, then nods sharply. “Right, yes.” He clears his throat. “Must be.”

Remus leans over his and sniffs, scared at what he might smell. The first thing is the dusty
odor of old parchment and books, his mum’s double chocolate chip biscuits, toast with four
different jams, and a freshly laundered jumper. He can’t stop himself, the notes of home and
comfort wrap around him, and he takes a deep breath through his nose.

And there it is—the stench of fags deepens and shifts to his brand. Behind it is stiff leather,
cheap coconut shampoo, and motorbike grease. He hears his bark of laughter, the Quidditch
stands chanting “Black!” over and over, Queen, and “Think” by Aretha Franklin. Beneath his
fingers is Padfoot’s hair, Sirius’ soft loose curls, silky skin, the rumble of his singing and
guitar.

The experience of Amortentia is a lot like being in love with Sirius Black, all-consuming.
Remus would be disappointed, except he’s missed this version of Sirius. The version of him
that sent him sly smiles that were only meant for Remus. The version at birthdays and
Christmas that would give him poorly wrapped gifts with a sheepish, apologetic look. Merlin,
Remus can stand here forever. He can feel himself unwinding. He’ll breathe it in for as long
as he lives. His heart chants over and over like the crazed Quidditch stands. “Sirius, Sirius,
Sirius.” The wolf passes, agitated in his chest. “Pads, Pads, Padfoot,” it demands.

A stool clatters onto the floor, breaking Remus out of his reverie. Sirius Black is freaking the
fuck out. Not many people would be able to tell. Sirius puts on his blank face, apologizes for
the ruckus, then picks up the stool and settles down. James flitters over to him, trying to talk
him out of that safe space in the dark corner of Sirius’ mind. Then Sirius’ eyes suddenly land
on Remus.

Remembering he’s not supposed to care, Remus lifts an eyebrow, then turns back to his
potion. Remus is stuck in his head, wondering what it is with Black brothers and Amortentia,
when Regulus speaks for the first time since the beginning of class.

“He smelt you.”

Remus’ hand spasms and his quill falls onto the parchment. “Wha—”

Regulus casts a quick Silencio at Remus’ throat, which was only slightly deserved. It’s not
Remus’ fault that Regulus is totally off his rocker. Sirius? In love with Remus? The buff guy
who wears leather jackets and spends his time looking at motorcycle magazines, is what, a
queer? The same one who tells them to clear the dorms once a week because he’s bringing a
girl around?

Remus laughs. It’s a silent laugh, but he laughs nonetheless. He braces a hand on his stomach
as it contracts. Regulus stares at him, face passive, as Remus wipes the tears from his eyes.

“Are you done?”

Remus goes on one last fit that leaves him breathless and wheezing.
“He’s looking at you,” Regulus murmurs. “Right now. He’s staring hard.” The laughter gets
sucked up from Remus and he goes still. He takes a short look at Sirius and sees him staring
with a face of stone. “He’s pissed we’re talking to each other.”

Remus lifts an eyebrow and gestures at his throat. Regulus reverses the spell. “He’s probably
just zoned out. He does that a lot,” Remus says.

“Zoning out or staring at you? Or is it both?”

Remus rolls his eyes. “You’re ao—”

“Oh, and would you look at that? Snape’s looking too.” Regulus smirks. “My, my, Lupin.
You are busy.”

“Busy bottling up this potion,” he quips. Remus puts some of his Amortentia into a vial for
Slughorn to grade as Regulus does. Together, they walk up to the front of the class. “When’s
your free period? I’m afraid I’m not a stalker like—”

Remus crashes to the floor, his hand curling around his vial so it doesn’t break. It’s his fault.
He should be prepared for a tripping jinx when walking near Snape’s desk. “Loopy Lupin,”
he sneers. “I can’t wait for the day they lock your arse in Azkaban.”

You’ll be waiting for a long time, Remus thinks as he gets up. Regulus’ lips are thin, but he
doesn’t say anything, which Remus is grateful for. They’re putting their vials on Slughorn’s
desk when there’s a commotion behind them.

“Pads don’t—”

“Oi Sluggy, are you blind!?”

Remus closes his eyes and braces himself for what he’s about to see. The whole classroom is
looking at the spectacle. Sirius is out of his chair, halfway to Snape’s desk with James
attempting to pull him back.

“I didn’t do anything.” Snape sniffs and ignores Sirius. Sirius breaks out of James’ grasp and
lifts his wand. It’s futile, because his wand is flying away with a quick Expelliarmus from
Slughorn.

“Sirius Black! I do not condone violence in my classroom.”

Sirius’ jaw drops. “Snape just sent Remus flying to the floor!”

Slughorn looks at Snape. “Wand. Now, my boy.” Slughorn does a spell to check the wand’s
history and sees the jinx. Remus can’t help but feel a little smug. There’s no way Slughorn
can pass the harassment this time.

“Black, Snape, Lupin,” Slughorn says solemnly. “You all have detention this afternoon with
me. Ten points from each of you for your respective houses.”

Remus finds his voice. “I didn’t do anything,” he says. He’s loud. Louder then he intended
for it to come out.

“Well, I hardly suspect one of my top students to do something like that unprovoked, my
boy.”

“I’m one of your top students,” Remus snaps. “I’ve been one of your top students since I
bumbled in here barely knowing how to use my wand. I’m on track to be salutatorian of my
class, this is my second year of being a prefect and you know it.”

“Now see here—”

“I’ve been nothing but a model student for years and you still treat me like shite! Snape’s
been harassing me for the better part of an entire school year right in front of your face and
you’ve done nothing! You’re an embarrassment to educators everywhere!”

“MR. LUPIN! Detention for the rest of the week and twenty points from Gryffindor!” Remus
doesn’t care. He’s already out of the room. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m talking to McGonagall.” He slams the door shut.

Remus sips his tea, feeling more at ease as he spends time in her presence. “Professor
Minnie, his blatant favoritism is starting to get out of hand. It’s ridiculous to watch! He lets
all the Slytherins do whatever they want because they’re his precious little angel babies who
could never do harm.” He feels himself getting wound up again so he sips his tea. “I’m sorry
to bother you, but I didn’t do anything. You can check the memory if it’s necessary. I think
it’s preposterous that I’m being punished in all this mess.”

Professor McGonagall must be on his side because she doesn’t remind him to call her
McGonagall. She waves her hand. “Checking the memory won’t be necessary. I’ll try to
lessen your punishment as much as I can.”

“Thank you, but I’m quite busy, I don’t have time for detention whatsoever.”

She almost cracks a smile. “Mr. Lupin, you screamed at a teacher and walked out of class.
I’m afraid you’ll have to do something to make up for it.”

Remus frowns, biting his lip. He might have to skip Lily’s study group to make time for it.
He’ll have to do his homework during other classes because he won’t have the afternoons due
to detention and prefect duties. He’s feeling terrible because he screamed at Slughorn, even if
he did deserve it.

“Oh no, this won’t be on my record, will it? You won’t have to tell my parents?” Remus asks.
McGonagall stirs her tea idly, clears her throat, and takes a sip. “Professor McGonagall.”

“I’m sorry but it’s out of my—”

Remus groans and presses the heel of palms into his eyes.

Remus presses his quill tip into the parchment. He writes, “I WILL NOT TALK BACK. I
WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY.”

“Remus—”

He presses the tip further into the parchment, scratching endlessly. I WILL NOT TALK
BACK. I WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY.

“Moony, please.”

“Oh, God,” Snape spits out. “You call him Moony? You’re both disgusting.”

Blood painting the wall—screams slicing through the air—the heavy, intoxicating scent of
terrified humans. The wolf Remus throws its head back and howls in pure delight.
Remus dips his quill into the inkwell. The ink splatters on the page. Over and over in neat
handwriting. I WILL NOT TALK BACK. I WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY. I WILL NOT
TALK BACK. I WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY.

“It’s okay, Remus, I forgive you. It’s not your fault. I already forgive you.”

I WILL NOT TALK BACK. I WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY.

“Don’t make me bring up that disgusting mess of grease you call hair, Snivellus.”

I WILL NOT TALK BACK. I WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY.

“It’s okay, Remus, I forgive you. It’s not your fault. I already forgive you.”

“Merlin, Lupin, let up a little.” Snape places a hand on Remus’ shoulder and Remus snaps his
quill. Everyone pauses. Remus reaches into his robe pocket and brings out another quill.

I WILL NOT TALK BACK. I WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY.

I WILL NOT TALK BACK. I WILL RESPECT AUTHORITY.

...

I WILL TALK BACK. I WILL NOT RESPECT AUTHORITY.

 My Dog Died
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-self hatred and deprecation (Remus)

-little bit of cringe, but this chap is so necessary

Do they notice I’m not saying a word, so

Tell me, tell me you need me

Is it a burden to know me?

I’m in the back while my friend’s riding shotgun

-Susannah Joffe

“When did you figure it out?”

“Figure out what?”

They’re in the Astronomy Tower, sharing the last fag they have. The almost full moon taunts
him, and it’s making him uneasy. “About my furry little problem.”

Regulus takes a sharp breath in, accidentally breathing in the smoke. He pounds on his chest
as Remus laughs. “I don’t know, maybe two or three years back?” He takes a more controlled
breath. “Once I started to pay attention, I knew it, but I denied it.”

“What made you stop denying it?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone knows. If you want to make it less
suspicious, go to the infirmary more often. It’s too obvious that it’s only around a certain
time.”

“Reg,” Remus drawls. Regulus scrunches his nose at the name.

“I—” The fag keeps burning in his useless fingers. Remus takes it and inhales the last hit
before squishing the lit filter with his fingers. “Come on, back to work.” Regulus gets up and
pulls out his wand.

“Regulus, mate.” Remus copies Regulus’ movements, studying and moving around him. His
wand is relaxed but poised to be used any second. “You can’t leave me high and dry.”

Regulus strikes out suddenly, and Remus barely moves out of the way of his stinging hex.
“Pay attention,” Regulus barks.

Remus has been getting better throughout their training sessions. His limbs have grown lithe
muscles, and he feels like he’s in better shape. His skin is less pale and he doesn’t feel like
he’ll keel over and cark it any second anymore. Remus still hasn’t managed to beat Regulus
in a duel, and Remus isn’t too sure he’ll ever beat him. Regulus is just that good. He’s fast
and agile, and seems to guess what Remus will throw out before Remus even forms the
thought. But, he has won many games of chess against Regulus, which never fails to make
Regulus upset.

Still, he’s blossomed so acutely he’s barely even himself. Both of their hand push his limbs to
win their fights, to reroute his mind to think faster. With every game, mental and physical, he
changes for the better. It’s a challenge to keep up with him. He used to be pushed into a very
small box, and now he can stretch his legs. His tongue is wittier, cunning, fast, like a whip.

Regulus throws out a quick jelly legs jinx that Remus dodges quite easily. Immediately after,
Regulus throws out a binding charm that has Remus falling to the floor. “You’re getting
better,” Regulus says. The git isn’t even out of breath.
“Fuck, am I?” He struggles against the binds. “Undo these.”

Regulus doesn’t answer. He sits next to Remus and pulls out a bag full of spliffs. “I’ve been
doing some research. Take one of these before the full and it’ll help relax you. Should help
with the pain.”

“Oh.” Remus blinks. “Thank you.” Regulus is all stiff at the affection. He gets like that
sometimes when their friendship overwhelms him. It makes him so fucking sad. God, if he
ever sees Walburga and what’s his name again. . .

Remus puffs out a dramatic breath and tries to sound more posh. “I—that is very considerate
of you, Regulus. Eighty points to Slytherin!” He sounds exactly like Slughorn, and Remus is
proud of himself.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but a smirk tugs at his lips. He starts to relax, even though it’s only a
little bit. “Shut up.”

“No, really, Mr. Black! You’re the best student I’ve had in years! Now, my boy, if you could
convince your mother to owl me—” The binds tighten on Remus’ body. He laughs. “Listen, I
don’t care what you like in the bedroom, but we aren’t there. If you could rid these ropes so I
can go to bed, I’d be very much appreciated.”

“I’ve been thinking—”

Remus groans. When Regulus thinks, it usually means he’s going to be sucked into
something physically draining or mind-numbingly boring. He once sat in the library with him
because Regulus needed help with his O.W.Ls. Regulus didn’t need help at all as it turned out
(Remus had tried to explain something and it offended Regulus so badly he stopped that
tutoring session), and Remus spent that whole time being talked at about God knows what for
two hours.

“I’ve been thinking,” Regulus says a bit louder. “You need to stop fighting yourself.”
Fighting himself? If this is going to be a philosophical debate he’ll need at least two more
cigs and a beer to sip on. Ever since Remus introduced him to Camus, he’s been absolutely
insufferable. “What do you mean?”

“I—” Regulus twists the ring on his pinky, the only sign that’s actively thinking or nervous.
“I told you I’ve been doing some research, and I don’t think your. . . furry little problem is
supposed to hurt as much as it does.” Regulus pauses to make sure he’s not overstepping, and
Remus isn’t sure whether he is.

If it were anyone else, Remus would already be yelling. It always makes Remus feel weird
talking about Moony, but Regulus is only trying to help. He swallows down the weariness in
his throat. Tries to keep an open mind. “Go on,” he grits out.

“I don’t expect the transformation to be pain-free, but you have a lot of visual evidence that
makes me suspect that you and your wolf are uncomfortable with each other.” Regulus talks
carefully, like he planned what he’d say.

“The wolf inflicts wounds when it’s agitated,” Remus says automatically. He cringes at his
defensive tone and tries to calm down. “It doesn’t like to be indoors or isolated.” He parrots
the exact words of one of the specialists he saw as a kid in Belgium? Perhaps Japan? They all
blur together at this point.

“Yes, but why is he so agitated?” Regulus sounds like a humanities professor trying to figure
out a poem. “Why doesn’t he like to be indoors when he’s a part of you?” Regulus makes eye
contact, which he never does, and Remus knows what Regulus is about to say next will
obliterate him. “And why do you keep calling yourself it?”

Remus is right. Five points to Gryffindor. “It’s not me. It’s Moony,” he croaks.

“Your friends call you Moony when you’re not in wolf form. You get cranky around the full
moon and tired after it. I’ll bet that if you’re feeling stressed, it carries over to Moony. It’s not
like you two are completely and utterly different identities living in the same body. If I cast
my Patronus, it’s not an animal that represents me, it’s an animal that embodies my
happiness. If I were an Animagus, it wouldn’t be the animal version of me, it’d be my brain
in an animal’s body. An animal that is most like me.
“You are just as much of a werewolf now as you are when you’re an actual wolf. It doesn’t
make you any more or less lovely. It’s just you. You if you were a bit more feral, out of
control, and more of an animal, but it’s still you.”

Remus turns his head, so Regulus doesn’t have to see him cry. “Now, I want you to take off
the binds by yourself. You are magic, and so are the ropes. Reach into the magic that’s around
us, that’s inside of you, and make the ropes disappear. Don’t think.”

Remus closes his eyes and fights tears. He blows out a breath and imagines magic particles
sprinkled throughout. The incessant throbbing in his hip is a reminder of Moony. His wolf,
his magic. He feels Regulus’ core, the magic that lies in the bones of Hogwarts, he can smell
it, taste it, see it, hear it thrumming in his blood. There’s a constant need to protect, and he
uses it to find a branch of Regulus. He focuses on the branch and untangles it gently. This
magic is light, airy, it giggles as Remus does his work.

The need to protect dials down. He opens his eyes and squints. The binds have unraveled as
if they’ve split in half, and Remus watches as they slowly fade away.

“Holy shit, Lupin.” Remus looks at Regulus, whose eyes are bright and whose jaw is dropped
in child-like awe. “Your eyes are glowing yellow.”

Remus’ canines feel huge in his mouth. The throbbing in his hip has gone away. “Must be
Moony. This shite only happens right before I’m about to turn.”

“It must be in response to strong magic.”

Remus feels amazing and powerful, and Regulus is looking at him like he hung the moon and
—

“Remus,” Regulus mumbles. “You’re amazing.”

Remus isn’t sure who leaned in first, but they’re kissing. Regulus grabs the collar of Remus’
shirt and Remus shifts to sit properly. Regulus’ lips are cold, but his mouth is so, so warm.
Remus explores it with his tongue as his hands trail Regulus’ body. They find his waist and
pull him in closer. They groan into each other’s mouths.

“Pads—”

“James—”

Remus has never felt his dick shrivel up and die so quickly in his life. He blinks away the lust
and realizes that he’s touching Regulus Black. He kissed Regulus Black, who moaned out the
name of his best friend. Queer Regulus Black. “I—what the fuck did you call me?”

Regulus is just as shocked as he is. “What did you call me?”

“I look nothing like him!”

“I can’t believe you were kissing me thinking about my brother!”

“I can’t believe you were fucking kissing me thinking about my brother!”

Regulus wipes his mouth over and over. “Don’t say that. That’s gross.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” Regulus snaps.

“Wipe your mouth like my breath stinks. I’m not that bad.”
“Lupin, you’re hot. Does that make you feel better?”

“Well, you’re hot too!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

Remus huffs and turns away. He can’t believe he kissed Regulus. It was a decent kiss, and by
decent he means great. But he can’t date or even have a fling with Regulus. Not only does the
thought slightly repulse him, but Regulus is still living with the Black family. Remus is pretty
sure Regulus doesn’t share the same beliefs with his family, but he’d rather not be caught up
in all that drama.

The more Remus thinks about it, the more deflated he feels. Regulus is a genuine friend he’s
made over the past couple of weeks, and it’s taken a lot of work to get to where they are now.
He doesn’t know if he can handle losing another friend, especially a good one.

He sighs and wrangles his pride. “Reg, I’m sorry. This can’t happen again, but I’d like to stay
friends if that’s alright with you.”

Regulus sniffs with his arms crossed over his chest. “I suppose I can tolerate that.”

Remus rolls his hide even though his chest blooms. “Don’t sound too excited now.”

“Oh, can’t you tell? Being friends with the Casanova of Gryffindor Tower is my greatest
feat.”

Remus bursts out laughing. “The Casanova of Gryffindor Tower! That’s a new one!”
—

Remus’ full moon was so great that James and Peter were shocked. Remus chalked it up to
the joint he took and said that they were probably exaggerating. But, Remus has a secret. A
secret that he doesn’t think he’ll tell anyone. Not even Regulus.

He remembers the whole night. The crisp night wind was running through his fur, his howls
were loud. He felt Moony’s giddiness at sharing the moment with Remus. He wanted the
night to last forever.

Two days after the full, Remus is sleeping in his bed. He rolls out of bed smiling. Remus
knows he woke up on time because James is already awake.

James’ face lights up at the sight of Remus. “You alright mate?”

The dorm is the perfect temperature, and he feels fully rested, even though sleep still lingers.
“Bloody brilliant.”

“I’m going out for a jog as Prongs in the forest. You should come, the animals miss you.”

Remus smiles. “Maybe next time.”

Remus goes to his closet to get a jumper. He reaches for his favourite, but then realizes it’s
not there. He figures he must have left it lying around somewhere. Remus gets his thick, soft,
brown jumper to combat the cloudy weather.

“Hey, mate?” James asks. His voice is high, like how it gets when he lies. Remus turns to see
James fixing his glasses, running a hand through his hair.

“Prongs?” Remus frowns. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah! It’s just—I was wondering where you go every night? With the map?” By I Remus
knows he means we. Remus notices that Sirius’ curtains aren’t drawn, and his bed is empty.
His scent is still in the room.

Remus sighs and walks up to James, whose eyes are growing wider the closer he walks.
“James?”

“Yeah?” he squeaks.

Remus points a thumb at James’ bed, his good mood rapidly depleting. “Tell Sirius I said to
mind his own business.” Remus quickly Accios his prefect badge. He pats James’ shoulder
and grins. “Have a good day, Prongs. I’ll see you later, yeah?” He strolls out to meet Regulus
for their patrol.

“Lupin, you got out of bed?” Regulus asks with a blank face. Remus smiles. “I was preparing
to brave the halls of Hogwarts by myself.”

“How the hell could I ever miss out on an opportunity to see such a beautiful, hospitable, soft
face?”

Regulus raises one sharp eyebrow.

“See? Let me get my camera so I can stay in bed next time.”

“You know it’s better to see in person,” he says dryly.

“Why the fuck are we walking so fast? You know I’ve got smoker’s lungs.”

“I have something to show you.”

Remus’ eyebrows shoot up. “Skivving off our duties?” Remus stops. He hovers a hand over
Regulus’ shoulder because he knows Reg doesn’t like to be touched. “Who are you? What
have you done with Regulus Black?” he says severely.

“Oh, bugger off.”

“Bugger off?” He hovers a hand over Regulus’ forehead like he’s checking his temperature.
“Now I know something’s wrong.”

“We have to go to the seventh floor.” Regulus pushes him back, and Remus gets a big whiff
of Sirius Black. It startles Remus so bad he flinches. Regulus notices and pauses. Remus
turns and sniffs the air as the scent of James Potter and Sirius Black fades. “What’s wrong?”
Regulus unholsters his wand.

Remus focuses on the floor and tries to see through any charms. He sees two pairs of shoes
hurrying down the hall. He focuses on sounds and hears the soft scuffle of feet and the rustle
of a cloak. Remus lifts his wand and casts a binding charm at empty space. Two bodies crash
to the floor.

Remus goes over to the sounds of people fighting with Regulus trailing behind.

“I told you we shouldn’t have—”

“Oh, shut it Prongs.”

Remus vanishes the ropes over the invisible figures. “Take off the cloak.”

“Reggie’s right ther—”

“Take off the fucking cloak, Sirius.”

James is the one who takes it off. Remus’ expression must be hellish because James winces.
“Moony, I tried to tell him—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Remus tries to get his jaw to relax. He’s been wound up tight lately,
and he knows if one more thing pisses him off, he’ll blow. “Turn around, go back to the
dorm, and leave me alone.”

“You’ve ditched me for my brother?” Sirius lunges up and grasps Remus by the jumper.

“You don’t have the right to do this to me!” Remus points in the direction of Gryffindor
Tower. “Go, Sirius!” It’s the build-up of days spent ignoring each other. I care about you so
much. I love you so much, I want to tear you apart. I know how you think, I know you, I know
you, I know—Remus screams in his face. “GO!”

“What do I have to do, Remus? Can you just tell me for once?”

“You listen to me.” He grabs the back of Sirius’ head and makes sure they’re locking eyes. “I
hate you. This isn’t fleeting. You can’t wait this out. I hate the way you try and make me feel
guilty for hating you. I hate the way you see me as a weapon. I hate how you tore our friend
group apart and took my trust and stomped on it.”
Sirius’ face falls, and Remus keeps going, his heart racing at the prospect that Sirius can
finally see him. See what he’s turned him into. “And most of all I hate the way you didn’t
even think of me that night. The way there was a risk that I could’ve died or gotten hurt, and
you didn’t care.” Remus blinks away the tears collecting in his eyes. He realizes all that anger
he feels is just pain. It’s always been pain for Remus. “As long as I got the job done, right?
As long as Snape got what he deserved, who cares if I go down as collateral.”

Sirius shakes his head. “You’re important to me. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Remus, I
wasn’t thinking.”

Remus pushes Sirius away. “Is that what happens when you don’t think? You have to train
yourself to like me? Tolerate me?”

“No!” Sirius looks disgusted. “Remus, you know that’s not—”

“So in your grief, I became a fucking monster. Was James your knight in shining armor?”

“Don’t fucking talk about Alphard like that. He was a person, a great one. Don’t try and sour
his memory to make cheap digs at me.”

“Then you stop blaming everyone else for your decisions! Alphard didn’t make you do
anything, you did. I spent that entire day trying to help you, and you denied it! I’m sorry that
for once in your life, you have to deal with the consequences of your actions.”

Sirius is slack-jawed looking at Remus. His breath comes out in heaves and there’s buzzing
in his fingertips, a sort of lightness to him. He could tear through the forest and keep running
until his body gives out. He could rip the castle apart stone by stone and not be phased by his
bleeding hands and broken nails. Remus feels violent and unhinged, a step away from flying
off the handle. “Mate, your eyes. . .” James trails off.

Remus feels the magic swirling in them, the smell and taste heavy in the air. His eyes must be
glowing again, and Regulus realizes, putting a hand on Remus’ chest. “Okay, time to go.”
“Remus what—” Sirius says, eyes wide in panic. Remus avoids looking at him, trying to
control his feelings and rope in his yellow eyes to go back to brown amber. “Reggie, what
does it mean?”

Regulus tugs Remus away from the scene. “Ten points from Gryffindor,” he says, voice ice-
cold.
 NIGHTS LIKE THIS
Chapter Notes

last chapter of act one and one of my fav chapters.

content warnings

-slight anxiety attack

I got all these feelings that I’m maskin’

Can I lay it on you? That’s what I’m askin’

-The Kid LAROI

“I’m just saying,” Dorcas says, clutching Pan’s Divination book. “Maybe you should talk to
them more.” Regulus starts to regret telling them of his mother’s most recent letter, filled
with her crippling disappointments in his behaviour. He needs to get his grades up, start
talking to more children of Death Eaters, and make sure to win the season’s first game.
Nothing new, yet Pandora and Dorcas bicker over it like battle plans.

“Reg doesn’t want to talk to them at his mother’s command. He wants to feel flushed, human
connections. There is no point in doing anything if you won’t enjoy it. At the end of the
game, the king and the pawn end up in the same box,” says Pandora.

Regulus lifts his eyebrows at the adage. “Reg doesn’t care much for them anyway, so hanging
out with Wilkes and co. doesn’t matter to him.” And, having the connections later in the
game couldn’t hurt.

He says goodbye to them, rolling his eyes, and heads into Potions. He walks to his desk,
concentrating on how to raise his Exceeding Expectations to Outstanding in Arithmancy,
when he stops short at the distinct non-Remus figure at his desk.
Regulus blinks, startled, but James Potter pushes up his glasses and smiles at him as if
nothing is amiss.

“What are you doing, Potter?” Regulus asks. “I’m afraid stalking me won’t be as easy now
that I know you’re doing it.”

Potter winces, a small crease in his eyebrows. “It wasn’t really stalking. I was just, well,
checking up on a friend. And even if I were stalking anyone, I wouldn’t be stalking you, I
would be stalking Remus. But it wasn’t stalking, and I’m not, like, creeping on you now. I’m
supposed to be here.”

Regulus raises a brow.

He turns red, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, averting eye contact. “We’re partners
for this class, remember? One of us works on Veritaserum while the other works on the
antidote.”

Regulus narrows his eyes so he can see Potter squirm. Regulus blocks out what Slughorn
says most of the time, so it’s likely he did assign them as partners and Regulus wasn’t
listening. It’s quite the idiotic assignment—Veritaserum takes a full lunar cycle to brew—but
he would expect nothing less from Slughorn. He’s most likely doing this to “encourage the
formation of new friendships” and “teach humility and humbleness to those who can do
Potions well, and help those who can’t.” The seating arrangement won’t last beyond today,
he’s sure of it.

He scans the room, his eyes avoiding Sirius as he’s trained them to do, and lands on Remus.
Remus notices and shrugs with a small smile, then turns back to his partner.

There’s nothing he can do about it now. It’s too late to petition for his release from Potter’s
clutches. Regulus sniffs primly, holding his head high as he sits beside him. Potter beams,
one of his real smiles, and Regulus doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve one.
Regulus ignores Slughorn, instead bringing out his journal. He hides it under the table and
continues his sketch based on Pandora—hair sprawled, eyes with no iris or pupil. She says
drawings like these help her “connect with her inner self”. While he’d rather not draw in
public, his afternoon is booked with Quidditch practice and studying, so he has no choice but
to finish it before then. Sometimes if he stares at it for too long, he’s reminded of her laying
on the forest floor, her eyes white, blonde hair dusted with dirt.

His quill abruptly stops, though, as he feels a stare. He looks up sharply and catches Potter in
the act of trying to peep at his drawing. Regulus makes cold eye contact, and Potter’s warm
brown eyes stare back, not frightened, but curious. Regulus is the first to look away, and he
can’t help but feel a little pissed that he was the first to avert his eyes.

“So, uh, do you want to make the antidote?” Potter asks.

Any common fool knows that the antidote is easier to brew than Veritaserum, and Regulus is
caught between being offended and in disbelief. Either Potter thinks he can handle it, or he’s
nice enough to want to take the harder potion to relieve Regulus’ burden.

“I’ll do Veritaserum,” he says bluntly, and Potter nods his head with his eyes wide, an
expression Regulus has never seen on his face. His shoulders crumple in visible relief,
although he smiles like he’d be happy doing either.

What is wrong with him?

Regulus could never imagine being as much of a people-pleaser as Potter. He’d probably pass
away if he tried. He starts on his potion, and Potter assaults him with a question already.

“Why are you taking off your rings?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. Imbecile. He’s lucky he has a pretty face. “It’s pure silver, which can
interfere with the properties of the ingredients.”
“Does Remus know you wear pure silver?” Potter teases.

“Why does it matter?”

He shrugs, grinning a little. “He’s from the Welsh countryside, you know. Hates all that fancy
stuff. Thinks it’s ostentatious and pretentious.” His tone is light, and he says the words almost
mockingly, like he has no idea what they mean.

Regulus turns to him, because he’s just remembered that Remus is a werewolf, who’s
sensitive to silver, and that Potter had just tried to look out for his friend while keeping the
conversation upbeat without lying. Potter is a horrible liar, and Remus loathes wealthy
people, even though he’s friends with so many. “There’s no such thing as an ethical
billionaire,” he said once.

Honestly, it’s a very Slytherin thing for Potter to do, and it’s. . . clever. Huh. It’s difficult for
Regulus to think of Potter outside the little boxes he’s put him in. Regulus blinks, and
suddenly, James Potter is a real person. Not his brother’s best friend, not the son of world-
renowned potioner Fleamont Potter, and not even the heir to the House of Potter. He has
goals, and thoughts, and. . . emotions. Regulus tends to his potion, ashamed of his dreams,
ashamed that he thought of Potter the way everyone does about him.

Regulus tries to focus on his potion, except his eyes are stinging for some reason, and
Potter’s leg keeps bouncing. All he’s done is rearrange the ingredients on the table and
twiddle his thumbs. Regulus has seen Potter get Outstanding on assignments. He’s seen him
help other people. It doesn’t seem like he doesn’t know what to do, he’s instead too high-
strung to do it. It reminds him of this muggle condition he read about once—

“Hey, James, did you finish your essay for DADA yet?”

Both Potter and Regulus stop. It’s not a girl that Regulus recognizes, but he doesn’t know
most people. James’ leg stops bouncing as he barks out a laugh. “Fuck no, mate. You know
you have to ask Remus for things like that.”
And then it’s like a fucking storm, so noisy and distracting that Regulus has to pull out his
book to remember the steps. He hasn’t done this since Fourth Year, and shame runs through
him again, heating his cheeks as the humid steam from the cauldrons makes his hair stick to
his neck.

“James, what time’s practice tomorrow?”

“Were you the one that turned Mulciber’s hair red?”

“James, did we have Transfiguration work due today?”

James, how do I wipe my arse?

When the questions and conversations and Potter’s booming laughter finally die, Regulus’
potion is finished and ready to brew for approximately twenty-eight days, no thanks to his
partner. He packs up early and quite aggressively, shoving his rings onto his fingers and
wiping his personal potioner’s knife.

“You’re done?” Potter asks, shocked.

“I am done.” It might be the worst potion he’ll ever make, but it’s done. “It’s a miracle you
got into this class in the first place. If your big mouth could brew potions as much as you
chatter, you’d be winning awards,” he snaps.

Potter blinks, then startles Regulus with a laugh, his loudest and happiest one yet. His eyes
gleam, and something about it makes Regulus off-kilter. “My mouth is already earning
medals.” Potter tucks his chin in, leaning closer, a small smile on the curve of his lips. “Do
you want to find out what for?” he murmurs, gaze flitting between his eyes and lips. Does he
think he’s funny?

“I’ve heard the rumours, Potter.” His breath hitches as Regulus breathes out the words.
Regulus leans to talk in his ear. Sandalwood and citrus fill his nose, and he can’t tell whether
it comes from his hair or skin. Regulus’ eyes flutter shut, and he’s thrown back into his
Amortentia. The steady notes of violin and piano, his loud laughter, broom polish, treacle
tarts, and citrus citrus citrus. Fresh orange spray on his skin, lemonade on his tongue,
grapefruit and lime kissing his lips, running a hand through his hair. Regulus opens his eyes,
then says at full volume, “You really are as arrogant and annoying as people say you are.”
Potter jerks away, and Regulus scowls, unimpressed.

“I—” he blusters. “I’m not arrogant, or annoying.”

“You’ve spent this entire class bumbling like a moron and running your mouth instead of
doing your work. It’s embarrassing.”

Potter looks him up and down before smiling. “Ah,” he nods his head. “I see. You’re a swot.”

Regulus’ ears ring, his vision whitening for a second, and when he comes back, Potter is on
the floor, his chair pulled out from under him.

Hm. Regulus is getting better at controlling his temper and accidental magic. At least his
cauldron didn’t explode. Feeling much better, Regulus nudges Potter out of his way with his
foot and a sneer before starting the antidote in Potter’s cauldron.

“Hey!” He scrambles to his feet, but it turns out he has nothing else to say. He gapes like a
fish out of water, while Regulus casually raises a brow, waiting for his big mouth to start
running again. “If you have a problem with me, Reg, you can come out with it.”

“I already told you my problem. You’re arrogant and annoying.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “How?”

Regulus sighs and lets go of the ladle. “You’re a Gryffindor,” he lists off his fingers. “You’re
certainly not humble, you strut around the halls like you own them—”
Potter laughs, delighted. “I do not strut! Why does everyone keep saying I strut?”

“—your hair looks ridiculous, you wouldn’t know suffering if it slapped you in the face,
you’ve never worked for anything in your life, yet somehow you get everything—”

“Debatable.”

“—and you are blind! Unbearably and unbelievably inadequate at seeing what’s right in front
of you. Those silly, hideous glasses don’t help you one bit!”

“Boys!” Slughorn yells, and it’s enough to make Regulus’ mouth shut. He grits his teeth, all
the things he’d like to say stuck behind them like a cage. He makes the potion in silence,
Potter’s attempts at starting up a conversation falling on deaf ears. It was childish of him to
start a fight with Potter. He needs to keep his grades up, they need to be outstanding. If
they’re not, he’ll be a failure and end up as nothing, all his dreams and purpose squashed.

He drops his knife briefly, the familiar tightness in his chest and stinging in his eyes making a
comeback. He gasps quietly, his fingers shaking, eyes blinking rapidly. Regulus tastes
sounds, sees words.

“Reggie?” Potter asks, his brows scrunched up in concern.

It punches him back into his body with a breath, and he picks up his knife with trembling
fingers. Potter reaches out to pluck it out of his hands, and Regulus stabs the blade between
his fingers into the table. “Don’t,” Regulus says, and for once, Potter listens.

“I—Okay,” he says quietly. Regulus takes a second to confirm he’s partly stable, and resumes
his cutting, six beetle wings cut lengthwise in increments no greater than half a centimeter. “I
can see just fine,” Potter mumbles.
Regulus sighs, suddenly very tired. “Potter—”

“Regulus,” Potter says, leaving no room for argument, begging for eye contact. His eyes are
warm and soft, a deep comforting brown that reminds him of coffee. “I couldn’t before. I was
stupid and immature, but I know better, now. I know what’s good for me.”

A lump forms in Regulus’ throat, but he clears it. “Why should I care?”

“Because I am a Gryffindor,” Potter swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing. “And I know I have a
bit of an ego, a swagger at worst, my hair can’t lie down flat, I don’t know suffering and I
hope I never will. But I’m not blind. I’m willing to work if it gets me the right person.”

Regulus can’t help but snort in his face, this fairytale love story always too far-fetched for
him. “Who, Lily Evans? If you still think she wants you, I might have to send you to Pomfrey
myself.”

Potter smiles, and it’s the worst thing he’s ever done. “Oh, come off it, Reg,” he says softly.
He hip-bumps him, his smile stretching from ear to ear. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

And for the life of him, Regulus can't figure out what it means.
 ACT TWO: i saw you in a dream
Chapter Notes

this chapter is a bit clunky

content warnings

-blood purity

I saw you in a dream

Then it came to an end

I wonder if you’ll come visit me again

-Japanese House

Regulus swats away a giant fly as he fights his way through the dense forest. He’s sweating,
keeping a nice shield spell on the tip of his tongue, and silently cursing Pandora in his head.
They’ve been there for at least an hour now, and Regulus is exhausted. He had the night shift
for prefect patrol and then woke up at four or five in the morning(?)to Pandora looming over
him. He didn’t flinch because he’s too experienced, but he can admit he almost throttled her
after she said how she felt the ‘Nargles’. Regulus barely gets good enough sleep as it is, and
now he’ll be running on a solid two hours.

He’s not sure how she even knows the password to the Slytherin portrait. But he supposes he’s
not allowed to complain. He could’ve rolled over and ignored her, but here he is in the foggy
cold forest. It’s worth it to replay the priceless look on Dorcas’ face when she realized they
were in her dorm, and hearing her complain makes his lips twitch in an almost smile.

“Dora!” Dorcas yells. “Pan! If you ever make me do this again, I swear to Merlin—” She
yelps as she trips over a huge root and faceplants to the ground. Regulus doesn’t laugh often,
but he can’t help laughing at her then. “It’s not funny! It’s not funny!”
“Dorcas get up,” Pandora whines. “They’re close. The Nargles. . . can’t you feel it?”

The wind suddenly stills. Regulus keeps a hand over his wand and moves closer to Dorcas.
He might not believe in nargle hunting, but he knows better than to be unprepared for the
unexpected. A twig snaps, Dorcas rushes to her feet, and Regulus realizes that something is
in this forest with him.

They aren’t alone.

“Dora. . .” he warns. There’s a reason they’re told to stay out at the beginning of every year.

“Reg, it’s here,” she says, enchanted. “It’s finally—”

Out of the woodwork comes a beautiful brown stag. His antlers are huge, his feet clumsy and
loud, and the color of his fur is different around his eyes, looking strangely reminiscent of
glasses.

“Am I crazy or does that deer look like Potter?” Dorcas whispers. Regulus is about to give
her a dirty look and call her crazy, but then Pandora falls to the ground and starts seizing.
Regulus thinks he’s seeing it wrong because this doesn’t make any sense. It all feels like a
dream with a bad plotline or the start of a bad joke. Three weirdos and a stag walk into a
forest. . .

Dorcas rushes over to help her, but Regulus is frozen to his spot. “Dora!” Dorcas screams.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Regulus takes a step back, terrified. Everything was just fine.
Pandora was just. . .

He takes another step back. “Dorcas, is she dead?” His voice is quiet and cold. “Dorcas?”
His voice breaks, and he sounds like a little kid.

“Regulus, you bastard, help me!”

Don’t think. . . Don’t think, Regulus. . . You’re okay. . .

He kickstarts into action, stumbling forward like a wayward drunk on a bad night, creeping
closer to her shaking body. He drops to his knees and starts to roll her on her side because
that’s what you’re supposed to do. The minute he does, she stops quaking. Her eyes open, all
milky white with the irises completely gone, and her eyelashes flutter.

Her voice is as clear as a bell, fast but sharp and precise.

“An executioner is naught without the master,

Delirious and crazed, she draws an army,

Which day by day, the numbers grow faster,

Aware with a teacher whose beginning is starry,

He must draw on the grief of hope,

It all rests on the fate of the. . .”

She relaxes, eyes closing, and Dorcas starts to cry. . .

Regulus can’t stop thinking about it, and he knows it’s going to be a bad day.

Remus doesn’t know if the dorm is awkward after he blew up at Sirius because he’s never
there. He leaves early in the morning, nods hello to James, and returns late at night. He’s
exhausted with all the ignoring and resentment between him and the Marauders, but he can’t
be arsed.
Not when things are going so well with Reg’s friend group. Barty’s loud and flirty to the
point of it being hilarious. Evan’s level-headed and genuinely smart. Together, they balance
each other out. Pandora’s a little kooky, but that’s the best part about her. Dorcas takes no
shite from anyone and is the quickest to call people out.

Early one morning, he plops down next to Regulus at breakfast. Evan and Barty are too busy
arguing with each other to notice, but they won’t care about his presence once they realize
other people exist. Pandora is sitting at the Ravenclaw table. “Where’s Dorcas?”

Regulus waves a hand and starts preparing Remus’ toast. “She’s flirting with Marlene.
Again.”

“Ah, so nothing’s changed?”

“How could they when you’re not here to witness them?”

Hundreds of owl wings flutter in tandem as they drop letters onto the table. Regulus scratches
the top of his owl’s head, then feeds it a chunk of fruit. The owl beats its wings and lands on
Remus’ shoulder.

Regulus narrows his eyes. “It’s so annoying when you do that.”

“Do what?” The owl coos as Remus brings it into his lap and pets its head. “Be naturally
lovable?”

Regulus lifts the Daily Prophet and freezes. Remus looks over his shoulder. The Dark Mark
looms over the sky in the moving photograph. Under the Mark are half-bloods, muggle-
borns, and muggles hung by their necks with slurs cut into their flesh. It’s brutal for a
newspaper and horrific to see. “Merlin. . .”
Voldemort’s pureblood ideals had mostly died with him. Most of the Sacred families still
believed in the shite, but it was the type of prejudice that was heard and seen but not acted
upon. Sometimes, the hatred would crawl out like this. Someone would feel justified and evil
enough to torture innocents because of something stupid like blood. As if that determines
anything.

Regulus puts it down. “Remus. . . we need to talk—”

“About time she started back up again.” Evan snorts. “Those mudbloods were starting to get
out of control.” Barty nods solemnly.

Remus freezes. He’s heard the throw-away comments his entire life, tiny microaggressions
that chip away at his pride and safety. But it’s been so long since anyone freely said
something so horrible, so cruel and plain terrible. He realizes he was laughing with these
people for days. He thought in time he could learn to trust them, that the preconceptions he
heard about Slytherins were just that. Remus realizes quickly like a slap to the face how
Sirius wasn’t a bad apple, he’s a part of a poisoned tree. How naive was he to think he could
trust anyone so blindly again? Remus realizes he doesn’t fit anywhere. Not with the
Gryffindors and not with the purist Slytherins.

“Remus, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about—” Regulus starts.

“Then he should learn.” Remus tries to eat his breakfast, but it all starts to swirl in front of
him. He’s lost his appetite. “Excuse me,” he says, and then leaves the Great Hall before he
throws up.

Regulus hoped his parents exaggerated when they said that a “noble, pureblood society
would be reinstalled soon.” Looking at these papers and hearing the words spewing from
Evan’s mouth, he realizes his timeline has been moved up.
“Was it something I said?” Evan asks innocently.

“He’s a half-blood, you idiotic git.”

Evan startles. He stares at Regulus likes he told an out-of-pocket joke. He gives a short bark
of disbelieving laughter and shakes his head, poking at his plate.“But he’s not like them.”

“Like who?”

“Like the rest of the mudbloods. He probably has some pure blood in there somewhere.”
Evan’s eyebrows are furrowed as he digs into his breakfast.

Regulus stares at Evan because he truly believes it. Not a single thought opposes or questions
it, and Regulus isn’t sure if it’s stupidity or brainwashing. Probably both. If Regulus were to
look in his head, he’d see dust and what his parents stuffed in his head like a dog learning
commands.

Pureblood culture is the dumbest thing he’s heard of, and Regulus hates dumb things. The
only reason he hangs out with nutcases like Crouch and Rosier is because it’s what his
parents demand of him. It would also make the dorm situation awkward. He sees enough of
ruined friendships from Lupin.

Regulus resists the urge to roll his eyes as he gets up from the table. He pulls out the compass
from his pocket and taps it with his wand. Instead of being flat, the entire thing is a sphere,
allowing the arrow to point up or down. It’s not the best solution for when he needs to find
someone, but it’s better than aimlessly walking around the castle. He follows the arrow
outside. Lupin is sitting on the edge of the Great Lake, knees pulled towards his chest.

“Lupin.” Regulus sighs.

“No.” His head turns to the side. His voice breaks. “No.”

Tip #4 for making friends: Don’t be afraid to be vulnerable. Regulus takes a few steps away
from Lupin to give him a bit of space and sits down. Regulus searches for something deep
and intimate to say. Something to show that he can relate to how Remus must feel. “My
parents didn’t teach us how to swim,” Regulus blurts.

Remus doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t yell or walk away. Regulus takes it as a sign to
keep going. “They thought it was undignified. We didn’t have to learn because it was a
muggle thing to do. They told me wizards could make themselves do anything. We could
float instead of walk if we wanted to. Learning to swim was useless.”

Regulus remembers it still: freezing water wrapping around him, his lungs suffocating and
primed to burst, his eyes stinging as he called for Sirius.

Regulus closes his eyes. “All of us were at my Uncle Cygnus’. He has this giant lake near his
house and—” The words won’t fall out. He’s gone over the events so many times. Regulus
knows it like the back of his hand, like how the tides know the moon. “And—”

“You fell in?” Remus asks dryly.

“Bellatrix held me up by my ankle and drowned me.” Regulus bites at his fingernails. “That
was my first bit of accidental magic. I almost killed her because my magic surged trying to
save myself. I wish I had. Sometimes, all I can wish for is for every pureblood to be wiped
from existence.”

Regulus vomits water on the sizzling grass, the heat burning his palms and knees. His
stomach clenches as he fights to get air into his lungs. He’s sobbing, snot and water running
down his chin. Regulus can’t breathe. He can’t breathe, and Sirius isn’t here to make it better.

“No,” Remus says at last. He lifts his chin petulantly and sniffs in a very Slytherin way.
“No?”

“James.”

Regulus laughs. “You don’t think I know that?” Regulus finally gets to look into Remus’
eyes. “Why do you think I started to accept that you were a werewolf?” Regulus noticed that
almost no one outside Slytherin was torturing their kids. He realized that parents could be
kind and gentle and understanding. Lily Evans, a muggleborn, was the smartest person he
knew. No one tells you how exhausting it is to pick out which adults are worth listening to. “I
had to figure out that adults can lie, and it’s better to figure things out for myself.”

Remus perks up. “You’re not a blood supremacist?”

Regulus sniffs.“Salazar, don’t praise me for being decent. Get some standards, Lupin.”

“You’ll leave, then? Run away?”

Regulus sighs. He wants to live out in the French countryside. He wants a simple life, maybe
a kid or two. Regulus craves to not pretend anymore, to unwind his shoulders and relax, let
his paranoia and Occulumency shields drop. It could’ve been Sirius, it could be any
pureblood kid who got their head out of their arse, but it isn’t, so it has to be him.

“I can’t, Remus.” Regulus gets up and fixes his robes. He doesn’t believe in Divination
much, but his dream must be a sign that it’s time. “And if you follow me, you’ll figure out
why.”

Remus’ eyebrows furrow. “We’ll miss class.”

Regulus doesn’t try to hide the pain that flickers over his face. Remus’ shoulders drop and his
face hardens. Regulus doesn’t have to say anything for Remus to know what’s coming is
much more important than class.
 —

Remus watches Regulus pace in front of a wall on the seventh floor and wonders if maybe he
trusts Regulus too much. He’s here—skipping class!—to figure out why Regulus can’t run
away from home.

But, if Remus has figured out one thing after all this time, it’s that there isn’t a lot Regulus
Black can’t do.

Helplessly intrigued, he watches as a small door appears. Regulus tugs on the knob and walks
inside, Remus following closely behind. It’s a dark room that screams Regulus Black. A
blackboard is off to the left, in the middle is an organized desk, and on the wall behind it is
the Black Family Tree. Everything about the room is plain and clean. Remus shivers. Feels
like a muggle doctor’s office and cold hands prodding gently at his stomach.

Regulus stops once he gets to the desk, but Remus keeps going until he’s looking at the Tree.
He looks at Sirius’ name and face (that hasn’t been burnt?) and lets his eyes wander.
Andromeda isn’t burnt off, either.

“How the hell did you get this in here?” Remus asks.

“It’s a replica.”

Remus looks at Sirius’ smirking face in all its glory. “I guess your parents didn’t disown
Sirius.”

“Oh, they did,” he says easily. Remus lifts his brows in hopes of an explanation on why
Regulus’ copy of the family includes his disowned brother and cousin but gets no response.
Regulus finds whatever he’s looking for in the desk and brings it out. It’s a piece of paper.
“Pandora and I were looking for Nargles—”

“Nargles? What in bloody hell—”

“—when she fainted in the middle of the forest,” Regulus says, practically shouts, over him.

“What? When? Sodding hell, is she alright?”

“That’s six questions you’ve asked in the last five mintues.”

Remus crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow. “Five and a half questions.”

Regulus’ eye twitches. “She saw a stag and then fainted. I caught her, and brought her to the
ground. She had a seizure, then she said this verse.” He waves the paper.

“An executioner is naught without the master,

Delirious and crazed, she draws an army,

Which day by day, the numbers grow faster,

Aware with a teacher whose beginning is starry,

He must draw on the grief of hope,

It all rests on the fate of the. . .”

Remus waits, practically on the edge of his proverbial seat. “The what?” he snaps
impatiently.
“I don’t know, Pan stopped before she said. She’s had dreams before, but not a whole
prophecy.”

Remus is unsure. He doesn’t know much about Divination, but the prophecies they study in
class are usually more vague and whimsical. Ones that send shivers down one’s spine and
urge one to yell for the nearest Auror.“Are you sure it’s a prophecy, though? I’ve never heard
of a Seer having those combined symptoms before.”

“Pan’s never been normal.”

If it were anyone else, Remus would be offended on their behalf. The statement is true, and
Pandora takes immense pride in it. Remus rounds the desk and sits in the chair, staring at the
poem. Regulus has a point. “‘An executioner is naught without the master’ must be about
Bellatrix and Voldemort.”

Regulus nods. “That’s what I was thinking. ‘Delirious and crazed, she draws on an army.’”
He shuffles out a bunch of papers from his desk. “I think she’s broken out of Azkaban and is
the one leading the charge on the attacks. If she did, then the massacres she’s been making
are getting increasingly more public and elaborate. It all makes sense. It’s the second part I’ve
been stuck on.”

Remus is still lagging. Broke out and Azkaban should never be in the same sentence. It’s the
equivalent of shooting a person into space. It’s towering and massive, protected by life-
suckers, sitting somewhere that no one but the Ministry knows. Remus is still on the fence
about believing any of this.

Remus looks over the news clippings Regulus has collected. Unfortunately, his timeline lines
up, and while he’s hesitant to believe she escaped from one of the highest security prisons on
the planet, he’s able to give in to the possibility that she might’ve escaped.

Regulus’ work is terrifyingly thorough: he made comparisons of Bellatrix’s past torturings

now and the ones now, from her favorite spells she likes to use and how long her victims
usually last. He wonders how Regulus could even find any of that information. Whatever that
mystery is, he’s not figuring it out now. “And you’re sure it’s all exactly what she said?”
Remus can’t stop his stomach from turning at the thought of Bellatrix getting stronger. If this
is true, then the English wizarding world’s entire fate rests on one person’s shoulders.
“She was speaking fast, so it could be wrong.” Regulus sighs. “Remus, you don’t have to
help me if you don’t want to. I wanted to show you that I can’t leave because whoever this
is,” he taps the poem. “Might need money or help from a pureblood. If you want out, say it
now.”

All of this is speculation and hearsay. He trusts Regulus, though, and if it isn’t real, it’s still
entertaining. He’s not going to give up the most interesting thing he’s seen in weeks. Remus
scoffs. As if. He closes his eyes and runs over the poem again. “Did you tell Dumbledore?”

“Don’t trust him. I’ll go to him if I can’t figure it out.”

“Did anything important happen that day? An attack?”

“Nothing happened in Hogwarts and I checked the Daily Prophet. Nothing.”

“Did you say anything that might have triggered it?”

“We were walking in silence. She says it helps her hear the creatures.”

“Okay. You were walking in silence, and then you saw a—” Remus sits up.

“What? What is it?”

James always goes for runs in the forest as Prongs. If that idiot got himself tangled up into
something. . .“The stag that you saw, was it. . . special?”

Regulus blinks “I—” He blinks again. “It stayed. How did you know that?”
Remus’ heart drops to his arse. “What do you mean it stayed?”

“When Pandora collapsed it let out a sound. Then it laid down until she woke up. It followed
us back to the castle.”

Remus puts his head in his hands. Pandora looked at Prongs and started spouting off
prophecies. What the fuck does that mean? If he’s the one in the poem, it would make sense.
Sirius could be the ‘teacher whose beginning is starry’. Remus must be a bad friend because
he could laugh.

He would not want to be in James’ position.

“I already looked up the symbolic meaning of stags,” Regulus says, confused at Remus’
reaction. “They can represent strength and change. You know it already, but in Welsh
traditions, stags lead seekers into mysteries of other worlds. They’re seen as messengers and
gateways between worlds.”

Remus’ mom told him a bunch of Welsh stories growing up. In their little cottage, she once
pointed out the deer grazing outside. Remus placed his chubby hands on the window. In a
soft voice right next to his ear, she went on about their spiritual authority. Remus misses her,
wonders if she’s doing alright. He’ll have to ask James or Peter if he can borrow their owl
and send a letter soon.

“If you’re thinking about James, I don’t think it’s him—”

Remus’ mouth drops. “You know they’re Animagi!?”

Regulus flinches back, his mouth dropping open. There’s a loud silence as they both process
what happened. “I thought—” Regulus says dazed. “The stupid nicknames, it’s not because
of their Patronus?”

“I—” Remus’ mind is completely blank. “I—”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to tell, that’d be hypocritical of me.” And before
Remus can get his barrings, Regulus disappears. On the ground is a blue-speckled bird with
Regulus’ grey eyes. They blink at each other.

It’s so absurd, the entire situation is so outrageous, that Remus gives up and laughs. Right
from the pit of his stomach, he laughs about how he’s now signed up to interpret a prophecy
about the fate of the wizarding world. He laughs about how he just gave up his friends’
secrets that could get them thrown into Azkaban. He laughs about how his best friend could
be fighting Bellatrix Lestrange.

“Are you done?”

“I’m!” Remus laughs. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you, it’s just so—”

“Bizarre?”

“Yes!” Remus takes a deep breath and calms down. “Well, unless you have another lead, I’ll
interrogate James—”

“No.” Regulus’ eyes gleam. “You’re too close to the case.”

Remus sighs. “Don’t torture him, yeah?”

 Futile Devices
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-little bit of subjective cringe

-threats of graphic violence

-depictions of an anxiety attack

See the end of the chapter for more notes

But you are the life I needed all along

I think of you as my brother

Although that sounds dumb

And words are futile devices

-Sufjan Stevens

As Regulus steps out onto the Quidditch pitch, he realizes the first game of the season is next
week. Between Lupin and the stupid prophecy, he hasn’t had any time besides team practice
to brush up his skills. He mounts his broom and kicks off, flying into the air. In the peace of
the early morning, the only sound is cold air whizzing around him. He lets the Snitch go,
watching it zip around the pitch before closing his eyes.

Regulus goes into his Quidditch mindset. Everything dulls as he hyperfocuses on the Snitch.
Smooth pine wood underneath his fingers, cold air biting at his ears, blood rushing to his
cheeks. Don’t think. Hear and touch and feel. Don’t think. There’s no point in seeing
anything. Rush towards the Snitch, feel it, welcome it home into cradling, gentle arms. Don’t
think. Be an animal, not a human. Dip into animal instincts. The Snitch is prey, but be gentle.
Don’t think.
He hears a soft hum of magic and a ball slicing through the air. He doesn’t think, he moves
towards it. It circles him, and when his chest pulls, he doesn’t dig his fingernails into it. He
isn’t like his mother, who needs results by any means. He’s Sirius helping and cheering him
on as he walks. Regulus is Sirius stealing a muggle bike and giving it to him, teaching him
how to ride. Sirius soothing him after nightmares. Sirius healing cuts and bruises.

When Regulus catches the Snitch, he brings it to his chest softly. Sirius taught him to be soft,
and he won’t waste the lessons.

Regulus opens his eyes and squints at the brightness. In front of him is a slack-jawed James
Potter. His hair is windswept and his Quidditch trousers stick to him like a second skin.
Those stupid glasses are about to fall off his face, and behind them, his brown eyes are
comically wide.

Yes, Regulus thinks. Keep looking at me like that. Keep looking at me. “What do you want?”
Regulus scowls. He flies away. And know how it feels to be rejected without that person even
saying a word.

James follows. “I—Reg. . .”

“Go away,” he snaps. “I’m busy.”

“That was beautiful,” James says in awe. Regulus flies faster to try to escape the burning
feeling in his heart. “Really, Reg, it’s something else. You caught the Snitch with your eyes
closed.”

It took him a lot of time and dedication to figure out how to tune into his body. He spent so
many gruelling hours on the pitch, many of which ended with him in tears. At least between
that, the defense training, and strengthening his Occlumency shields, he’s tougher than ever.
Regulus sniffs. “It wasn’t that difficult.” He looks James up and down. “Some of us have
natural talent.”

A slow smile stretches on James’ face. His plump pink lips stretch wide, showing off his
gleaming white teeth. Regulus thought it was hard enough to endure that powerhouse of a
smile from across the Great Hall. James Potter has a sort of presence that lingers. Whether
you love or hate him, you can’t stop thinking about him, loving him, being jealous of him. “I
see that. Good thing I have other talents, yeah?”

That statement confounds Regulus. First, he’s so distracted by James’ smile, that he barely
hears the words come out of his mouth. Second, he could’ve sworn James was flirting with
him. Again. The first time could be excused in Potions could be excused as jesting, fucking
around with Sirius’ brother as a joke. But that doesn’t make any sense. James Potter, who
declared himself Lily Evans’ husband in his third year, flirting with his best friend’s brother?
Even if it is a joke, it doesn’t make much sense.

Regulus chalks it up to wishful thinking, but James winks at him. Winks. After quite a long
time, Regulus finds himself again. He’s had to keep reminding himself that he’s not special a
lot lately. James has winked at Lily and Sirius and used that flirting tone with Remus and
Peter. James Potter is straight. James Potter is in love with Lily Evans.

This saddens him more than he likes, so he sighs and flies away, forgetting that he was out
there to interrogate Potter. He’s relieved when Potter follows. “How’s Remus doing?”

Finally, neutral territory. “Fine.”

“And you? You’ve been good?”

“Fine.”

“I saw your friends got moved down to the class they were supposed to be in.” Ah, yes.
Regulus had been keeping them afloat for years. He ‘accidentally’ dropped a copy of the
homework answers into the wrong hands. Then he had to come clean to Slughorn and spin a
story together to get them dropped without causing trouble. “Everything all right there?”

Merlin, did Regulus have a ‘please keep asking questions’ sign on his back? “Yes, Potter.
What do you need.” He brings himself to the ground and dismounts his broom. James
scurries to do the same.
“I—I wanted to talk to you.”

Regulus pauses his stride when James doesn’t continue. He arches an eyebrow. “About. . .”

“No, I don’t need anything. I just wanted to talk to you.”

Regulus must be hallucinating. They weren’t close, they weren’t acquaintances, and this
must’ve been the longest voluntary conversation they’ve had in years. “Why?”

James’ eyebrows pinch together. “Because you’re Regulus Black.” He smiles, all dopey.
“Who wouldn’t want to talk to you?” He must draw on the grief of hope, It all rests on the
fate of the. . . dope?

Regulus shakes his head. “Potter.”

James beams. “Yeah?” he says quickly.

Regulus opens his mouth but then realizes he can’t say anything. If he asks James about the
attacks and he doesn’t know them, he might push James to fit the prophecy. Pandora may not
have finished the poem because the person hadn’t been picked yet.

The second to last line doesn’t even fit the rhyme scheme. There would have to be eight lines
of the six. That’s a chunk of the poem that’s missing, and if the person isn’t at Hogwarts,
that’s endless candidates. . .

Regulus starts to feel dizzy. Merlin, he’s thinking too much. He shoulders past James because
he needs to be alone before he has another anxiety attack. Merlin, it would be so
embarrassing. He hasn’t shown his attacks to anyone. It’s weak. He’s weak. He’s here not
doing his responsibility because he’s afraid it might ruin James’ life. How pathetic. He
shouldn’t care about James when so much is at stake. He’s such a weak spot, a liability—
“Reg? Reg, hey, hey.” He takes Regulus’ hand and presses it to his chest. “Follow me, yeah?
Breathe, Reggie, come on.”

Regulus feels the steady breath entering and leaving James’ chest beneath the palms of their
joined hands. James is warm. He’s warm and safe and lovely, and Regulus tries to remember
that. He tries to get his breathing under control, he tries to get his head attached to his body.

“You’re okay, you’re safe, love.” The floaty feeling starts to leave as he comes back down.
“That’s good,” James coos. “You’re doing so good for me, love. In, and out.” Regulus’ breath
staccatos. Warm, concerned, brown eyes framed with thick black lashes stare back into him.
James looks into his eyes, checking for something Regulus doesn’t know. James sighs in
relief. “You’re okay,” he says, and it sounds like he’s comforting himself more than Regulus.
He pulls him in for a hug, his huge hands spanning over his back protectively, pressing him
closer.

Regulus is okay. He closes his eyes again, sinking into the comforting warmth. Regulus is
okay. He got a little in over his head, but now he’s calm and rational.

He’s okay, calm, safe, rational.

So now he can figure out why he’s hugging James Fleamont Potter.

Regulus flinches out of James’ grasp. “Reg.” James sighs. “It’s not that big of a—”

Regulus is not a Gryffindor. He doesn’t face uncomfortable conversations unless it’s his
mother asking. Regulus is not a Gryffindor. He’s not brave. He’s not a good friend. Regulus
isn’t a good person, full stop.

Regulus runs away, and he’s thankful that James doesn’t follow.
 —

Remus is about to walk into Potions when James suddenly grabs him by the arm. He’s more
antsy than usual, and Remus wouldn’t like to start a storm. “What’s wrong?” he asks
immediately.

James’ eyebrows are all scrunched up like he’s focusing hard. He pushes his glasses up his
nose. “Mate, can you check on Reg for me?”

Remus blinks a couple of times. “Sorry, Regulus Black?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Remus looks around, wondering if Peter will round the corner any minute with a dung bomb.
“I. . .” Remus laughs. “Why?” It’s not like Remus and James are friends. If they were, Sirius
would go more batshit crazy than he already is.

“Moony, just do it, please,” James snaps, full of attitude.

Remus raise his brows. “Sir yes sir. I’m on my way, sir,” he deadpans.

That gets James to crack a smile. There we go. All is right in the world again.“Private Messer
Moony, you’ll march into that Potions room right now and get your superior answers,
goddammit!” James slams a fist into his other flat hand with a stern look. Remus might’ve
introduced him to one too many army movies. “And you’ll do it now!”

Remus stands straight, clicking his heels together and saluting.“Yes, Sergeant Messer Prongs,
sir!”
They break out into a fit of laughter. James shakes. “Merlin, what a mouthful.”

Remus raises an eyebrow and James’ smile deepens. Much better. Remus didn’t like the
concerned look on James much. “Listen Prongs, whatever happened, Reg is probably over
it.”

James stays silent. He clears his throat and rubs his hand on his neck. “Right.”

That doesn’t instill much confidence in Remus. He leans in and whispers in James’ ear. “It’s
okay if you did, but tell me, did you kiss him?”

“What!” James’ mouth falls open as his eyes widen comically.

“Hey, keep it down!” Remus hisses. “Did you touch him?”

He blushes, eyes darting. “Well. . .”

“It doesn’t have to be in a sexual way,” Remus murmurs. “He doesn’t like to be touched
much.”

“He seemed to like it though,” he mumbles.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I can’t.”

“James Fleamont.”
“Remus John,” James says exasperated. James hates being put into a corner, hates having to
put one friend over another. He gets stressed over things like this. It makes him antsy, all his
people-pleasing fragments being pulled in different directions. James doesn’t know how to lie
because he’s never learned how. James has lived such an easy, simple, life, and Remus
sometimes catches himself envious of it. “I can’t betray his trust, it was a sensitive moment.”

Remus highly doubts Regulus trusted James with anything. The story pieces fall into place in
Remus’ mind. Regulus trying to interrogate James, something triggering him, Regulus trying
to get away, James being the sun and drawing whatever problem out of Regulus, hook, line,
and sinker. And of course, the most important part of any Regulus Black story, Regulus
running away.

“Okay. I’ll ask.”

James sighs, relieved. He smiles. “Thanks, Moony.”

“Reg.”

“No.”

“He wants to know if you—”

“Why are you fraternizing with the enemy?!” Regulus hisses, putting his potion in the vial.

“The only person I’m ‘fraternizing with’ is my friend.”

The cauldron bubbles. The room is slightly hot and humid, and the classroom is loud with
laughter and gossip. “I didn’t want anyone to see. . . that,” Regulus says quietly, his hands in
tight fists. If Remus didn’t know him, Regulus would look resigned, upset. But his veins pop
in barely restrained anger. Regulus was born in a house where he was treated like a weapon.
At the lake at his Uncle’s house, he had to explode. Regulus is a bomb, heavy artillery that
might be seconds from going off.

“Reg.” Remus snaps to get his attention. “He didn’t say what happened.” Regulus looks
sceptical. Remus dips down and lowers his voice. “James didn’t, Reg. He said he touched
you. He said he couldn’t betray your trust and tell me. I didn’t push.”

Reg’s nose scrunches up. “I don’t trust him.”

“Well, do you want to tell him that?” There were rules everyone seemed to follow: don’t dim
James Potter’s light (The Valentine’s Incident) and don’t bully Pandora (that little shit that
follows her around is even scarier than he looks).

“I’m fine, so there’s nothing to talk about.” Regulus is unbelievably stiff, so Remus lets it go.

They walk up to put their flasks on Slughorn’s table without an incident with Snape. As
they’re walking back, Snape looks up at Remus. It’s so quick, Remus already takes a step
forward before he feels it. A glob of saliva slips down Remus’ cheek.

His last moon flashes through his head. The forest was dark green and dangerous, the moon
bright and round, his pack behind him. Moony growls low in Remus’ chest, pissed off at the
disrespect. The last thing Remus hears is Regulus casting Confundus at Slughorn before his
ears ring.

Remus never thought he’d be one of those guys who punches walls and yells and says cringy,
supposedly intimating things when angry. Remus doesn’t get angry often; most of the time he
can’t even muster up the energy to be upset. But the only way to describe what happens is
using one of those cringy lines. He doesn’t think about the potential consequences, he doesn’t
think about if he could get expelled, sued, or kicked out of all the classes he has with Snape
like he almost was after the prank. None of matters.
None of it matters because Remus sees red.

The throbbing in his hip stops, his magic swells, and he pushes Snape off his chair. With a
cry, he flies back, catching himself on his elbows. Terror fills his eyes the way they did that
night, and Remus doesn’t step back, he doesn’t wake up, he smiles.“Regulus! Help!”

Regulus shrugs.

Remus pulls Snape onto his knees by his slimy hair. He whispers in his ear, “Do you want to
know what I learned when I got bit?” Snape shakes his head fervently. “No? I’ll tell you
anyway. There’s other ways to cause pain than with a wand. I’ll crack your skull open against
the wall. Your bones are so fragile I wouldn’t even be able to use you as a dog toy. I’ll break
out of the Shrieking Shack and hunt you down until I tear you limb from limb. Animals will
eat your brain matter and thank me. Do you understand, Snivellus? Say yes, you piece of
spineless shite.”

Snape’s face twists in disgust. Remus punches him across the jaw. It cracks, the skin
immediately blooming in bright color. Someone gasps.

“Say it!” Remus roars. His eyes must be a glowing yellow.

“Y—Yes, sir,” he whispers.

“Ten points to Slytherin.” Since Remus is a prefect and said it sincerely, it’ll go through. With
one last shove, Remus separates himself from Snape. The class watches as Regulus and
Remus go back to their seats. Once Remus’ eyes return to normal, Slughorn snaps out of it.
“What happened, my boy!” Slughorn cries when he sees Snape’s jaw.

The class is dead silent, but no one hears Moony bellow happily in Remus’ chest.
 —

After another mind-numbing afternoon staring at the poem, Remus decides they need help.
Desperately. Regulus denies, of course.

“No.”

“Reg—”

“No. No, no.”

Remus carefully chips down Regulus’ defenses and convinces him. It’s exhausting work
trying to get Regulus to change his mind, and Remus almost gives up three times. He fights
though, and when Regulus finally breaks down in pure annoyance, Remus punches a fist
through the air.

They’re going to the library to pick up their newest recruit (No, Reg. I won’t tell you who).
Remus notices everyone in the hall throwing glances at him. A group of Hufflepuff girls
giggle and blush when they see him. Slytherins and Ravenclaws look him up and down.
Gryffindors smile and give him high fives. When one Gryffindor hugs Remus, Regulus takes
a wary step back, afraid of being next.

“What is going on today. . .” Remus mutters.

Regulus smirks. “They know what you did in Potions.”

Remus blushes furiously. “Yeah, I kind of lost it.”

“Remus.” Regulus is suddenly dead-serious. “I didn’t cast Notice-Me-Not because I wanted
them to see. I wanted them to see you weren’t going to let yourself be pushed around. Now
they know you’re not some bookworm swot. They know why you were sorted in Gryffindor.”
Regulus turns away, officially done with the affection. “They’ll all know,” he says quietly.

Remus never gave much attention to how he looks to others. Sure, he’s self-conscious about
his scars, but he always assumed that’s all people saw when they looked at him. He was too
busy worrying about looking too much like a werewolf or a queer to care much. Remus can’t
stand the attention, but if it gets Snape off his back and stops the Marauders from coddling
him constantly, he guesses it’s a win.

Trying to ignore the staring that makes his shoulders hunch, he pulls open the library door for
Reg. Remus leads him to the restricted section. At the sound of moans and slick mouths and
fumbling, Regulus turns to him. Remus throws him a crooked smile as a particularly lewd
gasp slices through the air.

They round the corner. Lily Evans is pushed against a bookshelf by Mary MacDonald. Lily’s
hair is a mess of fiery ginger and Mary’s robes aren’t perfectly pressed for once. When they
part, Lily’s eyes go wide while Mary’s narrow. Mary’s lipgloss shines on both of their skin.

Regulus clears his throat and turns around.

“Lily,” Remus says, fighting a smile. “Not very Head Girl of you.” He’d say he’s surprised,
but then he’d be lying.

“Remus! I—this!” She laughs then cuts herself off. “Don’t tell James,” she says, dead
serious.

Mary tilts her head. “Who cares what James thinks?”

“Exactly,” Regulus murmurs with an eye roll. Remus looks at him from the corner of his eye.
He’s bringing that up later.
Lily gawks. “I don’t care! I just don’t want any dramatic scenes. Like when he declared that
he was my husband in third year in the Great Hall. Or when he sent little origami hearts to
find me during class.” With every item, Regulus curls further into himself. Okay, Remus is
definitely bringing that up later. There’s a difference between being attracted to someone and
whatever reaction that is.“Or when I snapped at him for giving me that beautiful gift on
Valentine’s and he flinched and made that face. . .”

They all shiver, including Regulus. James had looked seconds away from crying when it
suddenly became cloudy in the sky. Literally. James gave it to her in the library and they all
saw through the windows as it began to mist as the tips of James’ ears went red and his eyes
welled up. Remus spent the day heartbroken. Partly over Sirius going on a date with Mary,
but also because he had to spend the day listening to James’ sad little sniffles and seeing his
aggressive blinking.

Mary concedes, looking haunted by the memory. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Remus, you can’t tell anyone,” Lily rushes.

Remus rolls his eyes. “No offense, but you two are more than obvious with your tension and
constant flirting.”

“We don’t—” Mary argues. She slumps. “Yeah, we kinda do.” She looks at Lily with a soft
smile. Lily smiles back. For a few seconds, Remus watches as they stare at each other, their
eyes flicking to the other’s lips. Regulus, who finally turned back around, looks and sniffs
hard.

“This is lovely and all, but we need to talk to Evans.” Regulus looks around like he’s bored
and has many things he’d rather be doing, which is probably true.

Mary takes a tiny step before Lily, the softness being hidden away. They’ve seen him hanging
around Reg, but that doesn’t mean they have any reason to trust him. In fact, they have every
reason not to trust them.“He won’t tell anyone,” Remus says. “And we really need to talk to
Lily.” Mary stays, kissing her teeth.“Alone. Please.”
Mary sighs and pulls out her lipgloss as she fluffs her hair. “Anything for our Remus.” She
winks. Lily pulls her into a long kiss. Mary pulls back and wraps a lock of Lily’s hair around
her finger. “Find me during dinner?” Lily nods with her bottom lip tucked into her mouth.
Mary walks away. Lily’s eyes are focused on her arse.

“We need you to look at something.” Remus pulls out the prophecy and hands it to Lily.

She looks Regulus up and down. “What is it?”

“It’s a prophecy we made for a class,” Regulus replies smoothly. “It can’t be too easy to
decode.”

When Lily looks at Remus, he shakes his head and shrugs. Lily takes a piece of gum and
chews on it as she reads it. Her eyebrows furrow, then furrow some more. “Who wrote this?”

“Me.”

Lily’s jaw clenches. “Don’t be an arse.”

“It’s from a Seer, but they don’t want their name spread around.” Regulus sneers. “Is that
good enough for you?”

Lily’s green eyes blaze as they flicker from Regulus to Remus. Her lips thin. “If it’s about
Bellatrix, which I think it is, the odds aren’t looking too good. It’s an If/Then Prophecy.”

“Aren’t all prophecies like that?” Remus asks.

“Not really. For new Seers, they’ll usually see visions in their dreams. Their first prophecy is
usually an If/Then Prophecy. It’s an ambiguous poem made up of six to eight lines that state a
current event followed by one possible solution or outcome.” Lily shrugs. “Most of the time
it isn’t this—” Lily pauses to find a synonym for serious like they’ve all been trained to. “—
 grave. Seers generally have their first prophecy during their schooling, so it’s about test
answers, breakups, even dangerous games of spin the bottle.” She sounds like she’s
referencing a specific example.

“Any idea on the last word or who it could be about?”

She frowns. “No idea who it could be. Even if you did narrow it down, the poem’s purposely
too vague to make you feel completely and utterly sure until it’s too late. All I know is it has
to rhyme with hope. If/Then Propheices don’t repeat rhymes.”

Regulus cuts in. “What do you mean too late?”

Lily’s strong lime eyes cut into Remus as she answers. “When a person fits those lines to a
tee, they can’t wiggle their way out of it or dump it on someone else. The stars picked them,
and the stars get what they want.”

Chapter End Notes

SHE SAID THE THING!!!

 HEAL YOUR HEART (INTERLUDE)
Chapter Notes

since this chapter is so short it'll be the first of two updates

content warnings

-peter

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Can’t nobody patch you up like new

I know your flaws I know what makes you who you are, girl

-Brent Faiyaz

Peter lies in bed, the comforter pulled up to his chin, when his curtains rustle. Cold air rushes
inside the blanket as it gets lifted, and a body slides in. Peter turns and comes face to face
with Sirius. He smells like Remus: old, dusty books, chocolate, and tea. Sirius has taken to
wearing Remus’ jumper around the dorm, lying around in Remus’ bed, and reading his
books. He gathers himself into a ball and sits on the window sill to sigh dramatically and
longingly. It’s strangely like what Peter would imagine a widow would do.

Peter clears his throat to rid away the sleep. He wipes a hand over his eye. Couldn’t this wait
until morning? It’s just like Sirius to not think of anyone but himself. “Pads?” Sirius breathes
heavily for a moment, then his head dips. His shoulders start to tremble, and Peter’s heart
breaks a little when he realizes that Sirius is crying like a baby. Peter throws an arm around
Sirius and hauls his shaking shoulders closer. Sirius’ fingers cling to the back of his tear-
soaked shirt, his legs tangled with Peter’s.

“Peter, I can’t.” He shakes his head in Peter’s chest. “I need him.”

Peter shushes him and smooths down his hair. “It’ll be okay, Pads. Give him time. Give him
some more time. He’ll come around.”

Sirius sniffs and starts to suck up his tears. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Wormy.
When he talks, it’s like. . . he’s singing. I miss his songs.”

Peter has no idea what he’s talking about. Remus sounds like Remus. His Welsh accent used
to be strong, but over the years it’s softened, making his words more round than sharp. “I
think it’s a Welsh thing.”

Sirius shakes his head and rubs a hand across his wet cheeks. Peter can tell he’s smiling a
little as he says, “No. It’s a Remus thing.”

James climbs into Peter’s bed the next night. He lies on his back and runs a hand over his jaw
for a minute, not talking. His brows are furrowed in deep thought. His fingers run restlessly
over the comforter, eyes wandering as he vibrates the breaths coming from his mouth. James
opens his mouth, then closes it. Peter is about to tell him to get the fuck out and let him sleep
if he’s just going to act like an idiot, but then James blurts suddenly: “How did you ask out
Emma Vanity?”

Peter blinks at the mention of his girlfriend. No one really brings it up unless it’s to tease him,
but James must still be hung up on Lily. It has been a while since the last very public and
very loud declaration of love, and he hasn’t even gone on about how green her eyes are or
how perfect her hair is. Peter mentally prepares to repeat the conversation they’ve had
hundreds of times. “Mate, if this is about Lily, I think you should—”

“No!” James yells, appalled, making Peter flinch. James winces, leans in closer, and clears
his throat. “I mean, no. I—I’m over her,” he says, much quieter.
Peter’s jaw is unhinged. “Okay, so you’re over her. . .” Over the girl you’ve practically
stalked for your whole Hogwarts career? The girl who you might finally have a chance with
now that you’re both Head Boy and Girl? Right. Okay. There goes many late nights spent
devising plans.

“Yes, I’m over her, and there’s this Slytherin that I think. . .” James trails off.

Peter sighs. There’s not much to say. “It’s the same as asking out any other girl. Ask her out
to Hogsmeade.” James doesn’t react. Peter can’t shake the feeling that he said the wrong
thing, that he’s missing something.

“And what if she doesn’t like that sort of stuff? Ya know, the hand-holding and dates and. . .
smiling.”

Smiling? Who the fuck doesn’t like smiling? “Prongs, if the girl doesn’t like smiling, don’t
you think it’s a sign?”

James’ eyebrows furrow in worry.“A sign?”

“That maybe it’s not meant to be?” James stiffens, so Peter rushes on. “I mean, mate, you’re
the happiest person I know. Maybe, and I don’t mean to discourage you, opposites don’t
attract.”

“This isn’t Lily, Pete. I didn’t even see her until last year. They used to have a crush on me a
couple of years ago, I think.” James groans. “I can’t believe I ignored her. Just, so beautiful.
When they fly, it’s elegant, you know? I saw them smile a few months back and fuck. Then
that laugh. I was gone, mate. Completely and utterly gone. I swear my heart perked up and
fucking pointed at them.” James claps his hands together, then tilts one of them toward the
curtains. “That’s what my heart did.” He does the hand thing again. “If I don’t kiss them in
the next month, I think I’ll die, Pete.”

Peter tries to process the rapid-fire information. “Well, you know them quite well, right?”
Peter asks slowly. James nods. “Well, maybe do something for them that you know they’ll
like.”
James perks up, and aims one of his sunny smiles at Peter. “Thanks, Wormy, you’re the best.”
He turns over and snuggles into Peter’s pillow without another word.

Peter, though, stays up a little longer, making a mental list of male Slytherins on the
Quidditch team that James knows well.

Peter thinks Sirius is slipping into his bed because he smells tea, old books, and cigarettes.
He rules out the possibility of it being Remus himself until he hears excessive sniffing.
Remus doesn’t go under the covers, instead laying on them. “Peter,” Remus drawls, and
that’s all he needs to hear to know what Remus needs.

This isn’t a conversation meant for daylight. This is a crack in Remus’ strong and
unbreakable armour, a small but echoing cry for help, for someone else to help carry his
burdens.

If it was Peter and someone betrayed him like Sirius, he would’ve never talked to them again.
He would’ve been scornful and hateful until the day he died. He would rip them apart limb
from limb, draw them in with happy smiles and friendship, then stab them in the back when
they go in for a hug. Peter would wait until they think they have their happy ending. He’d
wait until they stopped being useful.

They would have a beautiful wife, a happy kid, and a nice house. Peter would watch as the
realization slowly sunk in that they messed with the wrong person as the life slowly left their
eyes. They’d realize that Peter never forgives or forgets, only pretends. That they were
fucking idiots, great fools, and Peter’s smarter and more cunning than anyone could ever
imagine. Peter already knows that Remus will forgive Sirius, and he wants the group to be
somewhat normal again. He tells Remus what he wants to hear.
 “You do whatever you need to do. Not for the sake of the group or what’s easier. Do what’s
best for yourself for once.”

Remus sniffs in a way that tells Peter he likes how his bed smells. Then with a quiet thanks,
he leaves Peter’s bed.

Chapter End Notes

even though Peter isn't really important in this fic, i feel like it's important to show how
vital he is to the group. everyone trusted and loved him enough to put the lives of their
dearest friends and their child in his hands. i had to shove him out because he's honestly
a complication that doesn't do much for the plot, but this interlude is to show how much
the group really confides in him. peter is the secret-keeper, the friend on the outskirts
who's the glue that keeps the group from tearing each other apart and getting bored. it
doesn't seem crucial now, but when things get hairy, his betrayal will hurt more :)
 Used To Be Friends
Chapter Notes

second part of the double update!

content warnings

-injury

Called me crying

Said you thought you were in love with me

What a funny feeling when you’re pushed around

You don’t even know you’re falling till you’re on the ground

-Searows

Regulus collapses beside Remus at the Astronomy Tower. His ring-clad fingers dig into his
pockets before pulling out a neatly wrapped package. He places it in Remus’ lap. “Happy
birthday,” he says around a fag.

Remus hasn’t told Regulus when his birthday is, but he isn’t surprised. “Thanks,” he says
with a quick grin. “When’s yours?”

Regulus appraises him for a second before huffing out, “None of your business.”

Remus starts to dig into his gift when Regulus loudly clears his throat. “You’re not going to
wait until tomorrow? When it’s your actual birthday?”
“I’m sorry, who’s the birthday boy in the room?” Remus looks around. “Yeah, that’s what I
thought.” Remus carefully unwraps the package, slipping through the crisp folds to get to
what he already recognizes as a hardcover book. The cover is black with delicate green
details. It’s a book Remus hasn’t heard before. “Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin?”
Remus asks.

“Yeah. James Baldwin is this African American guy, which in the muggle world is as bad as
being muggle-born. He’s an eloquent writer. This one’s about us, you know?” Regulus clears
his throat.

“. . . Us?”

“Queers. I had to take it to a muggle bookshop to get made into a hardcover. The way he
talks about women is. . . yeah, but it’s good if you look past it. Thought you might like it.”

“Like it? Reg, this is—how did you even have the time—”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “Keep it in your pants, Lup—Ah!”

Remus hugs Regulus, squeezing his arms around his torso and pressing chaste kisses all over
his face. “Get off! Get—you little—” The air tastes of cigarette smoke and fresh books.

“Thank you!” Remus releases Regulus, who’s still spluttering and pink. “Merlin, how can I
even upstage this? You have to tell me your birthday now, mate. You’re such a massive git,
you know?”

Regulus runs his hands over his clothes to smooth them out. “You’re welcome,” he grumbles.

Smiling, Remus lights up a fag. “You’re coming to my party tomorrow, right?”

“Merlin, no.” Regulus shivers. He brings out that dastardly sketchbook. Regulus always
insists that it’s a journal, but he never writes in it.“Party on a Thursday night? You’re taking
the piss.”

Remus is going to be busy these upcoming days. He has an essay due and end-of-unit test
tomorrow and his birthday. Friday is the first game of the Quidditch season (Slytherin vs.
Gryffindor (he still doesn’t know who to root for)) and Sunday’s the full. He already dreads
how tired he’s going to be.

“Come on, Reg,” he whines. “It’s my birthday.”

Regulus puffs out a cloud of smoke. “I can’t. Mother wants my grades up.”

“You’re first in your year.”

He shrugs. “Not high enough.”

Remus bites his lip in thought. He wants Regulus there with him. The thought of braving the
night alone feels like trying to quit smoking cigs: not understanding how you got through the
day without them before. Remus’ problems used to be water, held back with his own two
hands. With Reg, he can take a hand off; the water slows until they’re barely streaming. The
thought of putting it back on. . . the thought of pretending he’s having fun, pretending to be
straight, and pretending that he doesn’t want to curl up with tea and a good book. It feels
impossible. He wants to disappear from it all. Be a different person for once.

Remus straightens up. “What if you weren’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Reg, I’m a fuckin’ brill. Polyjuice or glamours. We make you into a different person so you
can go!”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’m not going.”

“Black, come on.”

“No, Lupin.”

“Regulus. We’re on the brink of war.” He swallows thickly. “Do you want to go out without
ever going to a party?” Regulus hesitates, so Remus presses. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

His lip curls up and he shakes his head. “Fine,” he bites, snubbing out the fag.

Remus beams. “Now, I’m thinking we use glamours. You’ll have to go back early to get the
memory of you studying in case Walburga. . .”

Remus is in Defense Against the Dark Arts, his last period of the day. James’ leg bounces
beside him. “Godric, this party might be our best one yet, Moons.”

“Mmm,” Remus hums, not really listening. He turns to the next page of Giovanni’s Room.
It’s a rather quick read that he’s been digging into throughout the day. He only has a couple of
pages left.

“And this time we got some muggle chocolate drink that I think you’ll like.”
“Yeah.”

“And you’re in love with Sirius Black.”

“Righ—” Remus’ head snaps up. He wonders if he heard that right. Remus is grateful that
Sirius and Peter sit on the opposite side of the room. “What? What?” Was he too obvious? He
hasn’t even been around Sirius for more than five minutes for months! Not to mention, he’s
been getting over Sirius. He barely thinks about him any more. Sure, he smelled him in his
Amortentia, but that’s only—

Well, he doesn’t have an excuse for that.

James holds up his hands. “Just wanted to know if you were listening!”

The door to the classroom closes as the professor leaves.

Remus feels the magic. He hears the door lock.

He blinks. Remus turns back to his book: it’s almost done. If this is what the prophecy
foretold, if Bellatrix Lestrange is about to bust through the door and Avada them all on his
birthday, he’s going to finish this book, thank you very much.

“I–Okay,” Dorcas says behind him.

“Did she say where she was going before she left?” James asks.

“She said she had to piss.”

“Locking the classroom door when she was to pee?” Remus can tell James is frowning by the
way his voice pitches. “I have to start planning the party. I can’t be in here.” Remus just
knows that James would’ve found some excuse to leave class early.

“What party?”

“Remus didn’t tell you?” James smacks Remus on the arm as if Dorcas wouldn’t have
eventually heard through the grapevine. “Remus,” he whines.

“Dorcas. Party. Gryffindor common room.” Remus waves a hand, trying to understand the
words he’s reading.

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.” James is still frowning. “I’m sorry, Dorcas. If
you come, I’ll make sure you have a good time.”

Dorcas laughs all breathy. “Don’t worry, Marlene told me.”

Remus rolls his eyes as James gets up and walks to the door. “Alohomora!” There’s a loud
thump. Dorcas yelps and clasps a hand over her mouth. Remus looks up and sees James
slumped against the wall, looking dazed with his glasses crooked. Lights are on, but is
anyone home?

Remus finally puts the book down. The classroom exclaims in unison:

“James!”

“Alright, mate?”

“Prongs, PRONGS! Shit.” Sirius and Peter rush from the back of the room. Remus and
Dorcas speed over to see James pushing everyone off him.
“I’m fine, Merlin, Pads.”

Remus doesn’t smell any blood. He does a quick diagnostic spell on James’ torso and head.
Relieved that James is dizzy but otherwise perfectly fine, Remus focuses on the door.
Multiple students have tried to open the door but failed. Someone was crying (?) in the corner
of the room.

An idea struck Remus as his body moved to the large desk before the chalkboard. He
searches through the desk and notices it’s completely bare, not even a pencil or a spare piece
of paper.

Not even the test they were supposed to take today.

Remus breaks into a helpless smile. How fun.

“Uh, Remus?” Dorcas asks, raising a hand. “Wanna share with the class?”

He notices the entire class staring at him, looking for guidance. The wolf in his chest howls
in joy. “This is the test. She’s locked us in here to see if we can get out.”

Someone scoffs. “And if we don’t get out, we fail?” Mucliber asks with Avery right behind
him. “All of you better sit your arses down and wait for her to get back. I’m not getting in
trouble because you win one fight against Snape and think you’re worth something.”

The Marauders’ wands twitch in their hands, but Remus shrugs. “If you want to do nothing,
that’s fine. I’ll tell Mummy you were a good little boy while she was gone.”

Mulicber lunges, but Sirius grabs him by the back of his collar. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
Peter looks at Remus. “Where do we start?”

Remus thinks quickly. The class is still looking at him for instruction. “The first thing she
taught us was to survey. ‘Before you jump into any fight, know your opponent and
surroundings. If they know it better than you, you’re already dead.’”

“Merlin, Lupin. Word for word?” Dorcas groans.

“So we have to check the room? What are we looking for?” Peter asks.

Remus jogs to the back. If he wants James to be in a good mood for the party, he’ll have to
get him out of here as soon as possible. “The first place we’d look at would be the door. So
she’d place it in the back.” Remus runs his hands over the walls, trying to feel the magic. He
runs them over the wardrobe, then over a small chest. Something inside it scratches and
punches at the wood. “Loopy Lupin’s officially lost it,” Wilkes mumbles.

“Step back!” Remus says gleefully. “It’s a boggart! Multiple at the sounds of it.”

“How in Circe’s name do you—”

Without any more warning, Remus yanks open the chest. The boggarts slip out and circle
him. James shrieks and pulls Peter behind him. The silver mist of them quickly surrounds
him in a circle as they seem to pop into shape.

Remus counts seven faces of Bellatrix Lestrange staring back at him. Some muggle-borns
and half-bloods step back even further at the sound of her crazed laugh. “Oh, Remus!” They
all say in sync. “You glorious beast! We’ve seen what you’ve done, and the Dark Lord is very
plea—”

“Riddikulus!” He thinks of little Regulus holding her over a pool as she screams, his father
trying to look presentable and slick his hair back for work, James sleepwalking and thinking
Peter’s boots were an ice cream sandwich, and he thinks of Sirius Black falling in love with
him.

He casts the charm repeatedly, feeling tired as it progresses, yet screeching with laughter. In
the end, there are seven baby Bellatrixs with pacifiers in their mouths. The baby Bellatrix in
front of him accidentally lets the pacifier drop from her mouth. Her eyes well up and her lip
trembles before she bursts into tears. Remus scoops her up and puts the pacifier in her mouth.
Her eyes droop closed before snuggling closer into Remus’ chest.

“A little help?” Remus calls. He starts putting the baby Bellatrixs into the chest with the
assistance of one of his classmates who isn’t too afraid. He turns to Mulciber and raises his
eyebrows, trying not to be too amused. “Still think this isn’t our test?”

Remus goes back to the door. He’s not dumb enough to try to Alohomora it open. He twists
his head around and locks eyes with James. “There’s going to be at least four more defenses
you’ll have to perform.” Remus sheds his outer robes and gets on his knees facing the door,
ignoring how they crack on his way down.

“What—”

“Each trial in the room strengthens the wards on the door. By defeating the boggarts, we’ve
removed a layer of the wards, making it easier to open the door.”

“Wait,” Peter says. He shakes his head. “You can’t try to open the door while there are still
wards on it. She’s never taught that before, you’ll get hurt.”

Remus places his hands on the door, feeling the low buzz of dark magic beneath his fingers
and palms. “If you want to get out of class early, defeat whatever she left lying around. I
suggest starting with the—”

Remus gasps as the magic sucks him in. When he untangled the light magic in the bindings
all those weeks ago, he felt light magic around him. It lapped at him like the soft receding
and advancing of the ocean. Dark magic pulls him into it, like an astronaut thrown head-first
into space with no suit. He swims in the darkness, voices whispering from all directions, and
hands softly tugging him in different directions. “Remus Lupin. . .” something hisses.
“Remusss Lupin.”

They promise him power and riches. He floats through all of them, his head spinning at all
the proposals. They tell him his mam will get better, all they need is a piece of his—they have
a spell that will make his father disappear, if only he gives up his sight—he’ll be strong
enough to defeat anyone if he gives up his heart and soul—

Every time he tries to focus on the specific wording, he loses track of where he is. “Remus
Lupin. . .” He’s about to accept a deal he doesn’t completely understand and shake hands
when he hears Sirius’ loud, dramatic voice cutting through everything.

“Remus John Lupin! You arse! You come back here right the fuck now!”

Remus blinks, remembering where he is and why. It’s his birthday. He’s in the DADA
classroom. He needs to destroy the wards. James has a party to plan. He doesn’t think, just
bends the darkness to his will until he faces the wards. They’re mostly untangled, so his
classmates have done a good job of defeating the monsters. He’ll have to give out points
later.

Instead of the magic giggling as he unwinds it, it whispers and sends cold shivers down his
spine. He doesn’t get pulled back out when he thinks he’s done. Instead, the whispers grow,
the tugging hands return, and Remus Lupin is afraid.

It’s his birthday. James wants to finish planning his party. Regulus is waiting to get
glamoured up. And, who is he kidding, Remus wants to kiss Sirius Black. His betrayal still
stings and throbs like a gaping wound. He hates him. Sirius could betray him again, stab him,
kill him, and Remus would still probably love him, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.

Remus sees light as he starts to think about the people he loves. Peter’s beautiful
photography, Dorcas and Marlene flirting the day away, Mary and Lily holding hands under
the picnic table. He wants to see them again.

Remus Lupin picks love. Surrounded by darkness and deceit, Remus picks the light.
“Remus John Lupin! You arse! You come back here right the fuck now!”

“Remus John Lupin!”

Remus John!

Remus gasps as he’s pulled back to the classroom. His ears ring as he opens his eyes. His
teeth are overly large in his mouth. He hovers a hand over his eyes and looks up. In front of
him is twinkle-eyed Dumbledore and Professor Merrythought, whose lips are puckered in
reflection.

Dumbledore leans over to Merrythought. “I think this was a very good idea, Professor,” he
says in a mock whisper.

Around Remus are black and white particles. It swirls through the air and gathers like sand
on the floor. The wards are gone. The door and part of the wall are gone too, destroyed in
Remus’ fit of magic.

Remus takes one step and his knee buckles. He collapses against the bed and hisses, waiting
for his muscles to stop throbbing. He’s taken about ten thousand potions; he only needs one
of them to start working.

“You alright, Moons?” A soft voice says behind him. He’s too tired to figure out who it is.
“Yeah,” he gasps out. His core squeezes painfully. Regulus is going to be so pissed at him.
So, so, pissed that he drained himself of strength only a couple of days before the full. The
person starts rubbing him on the back. It admittedly helps him breathe.

“You’re not supposed to be out of bed.”

“James’ll be out of his mind if I don’t make it to the party. He’s worked his arse off,” Remus
slurs, Welsh accent coming in thick. He lets himself get shoved back into bed. His vision is a
bit blurry and his eyes flutter open and closed. The person starts gently running a crooked
finger up and down his cheek. Remus laughs. “At least buy me dinner first.”

“If you take a kip you should be all recharged for the party.”

Remus hums.

“I miss you,” the voice whispers. They smell like cigarettes and wind.

Remus’ heart melts. “Awwwww! Whoever you are, I must miss you too. You’re so sweet.”
He sticks his bottom lip out in a sympathetic pout.

The hand works its way to brush the hair off his forehead. “Go to sleep, Remus.”

He yawns and falls into the warmth, needing no further explanation.

“. . . Sirius, I’m trying to help—”

“I don’t need your help! I’m handling it fine on my own!”

“Oh, and that’s why he spends every waking moment hanging around me, because you’re his
favorite person.”

Remus groans loudly. He can spot a Black family argument from a mile away. He had to be
able to hold Sirius back from pummeling Regulus many times. This time, it’s about him, and
he doesn’t know if he can handle being a damsel in distress any longer. “Oh bloody hell, shut
up. No one cares.” He doesn’t open his eyes because it’s bright enough with them closed.
“Reg, party?”

“Moved to nine for your lazy arse.”

Remus snorts. “I left the book you got me in DADA—”

“James’ is on his way with it.”

“That’s good. He gets fidgety when he isn’t doing something. Peter?”

“Figuring out the party with Mary, Lily, Dorcas, and Marlene.”

“Shite, Marlene? Might as well collapse the roof yourself.”

“Dorcas is babysitting her—”

“—And Mary will try to distract Lily—”

“—So Peter’s basically on his own—”

“Poor sod. Send James up there when he gets back, yeah? Chronic worrier, that one.”

Remus hears Regulus’ sneer. “I’m not your elf,” he snaps.

“It’s my birthday and I’m ill.”

Regulus pauses. Remus knows he's rolling his eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

Remus opens his eyes. Regulus is scowling with his truly unhappy scowl, not his default one.
His arms are crossed over his chest and his grey eyes are searing. It practically screams that
Regulus will rip him to shreds. Remus groans again. His day is shitty enough. “Good God,
Reg. Put those things away.”

“I told you to—”

“I know.”

“The full moon is—”

“I know.”

“Next time you have to—”

“I fuckin’ know!” Remus snaps. “Take a walk if you’re just going to give me a damn
migraine with your I told you sos.”
Regulus actually growls before he storms off. Moony hrmphs appreciably at the sound.
Remus is being harsh, he knows, but Regulus is giving him a headache. He looks to his left
and almost groans again. Sirius is next to him, looking thoughtful for maybe the third time in
his life. He doesn’t know if he can take any more ribbing. “Please, don’t,” he begs.

Sirius throws his hands up. “I didn’t say anything.”

Sirius looks different. It’s not his hair even though it’s longer, it’s not his emotional-support
leather jacket, but something about him isn’t the same. Sirius is calm, more settled. He’s lost
that desperate and guilty look he’s hauled around for a year. He looks like he’s taking
everything in before he reacts: opening and closing his mouth like he’s searching for the right
words. Merlin, Sirius looks grown. Less like the kid that takes and takes, less like he might
throw a dung bomb to clear a room, less everything. It’s a good look to see him sure and
confident.

His jaw is freshly shaved, his eyes are bright, clear, and awake. He looks alive, woken from
the inside out, and Remus wants to kiss him until he can’t breathe. Remus wants to steal the
breath from Sirius’ chest and inhale it until his lungs burst. The love Remus has for Sirius is
violent and ugly and mixed with hate, it rips him to shreds.

Sirius sighs. “Remus, we gotta have it out—”

He closes his eyes. “No. Stop.” He can’t stop thinking about himself seconds from being torn
away. He can’t stop thinking about how he was about to die disappointed because he didn’t
kiss Sirius. If Sirius talks, if he tries to persuade Remus, he doesn’t know if he can hold
himself back. Darkness wasn’t enough to fight the light, and he’s afraid hate won’t be enough
to fight love.

“Remus,” Sirius says. And Merlin, the way he says Remus’ name. . .

He digs his fingers into the bedsheets and turns his head away. He grapples for his wand on
the right side table, and once it’s in his hand he stands. Sirius lunges after him to help and
Remus jolts away. “Please, Sirius, please.”
“I can’t.” Sirius shakes his head. “Godric, why can’t you understand? I can’t stop. I need you
—”

Remus’ heart squeezes in his chest. “STOP! You’re being cruel, and I can’t—” Remus
summons his robes and puts them on. “You don’t understand.”

“Then, explain it to me!” Sirius yells. “It feels like I’m missing a limb here, Moony.” He
laughs as his grey eyes tear up. “It feels like I’m about to lose my mind. I miss you so much,
I—I can’t fucking think or talk or do shit. Sometimes I sit in class and imagine you’re there
with me just so I can get through the lesson.”

Remus pulls at his hair. I love you as much as I hate you, he almost says. I love you, I love
you, I love you. That’s why I can’t forgive you. That’s why I can’t move on. It’s why I hurt so
bad. I didn’t know two opposites could exist with each other. “Go!”

“Tell me!”

“I fucking love you!” The roar rips itself out of Remus’ raw throat. He brushes the tears from
his face. “It’s different from Peter or James or Lily because I love you, you hear me? You
weren’t supposed to hurt me because I love you. I love you, and it wasn’t enough to stop you
from—” Remus can’t finish the sentence. He leans against the wall and bursts into tears.
Remus is exhausted. He tries to cover up his face, but Sirius rounds the bed, pulling them off.

“I’m so sorry. Oh, Merlin. I’m sorry, Moony.” Sirius says it over and over as he lets Remus
weep on his shoulder. “Remus. Oh, Gods. Don’t cry because of me.”

This makes him sob harder as he clutches Sirius’ jacket, breathing in the leather. Sirius wraps
an arm around him, the other diving into his hair. Remus buries into Sirius’ neck, right where
he belongs. He inhales in the smell of his skin and his coconut shampoo. How pathetic can he
be to miss coconut shampoo?

“Remus, Remus look at me.” He does, gasping in little bites of air through his mouth. Sirius’
eyes are impossibly soft, reverently fond. His thumbs swipe under Remus’ eyes. “I love you,
too.”
Remus pauses. The whole world shifts, realigns, brightens with this new information. His
breath hitches, and he goes light-headed. “What?” Remus’ voice is all croaky and soft. His
body buzzes.

“Of course I love you, you git. It’s different from Peter and James. I could never be sick of
you or have enough. You’re so special, Remus. You make me feel a way no one else does.”

Remus can’t help but smile shyly. “Really?” If Sirius loves him back, then they can work
through all of it, right? They can work through the pain and build trust stronger than ever.
Remus’ hatred for him will fade, and they’ll be happy. Remus will be so, so happy.

“Of course.” Sirius laughs, light and airy. “Don’t tell James, but you’re my best friend.”
Sirius smiles, blushing, like Remus doesn’t go cold.

“I—” Remus blinks, the rose-coloured glasses fading. “Friend?”

“The best.” His finger spins around a piece of Remus’ hair.

“Friend? Friend?” Remus snarls. Remus must be losing his mind. Sirius told him that he was
special and different from all their friends. He said he made him feel a way no one else does.
He did all this while twirling with Remus’ hair and blushing like a virgin, and he’s straight?
Remus is only a friend? (?????) He pushes Sirius, who’s going pale, away from him.

“Remus? What did I—”

“I fucking hate straight people!” Remus yells. He pulls on the curtains. James is slack-jawed,
holding Remus’ book, and Regulus’s eyes widen. Perfect. They forgot to Silenco the room.
Remus looks from James to Regulus and asks them, “You heard that too, yeah?”

James nods, a little out of it.

Regulus opens his mouth but doesn’t speak. “I think if someone said that to me, I’d have to
be admitted to a mind healer,” he says eventually.

James cringes.

Remus laughs and throws out his hands. “I hate straight people! Hate them!” He walks out of
the infirmary and heads for the seventh floor. Everything’s fucked. James knows he’s gay,
Regulus knows Remus is in love with his brother before Sirius knows, and Sirius is a fucking
idiot. When Remus makes it to the Room of Requirement, he conjures a bed and screams into
the pillow like a child until he passes out.
 Bad Religion
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-minors consuming alcohol

-vomiting

Ah-ah, oh, unrequited love

To me, it’s nothin’ but a one-man cult

And cyanide in my styrofoam cup

I can never make him love me

Never make him love me

It’s a, it’s a bad religion

To be in love with someone who could never love you

Only bad, only bad religion

Could have me feeling the way I do

-Frank Ocean

The second Remus disappears outside the door yelling, “I hate straight people! Hate them!”
Sirius faces Regulus and James. He looks like he’s about to pass out as he swallows thickly.
Regulus doesn’t follow Remus to give him some space and time to think. And honestly?
Regulus wants to stay to see whatever showdown could happen between James and Sirius.

Remus literally told Sirius he loved him, and he took it platonically, utterly ruining Remus’
birthday.
Regulus is glad he’ll never be as dumb as his brother.

“Prongs? I don’t understand,” Sirius says. His eyebrows are furrowed. He’s genuinely
confused.

James’ mouth opens in shock as his shoulders drop in pure disbelief. “Mate, he told you he
loved you.”

“And I love him too! Why did he get so angry?”

Regulus can’t hold back any longer. He barks out a cold laugh. “Merlin, you’re a fucking
idiot.”

“Regulus. . .” James warns.

Remus is one of Regulus’ best friends. If they’re about to break out into war any minute,
Regulus will ensure Remus is happy for every millisecond leading up to it. Even if he has to
talk to his idiot brother to get it done. “He doesn’t love you in a friendly way. He wants to
shag you, date you, snog you. He fell in love with you, you fucking arsehole, and you
rejected him by friend-zoning him on his birthday while he was ill.”

“I—” Sirius reels. He doesn’t even think about it. “No.”

James squeezes the bridge of his nose. “Pads, come on—”

Regulus forgoes the gentle approach and straightens his back.“Sirius Orion Black, you listen
to me.” He sounds exactly like their mother at the moment, cold and detached. “Remus Lupin
deserves better than you, but he’s loved you for years. Everyone in this castle has had to
watch you two make eyes at each other for years. If you don’t grow the fuck-up, someone
will steal Lupin from right under you. I’ll make sure it happens. I won’t let him be
heartbroken for the rest of his life. He deserves better than how you treat him, and you know
it.”
Sirius’ jaw is clenched so hard, it’s about to shatter. “And you know this, how?”

He moaned your name into my mouth when we snogged. “He told me.” Regulus shrugs, then
smirks. “Don’t worry, I made him forget all about you a few seconds after. That mouth with
those hands.” He wolf-whistles and makes a mmm, mmm, mmm! sound to drive the point
home.

Sirius doesn’t go red, his face doesn’t twitch, and there’s no warning when Sirius lunges for
Regulus. James pushes him back and holds him there. “Let it go,” he mutters sternly. Sirius
fights in his grasp. “Mate, he’s right. Calm down and let it go.”

“Think, you big oaf. Would you react the same way if I said the same thing about Peter, about
James? I bet you even smelled him in your Amortentia. And when I told him that, he didn’t
believe me. Remus laughed in my face because he thinks the idea of you loving him is
impossible. He smelled you in his Amortentia. So instead of standing around like the big
idiot you are, go and make it right.”

Sirius calms down enough that James lets go of him. He rolls his bottom lip between his
teeth. “Are you. . . Are you sure?”

Regulus stares at him, feeling his eye twitch. If Sirius is still standing in front of him in three
seconds, he might smack him. “Go.” Regulus slaps him across the face. “GO!”

Sirius sprints out of the room.

Regulus sighs, relieved. That’s one thing off his plate, even if Sirius will never find him.

“Did you really. . ?” James’ eyebrows are furrowed, and he looks distressed.

“Did I what, slap him?”

“Do things with Remus.” James frowns. “I didn’t know you two were. . .a thing.”

“We’re not a thing.” Regulus smirks. “It was one time.” Regulus stiffens, realizing that James
isn’t one of his friends. James has no reason to not tell anyone that he’s gay. “If you tell
anyone, they won’t believe you. And I’d make your life a living hell.” Regulus turns up his
nose and sniffs.

James frowns harder. It makes him look adorable. “I’m not telling anyone.” Suddenly, James
blushes quite violently, his brown skin turning a lovely shade of red, especially at his ears. He
rubs a hand over the back of his neck and grins sheepishly. “Do you, uh, do that often? Like,
is that something you do?”

Regulus’ eyebrows fly up, surprised by James’ conviction. “Are you asking me if I sleep
around?”

His eyes go wide. “No! I mean, I guess. But I don’t mean it like that! I’m curious.”

Regulus is silent, trying to figure out why James Potter is curious about his sex life. “Uh, no.”
Merlin, is James asking to check Remus didn’t get a disease from him? It’s endearing that
he’s looking out for his friend, but it’s vaguely horrifying for Regulus. “Potter, I didn’t sleep
with him. You know that, right?”

James’ eyes light up, a smile splitting his face. “Really? That’s brill! I mean—Merlin, this is
bad. I’m not calling you a. . .” Regulus zones out.

First was the bad flirting in Potions, then Potter called him ‘love’ while helping with his
anxiety attack, and now he’s messing up his words and asking sexual questions. James hasn’t
declared his love for Evans all year. If Regulus didn’t know any better, he’d say James has a
crush on him.

“James,” Regulus says. James shuts his mouth and looks at him earnestly. “Did you smell
Evans in your Amortentia?”
James freezes and seems to buffer. “Uh, no, why do you ask?”

Regulus doesn’t know James enough to determine whether he’s lying. He narrows his eyes.
“What do you want, Potter?”

He laughs, high and nervous, his eyes darting around. “Nothing! Everything’s fine!”

Regulus makes a disbelieving sound but drops it, not in the mood to make James
uncomfortable. “Good day, Potter.” He turns on his heel and stalks out, toward the dungeons.

“REGULUS!” A voice screams. It’s not Potter. Horrified that someone would yell his name
so loud, Regulus turns around, already appalled. Sirius is running after him, somehow
making it back from Gryffindor Tower. At the sound, James peeks out from the infirmary.
“Reggie, where is he?” He’s out of breath and looks seconds away from unraveling. “Please,
you told me to fix it. He’s not in the castle.”

James inhales a sharp breath. “You checked the map?”

Sirius shakes his head, brows pinched. “His name is gone, Prongs it’s—”

Regulus cuts in. “Don’t be ridiculous. Remus didn’t leave the castle.”

“Well then where is he?!” Sirius roars. Regulus isn’t prepared, so he flinches.

James puts a hand on Sirius’ chest and pushes him back. “Mate, I know you’re stressed but
back off.”

Sirius snarls and opens his mouth wide, and James shoves him back so hard he stumbles.
“Back off! Control yourself, Pads.”
And James furious like that. . .

Regulus quietly clears his throat and wishes away the heat in his cheeks. He brings out his
compass and taps it with his wand. “Remus Lupin.” His voice brings the boys’ attention to
him. They all watch as the needle hesitates, then points straight up.

Sirius tries and fails to grab the compass. Regulus pulls back. “Give it to me, Reg, now.”

Regulus pockets the compass, narrowing his eyes and looking Sirius up and down. “Who do
you think you are?”

“Regulus Arcturus—”

He laughs. “I’m not exposing one of my biggest secrets for you. Especially if you can’t find it
on this special map of yours. I’ll get Lupin, and I’ll see you at the party.”

“REGULUS!” Sirius bellows at Regulus’ retreating back.

Remus is probably the most melodramatic person he’s ever met. It’s childish to mope in bed
like he is, but he can’t seem to stop.

“I love you.”
“Don’t tell James, but you’re my best friend.”

Remus groans and buries his head in the pillow. His throat burns from the screaming and his
brain throbs from the idiocracy. There wasn’t any way Sirius could’ve taken what he said in a
friendly way. It was a tactic to let him down easy, but Remus didn’t want to revert to normal.

It hits him then, and his breath hitches.

They can’t go back to normal.

The moment Remus started having feelings for Sirius, there was an irreparable change.
Remus thought he wouldn’t be able to look Sirius in the eye after he thought about holding
his hand. He was wrong. And then he thought he’d be too embarrassed to innocently cuddle
with him when all he could think about was stripping off his trousers. He was wrong (the
cuddling certainly wasn’t innocent to Remus, though). Remus hates Sirius Black with the
passion of a thousand suns. That day will be burned into his memory, into all the Marauder’s
memories. But he loves him and misses him as much as he hates him. He’s being pulled into
two directions, and he doesn’t know if they can exist concurrently.

“You’re more dramatic than my brother.” Remus can hear the eye roll in Regulus’ voice.

“Not in the mood,” he mumbles into the pillow. His arm gets pulled, and suddenly he’s flying
out of bed, banging his body and funny bone into the hardwood floor. He swears, holding his
throbbing elbow. Remus’ eyes widen as he looks at Regulus. “What the fuck is wrong with
you?!”

“Oh, shut up. Sirius is an arsehole. We know, but you have a party to get to, N.E.W.Ts to
study for, and a whole life to live that doesn’t revolve around him. Go back to your sulking
tomorrow.” Regulus shoves Remus’ wand into his hand.

“Reg, you don’t get it. It’s so, frustrating. It feels like I was made to love him and he won’t
let me. He doesn’t want me.” The words echo.
His heart squeezes. God, isn’t that so sad? Remus spent his entire life trying to fit into what
he thought everyone wanted, and it’s not enough. “He doesn’t want me,” he whispers.

Regulus kicks him, harsh and bruising and sudden on the floor. Remus’ back is pressed
against the bed frame, and he fists a hand in the leg of Regulus’ trousers as he lets his pain
fall away. “I wasn’t lying, you know.” Regulus murmurs. “Everyone has a crush on you.
James even made eyes at you once.”

Remus laughs and tugs Reg closer. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Your self-esteem is so low. How do you expect to love everyone if you can’t even love
yourself?” Regulus pulls away, a smirk on his face. “Come on, we have a party to get to.”

As Regulus glamours his face, he wonders if he’s insecure. Sure, he thinks he’s a little lanky
and awkward, and yeah, he’s never worn short sleeves during summer, but he thought he was
getting better. He accepted Moony, and he’s starting to accept his magic.

Regulus fluffs his straight brown hair, looking into a mirror he conjured. His eyes are green
now, his skin a little more tan, and he’s a bit shorter. They decided to round out his
cheekbones so they don’t look so sharp, and change the shape of his nose.

“Do you really think I have no self-esteem?” Remus can’t help but blurt.

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say you had no self-esteem, I said you had low self-esteem.”
Regulus scrutinizes himself in the mirror. “This is so weird,” he whispers, with his new low-
pitched voice, running a finger down his nose.

“I’m hot. You kissed me.”

He snorts. “Thinking about James.”

“Were you thinking about James when you called me amazing and practically tackled me?”

“I did no such thing!” Regulus huffs like a dragon. “You have an innocent swot vibe to you,
it’s endearing.”

“So I’m what, cute?” Dogs are cute. Room decor is cute. ‘Cute’ is a compliment people say
when they don’t want to admit they’d never fuck you.

“Not really.” Regulus tilts his head from side to side. “It’s more like, ‘Oh wow, he wears
grandpa jumpers and has good grades but he also has a bunch of scars and smokes like
there’s no tomorrow.’ You have a. . . mysterious vibe to you.” He transfigures his clothes in
rapid succession, trying to pick an outfit. He lands on muggle sweatpants and a sweatshirt, all
black.

“Mysterious?” Remus supposes he doesn’t talk around people who aren’t his friends, but
that’s not mysterious. He’s just introverted. “And what are you wearing?”

Regulus frowns and looks himself up and down. “I’ve never gotten to wear muggle clothes
before. Is this not the appropriate attire to wear to this event?”

Remus decides to let the kid do whatever he wants. It’s not like he’s dressing up either.
They’re able to get to Gryffindor Tower without incident, but Regulus freezes up when the
portrait opens and blaring music pours out. “Remus.”

“Leo,” Remus says Regulus’ fake name teasingly. “Come on, it’s not as bad as you think it’ll
be.” Remus holds out his hand. “I won’t let anyone touch you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me,” Regulus snaps.

“Okay.”
“If someone throws up, I’m leaving.”

“Okay.”

Slowly, Regulus clamps onto Remus’ hand, and into the portrait they go.

It’s an assault on the nervous system. Regulus can’t stop himself from freezing up as he lets
Remus tug him along. Music blasts, pounding on his eardrums and shaking the floor. They
pass by a couple making out against the wall, hands touching places they shouldn’t be in a
public space. The small tower has been expanded to three or four times it’s normal size. The
furniture has been pushed to the side to allow for a dance floor that’s packed with squirming
bodies. Red cups and empty liquor bottles decorate the floor, and there’s still more on a long
table. “Remus,” Regulus grinds out. “What the fuck is this.”

He looks over and frowns. “What?” Remus yells.

Regulus goes up on his toes and speaks right into Remus’ ear. “I said, WHAT THE FUCK.”

Remus flinches back but rolls his eyes. “It’s not that bad!”

Sirius stands on the table, his leather jacket nowhere to be seen, kicking the red cups off.
Every woman turns to look at him. It must be a common occurrence because all the girls
throw up their arms as they fucking scream. Regulus and Remus watch as James Potter
kneels on the table with the bottom of his shirt between his teeth. He runs his hands over his
abs glistening with sweat. Sirius seems to serenade him with the lyrics, and the look in
James’ eye is positively wild. Marlene joins, Dorcas helping her up, and she strips James of
his shirt completely. The crowd roars.
Regulus slowly turns to Remus, whose face is pinched in a wince. “They’ll get better once
the night calms down.”

Remus leads him to the alcohol, and they both take shot after shot. The taste is bitter and
horrible, and Remus laughs at him. He doesn’t understand why people like drinking it.
Remus told him it’d help him relax, but now he feels fuzzier and cloudy. He turns and sees
Marlene grinding between James and Sirius, smiles on all of their faces, and he takes another
shot, Remus not too far behind.

Regulus tries another drink and it’s way too sweet. He fills his cup to the brim with it and sips
while Remus goes on and on.

“It’s not fair,” he whines. “He ruined my birthday and he doesn’t care. Just—” He swipes a
hand, knocking Regulus’ cup out of his hand, the punch-red liquid spilling all over the floor.
“Dancing and grinding and—hey, what’s wrong?”

Regulus is trying very hard not to cry. He looks up at the ceiling as vertigo washes over him.
“My drink.”

“You big baby.” Remus stumbles over to the punch and pours him more into a new cup.
“Here, daddy refilled your juice for you.”

Tears cling to Regulus’ lashes as he blinks and takes a sip. Remus slings an arm over
Regulus’ shoulder. “Now, what was I saying?”

“Grinding.”

“Right, so he—”
“Remus?” A new voice asks. Behind them is Peter Pettigrew, whose eyebrows are furrowed.
“When did you get here?”

“Pete!” Remus says. Remus jostles Regulus, but he doesn’t lift his head from Remus’
shoulder. He’s tired. “Re—Leo, it’s Wormy!”

“Hiiii, Wormyyy,” Regulus drawls dryly.

“Gods, where have you been? We’ve been waiting to cut the cake. Wait, are you drunk?”

“Pshh.” Remus waves that hand again, and this time Regulus pulls his drink away. “No. And
even if I was, I’m not as sloshed as him.” He points a thumb in Regulus’ direction.

It takes a few seconds for him to process the insult. “Hey!” Regulus protests half-heartedly,
reaction time a little late.

Peter leans in to speak in Remus’ ear. Regulus can barely hear his whisper over the music.
“Whose he? And what about Sirius?”

Remus shoves him away. “Fuck Sirius. Doesn’t want me.” He leans his head on Reg’s.

Peter’s mouth gapes for a second. He shakes his head and clamps a hand down on Remus’
arm, dragging Remus and Regulus behind him. “Nope. James can deal with your bullshit.”

Regulus figures out quickly that walking while drunk is not fun. His stomach lurches and the
sounds disorient him. They finally reach their destination, and Regulus clamps his hands over
his ears and closes his eyes, trying to get rid of the thickness in his throat. “Remus,” he says
pathetically.

“Ah, shite. Someone Summon the bucket!”

A metal bucket gets shoved in his hands and he immediately throws up. Remus rubs his back
in a comforting motion. “Oh Gods Rem. Why’d you make me do this?” He looks up,
sluggishly realizing that Remus hasn’t been rubbing his back this whole time. Brown skin
and eyes, darker hair, glasses, and no shirt. “You’re not Remus,” he says, eyes narrow in
suspicion. The grin that spreads over James Potter’s face affects him worse now that he’s
drunk. He isn’t sure if that squirming feeling is the crush or the alcohol. He clutches the
bucket closer.

“I’m not.” James shoves a potion in front of his face. “Come on mate, drink up. You’ll feel
good as new.” He slaps him on the back, and Regulus squirms, his stomach tightening. He
pukes in the bucket again. “Oh, sorry.” James leads him to a couch. He collapses on it, then
downs the potion without a second thought. It tastes like honey, but he can taste the lingering
bitterness that follows.

He sighs as the nausea and dizziness leave him. Regulus still feels quite buzzed, but it wasn’t
as severe as it was. “You’re such a lightweight,” Remus says. He must’ve taken a potion too
because he’s next to him, laughing.

“Shut up,” Regulus snaps. “You know that’s not my fault.”

Remus slips an arm around Regulus’ shoulder and draws him closer. Regulus splutters but
otherwise doesn’t protest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.” Regulus realizes that there are other people around them.
Peter is on the couch with them, and in front of them is the infamous coffee table. On the
other side of the table is a longer couch with Dorcas, Marlene, Lily, and Mary respectively.
James is on a recliner off to the side and Sirius is visibly fuming, sitting on the arm. “What’s
your name?” Sirius asks.

Regulus smirks. “Leo, and yours?” Even though Sirius is popular enough to be known on the
continent, Regulus pretends not to know who he is to injure his pride and ego.

Sirius opens his mouth to say something nasty, but James cuts in. “I’m James and that’s
Sirius.” He then tells Regulus everyone’s name and he has to pretend to meet them for the
first time. It’s dreadful.

“Sorry,” Remus mumbles in his ear. “They aren’t going to let you go now. They’re too nosy.”

Regulus rolls his eyes and turns to talk in Remus’ ear. “I want you to remember you’re the
one who brought me here,” he hisses.

“Don’t act like I’m holding you hostage. You agreed to come.”

“Because it’s your birthday! And I hope you know you look like a creep, preying on a minor
when you’re legal in the muggle and wizarding world.”

Remus barks out a laugh. “I wasn’t aware we were involved.”

“Sirius looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel. It’s too good of an opportunity to pass
up.” Remus and Sirius as a couple is inevitable, so why not mess with his brother while he
still can?

“So,” Sirius bites. “How did you two meet? Remus hasn’t told us about you.” Dorcas’ eyes
go wide and her head whips around to look at him in disbelief.

“I believe it was in Paris,” Regulus says slowly. “This American introduced us in a, ah,
certain kind of bar. Though he kept going on about this Italian bloke named Hio? Mio?”

Remus realizes that Regulus made them meet in the setting of Giovanni’s Room and pinches
him while smiling. “You sly little. . .” He goes for another pinch and Regulus shoves him
playfully.

“When did you go to Paris?” James asks, startled.

“He’s joking, babes,” Mary says.

“We met on the train to Hogwarts, actually,” Remus says. It’s the truth. Before he started to
hate him, Sirius introduced him to all his friends on the train. He can remember being tongue-
tied in Potter’s presence. He’s controlled himself since then.

“Ever since he’s kept me his dirty little secret,” Regulus sighs. Being someone else is freeing.
He can say whatever he wants with little consequence. Remus is a genius because now,
Regulus can be free from his rules and burdens for one night. Regulus also suspects he’s
drunker than he initially thought. “He only sees me in the dead of night, enough to keep me
hooked, but not enough to satisfy me.” Regulus lets his eyes water, he notices James,
Marlene, and Lily start to believe him. “Is five centimeters when hard really a normal size?”

Remus tackles Regulus. “You are such an arse!” They fall to the floor, Regulus laughing
freely for the first time in years. He manages to get his wand, but his laughter leaves him
vulnerable. Remus knocks it out of his hand and brings his wand out, pointing it in Regulus’
face. Regulus brings an open palm out to push his hand away and redirect whatever spell he
cast, then he grabs it and throws it somewhere. Remus is distracted, so Regulus knees him in
the stomach and runs, cackling. “You fucker!”

Remus is hot on his heels, and Regulus is alive, weaving through the crowd without care.
Remus finds him eventually and wraps his long arms around Regulus’ waist, drawing him
close. Regulus has tears of laughter rolling down his face as Remus pulls him onto the dance
floor. “I’m sorry!” Regulus cries out. “I’m sorry! I’ll tell them I was lying!”

“Whatever.” The heat of his panting right next to his ear. “You okay?”

Regulus blinks and realizes there are bodies pressed around them. He turns and buries his
head in Remus’ shoulder, the drunkenness subduing him. “Yeah.” Someone bumps into him.
A shiver runs up his spine, making his back lock up in disgust. “No. Nope. Nope.”

He’s dragged away from the crowd and into a corner. He faces the wall and gulps in air,
trying to will away the goosebumps on his skin. Regulus tries to distract himself. “I, uh, still
have a present to give you.” A lit fag is shoved in his face. He takes it with a nod of thanks
and inhales quickly, chasing the burn of his lungs.
“Another?” Remus mutters. They’re away from the music, but it’s barely quiet enough to
hear his whispers. “Don’t outdo yourself or else I’ll be screwed for your birthday.”

Regulus laughs and it’s turned into a cough. “No one outdoes me for birthdays. Good luck.”

“You haven’t said it today, you know.”

He turns and faces the world, feeling strikingly sober. James is on the dance floor, skin
flushed with sweat, grinding on someone with his beer thrust high in the air. One day,
Regulus thinks. Maybe one day.

He sighs and takes one last hit. “Happy birthday, Lupin.”

They come out of hiding and trek back to the couch, where Peter immediately brings out his
wand. “We’re cutting the cake now before you escape again.”

The blasting music grinds to a halt, and James hops up on the table, voice amplified with a
Sonorus. “Gather ‘round! Gather ‘round! It’s Gryffindor Tower’s favorite skinny swot’s
birthday. Can we get a round of applause for Remus Lupin?” James has his arms out, and he
lifts them. The crowd goes insane. “Come on!” His amplified voice is barely louder than the
crowd. “Louder! I can’t hear you!”

“Kill me now, Leo.” Remus groans. Marlene jostles his shoulders as he stares at the ground in
embarrassment. The crowd starts to chant his name, and he gets pushed to the table.
Realization dawns on him, and he turns, horrified. “Help! Leo!”
Regulus pretends not to hear him and sips his empty cup, the bastard. Remus looks at his fate
as the crowd parts for him. James leans out a hand, and once Remus grabs on, he hauls him
onto the table with one arm. The group intensifies in sound—they’ve started to chant his
name, for Godric’s sake— and Remus winces. Before he came in, he cast a spell to quiet his
hearing, but it must not be able to handle it anymore. James muses Remus’ hair.

“Lu—pin! Lu—pin! Lu—pin!”

James conducts them to calm down, waving his hand in a soothing motion. “Say it,” James
taunts. “You know we can’t without you saying it!”

Remus burns with humiliation. He locks eyes with Regulus from across the crowd.
“Letthemeatcake,” he rushes. Regulus smirks.

“What?” James cups his ear. “What was that?”

“I said let them eat cake!” Remus snaps. The crowd roars as Peter’s delicate magic whisks
out dozens upon dozens of paper plates with chocolate cake.

Lily always refuses her own Marauder party and won’t come if they throw them, Marlene
likes the cake to be all different types of flavors, and Mary enjoys tiramisu (everyone outside
the group gets chocolate because no one has time to make tiramisu for everyone). Peter’s
flavor is funfetti and Sirius’ is vanilla with vibrant frosting that tastes like straight food dye.
James’ birthday is in July, and his dad always makes him lemon tres leche with coconut
frosting (James is the only one who can stomach it). On the last day, they give James a party,
the biggest one of the year, in which he picks a light lemon cake.

James and Remus jump off the table and hurry to the couch, where a three-tier chocolate cake
with chocolate icing stands lopsided on the table. Eighteen colorful candles are already lit,
and Remus can’t help but crack a smile. “Thank you, Pete.”

Peter flushes. “I didn’t make it.”

“You still set everything up,” Remus points out, collapsing on the couch next to Regulus. He
throws an arm around his shoulders. “So, thank you.”

The group choruses syncopated thank yous and Peter just nods, taking a swing from his
bottle.

“Happy birthday to you,” James says with a smirk. Everyone except Regulus joins in the next
time. “Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to Moony.” Some say ‘Remus’ instead.
“Happy birthday to you!”

Remus withdraws his arm and leans over to blow out his candles. I wish for this happiness to
never end. Remus opens his eyes and makes eye contact with Sirius, who is looking at him
with the softest face. Eyes drooped, a small hesitant smile, rosy cheeks from exertion and
alcohol. He’s been strangely quiet this whole evening. Remus’ stomach swoops and his heart
skips a beat. Merlin.

“Gifts! Gifts! Gifts!” Marlene demands. “Let me go first!”

Remus grins and rips apart the paper. His smile drops as the group breaks into laughter. Even
Regulus’ shoulders are shaking. “Marls,” Remus groans. He feels his face go completely red.
She got him condoms. “How did you even. . .? You know we’re wizards right?”

She shrugs, falling into Dorcas. He can tell she’s pleased. “This is more embarrassing for
you.”

Mary gives him a soft jumper that he can’t stop rolling between his fingers, Peter a gorgeous
white moonflower that he can’t stop petting the silky petals between his fingers, Dorcas a
beautiful book that cover has stunning colors, James a friendship bracelet that he puts on
immediately (Look! Now we’ll always match!) and Lily—

“N.E.W.Ts study material?” Remus has admittedly forgotten he had to take them this year
with all that was happening.
Lily smiles. “You don’t recognize the handwriting?”

Beside him, Regulus gasps. “Alice Fortescue? There’s no way she gave up her sacred Alice
Agenda,” he says in a rush.

Everyone gapes. “You know Alice?” Remus asks incredulously.

Regulus’ face screws up. “I know of her. She played Quidditch, Frank Longbottom’s her
boyfriend.” He points to the papers in his hand. “And those got students held back for years
to pass. You’re letting me use them,” he demands, sipping his punch.

Remus rolls his eyes and mutters, “Like you need them.” Regulus elbows him in the ribs and
Remus hisses. “Thank you, Lily. I’d probably die without these.”

“Yeah Lils, that’s brill,” James says.

“Stop trying to make ‘brill’ a thing,” Mary, Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, and Peter say in sync
dryly. James frowns.

Remus starts picking apart another gift. “Leave him alone. Orders from the birthday boy.”
The wrapping falls apart, and he pries apart the aluminum tin. It’s Mam’s double chocolate
chip biscuits sitting on brown parchment paper. Remus freezes, his smile slowly fading. It’s
her exact cookies, and they’re still warm under a Stasis charm. On top of them lays a careful
note in Welsh.

Happy birthday my beautiful baby! Hope you have the best birthday. Can’t wait to see you
over break. I love you.

Remus finds himself blinking away tears, his fingers skimming over the words. “Who?” His
voice is weak and croaky. He clears it and tries again. “Who’s gift is this?” Nobody fesses up,
tension sows through the group. “Well, thank you,” he says softly. He puts the lid back on.
The last gift is Sirius’, which is a pack of cigs. Aretha Franklin—sunshine—‘Sirius, I have
something to tell you.’—head turn, soft eyes, midnight hair spread on a pillow—‘Tell me a
secret.’ Remus blinks to rip himself out of the harsh memory. He tries not to make his smile
look painful. “Thanks. I was just about to run out.”

Sirius smiles just as harshly and tucks a stray curl behind his ear. “No problem.”

Remus shakes his head to try to dislodge the thoughts of Sirius’ shy look and the gift from
Mam. His mind spins and lands on the topic over and over. He can’t seem to refocus his gaze.
“Leo? Time for my gift now.”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “No.”

“I’m the birthday boy.”

“You could be Godric Gryffindor himself and I still wouldn’t care.”

“How about Salazar?”

They share a smirk. Regulus shrugs. “Heard he was fit back in the day,” he murmurs. Remus
shoves him, he shoves back. Remus knows he won’t convince Regulus to get his gift, and
he’s about to drop the subject when Sirius pipes up.

“Come on, mate.” The smile on Sirius’ face is miles away from the real one he shared with
Remus minutes earlier. “It is his birthday.”

Regulus sets his jaw, and Remus prepares for the incoming brawl. “I’ll give it to him later.”
His eyes narrow and he cocks his head in a way that’s more accusatory than questioning. “Is
it sex?”

James splutters around his beer. He wipes a hand over his mouth. “Godric, Pads. Lay off.”

“It’s not really our business,” Lily says gently. Remus is reminded that some of the group
doesn’t know he’s gay.

“No.” Regulus stares into Sirius’ eyes. Remus knows what Regulus desperately wants to say.
But what would you do if it was?

“Leo. . .” Remus says in warning. There’s no need to poke the bear. Sirius has always been
weirdly protective over Remus. No matter what guy Remus told him about, they were never
the right height and they weren’t from a good House and Sirius would watch them
religiously. The moment they messed up—spilled a sip of his drink, stirred clockwise instead
of counterclockwise in Potions—Sirius would be on him, giving Remus a look like see? Not
good enough. Remus used to think that meant Sirius must like him, but a couple of days later,
he blew up at James for pining after Lily too often.

“Then why don’t you bring it out?” Sirius asks, poking, poking, poking.

Peter tries to intervene. “Sirius, relax.”

“He doesn’t have to do anything,” Marlene says, huffing. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Dorcas looks embarrassed and takes two huge gulps out of her cup. Mary rolls her eyes and
dips to talk in Lily’s ear.

“I’m sorry,” Remus says quietly to Regulus. “I didn’t know he’d act like—”
Regulus suddenly stands up. Everyone’s eyes are drawn to him and Remus holds his breath.
Regulus dips his fingers—light tan lines acting as his rings for now—into the pocket of his
sweatpants. He pulls out something so small even James squints through his glasses to see.
He enlarges it with a touch from his wand, and there in his palm is a pack of fags. The carton
has light, swimming drawings on it. A white glowing moon goes through all its phases, a pile
of books topples over, double chocolate chip biscuits have steam billowing from them, and
there are a dozen other small drawings he can’t see.

Regulus hands him the carton and sits down. On the back is an illustration of him smiling in
his favorite jumper, eyes crinkling as he blows smoke that covers the drawing. He’s still
staring as it loops.

“I didn’t do the watercolour myself.” Regulus sighs. Remus thumbs over the paint that
screams Pandora. “There’s different scents inside. One of them’s chocolate, obviously.” He
rolls his eyes.

“Like Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans?” James gasps.

Regulus’ dull gaze flicks to him like it’s the dumbest statement he’s heard all night. “Sure,”
he drawls.

James breaks into a heart-stopping smile. “That’s—”

Peter Silenco’s him before he can finish.“Don’t! Please, don’t!”

“It’s brill,” Remus says disbelievingly, ignoring the groans. “To make it move like that?
Making nicotine have a taste?” Remus shakes his head. “This must’ve taken ages. Thank
you.”

Regulus shrugs, and then a smirk takes over his face. “Maybe you can thank me later? We
can take up Sirius’ suggestion.”
“Don’t,” Sirius says, deathly calm.

Regulus raises one sharp eyebrow. “And what would you do if I did?”

Sirius springs up and hoists Regulus out of his seat before James can stop him. His fists are
shaking with uncontrollable rage. “You don’t talk about Remus like that.” Remus shoves
Sirius away, trying to convey what in bloody hell with a single look.

Regulus just laughs coldly. “Shame. He likes my dirty tongue.”

Sirius lunges and James catches him in time. “Merlin, again, Sirius? Get a mind healer.”
Mary sneers.

It’s a nasty thing to say, so maybe that’s why Regulus laughs as James pulls Sirius to their
dorm.

Remus follows them instantly, waiting to rip Sirius into shreds for that utter bullshite he tried
to pull. Sirius feeds him—feeds everyone—the same rubbish over and over. He chokes on his
lies until he can’t breathe, and Sirius promises it’s fine, promises he’s got it under control.
But Sirius has never had it under control. It’s not completely his fault, he was raised in a
horrible environment. That shouldn’t mean that Remus has to choke on it too. He hears James
and Sirius shouting before he even opens the door. When he does, they both look at him and
freeze. Sirius’ cheeks are flushed and James looks like a startled deer.

“James, get out.”

“Remus—”

“Get out, Prongs.”

James opens and closes his mouth, a gaping fish. He looks at Sirius, then at Remus. He gives
Remus a curt nod as he leaves.

“James?” Sirius asks.

James shakes his head. “I tried Siri, but you two are exhausting.” He sighs.

The sound of the door closing echoes through the room.

“Remus, I—” Sirius cuts himself off. “I lost it, okay? It’s your birthday and I made it all
about me. You told me I was like this, and I didn’t listen. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry. I’ll
make it up to you. Promise, Moons. I’ve been fucking up a lot lately.” He sighs and screws
his eyes shut. “This might be too much to ask, but, have some faith. I am getting better. Soon,
I’ll—I’ll be good, Moony.” His eyes are wide and earnest.

Remus can’t feel anything. He’s exhausted. He’s been giving Sirius second chances without
even noticing it. Yelling at him to be better, explaining how and why Sirius hurt him like he’s
some child who doesn’t know any better. The truth is, Sirius knows better. He might not be
mature or the most adult-like in the room, but he knows better than to provoke people he
doesn’t know. Regulus baited him, but Sirius should’ve been able to control himself. Snape
baited him, and Sirius should’ve been able to control himself. It’s been a year, and Sirius is
the exact same. The promises he made null and void, the excuses growing stale and old.

“Remus?” Sirius asks. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Can you yell at me? Just—Merlin can you
say anything? Please?”

Remus thinks he’ll always love Sirius, the way Earth loves humans. Humans destroy her and
she keeps turning. They smoke and drive and throw litter onto the streets and she still loves.

Remus still loves, but it’s time to take care of himself.

He doesn’t give Sirius a reaction. It’s not harsh. He doesn’t yell. He leaves the room quietly
and he doesn’t look back.
 ACT THREE: Crack Baby
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-injury (again)

-sacrilegious/blasphemous discussions

Crack baby, you don’t know what you want

But you know that you had it once

And you know that you want it back

-Mitski

Remus is sitting in the Astronomy Tower when Regulus comes in. He should be preparing for
Quidditch, but there he is. Remus doesn’t look up when Regulus sits down, courtesy of his
nasty mood. He could ignore the ill effects of the full yesterday when he had the party to
distract him, but he woke up aching and a headache throbbing at his temples.

His bed was warm and inviting, and he wanted to be lost in the ambiguous feelings of a fuzzy
mind. His classes seemed to repeat the same thing over and over, and the Marauders kept
trying to talk to him. James has a pinched, worried look every time he speaks to Remus,
Peter’s wary, eyes darting, seeming to wait for Remus to explode, and Sirius. . . Sirius looks
rougher than Remus has ever seen him. Dark circles imprint under his eyes, and he blinks
slowly, seconds from falling asleep. Completely defeated.

“If someone of immense power came down and said you’d be with child, would you think
them devil or God?”

Regulus whistles. “Wow. Last night must’ve been rough.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Muggles have a lot of religions, and in one of them, this girl has an
angel come down and tell her she’d be pregnant by the power of God. But if I were in that
situation, I don’t like to think I’d be that naive.”

Regulus ponders it, and Remus realizes he couldn’t bring it up to anyone but him. Only
Regulus could answer a mythical hypothetical without worrying about Remus’ mental state.
“Well, if she believed in religion, it wouldn’t be crazy of her to think it was God. I mean,
everywhere you look, every source of life stems from one being. The water you drink and the
leaves that fall. . . if you saw a bright light and something promised you life and not death,
you’d think they’re good, yes?”

Remus looks up. Regulus is scribbling away in his sketchbook; his quill has unlimited ink.
He stops, and then looks up with a wry smirk. “And if you did think it was the devil, it’s not
like you could stop it.” He laughs, the humour completely stripped. “Trust me, I’d know.
Now, I’ve been thinking of making a new potion.”

Before Remus can even think of responding, Regulus shows what he’s been drawing. In a
rough outline is the shape of a potion bottle with hearts floating out of it. The label reads:
PESSIMISM BE GONE!!! then, in the corner, a disclaimer: *only works when the person on
the recipient end of pessimism has a Quidditch match.

Remus gives him a suffering look, and Regulus arches a brow. “Is it working?”

He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes himself. “My pessimism,” he says dryly.
“Noooooo.” Remus stops his quivering abruptly, back to his brooding.

“Oh well, worth a try.” Regulus gets up and dusts off his clothes. “Brood on the stands, will
you?” He puts his hand on Remus’ shoulder. An unspoken acknowledgment that Remus isn’t
okay, and Regulus is sorry. “You know how I hate to be away from you too long. Our
rigorous sex life wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Remus goes to push him, but Regulus is
already walking away.
 —

“Remus Lupin!” Pandora says gleefully. The cold makes his bones creek particularly awful,
and his Warming Charm isn’t doing much. He has to fight to not sneer at Pandora. He’s not in
the mood for conversation. Remus supposes he shouldn’t be surprised to see Pandora, she is
the announcer for the game or whatever it’s called. “I know, Mercury is in retrograde. I had a
terrible feeling something was going to happen today. Ms. Hooch didn’t let me call off the
match.” Her eyes are always wide and unblinking. A piece of her hair is encased with thick
embroidery thread, making a Chinese staircase. It’s the only part of her blonde hair that isn’t
flying in the wind.

“The wind does seem a bit much.” Remus frowns. The only reason he hasn’t walked out is
because he feels bad for abandoning Regulus last night. It’s the least he could do to show up
and support him. His hip pops out of place, and he grits his teeth.

“Your aura is all out of balance,” Pandora says.

“Been a rough couple of days.” What an understatement. He’s felt more run down than he has
in months. “Thank you for the gift, by the way.”

Pandora puts a comforting hand on Remus’ shoulder. “You’re welcome. Happy Birthday. I
can do a cleansing for you if you’d like, but it’d have to wait until after the game. I have to
head up to the box.”

Unless you’re cleansing has weed, it won’t help. “Let me think about it.” Remus gives her
what he hopes is a winning smile.

She heads off, and Remus looks at the Gryffindor stands, the blur of roaring red and gold. His
fake smile slowly sloughs off, his face setting into something impasse. He looks at the
Slytherin side, jumping green and silver. Dorcas sits with Barty and Evan. The force of a
stare makes him glance to the Gryffindor bleachers, where from so far up, Sirius gives him
those pleading eyes. Peter and the girls sit next to him, all laughing while Sirius stares.
“Remus,” a voice calls. Professor McGonagall rubs her hands together. Her eyes squint to
keep them from drying too quickly in the cold.

“Professor,” Remus says, surprised. “Is there something I can help you with?”

There’s a twinkle in her eye that Remus thought only belonged to Dumbledore. “Sit with
me.”

“Where?” She sweeps her hand out to a bench that wasn’t there before. Remus hesitates.
While Minnie and Remus have always had an understanding, it doesn’t mean they talk freely
like this. Everyone else (well, maybe not Lily, or James) would see sitting with a professor at
a Quidditch game as taboo. But it’s not like he cares too much if people think he’s a suck-up,
and he’s certainly not jumping with joy at the idea of sitting with the Gryffindors or
Slytherins. “I’m not sure if that’s allowed.”

“You won’t get in trouble, Remus. Sit with me.” She sits on the bench, adjusting her hat.

Remus hisses as he sits, his joints protesting quite loudly. Professor McGonagall casts a
strong Warming Charm over him, and he shivers in delight, the magic tickling down his
spine. “Thank you.” Ever since his expulsion of magic in the Defense classroom, he’s been
more in tune with magic. Peter’s is a fun one to feel, coy and shy, slipping out when he least
expects it. Minnie’s doesn’t giggle like most light magic, it just has a sort of neutral presence.

She responds with a timid nod. The match kick-starts, Regulus flying high above the pitch in
his misleading slouching posture. Regulus told him he likes to play loose. In the beginning,
other Seekers took it as boredom on his part and let their guard down. They know better now,
but Reg says it helps him relax and focus. As the captain, James goes to the middle to shake
hands. McGonagall tuts.“I was shocked this morning when a member of Slytherin came up to
me and warned me about one of my students.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “What, did some Gryffindor call Snivellus a slimy git?”

Minnie’s eyebrows raise. “Some Gryffindor is apparently having a hard time. Having fights
with his friends, feeling out of place and lost. I think they said something along the lines of,
For someone that only talks when he feels he needs to, he doesn’t say much about when he
needs help.” She looks at him from the corner of her eye. “And I believe that Slytherin was
talking about you.”

Remus sighs. “No, they weren’t.”

“Is there another Remus Lupin stalking around here, Mr. Lupin? You don’t have a common
name.”

His head whips around, startled. “They said me by name?” The only Slytherin that would
have the balls to do that. . . “Regulus,” he hisses. Anger rises in his blood, but it fizzles out
before he gets a chance to act. Remus just lets out a sigh. The damage has already been done,
and snapping at Regulus over it won’t help the situation.

The Slytherin bleachers break into an uproar when some Chaser scores a point. “There it is,
folks. The first score of the season belongs to the Slytherins. Good job, Mulicber, just a
beautiful throw.” Pandora’s voice is too calm for such a fast-paced and exciting sport. It’s
kinda funny. The Gryffindor crowd stands up on its feet and shouts. “Oh, and would you look
at that,” Pandora’s quiet voice says. “James Potter, Head Boy, Captain of the Gryffindor
team, has also scored. This seems like it’ll be an even match, folks. Oh, hello. James seems to
be making his rounds.”

Pandora waves at James, who’s right outside the box. He salutes and dips down, skimming
his fingers through the eager crowd. He glides through the air easily, much easier than Remus
ever had in First Year, and returns to the match, gleeful and smiling, pumping a fist.

“Yes, Regulus. He seems to be worried. Well, as worried as I’ve seen him be. Is there
anything you want to tell me about? I’m here to listen.”

Remus doesn’t want to involve anyone else in the drama of the moon. It’s been drawn out
long enough, and if he talks about it one more time he might forgive Sirius just the subject of
conversation can finally change. He looks down and scuffs his shoe against the dirt. “Just the
moon,” he mutters.
Professor McGonagall purses her lips. “Remus—”

“Oh, there Regulus Black, Seeker for Slytherin, goes!” Regulus moves so fast that Remus’
eyes can’t keep up with him. He’s a superimposing black star against the vibrant grey sky, his
path layering on top of itself, with the Gryffindor Seeker following behind him. The golden
glittering Snitch is below him, and instead of pointing the broom down to follow, Regulus
turns himself upside down, his leg and core strength the only thing that keeps him from
plummeting with gravity. Bludgers whip around him. Remus finds his heart beating faster,
knowing exactly what’s going through his head: nothing.

It’s never been done in school before, maybe by anyone ever, and everyone stands up. The
crowd is silent. Pandora is silent. The Snitch changes course and goes flying back into
Regulus’ hands. Remus is struck with the idea that Regulus knew the Snitch would do that.
Regulus is just that good. The Slytherins erupt into deafening cheers. “I—” There’s no
mistaking the pride in Pandora’s voice. “Regulus Black has just flown upside down to grab
the Snitch, a variation on a Sloth Roll Grip that I’ve never seen, and it worked. I’ve never
seen such skillful Snitch reading from a Seeker before. This is our shortest game at
Hogwarts, ladies and gentlemen.” She releases a shaky breath. “We’ve witnessed history.”

Remus yells. “Don’t fuckin’ think, Regulus! Fuck yeah!” Professor Minnie gives him a dirty
look, but Remus’ light cannot be dimmed. The Slytherins rush off the stands and maul
Regulus, lifting him onto their shoulders and parading him around the field. Marlene and
James are slack-jawed in shock and awe. Regulus looks at Remus with a smirk and winks,
even though his skin must be crawling. Remus hopes the adrenaline has made him forget
about his problems with touch. “Seven minutes!” Pandora exclaims. “Merlin! What a match!
What. A. Match!”

Chants grow louder. “REG-U-LUS! REG-U-LUS! REG-U-LUS!” The Snitch is still gripped
in his hand. The chants drown out the sound of Pandora screaming until it’s too late. A stray
Bludger comes flying out of nowhere, too fast to stop, and it hits Regulus right in the back of
the head.

Remus watches him fall from grace— the artist, the athlete, the prince, the valedictorian—
and the little light of happiness and hope he had burning flickers out. Lumos to Nox.
 —

It feels strikingly like his old full moons, the way he can’t remember. He blurringly
remembers the confusion of the group, the hesitating teachers, and the students backing away
when he collapsed to the ground like he had a disease. McGonagall ran into action, calling
over Madam Pomfrey.

He tried to go—he tried—

and then—and then they wouldn’t let him—

It’s gone. What comes next is gone. Now he sits in a plastic chair, holding Regulus’ hand,
because he knows Regulus will be more afraid of waking up alone than touch. He squeezes
his hand as hard as possible, begging Regulus to wake up. He’s been out all Friday night.
Regulus might not wake up. Pomfrey said that. The head trauma might be too severe. Moony
paces in his chest and Remus’ foot jerks up and down restlessly.

There’s a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Remus. Walburga is on her way,” Minnie says. “We
think it might be best if—”

Remus shrugs her off. It wouldn’t matter if Merlin himself came to pry him from Regulus.
Hesitation—Minnie—rejection—and then. . .? God, what happens next? His hip throbs. The
full’s tomorrow. If this is how Regulus felt when Remus passed out, he doesn’t blame him for
being annoyed. If Regulus ever wakes up, Remus might hug him.

“Moony,” James says softly. And it’s evil, bringing him into it. “Come on, mate,” he sounds
so devastated. Remus lets himself get manhandled out of the chair. “It’s okay, Remus. Take a
breather. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll sit with him.”

“No,” Remus says as James sits down. “You shouldn’t have to deal with Walburga.”
James pushes his glasses up his nose. “You shouldn’t either.” Remus gapes, trying to look for
a response. “Go, Remus. Come back not smelling like rubbish.”

“I—”

“Remus,” he says sternly. Remus doesn’t like it, but he nods stiffly and leaves. Hesitation—
Minnie—rejection—and then. . .? Hesitation, Minnie, rejection. What is wrong with him? He
should be able to remember, shouldn’t he? Remus runs a tired hand over his face. His back is
crimped in eight different places, and he’s moving at a shuffle pace.

Maybe it was a good thing getting out of there. Pandora would say exposure to different
energies while healing would speed up the process. Remus has been sorrowful for all the
hours he’s spent at his bedtime. A change of pace could be good for him. With James there,
any bad juju from Walburga will be canceled out, giving Regulus a perfectly neutral state to
conduct his healing. Peter would probably say it’s bullshit, and that’s why he’s not thinking
about reason. He’s thinking of what can get him through the next minute, the next hour, the
next day, if he’s lucky.

He stumbles into the dorm. It’s suspiciously dark, but Remus can only think about his bed.
Remus shimmies off his jeans and removes his socks one by one, leaving a trail. He pulls
open the curtains he doesn’t remember closing and collapses in his jumper and pants on the
bed.

Through the rustle of messy covers and a soft Lumos, he sees Sirius reading one of Remus’
books in Remus’ jumper that he thought the elves had lost. “Remus, I—”

Remus cuts him off with a big sniff. He smells like Remus, and it’s lovely. The wolf in his
chest stops his anxious pacing and curls up. He’s so tired, and there’s the comforting warm
press of a body right next to him. He turns around and snuggles back into Sirius, which might
not be completely fair to him. Remus sighs as a soft hand runs through his hair, massaging at
his scalp. “Moony?”

He fucking whines, like a dog, because he doesn’t want to talk. Not about The Prank and not
about Regulus. Remus blames it on the full and throws his head back, baring his throat to the
world. Sirius must be uncomfortable, but Remus doesn’t care as long as he still feels that
warmth and nails scraping against his head.
Sirius suddenly takes charge, and Remus makes a sound when he removes his hand. Then
there’s an arm around him, pulling him back. Sirius curls around him perfectly, and Remus
almost falls asleep right there. “He’ll wake up,” Sirius says softly. The light patchy stubble on
his jaw rubs against Remus’ skin. “It’ll be okay, Moons.”

Remus sighs. “I miss you.”

“I’m right here.”

“Then I miss who you used to be,” he slurs, and then drifts right off to sleep.

Remus feels more comfortable and at peace than he has in months. His sleep was glorious
and deep to the point where he knows he’ll be tired all day. Someone snores right into his ear.
Remus sinks in deeper, trying to forget that constant ache in his bones and heart, and the
person wraps their arms tighter around him like a shield. It’s here that Remus feels protected
from his N.E.W.Ts and Reg’s condition and his condition. He’s just a guy, lying in bed.
There’s no prophecy, no murders, no impending doom. The person murmurs behind him and
squirms, a very noisy sleeper, and Remus smiles.

This is what life should be like for everyone. Peaceful.

He turns over and sticks his nose into a nice neck. The person hums happily. It smells like
him, but also like leather and coconut and cigarettes. Remus is too sleepy to place the scent.
The snores fade out and the person’s lips smack. A warm, wet mouth presses against the
crown of his head.
Remus rubs a hand into both his eyes. He opens them and squints against the light. No
nightmares, he realizes. He raises his head and, through his blurry eyes, looks at who must be
the best snuggler in the world. Black hair and pale skin come into focus slowly like he’s
seeing underwater.

Remus has never seen Sirius look so soft and unguarded.

Sirius. Sirius Black. Oh, God, what has he done?

Remus springs backward and falls off the bed. He stumbles out of his curtains in search for
his trousers, which have to be able to protect him against Sirius, because if they don’t. . . “I’m
sorry,” Remus blurts. “No, no, no. I’m sorry.”

“Remus, it’s okay.”

“None of this is okay! I am not okay, and you aren’t either!”

“I’m tired of fighting you, Remus.” He sounds the same as Remus, broken down and
unbelievingly raw. “I won’t do it anymore. I tried to imagine it. Me out in the world without
you there with me and I couldn’t—Remus I can’t do this without you. And if you think it’s
agreeable, I think it’s time we stop fucking around and admit that we can’t be stopped. This
can’t be stopped.”

It’s the most unserious (ha ha?) thing he’s ever heard Sirius say. It’s straightforward and not
filled with horrible bouts of flirting and dramatics. “No,” Remus says, shaking his head. He
must be in the midst of a nightmare or someone must’ve Polyjuiced to look like Sirius
because this doesn’t make any sense. “I—no. I don’t.”

Sirius grabs Remus’ hands and presses them against his cheeks. “Moony please.” Tears are in
his eyes, and Remus is helpless as his eyes follow suit. “It’s me, Rem, and it’s you. It’s
always been just me and you.”
Remus shoves him away as his mind whirls. He was angry. He remembers being so angry
and so in love, but now all he feels is sad. Waves of unmistakable grief crashing through him
in a way he’s never felt before. Remus just promised himself that he’d focus on himself
instead of Sirius, and here he is, actually considering Sirius’ offer. He must be going insane,
and Peter and Regulus aren’t here to tell him what to do—

He rummages through his bedside drawer and finds the cigarettes Regulus gave him. Remus
opens them for the first time, and on the inside is another drawing. The words DON’T THINK
in his neat handwriting and a little leather jacket next to them. Remus stares at it for a second,
and for a minute he can’t figure it out. Is this—Is it a blessing? A nudge in what Regulus
thinks is the right direction? Regulus hates Sirius. Hates him with every fibre of his being and
beyond. And he’s saying it’s okay.

All the fight leaks out of him, but he still has some semblance of sanity to put himself first.
“Can you swear it?”

Sirius sounds shocked. “What?”

“Can you make a magical promise that you won’t endanger me? That you won’t tell my
secrets?”

There’s a silence where Remus prepares for the possibility that Sirius laughs at him and calls
him insane. Maybe Sirius doesn’t love him as much as he loves his magic.

Remus turns at the breathy sigh behind him. Sirius has a conjured knife in one hand and a
dark red slit in his palm, bubbling with blood. Sirius looks into Remus’ eyes, and when he
does nothing, he takes Remus’ hand and draws blood. He presses their palms together. “I
solemnly swear that I won’t take advantage of Remus John Lupin’s vulnerability and trust
again, that I won’t share any of his secrets without his explicit permission. By my life, by my
life. By my blood, and by the magic that lies where and where not the eye can see, I love
Remus Lupin, and this is my decree.”

They stand, hands interlocked, their blood a running river between their forearms, dripping
on the floor. The example of Sirius’ ugly and violent love that’s just the same as Remus’.
“You have to say you accept,” Sirius whispers.
Remus falls into his grey eyes. “I accept, Sirius Orion Black.” Red magic surges between
them, pushing towards their hands, swirls and threads of magic twirling between them. He
watches in rapt attention as the magic strengthens and thickens, smelling of strong iron, and
then fades into their skin. Their hands drop still interlocked.

“It’ll leave a scar,” Sirius says in a tone that’s just for Remus. “But it’ll be faint and lighter
than mine.” Remus doesn’t pull away to look at it, and neither does Sirius. They look into
each other’s eyes. Sirius places a warm hand on the back of Remus’ neck and they lean in
together, eyes wandering over skin hungrily. It’ll be sweet. Remus knows it. When their lips
press together, it will be a soft and eager end to years of tentative friendship. “I—” Sirius
breathes out. “It’s okay? That I like this?”

Remus’ heart constricts as it beats wildly. He can’t believe it. This must be a dream. “It’s
okay, Pads. You’re perfect.”

Soft lips brush against him and his knees go weak. He stumbles forward, his head bowed so
he can reach closer. Sirius’ head is tilted, his breath fanning over Remus’ face, and he almost
snaps.

The door slams open. So fucking close. One step forward and a thousand steps back. Remus
closes his eyes, and Sirius tightens his hand, slipping it into Remus’ hair. “What?” Sirius
snaps at the person, sounding sinful and debauched.

James Potter is grinning like an absolute loon. “It’s Regulus,” he pants. “Regulus is awake.”
 Wading In Waist-High Water
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-emotional manipulation

Now we’re finally aligning

More than maybe I can choose

-Fleet Foxes

Regulus wakes up to the sound of his mother screeching, which means his day will be
horrible. His head throbs at the temples, but he knows if he stalls talking to his mother,
whatever she does will be worse than a headache. “Lady Black, you must be tired and
worried, but Regulus needs rest.”

“Who do you think you are? Do you think you know my son better than me?”

Regulus opens his eyes as much as he can. Pomfrey and Maman look like they’re about to
pull out their wands and duel. James Potter is sitting in the chair next to his bed, and he
doesn’t ponder it for the sake of his sanity. “Madam Pomfrey, I’m fine.” His tongue is thick,
and his throat is as dry as a desert. “Maman, may I have some water?”

“Oh, Regulus,” Walburga croons. She places a hand on his cheek, and he swallows thickly,
trying to fight the urge to push her off. Where she touches makes his skin squirm violently.
Regulus can’t stand it. “I was visiting your father when they sent the owl. You worried us
both,” she says bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Maman. It won’t happen again.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” James says slowly, disbelievingly. Regulus has to fight not to snap at
him. Fighting with her never makes the punishment any better. “A Bludger flew at his head.”

Walburga straightens her back. “You’re the Potter boy?” she asks amusingly. He nods. “I
know he’s not at fault, I’m not a monster, despite what that. . . boy might tell you.” Her face
twitches at the thought of Sirius. “But I told him multiple times to quit that horrid sport, did I
not?”

“You did, Mother.”

“And he didn’t listen, did he?”

“I didn’t, Maman.”

“And if he did, then none of us would be in the situation, would we? The news sent his father
into a panic.” Regulus highly doubts that. His father possibly could have frowned. “He knows
that his father is having a tough time, and yet he chooses his selfish ways. Now he reaps the
consequences.” She tilts her head and looks at Regulus. “Why is he here, Regulus? You two
aren’t friends, I should hope.”

Regulus doesn’t understand how he’s supposed to know why James is here when he’s been
passed out, but he gets the hint well enough. He’s not supposed to hang out with Sirius or his
friends. It will prove difficult to find a way to continue to be friends with Lupin once he and
Sirius finally figure out their shit.

“It was someone on my team who threw the Bludger. I feel like it’s my responsibility to make
sure he’s okay.”

Walburga sniffs. “I highly doubt it was your fault. The children of this school have no
decorum.” She always believes that purebloods can do no wrong, even if the purebloods are
blood traitors.
“My mother is correct, Potter.” The horror that’s written on James and Pomfrey’s faces is
palpable. He’s always been terrible at hiding his emotions. “It was entirely selfish of me.”
Walbrga runs her hand through his hair, and he knows he’s said the right thing. He can’t help
but lean into the comfort she doesn’t bestow often.

“I understand it looks good for your applications, but she was particularly worried. I hope
you’ve read my letter. She has plans for you.”

Regulus stiffens at the mention of Bellatrix. She was whispers in the wind, but his mother has
confirmed in her recent letter that she did break out of Azkaban. If Voldemort were alive,
Regulus would’ve been allowed to fade into the background. Bellatrix, however, wants to put
her family into the spotlight as well. The attacks have been more public and rampant, and
since Bellatrix has no children and hates her husband, Regulus will be the one to take her title
if something happens.

Aware with a teacher whose beginning is starry. . .

Regulus starts to fit the prophecy more than he likes to. Of course, he doesn’t think it’s him—
at least he hopes not—but he’d be an idiot not to consider it. He hasn’t told Lupin yet, hasn’t
had a good opportunity. He suspects training will start when he comes home for the holidays.
He’ll be lucky if he goes to school next year.

“Should we be talking about this here?” Regulus grits out in French.

“Oh, spare me, Regulus. Like they know what I’m talking about. They wouldn’t dare accuse
me,” she says with a smirk. “But Bellatrix will like that you’re so cautious. You’ll balance
each other out perfectly.” She looks suddenly thoughtful, which isn’t good. “If we get rid of
the Lestrange boy, maybe you two could. . .” She says it in English, which for some reason is
ten times worse than if she said it in French. It’s easier to separate his life like that. He thinks
in French at home so he can’t feel guilty about the horrid things he has to do and say. It’s cut
and dry, simple, like changing his facet depending on the crowd. His head pounds.

“Maman, may I have a glass of water? My throat is dry.” James conjures a glass, and
Aguamenti’s it full. Regulus takes it, his arm weak and wobbling. James looks at him with
wide, worried eyes, and Regulus can’t help but mutter a soft thank-you. Then he turns to
Walburga and asks again so he won’t get in trouble. “May I have a glass of water?”

It takes about an hour to get Walburga to leave. She insists on taking him home or going to
more suitable healers, but Regulus talks her out of it. He sighs when she’s led out of the room
by Pomfrey with the promise that Regulus will write when he can. He lurches up, James there
and ready to help, but Regulus hunches over himself and takes deep breaths through his nose,
trying not to panic.

“Hey. Hey, what’s going on? Reggie?” James asks quietly, his voice shaky. And Regulus is so
pathetic. He slowly uncurls and wraps his arms around James, pressing his face against the
crook of his neck. He’s researched it. Hugs release dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin which
help suppress feelings of anxiousness and stress. So, if he thinks about it, it’s not about
hugging Potter, it’s only to stop himself from crying. Because if he were about to cry, then
James would hug him anyway. He’s only being efficient and cutting out the middleman.

It’s so stupid, and Regulus hates being stupid. His mother could walk right in, the curtains
aren’t drawn, anyone could see—

“Oh. Oh, okay. This is nice,” James says. He stands up and pulls Regulus onto his knees,
rubbing his chin over Regulus’ hair. “I’m sorry she’s your mother. What a horrid woman.
Hope she splinces herself when she Apparates.” James tenses, realizing what he’s said.
“Godric, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I’m so sorry—”

Regulus splutters into a soft laugh, which he really shouldn’t, but he can’t help himself. For
Merlin’s sake, Remus hasn’t even heard him laugh yet, and James didn’t even mean to be
funny. He pulls out of James’ arms and tries to hide it, but he can’t disguise the shake of his
shoulders. Regulus ducks his head into his hands.
Half of James’ mouth lifts in a smile. “Really! You’re laughing, but she’s horrible! Think I
was lucky to bite her when I was younger. I knew it even then. The look on her face when she
saw the slobber I left on her arm. . . She was disgusted.” James barks out a quick laugh. “It
was brill.”

Regulus wraps his arms around his stomach as he tries to control himself. It’s not even funny!
It’s not! Regulus lies back down and lets himself indulge in a few more giggles. When he
looks up, James is looking at him softly. He thinks he’s drawn that exact look in his Hogwarts
Sketchbook, the one he lets himself draw the things he wants. The other one is a decoy, filled
with female anatomy and scenery and sandwiched with a few journal entries in case his
mother starts having doubts.

“Oh, speaking of things she wouldn’t like.” James snaps his fingers and a bag appears in his
left hand (it’s his dominant one). He rubs his neck with the other, looking quite bashful. “You
like to draw, yeah? And my mom, she, like, used to draw and stuff when she was younger.
Nothing serious, or anything. Just a hobby. And she has these tools that make it easier to
draw, you know?”

He gives him the bag. It’s filled with muggle things: pencils, sharpeners, crayons, coloured
pencils, markers, graphite, and charcoal. He hasn’t heard of most of them. “Do you like it?”

Regulus shakes his head. “I can’t have it.”

“Oh,” James says it sadly. “That’s okay. It’s not a big deal, or anything.”

“No, Potter. I mean, I literally can’t have it. My roommates can’t find out I have muggle
things, and neither can my mother. It was considerate of you, though.” Regulus hands back
the nicest gift anyone has ever got him with a pang in his chest. James takes it with furrowed
eyebrows and his bottom lip between his teeth.

“What if. . .” he rubs the back of his neck. “What if I kept it for you? And then you could ask
me when you need it?” It is a good solution. The only flaw would be for James to come up
with a convincing enough lie so people don’t wonder why he has them in the first place.
James takes his silence to be a bad thing. “I mean,” he shrugs. “It’s just an idea. You can say
no if you want. It’s not, like, a big deal or anything.” His gaze flicks away as he murmurs.
“It’s a good idea, Potter.”

He immediately straightens and smiles. “Really?”

Regulus thinks he means it rhetorically, but he’s still staring at Regulus with those big brown
eyes. Regulus sighs. “Yes, Potter.”

“Brilliant! So you can just—”

“Get me a piece of paper.”

“Oh, uh.” James looks around and then leaves to find one. He comes back with a piece of
parchment and Regulus takes it, then pulls out his own.

“I need you to get me some Floo powder.”

James doesn’t question it, and it’s slightly startling that he follows instructions so easily from
someone he shouldn’t trust. It takes a little longer for James to find some Floo powder, but he
comes back with it in a little glass container.

Regulus takes it and his wand to start his spell while James tells him of his adventure.
“There’s a Floo in the Gryffindor common room, but no one uses it ‘cause it’s awkward. Plus,
they keep the powder under lock and key after a First Year sniffed it up his nose because his
friend told him it was a muggle drug.” James snorts. “So I had to ask a professor, and he was
obviously confused on why I needed it, so I told him that Minnie needed it for—”

“Minnie?”

“What?”
“Who’s Minnie?” Regulus looks up from his careful spellwork and sees that James is visibly
confused. More than he should be. Regulus’ eyebrows furrow. “Are you alright, Potter?”

“You’re praying attention. . .”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“People usually tune me out ‘cause I talk too much.” He says it like everyone does it, and
Regulus finds it vaguely horrifying.

He rolls his eyes at people he doesn’t know and looks back at his work. “Well, I think that’s
quite idiotic.” He sniffs. “Anyone who thinks you talk too much is simply someone who talks
too much. It’s a very engaging story, and if they tune you out it’s because they would much
rather hear themselves bumble on for all of eternity instead of sitting down and realizing the
world doesn’t revolve around them and their stupid ideals of what fun is.” James is silent for
the longest time Regulus has witnessed, and he allows himself to get immersed in his work.
He rubs the Floo powder on James’ paper and casts an absorption spell for it to sink in. He
then connects the two pieces of paper. “Well, are you going to continue the story or not?”

“Minnie’s Professor McGonagall,” he says, uncharacteristically soft, bordering shy. “We all
call her that. Me, Sirius, Peter, and Remus. But Peter and Remus don’t do it as often. I don’t
think she likes it very much.”

Regulus makes a sound.

“Say it. Whatever you’re thinking.”

Regulus holds out James’ piece of paper. “When I need the supplies, text will appear on the
paper and buzz in your pocket.”
James marvels at the paper and pushes those horrid glasses up his nose. “Reg, this is
complicated magic years above what you should be able to do. Changing the properties of
magic as I know it, as everyone knows it. . .You and Remus are just. . .” He’s seemingly at a
loss for words. “It’s fuckin’ brill.”

Warmth fills his chest. Compliments hit harder when they’re from James because he always
means it. When he comments on a blouse he doesn’t say it looks nice and moves on, he asks
if the fabric is made out of Armenian silk and says it flatters the shape of her body and says
he wishes clothes could make him look so good. It’s never a throwaway statement to make
her feel better, it’s a genuine, wondering question he wants figured out. Regulus doesn’t think
he’ll ever be over the fact that James said that to Lily. Instead of saying this, he says, “I
know.”

James’s smile stretches across his face like honey. “Good.” He tilts his head. “What were you
going to say earlier? About Minnie?”

Regulus sighs, knowing he’s not going to drop it. “Perhaps the reason she doesn’t like it is
because she feels like it’s demeaning. She’s had to work hard to get where she is, especially
being a woman, and to have a couple of purebloods call her Minnie, play pranks on the
school, and never listen to her must be difficult.” He sighs again, hoping to soften the blow.
“But then again, I might be overthinking it, and an ex-boyfriend she used to have used to call
her Minnie.”

“I never meant to make her feel bad,” he says quietly. “I just—she’s Minnie.”

“Potter, I could be wrong.”

“You never are.” He bites his lip in thought. “Me and the boys will make it up to her.” His
eyes suddenly widen. “Oh Merlin, the boys! I have to tell them you’re awake!” And before
Regulus can say anything, James sprints out of the room.

—
“Has he eaten anything yet? Water?”

“I gave him a glass of water a while back but nothing since.”

A sniff. “It smells like magic. Did you let him do magic?”

“Uh, no?”

“I’ll go get Pete.”

“Don’t bother, he’s at a Herbology Club thing.”

“He better not bring anything into the dorm. His last plant almost ate my Docs for fuck’s
sake.”

“You need to lay off the leather.” A nose scrunch that wiggles glasses. “It’s starting to get
weird.”

“And you need to lay off looking at the map to know where we are. You know, me and
Moony were in the middle of something—”

“Moony and I.” A sniff.

“—when you barged in.”

“First of all, I didn’t check the map to see where Peter was, he told me. Second, if Moony and
you kissed—”
“Mm, I think it’s you and Moony this time.”

“— when you’ve barely fixed your friendship, you’d avoid each other for three weeks. And
third, you just want to escape so you don’t have to talk to Reg.”

They all look over at Regulus, and he immediately scowls. Sirius looks back at James slowly
with narrowed eyes. He looks James up and down like he’s suddenly seeing him in a new
light, the dramatic fool. “Since when is he ‘Reg?’”

James throws his hands up. “For fuck’s sake!” He crosses his arms stiffly.

Remus shoves past him. There are deep circles under his eyes. “God, are you okay? You must
be starving. Scared the fuck out of everyone you dramatic git. You’ve been out for a day.” He
sees the blank piece of paper on the bed. “You added James to the network?”

Regulus used to have only Remus, Pandora, and Dorcas on there. He’s slightly impressed that
Remus could deduce that from a piece of paper. Regulus has been training the Slytherin parts
of him well. James sees that as a good time to take the paper sheepishly. “You added Sirius
back into your life?” Regulus deflects. He’s not letting Remus call him weak when he’s
equally as bad.

Remus purses his lips and looks away. “Touche. But I thought that’s what you wanted?”

“What I wanted was for you to stop moping around the Astronomy Tower like a love-sick
idiot,” he snaps. “And if the only way to get you to stop doing that is to push you towards my
idiot brother, then so be it.”

There’s a strong moment of silence. “I’m not an idiot.” Sirius sniffs.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Remus says. “I’m going to get Peter. He’s not going to like being the
last to know. James?”

“Alright, I’ll go.” He takes one last glance at Regulus with a shy smile. “Bye, Reggie.”

Now Remus is the one to seem wary. “Since when is he ‘Reggie?’”

“Thank you!” Sirius exclaims. His victory doesn’t last long, because Remus drags James into
the hallway.

Regulus has seen Sirius multiple times, watched him from across the Great Hall, hexed
people (mostly Snape) for messing with him, and checked that his life was on the right track,
but he still hates him. He’ll always look out for him, will kill anyone who hurts him, but he’s
certainly not invited to any birthday parties. And that’s okay because he knows he’s not
invited to anything either. He’s made peace that things between him and Sirius will never be
the same. It’s a simple deduction that was made when Sirius moved out. Brothers from afar,
if he can even call them that.

“You okay?” Sirius asks it like it kills him. He sits down, and the air feels starkly different
from when James sat there. He manspreads, legs eating all the space across the floor, arms
crossed over his chest, and a high chin. Regulus can’t stand it. He has the good sense to throw
up a strong Silenco before it gets heated. All the important conversations seem to happen in
the infirmary.

“Yes,” he snaps.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “I’m just asking. You don’t have to be a bitch about it.”

“We’re not doing this.”

“I don’t really care what you want to do.”

“Okay.”

“You aren’t the supreme authority on what I can and cannot do. You tried to control me in
that house and it didn’t work then and won’t work now.” Sirius is so loud. His blinks and
breathing and thoughts are so loud it’s suffocating. Regulus can’t stand it.

“Okay,” he says quieter.

“You’re friends with Remus now for some reason, and if I want to make it up to him I have to
try and be friendly with you.” Sirius leans forward, his posture stiff. Regulus can’t stand what
they’ve turned into. What Walburga turned them into.

“Okay, Maman.”

“And I—” He stops abruptly and recoils. “What did you say?”

Regulus realizes his mistake. “Nothing,” he says quickly.

Sirius’ hard expression suddenly softens. “Does she hurt you?”

Regulus sniffs primly to restore a shred of his dignity. He hates this conversation. He hates
his mother. Regulus hates Sirius Black. His fingernails dig into his arms. “Like you care.”

“Of course I care, you’re my brother.”

“Well you don’t act like it, do you? It’s been years since we’ve been close, Sirius, years. I’m
glad you’ve found your fairytale ending but not all of us have that luxury.”
Sirius does a strange combination of a laughing groan. “The martyr act will never stop.
Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall.”

“You could never understand me, Sirius.”

“Don’t pull the intelligence card on me,” he snaps. “Don’t forget who taught you everything
you know.”

“And it wasn’t enough,” Regulus hisses. “It didn’t stop—” Shhh. Don’t think. Don’t think.
Regulus tries to blink away the memory that makes his ears ring.

“Leave, Regulus.”

“No.”

“Regulus—”

“I CAN’T!” His fingers dig harder into his arms. “You can’t stop, can you? You just keep
fucking going until it hurts, and you don’t care!”

“Reggie—”

“I’m not like you, or James, or any of you stupid Marauders. They’re our parents, and sure,
they’re not the best, but they’re the only ones I’ve got. Their blood runs through my veins
and is encoded in my brain and heart. If the first people who ever knew me don’t love me,
what am I supposed to do? What do you expect me to say? You fucking moron. You were
loved. It might’ve not been the type you wanted but you were, more than I will ever be. You
were loud and said all the wrong things but you have a charisma I don’t have. You challenged
them in a way I didn’t. She sobbed for days when you left, her wails echoed through the
house and I couldn’t fucking escape. I was never the favorite. I was never the heir, but now I
have to be because you fucked me!”
His eyes blur with tears. “Don’t talk about cowardice when there is no situation to be brave
in. It’s just pain, Sirius. That’s all there ever was. Welcome to the most Ancient and Noble
House of Black,” he spits.

Sirius is vacant, tears running down his face. He curls up on his chair like a toy being put
back inside his box and rocks back and forth, shivering violently and muttering to himself.
“Don’t think, don’t think.” His head twitches to the side. “You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Regulus lets him ride it out, feeling very detached himself. His fingers have lost feeling and
he thinks his arms have started to bleed from his touch.

“You said it was just pain,” he croaks.

“Yes,” Regulus says shakily, warily.

“It’s not love, Regulus. Love isn’t conditional, it’s not something to be earned, and it’s not
something to be twisted and manipulated. It’s not fair what she does to you. You are perfect,
Regulus, and if they can’t love you then fuck them.”

“She’s sick. Our whole family is sick and wrong. It’s not her fault.”

He’s silent for a moment, chewing on his nails. “And it’s not your fault, either.”

Regulus breaks can’t help it. He breaks into helpless tears.

“Oh, Merlin, Reggie. It’s not your fault. None of it ever was.”

“Go away,” he sobs. “Please, Siri.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, Regulus. I’m so sorry.”

Regulus turns away and shoves a shivering hand over his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut.

“I failed, Reggie. I failed you.”

“Shut up, he’s sleeping.”

“But you love it when my mouth is wide open.”

Regulus doesn’t turn over. He knows it’s Evan and Barty. Maybe it’s the whisper of the wind,
or his concussion, or maybe there’s no reason at all and Regulus just snaps what he’s been
thinking for years.“One day you’ll both realize you don’t want this life for yourselves but
you’ll both be in too deep. You’ll pretend to like the torture, and maybe after a while, you’ll
start too. But deep down you’ll know, and I’ll know. We’ll all know you two were never just
friends. And you never had to be if you took your heads out of your arses.”

And it’s silent. The whole world is silent.

“Oh, Regulus.”
Pandora slips into bed behind him and draws him into her arms. He weeps quietly and she
doesn’t say a thing.

Outside, a wolf howls. He’s apprehensive. A member of the pack is back. Not fully accepted
yet, but Moony can try, can’t he? Then Padfoot tucks his tail between his legs and pins his
ears back. He rolls onto his back, a position of submission, an apology, and it’s decided. He
licks through Padfoot’s fur, and everything is right again.
 Keep the Rain
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-self-hatred/destructive thoughts

-minors consuming alcohol

-brief discussions of homophobia and the AIDS epidemic

UPDATE

i'm sorry if this chapter is confusing! the italics with the dashes are "clips" of Regulus'
traumatic memories slipping through. i'll put a short summary at the end for anyone who
maybe needs an explanation or a recap!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I don’t know what steps to take

I do the easy ones until it helps

Little acts of conversation

I don’t think I really like myself

I’m good at letting you go

I’m good at letting it get to me

I’m good at letting you go

No, you were never the enemy

-Searows

Regulus chain-smokes. He writes simple lines on the paper—I need it. Astronomy Tower.—
and runs a hand through his hair. When he was looking at himself in the mirror this morning,
he noticed he sprouted two more grey hairs.
He’s had a bad week.

Memories he thought were buried unleash themselves, catching him by surprise at the worst
times.

“Shhh, Regulus.”

He closes his eyes against the press of the voice and the bitter bite of the wind. He’s alone.
The Tower is quiet. Everything is quiet because he’s not thinking. If he uses his brain, he
starts to think about. . . Ever since that Bludger hit him in the head, it’s like it’s knocked his
Occlumency shields loose. Now all he can think about is—

It’s warm. The door cracks open and he knows—

—Water enters his lungs and he can’t breathe—

—It’s not your fault. It never was.—

“Fuck.” Regulus digs the palms of his hands into his eyes. He’s overreacting. It happened
years ago. All of it. He needs to focus on his N.E.W.Ts, that stupid prophecy, and making a
plan if it goes wrong. He needs to start brewing Dreamless Sleep Potions too. Maybe figure
out why James keeps acting strange around him. He’ll have to get rid of it if it’s a crush. It’ll
hurt like hell and probably be one of his worst regrets, but the House of Black comes first.
It’s a fucking mess and Regulus will have to spend the rest of his life cleaning up the
shitshow, but as long as what happened to him never happens to anyone else—

Don’t think, he tells himself. Don’t think, don’t think—

—He can’t breathe, and Sirius isn’t here to make it better—

—Oh, Merlin, Reggie. It’s not your fault. None of it ever was.—

It’s engraved in the grooves of his brain. Don’t disgrace the family and continue the
bloodline. It’s hard to follow through on any of those things with James Potter. The House
isn’t ready for it, and the Ministry and society (muggle or wizarding) aren’t ready for it either.

Besides, he hates James Potter.

The thought makes his stomach squirm like a nest of worms, and he frowns. I hate James
Potter, he thinks a little louder, and the squeamishness disappears. That’s good. He can’t
afford to start getting comfortable. Beauty is pain. Beauty is reserved for late-night fantasies,
late-night drawings and thoughts. Pain is reserved for his bed, not here.

And, Merlin, he should’ve kept his mouth shut about Barty and Evan too. Not only is it none
of business, but if word gets out that he’s sympathetic to disgusting ideals, everything he has
will be ripped out from under him. They’ll find a new heir, even if it has to be Narcissa or
Bellatrix. The House of Black’s abuse will go on for generations, and it’ll all be because
Regulus lost control.

Regulus goes to take the last hit of his joint and notices his hands are trembling. If he has
time, he’ll brew something for the anxiety as well.

There’s whistling growing louder and booming footsteps. Regulus relaxes. “Hey, Reg.”
James comes in with a smile, windswept from Quidditch practice, and still in his crass
crimson gear. Regulus nods and holds out his hand for the bag. James withholds it with
scrunched eyebrows. “You’ve been feeling good? Headaches?”

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. They don’t do the friend part. They’re in a mutual agreement, a
parasitic relationship if he thinks about it too hard. It always makes him shake with self-
loathing at the end of that rabbit hole, so he tries not to think about it. “Give me the bag.”
James gives him a hard look, and Regulus fights not to snap at him. He rolls his eyes and
sighs. Stupid purebloods and their need for perfect manners at all times. “Please give me the
bag,” he says through gritted teeth. James chucks it to him with a smile, and he scoops it up
quickly. He vanishes his joint because Remus told him James hates the smell.
“Honestly, any pain?” James reaches out a hand to touch, and Regulus flinches because he
isn’t sure he can handle any touch at the moment. He might fall apart. And if he falls apart
then they’ll be a new heir, and if there’s a new heir then—

“Shhh, Regulus. Be a good boy.”

It doesn’t matter if James makes a wounded face, it doesn’t matter if his heart is screaming at
him to make it better. None of it matters. What Regulus wants doesn’t matter and it never
will. The House comes first. Stopping the violent cycle comes first.

“Don’t touch me,” Regulus snaps, more scared than commanding. James gives him a
confused look, but obeys, his hand slowly falling to his side. Regulus realizes he’s never
denied James’ touch before, which is extremely out of character for him. James Potter is a
gorgeous man, and anyone would be lucky to have him, but Regulus doesn’t have a crush on
him. He doesn’t love him. Regulus hates James Potter.

His stomach twists so sharp it’s borderline pain.

“I—Reg, what’s going on?”

“Just because I don’t want you to manhandle me doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with
me, Potter.” Internally, his thoughts are racing. This shouldn’t be happening to him. He’s
been attracted to James for so long that there’s no hope for denying it. But craving his touch,
never being sick of him, wanting more and more from him every time he’s near. . .

He fishes out a fag, desperate to have something to do with his mouth and hands. He does not
need another thing to worry about. Being in love with James promotes him from being a
distraction to a weakness. Regulus has learned to school his emotions, but he’s not as good
around the people he loves. Walburga almost tore his head off when he tried to intervene in
one of Sirius’ punishments.

Not to mention that James would never like him back. There’s a chance he could find
Regulus attractive, but he won’t make a move on Regulus, not with him being his best
friend’s estranged brother and his other best friend’s friend. Sirius would lose his mind at the
betrayal, and Remus would lose his mind and tell Sirius to get over it, and they’d be fighting
again. It’d be complicated and messy and horrible. There wouldn’t be one positive or good
thing about it.

Basically, if he’s in love with James, he’s fucking screwed. But it’s fine. He’s not in love with
him. He can’t be. Regulus hates James Potter.

His magic surges and he lights it with a snap of his fingers, the whole cigarette almost
catching fire.

“Okay,” James says slowly. “Do you want me to stay or go?”

“I,” Regulus falters. It’s such a kind and mature question to ask Regulus can hardly stand it.
He’s not in the right headspace to be left alone, but he doesn’t want to get too attached to
Potter’s help, especially when he’d do the same for anyone. Regulus has to remember that.
Potter doesn’t act weird around him, he’s just weird, full stop. But, Regulus can afford to be a
little selfish, can he? He can indulge in beauty outside his lonely dark hours without losing
control. Right? “I don’t know.” Regulus unconsciously takes a small step back.

“That’s okay. I’ll do some homework.” James pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment from
Merlin knows where and Regulus observes carefully. “You wouldn’t happen to know
anything about Apparition, would you? It starts in February, but they’re making everyone
who wants to take the class write an essay because Gryffindors who shouldn’t be learning
how to Apparate do it anyway and get splinched. Think it happened to Frank. . . almost had
his pric—”

In the wake of James’ long rambling, Regulus is so puzzled he lets his fag burn without
taking another hit. “What are you doing?” He looks James up and down like the secret can be
found in those obscenely tight trousers. “Why are you talking?”

James looks up from his paper, eyes owlish behind his glasses. “I don’t know.” He shrugs,
seeming a little bashful. He coughs then grimaces. “Silence can be scary sometimes. You
don’t seem strong enough to brave it right now.”
He’s right, but Regulus can’t help but be slightly offended. The silence pools in, and Regulus
breathes out smoke through his nostrils. James trails the motion with his eyes. “Three D’s.
Destination, Determination, and Deliberation.”

His face lights up. “Brill! Shouldn’t be surprised you already know about it.”

“Sirius does too. The Blacks like to skip lines. I got my wand when I was nine.”

“That early?” He sounds appalled. If only he knew.

Regulus snorts. “That’s considered late. How long does it have to be?”

“Ten inches on why you want to learn.”

“Merlin.” Regulus walks over and rips the parchment out of his hands. “Quill.”

James grimaces. “Reg, please, I’m not asking you to—”

Regulus gives him the look. It’s been crafted over centuries, passed down from generation
from generation. He’s been told he’s surpassed Walbruga because he does it so well. James
holds his hands up in surrender, eyebrows high on his head.

With James’ quill, Regulus uses his left hand to scratch out an Outstanding worthy answer.
He writes about his fake aspiration to be an Auror, a dream he had in Divination where he
was trapped and couldn’t get out, and a childhood memory where Euphemia Potter Apparates
to save him from breaking a bone.

James carefully reads over it, a small smile growing over his face.“Brilliant as always,
Reggie. And it does look like my handwriting.” He wiggles his brows. “Is there something
you want to tell me, Reg? Admiring my calligraphy?”
Regulus rolls his eyes. “Big word for a Gryffindor.”

“Well, I’ll use smaller ones for you. You, me, Hogsmeade, this Saturday.”

Regulus glitches for a second, and he genuinely thinks he’s in some parallel universe or mid-
dream. To make sure, he asks, “What?”

James freezes, his face dropping in horror. “I—The Marauders are going to Hogsmeade, and I
was wondering if you wanted to come too. I mean, go, too.” He’s horribly red and can’t meet
his eyes.

His heart starts to return to its normal rate, and he can’t help but let out a breath of relief. So
he did hear wrong, and he doesn’t have to break either of their hearts. James Potter is straight.
James Potter is in love with Lily Evans. And also, Regulus hates James Potter. “If my mother
found out I was hanging out with improper company, she’d develop an ulcer.” He sniffs.
“And then probably kill me.” James looks like he can’t tell if Regulus is joking, and Regulus
can’t tell either.

“Is, uh, our friend available?” James leans it and whispers. His lips are shoved right into
Regulus’ face, and he can’t hide how his eyes widen.

Regulus leans back. He hates James Potter. He hates James Potter. Brother-stealer, distracter,
immature prankster. Who cares if he’s attractive? “I assume Remus is free.” He tries to sound
collected and cool.

“No.” And James smiles, rolls his eyes playfully, like he’s not going to drop the biggest bomb
known to man. “I mean you, Leo.”

Regulus doesn’t blink even though his heart rate skyrockets. If his mother found out about
him going to the Gryffindor party, she’d probably be more upset at his failing glamours than
the actual party. But he knows his glamours didn’t fail. They’re impeccable. He wouldn’t
have gone to the party otherwise. So either Remus opened his mouth, or James is taking an
absolutely wild guess.“I don’t know who that is.” His voice is icy and calm, a warning not to
push any closer.

“Oh, come on.” He lowers his voice like they’re sharing secrets. His breath smells like mint.
A piece of white chewing gum sticks to his white smile. His sweaty hair sticks to his
forehead, but he smells like citrus even now.“The glamours were excellent—must’ve been
your doing—but, Reg, be real. Your laugh is too recognizable. I’m surprised Sirius didn’t
figure it out.” James’ eyes light up. “Speaking of the devil, I’m supposed to meet up with him
soon.” He folds up the parchment. James reaches out to Regulus, but shakes his head, his
smile turning shy. “Just think about it, yeah?”

And then he’s gone, leaving Regulus dumbstruck in his wake.

Remus sits down on the bench next to Peter in the Great Hall with a yawn. He arches his
back and sticks his fingers into his hair, and the stretch is so good he can’t hear or see for a
minute. When he shakes himself out of it, everyone is looking at him. His skin crawls as his
eyes dart around, taking in everyone’s shocked expressions. “What?”

James clears his throat and elbows Sirius, who looks particularly stunned like his brain has
completely turned off. “Good sleep, Moony?”

Peter hands him a slice of bread with four different jams, and Remus gives him a small smile
in thanks. Sirius stares at him with a weird intensity that makes his stomach flutter. He shoves
it down. Now is not the time for his stupid feelings, especially when they’re barely friends.
Their companionship is delicate right now, and he and Sirius can’t afford to mess it up. He
shifts his attention to James.“Yeah, you?”

“Good.” James clears his throat and elbows Sirius again, and Sirius finally snaps out of it
with a harsh jolt. Even the girls are strangely quiet. Marlene and Dorcas keep smirking at
him, Lily’s as red as a tomato, and Mary gives him a look usually reserved for Lily.
Remus wipes a hand near his mouth. “Do I have something on my face?” He feels even more
out of the loop than usual, and it makes his gut sink now that he’s the butt of a joke he
doesn’t understand.

“No, you’re good man,” Peter says, throwing a nasty look at Sirius and Lily. But there’s
something odd about his tone. Almost teasing and scheming. “Your voice sounds a bit odd.
Lower and. . . raspier.”

“I woke up about five minutes ago.” Remus shrugs. “No one woke me.”

“Didn’t want to deal with Sirius’ wrath.” Peter waves a hand, and Remus laughs. His voice
does sound a bit strange, even his laugh feels deeper. Sirius resumes his staring contest,
James throws an elbow, and Lily flushes even deeper. Marlene cackles in her face.

Peter then launches into what happened at Chess Club, and even though the story should
sound boring, it’s interesting coming out of his mouth. He could always spin straw into gold.
Remus finds himself momentarily distracted from everyone acting so strange, wondering if
that’s what Peter wanted. He then diverts to talking about his plants.

“Wormy, why do you like plants so much?” Sirius takes a bite of his apple and leans against
the table, forearm muscles straining against his rolled-up shirt. Remus can’t hide the soft
sound he makes.

Peter startles. Sirius has never been the most attentive, and on multiple occasions has
clowned Peter for his ‘boring’ interests. He’s done the same to Remus, complaining that
picking books over Quidditch made no sense. Peter visibly hesitates, eyes shifting. It’s
understandable why he’s so hesitant. Sirius is many things, but gentle isn’t one of them.
“Why?”

“Because I don’t get it.” He narrows his eyes. “Plants are just, plants. There’s no action.
Takes eighty years to grow.”
Peter worries his lip. “I don’t know, it feels right. It’s calming. It’s nice to know that no
matter what happens, you have a garden that relies on you, something that needs you. At the
end of that day, I go to bed and know I’m growing something. I’m making something where
there was nothing.” He shrugs. “It’s not boring to me.”

Sirius looks away, zoning out differently, like he’s actually processing Peter’s words.
Thoughtful and Sirius should never be in the same sentence together, yet they are.

Peter turns to Remus and bats his eyelashes all too innocently. He smirks, and seeing such a
Slytherin look on Peter is startling. “Did you always have dimples?”

Remus’ eyebrows furrow in confusion while the table erupts.

“Peter!” Lily screeches. “You absolute knob!”

Mary shakes her head, hiding a smile, and Dorcas laughs, the jewellery in her locs glinting in
the early morning sun. “You need to be put down.”

“What the fuck is going on? If you’re all making fun of me, I’d like to be in on the joke.
Please, tell me what’s so fucking funny about the way I look.”

That stills and silences the table. Everyone avoids eye contact, the air turns awkward, and
Remus feels a sick sense of satisfaction. He’s tired of always being the odd one out. Everyone
always has their corners. James and Sirius are something larger than soulmates, the girls have
their group separate from the Marauders, and Peter always seems content on rolling with his
plenty of other friends. Remus is the one sitting alone in the infirmary, the one getting
laughed at and sneered in the halls when they’re not around to fucking shield him like he’s a
child.

James shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “Remus, it’s not about your. . .”

Remus’ cheeks feel hot. “My what?” he sneers. “My scars? Go on, have a laugh at Loony
Lupin.”

“Oh, Remus,” Lily sighs, looking distraught. “It’s not like that at all, it’s just, hard to
explain.”

“Yes, exactly,” Sirius says quickly, holding onto the vague explanation like a lifeline. He
brushes a long curl behind his ear, showing off his piercings with wide, beseeching eyes. “No
one’s laughing at you, Moons. The opposite.”

“Then tell me why,” he demands. No one answers, and Remus feels alone and seven on the
playground, being picked last or not at all. Remus laughs because the whole situation is
ridiculous. “Why!”

“Oh, you guys are children.” Peter’s fork clatters against his plate. “Moony they—”

“Peter!” James shouts. “Don’t.”

Peter’s lips thin, but he doesn’t say a thing, forever willing to bend to James’ will. He picks
up his fork and starts to eat again.

“See you at Hogsmeade. Don’t wait for me.” Remus rises from the table with a chorus of
pleas following him. If they’re not going to act their age, neither is Remus. He’s not a little
kid anymore, and he’s not going to take any bullshite. If they’re too ashamed to answer, he’ll
ask someone he knows will act accordingly, who’ll be stone-faced and cool-headed. He’ll go
to smart, observant Regulus, and he’ll stop feeling like—

Regulus is laughing at him.

Remus stares at him, his special piece of parchment in hand, and stares. He blinks.
Nope, doesn’t help. The picture doesn’t clear or start making sense. Regulus is laughing at
him, completely unreserved and free. Fuck, did they swap bodies, or something? Is he stupid?

“Are you done?” Remus asks dryly, looking around the Room of Requirement.

“You are such an insecure idiot!” Regulus clutches his stomach and shuts his eyes tight.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

“You really don’t listen to me, do you?” Regulus is smiling, not smirking. “I told you. You’re
the Casanova of Gryffindor Tower.”

Regulus starts laughing again when Remus balks. “I’m a virgin!”

Regulus laughs even harder at that, shoulders shaking, tears leaking out of his eyes.

Remus hardly thought people even noticed he existed, let alone thought he was
seductive.“People think I sleep around?”

“It’s less of a thought and more of a hope.” Regulus shrugs, beaming. “Merlin, what did you
think you think when those girls were giggling at you after you blew up a classroom? When
Sirius always gives you those looks? When Barty asked you to sleep with him? For Circe’s
sake, I told you your confidence is too low.” Regulus turns around.

“I don’t fucking know! I thought they were calling me a loser! Or—I don’t know—Barty was
joking around? I didn’t realize! It’s not like it’s easy to realize when someone’s crushing on
you!” He still can’t wrap his head around it. Regulus must think of him too highly because
there’s just no way. Sirius finding him attractive is. . . it’s impossible.

Right?
“It’s lust, Lupin, not a crush.” Regulus shivers as his hair turns brown. “Never forget the
difference.” He turns around and Remus flinches at the sight of Leo.

Remus shakes his head.“Can’t believe James invited you.”

“What about my lovely disposition and warming, lustrous tone? You don’t think it warmed
James to bits?”

“Please stop talking about his bits.” Remus expects Regulus to put on high-end fashion,
maybe Summon something expensive from his dorm, but he watches as Regulus transfigures
himself a grey jacket and jeans. It’s distinctly anti-Regulus. Remus smiles. “Perfect.”

Regulus threads his arm through Remus’ with his nose pointed towards the sky. It’s funny
seeing him act the exact opposite way of what he looks like. They get to the Great Hall, and
they’re waiting for him. Remus’ lips thin into a line.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Regulus asks dryly.

“I told them to go without me.” He stalks forward, dragging Regulus behind him. Peter sees
him first, and his eyes widen. He opens his mouth to warn the rest of the group but Remus is
already there.

“I’m not queer!” Sirius hisses. “And I wouldn’t fuck Remus. Don’t be going around telling
that shit to people. For fuck’s sake, that’s not funny.”

Peter’s eyes close and he tilts his head back, blowing out a breath. Dorcas is the next to
notice Remus and Leo standing there. Her eyes widen and she hides behind Marlene, who
finds Remus’ gaze.

Her shoulders slump. “Oh fuck—”

Regulus’ eyebrows lift. “How are you homophobic when all of your friends are gay?” He
looks Peter up and down. “Well, maybe not that one.”

Sirius slowly turns around like he can’t believe what’s happening. His gaze bounces to who
he knows as Leo, and then to Remus. His eyelids flutter for a second. “I swear, whatever you
heard was out of context.”

Remus takes a page from Regulus’ book and looks Sirius and down. He should’ve known
that Sirius was just another straight guy looking to clock in their one gay experience they can
tell their girlfriends to look edgy and experienced. Remus rolls his eyes but doesn’t say
anything otherwise.

Sirius doesn’t find him attractive (okay) and he gets defensive when people call him queer
(whatever), and he might be homophobic (fine). At this point, if Remus allows himself to feel
disappointed, it’ll start another cycle of ignorance and another round of fights, and Remus
just wants to salvage his bad day as best he can. And it’s not like Sirius can tell the group he’s
gay without breaking the promise that was definitely dark (ha, black) magic.

“What did I say?” Remus asks Regulus dryly. “I told you he didn’t—”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “You know I’m right.” He sniffs. “He’s still in his denial stage. But he
knows it deep down.” Regulus leans up on his toes to whisper in Remus’ ear. “You know
how that house is,” he mumbles. “He’s probably still holding on to what they taught him.
Give him time.”

Remus crosses his arms. He sighs. “Can we go?” He asks everyone. Lily walks past him on
her way out and brushes her hand across her arm with a face pinched. Marlene ruffles his hair
and Peter and James catch his eye and wince simultaneously. Dorcas stops in front of him. “I
don’t know what’s going on, but you’re not crazy. He’s acting like an arse, and you don’t
deserve it.” She takes a step forward but turns back. “Still rooting for you two though,” she
adds, then hurries off to catch up with Marlene.

Sirius lags back, but Remus grabs Regulus’ arm and drags him away before Sirius can catch
up.
“Hey!” Regulus frowns. “I know you’re in a pissy mood but lighten up.”

“He gets on my nerves like no one else, Reg. It’s always hot and cold with him. I can’t stand
it.”

“You’re just friends, Lupin.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “Treat him the same way or find
someone else. He’ll figure it out eventually.”

Remus doesn’t reply. He brings out his special pack of smokes and gets one with COOL
NIGHT AIR written on the stick.

“You are just friends, right? If you two snogged without figuring out your shit, you’re pretty
much done for.” Remus coughs and puts the fag in between his teeth, rubbing his cold hands
together when they step into the sun. Regulus stops them and asks, “Right?”

“Well it wasn’t a—”

Regulus groans. “Please don’t tell me you almost kissed. Sexual tension might make it worse
for you.”

“Define almost kissed.” Remus grimaces and tilts his head from side to side.

Regulus’ glare is so icy it would’ve affected him if they weren’t friends. He steals the
cigarette from Remus’ mouth and takes two hits before passing it back. “I deserve it more
than you at this point. You’re exhausting.”

Remus sighs and watches as Lily bumps into Mary’s shoulder. Marlene goes to touch one of
Dorcas’ locs and she bats her away with a frown. James has a smiling Peter in a headlock for
some reason, and Remus and Regulus are off to the side.
Sirius always did get pissy that he could manipulate his fags better. Remus knows Sirius is
looking at him, and, deciding to be a little petty, turns around. They both don’t react as they
stare into each other’s eyes, not blinking. He blows the smoke out of his mouth, then inhales
it into his nose, walking backward. Sirius’ breath hitches, and Remus can’t help but smirk.
He wins.

Regulus tugs Remus the right way. “Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t you listen when I
talk?”

“Sorry,” Remus murmurs, not feeling guilty at all.

Hogsmeade comes into view, and Regulus looks over Remus’ shoulder. Whatever he sees
causes his mouth to twitch. “I’m off, yeah?”

Before Remus can respond, Regulus is speeding up to walk beside James. James’ eyes light
up when they see Regulus, and he throws an arm over his shoulder and hauls him in,
laughing at a joke Peter said. Regulus’ shoulders stiffen for a moment, but he slowly relaxes,
his mouth twitching as he admires James.

Remus’ pace slows to a shuffle as he blinks. What the fuck? If they were dating Regulus
would’ve told him. Well, maybe not Regulus. But there’s no way James has been able to keep
a secret like that from any of them for more than five minutes. Unless. . .

James is a good liar, Remus supposes. He hasn’t told anyone about Remus’ furry little secret
for as long as he’s known, and when it comes to serious subjects, James has always been able
to keep a straight face. It would explain James’ random disappearances in the middle of the
day and his sudden disinterest in Lily. Regulus is a private person, but it’s not like Remus
doesn’t know about his crush on James.

Fuck, maybe he’s just thinking too much. This is supposed to be a day for peace, so Remus
will keep his mouth shut about it. At least for now.

Remus smells him before he sees him. Coconut and leather. His hair is in a low bun held up
by his wand, and he’s trying to light a fag with his muggle zippo. The zippo spurts sparks but
disappears before he can light it. He swears under his breath, and tries again and again.
Remus knows he’s doing it on purpose, walking next to him, but it doesn’t make it any less
annoying. His leather jacket is warmed by the sun even though it’s cold and keeps it rubbing
against Remus’ jumper, and it’s driving him insane—

“Fuck’s sake, Pads,” Remus snaps. He lights his fag wandlessly and wordlessly so Sirius can
stop being so. . . him.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Haven’t practiced any wandless magic yet.”

Remus wouldn’t practice wandless magic if he had a wand like Sirius’. Its wood is
Blackthorn, has a Dragon heartstring core, and it’s twelve inches (nobody is spared from the
jokes he makes). His magic is strong, and it thrums through his wand eagerly, which leads to
his power coming out in bursts that’s always too much. Remus’ wand is made of English oak,
and when he told Sirius that ages ago, he laughed. “You know what Ollivander says. English
oak is “King of the Forest.”

Remus thinks that concluding someone based on their wand is another form of prejudice and
is just as bad as astrology, especially since most people focus on one aspect of the wand and
not the whole thing.

“Listen, earlier, it was out of context.”

Remus withholds a monster of a sigh. “Oh, yeah?”

“They were taking the piss and talking about how everyone wants to fuck you, and it made
me angry because they shouldn’t talk about you like that.” His jaw and fists clench in
determination, and Remus is shocked to find he’s genuinely angry about it. “No one should
talk about you like that. Especially the way they kept talking about you sleeping with guys,
which is fucked up. Rumors like that can ruin a person’s life.”

“Sirius, it’s not a big deal—”

“Uncle Alphard was gay. The whole family hated him because he didn’t have children. The
shit they said about him was disgusting, and he never confirmed that he was queer. And they
were all joking about it like it was funny. Like there aren’t thousands of muggles dying right
now from AIDS and lesbians feeding them chicken noodle soup because even their own
families think they’re disgusting. It makes me sick, Remus. The number of people that hate
you just because you like cock is sickening.”

Remus himself is getting sad. He wasn’t aware of what’s happening in the muggle world.
Remus has always had a strange disconnection with himself. He knows he’s a werewolf, he
knows that he’s queer, but he doesn’t know what to do with it. Remus knew it wasn’t safe to
be out in the muggle world, but he didn’t know they were dying from disease. He tucks his
chin close to his chest under the guise of being cold as he feels his cheeks flood with shame.
Remus assumed the worst of Sirius before he even got to explain himself.

“And it—” he growls in frustration. Moony perks up and Remus internally hushes him. “If
they tried to know you, they’d figure out you’re an amazing person who doesn’t deserve any
of the shit that happens to you. Merlin, Remus I’m angry all the time. Because there’s
nothing wrong with being queer, is there? Different doesn’t mean bad.” Sirius’ eyes slide to
Remus, and he realizes he can’t fuck this up. Sirius is struggling with something, maybe
internalized homophobia, and if Remus answers wrong he could push Sirius on the wrong
path.

“Different doesn’t mean bad, Pads,” he says softly. Sirius sighs shakily in relief. “People hate
things they don’t understand, and they don’t try to understand things they fear. You might be
the only boy in the school with piercings and long hair and Doc Martens, and it’s different
but also fucking cool.”

A slow smile spreads on Sirius’ face. There it is. That Sirius Black smile, fast and witty and
disarming. “I got some tattoos, you know. They’re beautiful.”

Remus shoves Sirius’s shoulder with his. “Piss off.” Sirius has wanted magic and muggle
tattoos almost as badly as he wants a motorbike.

“I’m not lying!” He holds his hands up. “Got them over the summer. Quite small though.”
“Show me.” Remus can’t help but let his eyes rake over Sirius like he can see the tattoos
through his clothes.

“Buy a guy dinner first, won’t you?”

Remus is about to quip back, but then he realizes he’s lost track of Lily’s head. “Shite.” The
group left them behind. “Did they tell you where they were going first?”

Sirius leads him to the Three Broomsticks. “Uh, no. How about lunch? I’m buying.”

Remus feels bad about leaving Regulus on his own, but he’s capable enough to handle them.
He has the parchment and the compass if he ever needs to reach Remus. Plus, the smile on
Sirius’ face when Remus nods hesitantly makes him forget all about his dilemma.

The Inn is bustling this time of day, and Remus hunches his shoulders and tilts his head to
accommodate. Remus locks pinkies with Sirius as he leads him to the front. Rosmerta is
cleaning out a tankard with a washcloth as mugs filled with bubbling liquid fly around her,
handing themselves to customers.

Sirius leans against the counter and lets go of Remus. “Guess who’s back, darling,” he says it
silky smooth, slipping into a baritone voice he never uses. Remus rolls his eyes and crosses
his arms across his chest. He always does this to get free drinks, and watching Rosmerta
blush and hearing them flirt is too much for Remus. It’s the worst part of going to
Hogsmeade. He’s tried to convert the Marauders to the Hogs Head, but they don’t seem to
understand why he wants to go there so badly. It’s not like he can tell them.

Rosmerta looks up and immediately breaks into a smile. “Siri! Where have you been?”

“I was busy a lot last year.” By ‘busy’ he means his Hogsmeade privileges were revoked.
Remus’ nostrils flare at the reminder of the Prank. He looks around to find an empty table
they can sit at. “Still am, but how could I finish my last year without saying hi to my favorite
girl?”
She rolls her eyes. “Where’s your other half? Not going to stick any dung bombs in
customer’s drinks, is he? A little too old for that now.”

“He’s somewhere around here, maybe at Zonkos.” He shrugs. “I’ll tell him to swing by and
give you a gift.” Sirius looks back at Remus, and his grin falters. He clears his throat and
turns around.

Rosmerta laughs. “What do I have to bribe ya with?”

“Just two Butterbeers today, love.” He holds up two fingers and then knocks on the counter.

“Right up! Find a seat!” Two glass tankards fly into the air, a bubbly pale yellow substance
appearing out of nowhere and filling the glasses. Remus finds an empty booth in the back and
stares out the window. Watching the scene made him more upset than it usually would.

“Hey,” Sirius says. “Is it okay if I sit next to you?”

Remus frowns. “Are you waiting for someone?”

“No.” Sirius shrugs, eyes wandering. “Just loud in here.” Remus can’t help but feel like he’s
missing something, but he lets Sirius sit beside him. Sirius takes a big breath, rubbing his
hands on his jeans, smiling nervously. “You okay? Seemed like something was bothering you
back there.”

Remus narrows his eyes. Their drinks bang on the table, sloshing Butterbeer onto the sticky
tables. He takes a big gulp to calm him down, the fuzziness climbing down his throat a
welcoming distraction. Remus doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. It’s just Sirius, and they’ve
done this thousands of times. He slams the tankard on the table. “My ears.” It’s not a lie. His
ears have been twitching since he got in here, rapidly adjusting to loud noise.

Sirius pulls his wand out of his hair. He keeps his wandwork small and defined, his lips
barely moving as he throws up a muffling charm. It wasn’t bothering him much, but he still
sighs in relief. “Thank you.”

“Better?” Sirius asks softly. His stormy eyes rake over Remus’ face, ready to catch any twitch
in his expression. He lands on his ear, making sure it doesn’t twitch.

“Yeah.” Remus shares a gentle smile with him. His eye catches Rosmerta’s long blonde hair,
green eyes, and pretty form. She laughs, showing off straight white teeth that light up the
room. Remus can see it perfectly. Two pale hands intertwined while they walk down the
street. Rosmerta matching Sirius as they flirt. They’d look good together. They’d look right
together. She’s young, and pretty, and can probably walk down a cobblestone street without
her hip popping out of place. She’s smart, quick on her feet, and she’s a she.

He looks away sharply, wondering why it hurts so much that Sirius will always prefer her to
him. That she can give him something Remus will never be able to. Even if Sirius’
experiments are fruitful, it doesn’t mean he’d be attracted to Remus. Who would? His
shoulders curl inwards, his spine protruding through the thin skin of his back, and he hopes
his jumper is baggy enough to hide how he’s in the same pose he’s in on full moons. At least
he’s not on his knees screaming as his bones crack.

“It doesn’t matter what your friends think, Remus. The system is against you. It’s rigged so
you can’t succeed. You’ll always be a monster to them.”

“You’re wrong.” Remus’ fingers clutch his jumper sleeves. Somewhere in remote Switzerland
with no Floo and some anti-Apparation wards, the muggle car rocks on the gravel path.
They’re headed to another specialist. “You’re wrong.”

Lyall gives him a long look. He scoffs. “Wait a couple years, kid. See if I’m wrong then.”

Sirius clicks his tongue. “I haven’t slept with her,” he says, weirdly defensive, like he needs
Remus to know it.

Remus pretends that he’s not relieved. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Sirius slowly turns to his drink. He takes three big gulps in rapid succession.

Remus can’t take it anymore. He’s allowed to be awkward and skittish, but Sirius isn’t. It
goes against the very nature of their dynamic. It only confirms that everything is different.

“Wait a couple years, kid. See if I’m wrong then.”

And he wasn’t wrong. Lyall is many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.

“Why are you acting like that?”

“Like what?”

“Skittish. Nervous. Awkward.” Remus sighs. “I know we haven’t hung out like this in a
while, but it’s only weird if you make it weird.”

“I’m not—It’s not—” Sirius then proceeds to stutter for at least a whole minute. It’s so un-
Sirius, Remus laughs.

“Christ. I hope you’re not like that on dates. Absolute horror.” Remus tries to sip his drink,
but he laughs into it, making the liquid bubble into his nose. He wipes it off with his sleeve.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that all the girls I’ve been on dates with have left satisfied.”

“I bet they were,” he says, trying to end the subject.

Sirius’ smile falters again, and he takes another sip of his Butterbeer.
Remus can’t help but go against his own advice and feel awkward. They’re two puzzle pieces
that used to fit, trying so hard to force themselves together again. He lets his gaze wander
over the crowd, and he finds Rosmerta. He’s still jealous of her, but now for a new reason.
The way she’s controlling her magic is something he’s never seen before. She seems to be in
full control of the entire bar, and her magic starts tasks before she commands it too. It could
be that the building is charmed because if it weren’t, that would mean she’s able to do
complex wandless and wordless magic for hours at a time, which shouldn’t be—

“. . . Earth to Remus?”

“The building has to be charmed, right? She’s too young to be able to manipulate her magic
like that.”

“And. . . he’s gone.”

“I’ve never seen a building work like that, though. Usually, it’s magical familial properties
that have that magic, and even then, over time it starts to lose its original magic signature and
starts to take on a new personality of sorts, based on the entirety of the bloodline.”

“Moony.”

Remus blinks, realizing who he has next to him. Sirius lived in a house brimming with magic
for over a decade. “When you were at Grimmalud Place—” The look on Sirius’ face stops
him. “What?”

Sirius’ eyebrows are hitched high on his head. “You were doing the thing again.”

The thing where he gets too interested in magical theory and forgets everything around him.
He wrinkles his nose and grimaces. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Sirius tries to hide his smirk behind his glass. He shrugs. “Cute.”
Remus blushes and looks out the window. He blinks. He’d recognize that chaotic head of hair
(oh, and Lily’s red curls are there too) anywhere.“Sirius, there they are.”

“What?” The word sounds ripped from the depths of Sirius’ throat. Pure disbelief and
discontent as his lips part and stay parted.

Remus wipes a hand through the condensation, the cold wet sticking to the outside of his
hand. “That’s James’ head, and that’s Lily’s, Leo, Peter, Marlene. . . Yeah, it’s everyone.” He
takes a sip of Butterbeer.

Sirius scrambles on Remus’ lap and presses his nose to the window pane. His warm hands
press against the glass, his knobby knees pushing into Remus’ thighs, and Remus holds up
his hands, sloshing beer all over Sirius’ jacket.

“Remus, we have to go,” Sirius says urgently.

He knows it’s severe because Sirius doesn’t even care he spilled a sticky drink on his jacket.
The leather jacket that no one is even allowed to look at, let alone touch without his watchful
eye and explicit permission. “Why? Are you and James fighting?”

“What?” Sirius’ face twists. He climbs out of Remus’ lap. “No.”

“We can join them for the rest of the trip—”

“Honeydukes,” he blurts, sudden and panicked.

Remus’ head snaps up like a dog getting a treat. For a moment he forgets what they were
talking about. “Chocolate?” He imagines the sweet, smooth of it on his tongue. There’s this
one brand that puts crispies in their dark chocolate, and it’s the most divine thing he’s ever
tasted. It’s ages away though, and nothing compares to it. Trust him, he’s tried.
“Yes.” Sirius smiles and nods eagerly. “James is on his Quidditch diet so he won’t let us go.”

Remus frowns. He’s left Regulus for a long time now. “But Leo—”

“Leo will be just fine,” he says bitterly. His cold wet hands grab Remus’ arm to pull him out
of the booth. Remus slides across the booth but stays seated, digging his heels into the floor,
not happy at being dragged around like a doll. “Come on—”

The bell above the door rings. Sirius sighs, throwing his head back like earlier when their
friends enter. Remus doesn’t understand his rush to get him out of here, so he grips onto the
table for dear life.

James catches Sirius’ eye, and instead of his face lighting up like usual, his eyes widen. It’s
like that time on April Fools when they sent James strapped with a potion— it sprouted warts
over the target’s skin—into the prefect bathroom. He was supposed to throw it on anyone in
there, but there was no one. The door locked behind him, and he was forced to grow magical
warts everywhere (Seriously? How is Lily going to want to talk to me now?! Seriously?!
Stop laughing!). They all cackled before the door closed, and Remus still remembers the
shocked look he gave them. It was the face he wears now, a face he’s seen thankfully only a
couple of times, the face of a prank gone wrong.

Sirius mouths something to James, shooing him away frantically. James’ face twists and he
points to himself, then makes a quick X with his arms. It garners the attention of Regulus,
who narrows his eyes at the scene.

Finally, Sirius sighs again and runs his hand over his face. “Just my luck,” he says, much
more defeated. He gestures for James to come over.

Remus has never been more confused by Sirius and James. They’re usually in their own
universe—muttering to each other on the couch at parties, bursting out laughing
simultaneously and randomly without even sharing a look—but this is different. They have a
plan that somehow involves Sirius and Remus not interacting with the rest of the group. And
by the blatant confusion and worry on everyone’s face, only Sirius and James know why.
That’s reassuring. The last time Sirius was lead on a prank it didn’t end so well for any of
them.

Remus gets up from the booth under the guise of going to the bathroom.

“I—Remus,” Sirius says, exasperated.

He turns around quickly. “Yeah, Pads?”

Sirius’ mouth works, and then that defeated look weighs him down. He shakes his head and
looks away. “Nothing, Moons.” James frowns, and Remus wonders what they’ve become.
His professors teach him about magic but don’t teach him how to deal with this. Crumbling
friendships and impending wars and loss of innocence. But Remus was never really innocent,
was he? Ever since that bite. Ever since his hands were tainted red before he ripped apart his
first body.

Remus pushes through the thick crowd, rushing to the bathroom now that his ears are
exposed to the deafening sounds. His shaking hands land on the grimy sink. He manages to
turn on the faucet. Sounds float through the thin door—bottles clinking, victorious yells—
and Remus winces, shaking his head to stop seeing everything in such vivid color. He
splashes his face with freezing water, gasping. Remus looks at himself in the mirror with
mystery smudges, dark purple bags under his eyes, and water dripping from his face.

Of course, Sirius likes Rosemerta better than him. Who wouldn’t? He’s ugly, absolutely
rotten from the inside out. The Marauders will leave him, and the girls too. They’ll realize
soon enough he’s no good, that they’re better than him in every sense. Regulus will drop him
once he figures out how weak Remus is, with all his jumpers and eye bags and bad joints. His
father said it, practically beating it over his head that he’d end up alone, and he’s right. He’s
always been right.

Remus digs his fingers into the sink so his knees won’t give out. He could sneak back to the
dorms. They probably won’t notice. Remus can curl up on his bed with a cuppa and book and
blame it on the moon. He can say he felt tired or his hip was aching something awful and lay
in bed for weeks and they’d let him because they don’t understand. He’ll cry and get out all
his self-loathing, maybe smoke a blunt or two, and hopefully be right as rain by Monday.

The porcelain sink cracks beneath his hands. He didn’t realize he’d be squeezing it so hard.
He always spirals too quickly to figure out the exact moment he breaks.

The bathroom door swings open. Remus holds his breath, trying to think of an excuse—

“No,” Regulus says. Well, Regulus says in Leo’s voice, if he wants to be specific.

Remus forces a twitch of a smile on his face. “What are you saying no to now, my darling
Lord?” He wipes the remaining water off his face with the bottom of his jumper.

“You’re not going back to your dorm.”

Remus finds Regulus’ eyes in the mirror. “I never said I was.”

“Good, because you’re not going.”

Remus scoffs. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“I just did.”

Remus tries to blast him with his wand, a stream of raw and powerful color, and Regulus
moves out of the way.

Regulus blinks at the smoking black hole in the wall where his head just was. He points a
thumb at it. “You wanna try that again?”
Remus blasts streams of magic, the crater in the wall growing. The bathroom is grimy,
Remus is tired, and he’s making something that’s already ugly even more so. He’s so full of
hate, so full of this rage that was sadness moments ago. There’s something wrong with him.
He’s known it before he could think. “Ffyc!” He throws his wand on the floor. “I can’t! I
can’t do this shit anymore, Reggie! There’s something wrong with me, and I can’t fucking
stand it.”

He’s out of breath, and Regulus stares at him blankly. “I’m on the verge of collapse all the
time and I don’t know what to do. There is something wrong with me, and it’s not the wolf
thing or the gay thing, I was just born a fucking sin, and I can’t even be good at that. I can’t
speak to the people I love, I’m friends with a bunch of extroverts, and I want to see my mom
for fuck’s sake!” His words bounce off the walls, bounce off of Regulus’ stern face, and
ricochet back into his heart. He picks up his wand, feeling crimson ripple across his skin as
Regulus watches. He repairs the wall and the sink. Regulus still hasn’t said a word.

Remus sighs. “I—I‘m sorry. I get angry. Forget about it.”

Regulus looks at himself in the mirror, not sparing Remus a glance. He touches up his
glamours and puts his necklace clasp to the back. He lights a cigarette, locking eyes with
Remus in the mirror.“You are so soft, it makes me sick,” he mummers.

Remus flinches. “What?”

“You heard me, Lupin. All there is inside you is gooey chocolate and feelings. You’re sweet.”
Regulus snarls. “So caring and empathetic, it makes me sick. Going out to Hogsmeade when
you’d rather be reading to make your friends happy is adorable. I trained you myself, I let
you explode in that classroom, and you did nothing with it. Going back to being a shy, meek,
self-aware swot.”

Remus’ mouth is unhinged slightly, his cheeks red.

“Do you know how easy it would be for you to be terrifying? What’re you, 193 centimeters?
You got scars all over, you smoke, you’re friends with pranksters, yet when that First Year
bumped into you, you apologized. When girls come up to you to try and ask you out, you
genuinely believe they want help studying. And you help them. For hours.” Regulus shakes
his head. “If you think you’re a monster, you should go to a mind healer, because you’re
delusional.” He sniffs. “I’m not friends with nutcases, and I’m never wrong. If I say you’re a
good person, you’re a good person, yes?”

Remus nods slowly, his mind spinning. He knew Regulus was harsh, but he’d never been
harsh towards him before. When he turns around, Remus finds his posture straightening out.

“Now you are going out there, and you are going to whisk Sirius away for whatever stupid
rendezvous he’s planned.”

He finds himself being pushed out of the bathroom door. He stands there for a minute, trying
to grasp what happened to him. Regulus practically slapped him across the face and told him
to suck it up, practically laughing in his face when Remus was having a meltdown.

Remus sighs, feeling grateful.

He doesn’t need to be babied, he doesn’t need to talk everything to death like James and
Sirius do. When he’s feeling down, he needs someone to whip him back into shape, to tell
him when he’s wrong, and to stand by their ground. He still feels like shite, but he can have a
breakdown in the privacy of his room later, not now when his friends are a wall away, not
when he’s in public.

He’s not strong enough to fake a smile or come up with some excuse, he just taps Sirius on
the shoulder. The rest of the table is sucked into another one of Peter’s wild tales.
“Honeydukes?”

Sirius’ head lolls across the back of the booth until he faces him. The table is cluttered with
multiple Butterbeers and a few baskets of fish and chips. Sirius’ pupils are wide and his are
cheeks slightly flushed in a way that suggests he’s had something stronger than Butterbeer.
He sighs. “They won’t want to leave. Just got here.”

Remus pushes a rogue wave of midnight hair behind his ear, the heat of Sirius’ skin and the
softness of his hair calming him. It’s an action that’s reserved for Remus and him alone.
 Sirius hates it when people touch his hair. “How about you and me?” Remus mumbles. “The
two crazies?”

Sirius’s pupils dilate even more. He clears his throat, then nudges James with an elbow.
“Moony and I are going for a walk.”

Chapter End Notes

James is giving him his art supplies in the beginning, which they talked about last
chapter. James figures out Regulus is Leo because he recognized his laugh, and invites
him to hogsmeade. (he goes as Leo)

Remus is a bit of an unreliable narrator. He believes his friends are making fun of him,
but in reality they're flustered by his morning voice, dimples, etc, which gets semi-
cleared up by Reg in the Come and Go Room. James and Sirius are trying to get Sirius
and Remus alone, which ends up tragically not working (Regulus and Remus realize
this). Remus then has a breakdown bc he always lets his emotions pile up, and then he's
fine. It ends with Remus and Sirius going off on their own.

Hopefully this helps clarify!

 Shame
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-minors consuming alcohol and weed

-child abuse

See the end of the chapter for more notes

I never was very good, I haven’t been so good

But right outside the door nobody knows

They’re right outside the door and they don’t know how it

Feels so good, it feels so good

And I don’t need anything other than you

-Mitski

Regulus goes through a whole joint while sitting on the closed toilet seat. He refuses to think
about Lily Evans, and instead uses his potioner’s knife to carve his initials into the chipping
paint of the stall. It’s small, barely noticeable, and can only be found if looking for it. He runs
through the rhyming dictionary in his head for the thousandth time.

Rope, cope, mope, tope, slope, philanthrope. He winces. That one’s a stretch. One of the
words was whitened out. Only a keen eye could see it, but something was written that’s no
longer there. Regulus would bet his whole fortune on that word being the one he needed.
What a pain in his—

Someone raps on his stall door. There’s only one toilet in the men’s restroom, so whoever it is
needs to wait or shit his pants. “Occupied,” he says gruffly. The lock is so shitty and weak,
the door starts to slide open with a creek.
“Sorry, mate.” A brown hand snaps out and starts to close it. Regulus blinks. He’s seen that
hand before. Multiple times. Has even dreamed about it. He’s memorized the exact shape and
colour, the rough callouses and the faint scars, and even though he’s absolutely stoned, he’d
recognize it anywhere, probably better than his own.

“James?” He croaks. Oh, wow. His voice is fucked. He must’ve had more than he usually
does. It is a new batch, but he’s done his tests to ensure there wasn’t poison or something
stronger. His tests reveal if the joints have any substances or magic on them that were put
there to harm, but it could be bypassed if the maker doesn’t think what they’re doing is
harmful. If Pandora wanted to kill him, though, she’d probably be more direct in her
approach.

“Regulus?” He opens the door wider, a small frown on his face. “Merlin, it stinks, what are
you doing? I’ve been looking for you.”

Regulus blinks against the onslaught of questions and breaks out into quiet giggles. His eyes
must be violent red and watery, skin pale. “Sorry.” He shakes his head to make the colourful
shapes disappear. He stands up and wobbles. James’ hands shoot out, ready to catch him in
case of a fall. “Woah, strongman, take a breath.” He stumbles closer, and James doesn’t move
out of the way. Regulus looks up, eyes narrowed. “Move.”

The frown on James’ face increases. He sniffs. “Is that weed?” he asks incredulously.

Regulus should’ve been prepared. To Potter’s knowledge, the only things he smokes are
cigarettes. “Yes.” He sniffs. “I’m rich, it’s basically a rite of passage.” He remembers who
he’s talking to and blinks. “Never mind.” He shoves past James.

“You—But you’re a Seeker. It’s illegal and against the school code. You could get kicked off
the team.”

“As opposed to getting kicked off the for the cigarettes, because that’s so much better.” He
snorts and quickly accesses his pouch with his tweaked Summoning spell. It’s a whole bunch
of spellwork that makes it so he can store things in the equivalent of a purse (if the purse was
simultaneously everywhere and nowhere) and reach his hand into nothingness to get what he
wants. He pulls out a Sobering Potion and guzzles it, making a mental note to put another in
the pocket. “You made the Sobering Potions for Remus’ birthday.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I did, yeah.”

“Add lavender while you mix in the honey, cuts out the bitterness completely.” James stays
silent, and Regulus can tell he’s upset him somehow. He sighs. “It was good, I suppose.
Kicked in faster than I can get mine too.”

“Stir it once counterclockwise at the end,” he says eagerly. “It makes it thicker, but it helps.
My dad told me. You know, he made Sleekeazy’s?”

“Oh?” Regulus muses sarcastically.

“Papa was obsessed with my mum and wanted a bunch of kids as soon as possible. My mum
has always been smarter, though, and she kept telling him she wasn’t ready. But, my dad
knew she wanted kids because they talked about it before they married. And, honestly, you
should see Mām̐ around kids, but anyway, she kept saying to wait longer. One day he just
snapped because he thought he was doing something wrong. And she screamed that she
wasn’t ready to have kids because then she’d have to learn how to do their hair. He created
Sleekeazy’s so she didn’t have to.” He’s smiling while saying it. If he learned how to love
from his parents, then Regulus can’t understand why he doesn’t have a girlfriend yet.

Regulus quirks an eyebrow, wondering why he’s not a walking ad for Sleekeazy’s.“And you
don’t use it because?”

He shrugs, dragging a hand over the back of his neck with a wry smile. “Long story,” he says,
sheepishly.

Regulus leans against the sink as the potion starts working. His limbs start to tense up, and
the fog in his mind clears. “Didn’t know you had anywhere to be.”
James’ smile falters as his gaze drops. “I stopped using it the second day of school,” he says
quietly, like he doesn’t want it to be heard. Regulus raises a brow to get him to continue. He
sighs. “It has a strange effect on redheads. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

Regulus’ heart squeezes, but he brushes away the feeling quickly. James Potter is straight.
James Potter is in love with Lily Evans. Regulus hates James Potter. “You mean don’t.”
James gives him a questioning look. “You don’t want to take any chances.”

James shakes his head, his eyes half-lidded. “I didn’t. I don’t use it now because I don’t want
to.”

Maybe Regulus is still high, but he can’t help but feel his words have a double meaning. That
he’s telling Regulus because what he’s saying is directed toward him. And maybe he’s just
high, but Regulus feels like he’s completely fucked. If James doesn’t love Lily any more, if
he’s not straight, if he likes Regulus—

“Let’s get back before they start wondering where we are,” Regulus blurts. He’s the first one
out the door, shame licking at his heels.

It’s quiet as they stroll through Hogsmeade, and Remus can’t figure out what to say for the
life of him. He shoves his fists into his pockets and shivers as the wind tousles his hair.

“Cold?” Sirius asks. His brows are scrunched tightly over his eyes, making him angry. Remus
knows better. Knows that he’s trying to stop the wind from drying out his eyes.

“I’m good.” Sirius throws a warming charm or two on Remus.

“Wanna sit down for a bit?”

“I’m good, Pads.” Remus blushes, feeling coddled in a way he’s used to. Sirius always takes
a sigh for a heart attack, a wince for a broken bone.

“Well, I’m knackered,” he complains with a yawn. He veers off the path, away from
screaming children, and onto the long grass.

“We know, old man,” Remus drawls. “They can hear your bones creaking at Hogwarts.” He
snaps his fingers. “That’s what we forgot. We need to turn back and get the oil for you, tin-
man.”

Sirius flashes a dangerous smile, one that makes Remus’ heart skip a beat and his blood
pressure spike. Sirius walks backward in the grass.“I don’t know who that is, but you of all
people don’t want to bring up bad bones, Moony.”

“And you don’t want to bring up bad genes, do you? What’s Regulus, your brother or your
third cousin?” Remus can’t help his smirk. The answer is both.

“You cheeky git. I told you that in confidence.” Sirius smirks back, but it quickly falls off
with a startled yelp as he falls. They’re on a slight hill, so Sirius keeps rolling through the
grass with what looks like no end in sight. His hair falls out of his bun, wrapping around his
face as his limbs flail.

Remus fights a laugh, carefully walking down, willing his knees not to lock.“Don’t worry,
grandpa, I’ve got your cane!”

“Fuck off!” He spits grass and dirt out of his mouth, then sassily blows a rogue curl out his
face. He growls and Remus laughs then. Remus settles on the grass next to Sirius.

Suddenly, Sirius’ eyes widen in pure worry. “Shite,” he mutters quietly, riffling through his
jean pockets. His shoulders slump, eyes falling closed, as he lets out a breath.
“What?” Remus mummers. “Everything all right? Baby maker still intact?”

Sirius’ pink lips quirk in one corner, his grey eyes opening and pinning onto Remus. “My
dick’s fine, Moony, and my baby is, too.” Sirius brings out his hand, and in the middle of his
palm is something dark.

Remus frowns, disappointed. He should probably wear his glasses. They’re somewhere in the
bottom of his school trunk. “What is that, shite?” He reaches for it and Sirius bats his hand
away with an appalled gawk.

“It’s only the best thing ever to graze my fingertips, my star in the sky, the apple of my eye,
the beautiful and stunning—”

Remus squints. “It really does look like shite, Pads. Like a small wad of earwax, dirt, or
something.”

Sirius looks truly unimpressed. He taps his wand on the speck, and it grows in his hands. The
body of it is smooth and onyx black, the neck a deep, rich, brown. The strings gleam almost
silver in the sun, and Sirius beams, eyes shining, waiting for Remus’ reaction.

Remus thinks for a moment, letting his eyes rake over the fancy guitar that must cost more
than his entire outfit times three, and then he blinks. “Why was that in your pocket?”

Sirius groans, falling onto the grass. “Moonbeam, is that all you have to say? Look at this
absolute beauty.” He flips it onto the back. Signatures in silver glitter cover the entire body of
it. He’s such a nerd he can pick out Freddie Mercury’s, the whole Queen band’s signatures,
actually, Rolling Stones, Ziggy Stardust, Led Zeppelin, David Bowie. . .

“That’s sick, Sirius.” His mouth is dropped slightly in awe. He shouldn’t be surprised that
Sirius was able to get them. He brushes a finger over the signatures, leaning closer and
running it over the dips and curves of the calligraphy. Sirius, surprisingly, lets him.
“I know.” He cradles it and runs a hand down its body reverently. Remus’ gaze catches on the
strength of his hands, the blue veins popping from his skin. He is so very gay. “Look here.”
Sirius’ hand gently grabs Remus’, putting his fingertips directly under the autograph in the
centre. It’s scrawled hastily, and Remus squints his eyes to try and see the name. “It’s Aretha
Franklin’s,” Sirius mummers.

Remus’ head snaps in shock, partly because he didn’t realize Sirius even thought that day
was important, and partly because he has Aretha’s autograph on his guitar. “Why was this in
your pocket?” Remus asks incredulously. If it were him, this would be locked up in a safe, far
away from harm like falling down a fucking hill.

Sirius smiles sheepishly. “I really wanted to show you.”

Remus sighs. So that’s why he’s been trying to get him alone. Their other friends would
probably clown him for being so excited over a guitar, and Sirius has always been territorial
over his shit. It probably took a lot of courage to show him. “Did you tell Effie?”

“She’s the one who helped me get it.”

“You lucky—” Remus makes a low sound and flops onto the grass, hopelessly envious.

“I know, Remus.”

“You have almost every single musical legend’s penmanship on your guitar, and then you fell
with it in your pocket!”

“I’m sorry!”

Remus looks over, and Sirius is smiling, looking a second away from bursting out laughing.
“You better not be laughing at me, boy. Unless you want me to tell Peter and Jam—”
He slaps a hand over Remus’ mouth. “Don’t,” he says with wide eyes. His palm is warm and
rough on his mouth. Remus almost purses his lips to feel better, but he’s frozen in place by
Sirius’ intense gaze and whipping hair. “Don’t. I’ll, fuck, I’ll play you something, you’ll be
the first to hear me play.”

There’s still a smudge of dirt on Sirius’ mouth, right on the crease of his bottom lip. Without
thinking, Remus wipes it away with his thumb. His lip is achingly soft, plump, and the most
beautiful full shade of pink. Sirius’ breath hitches, and he goes still. Remus feels a sick sense
of victory over getting to touch him like this. The girls can have his kisses and body, but
Remus gets his mind, heart, and soul. He’s earned the soft and honest moments, the
nightmares at three am, the cuddles, the laughter pressed against sun-warmed skin. Sirius
isn’t flinching away, but carefully watching to see what Remus will do.

Remus shows him his dirty thumb, and there’s a flicker of disappointment across his face
until Remus rubs his digit onto the grass, then returns for seconds. Sirius licks his lips right
before Remus lands, and he watches his finger memorize the feeling of Sirius’ spit-slick lip
beneath him.

There’s a stirring in his pants, so he hastily licks the palm of Sirius’ hand so he’ll back up.
Sirius does, but not without a second of hesitation. “Play me the song,” Remus says. His
voice is deep and raspy, and Sirius’ cheeks go pink. Must be the sun.

As Sirius scrambles to secure his guitar, Remus carefully presses his thumb against his own
lip, shivering, knowing this is as close his mouth will get to Sirius’. A poem comes to mind:

Come, my darling, let us dance

To the moon that beckons us

To dissolve our love in trance

Heedless of the hideous

Heat & hate of Sirius-

Shun his baneful brilliance!

Remus inexplicably knows that in some other universe, they’re happy. They live in Sirius’
flat in Soho. James and Lily have a house and a kid, and Regulus stands proud in Grimmauld
Place. They’re all miserable, but they’re happy.

Heaven awakes to encompass us,

Hell awakes its jubilance

In our hearts mysterious

Marriage of the azure expanse,

With the scarlet brilliance

Of the Moon with Sirius.

In some other universe, he has thousands of days of wanting just like this and doesn’t do
anything about it. They’re all cowards. Mary and Sirius end up together. Regulus believes in
pureblood ideology and his arrogance kills him. James and Lily get married young, and
they’ll love each other, but they won’t know why their dreams are filled with a passion
they’ve never experienced with each other. Lily will fantasize about feminine, dark hands
with perfectly painted nails, and forget about it the minute she picks up her kid.

Afric sands ensorcel us,

Afric seas & skies entrance

Velvet, lewd & luminous

Night surveys our soul askance!

Come my love, & let us dance

To the Moon and Sirius!

Remus spends his life lost and confused, fumbling in the dark, not trusting himself or anyone
around him, his own version of Giovanni’s Room. Because a deep part of him will look at
what surrounds him: James and Lily, Mary and Sirius, and he’ll grow cold and withdrawn.
He’ll wonder what would’ve happened if they all were a little more brave. If they all had a
little more time.
 —

“Fuck, is this legal?” Marlene asks, pouring another shot for herself and Dorcas. James has
bought the bottle, and they’re all varying degrees of smashed. Regulus’ head leans on the
back of the sticky booth, the cushion in it hard over the years of use. “Don’t want poor
Rosmerta to get in trouble.”

Dorcas winces. “Think it’s too late for that one, darling.” They clink their glasses together
and throw them back. Dorcas makes a face at the taste, and Marlene shakes her head with her
tongue out.

“You’d think I’d get used to it by now.”

“Would you still love me if I was a rat?” Peter slurs suddenly, his head lying on his folded
arms.

The table turns silent. It’s busier outside, must be around three in the afternoon. Mary’s
cheeks blow up with air, and Lily jabs her. Dorcas giggles and quickly covers it with a hand,
but it is too late. Everyone bursts out laughing to the point of tears, Regulus’ belly cramping
as he smacks James on the arm. “Get it! Get it! Because he’s a—”

“I know!” James hollers. He sobers, blinking one eye at a time like a frog. “Wait a minute,
how do you—”

“Of course, Wormy,” Lily throws an arm around his shoulders and draws him in. Peter
relaxes against her shoulder. They are to each other as James is to Sirius, but more calm.
Peter whispers in her ear and she breaks into giggles, turning red at her cheeks and hairline.

“Reg—”
“Who?” Regulus says sharply. James flinches, eyes going wide in embarrassment. He’s lucky
no one heard him.

“Leo,” James says slowly, his eyes boring into Regulus in a spectacularly intimating way.
Regulus’ heartbeat speeds up as James leans in, his voice low and husky, sober and clear-
headed. “How do you know that?”

“None of your—”

James grasps his thigh, hand large and rough, and leans to talk in the shell of his ear. “How
do you know that, Regulus. I’m not kidding.”

The sheer protectiveness over his loved ones is a quality he shares with Sirius. James doesn’t
show it often, but Regulus knows it’s there. Lurking beneath the light is a fire that burns hot
to the touch, and James can release a supernova whenever he wants. Regulus isn’t stupid.
Whatever affection or interest James has in him isn’t and never will be as important to James
as Peter. James will rip Regulus apart if he has to, pants him in front of the school, embarrass
and ridicule and bully him until the end of time. Regulus isn’t a snitch either. He can’t very
well give up Remus as his source, but he can’t put himself in the line of fire either.

“It’s the same way I know you were the stag in the forest, Prongs. The pieces always come
together whether you like it or not.” He catches James’ glare. “I haven’t told anyone,”
Regulus adds softly.

His jaw clenches as he looks over Regulus’ face, almost searching for a lie.“Not even
Pandora? Barty, Evan, Dorcas?”

“No.” Regulus finds his jaw clenching as well. “I know Sirius is your brother and all, but
don’t believe everything he tells you about me. He’s lost his right to being an expert on me
ever since he left.”

James recoils. “Regulus. . .”

“What?” Regulus holds his stare. “Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong? That family
always knows you best?” He sneers and looks away, the liquor loosening his tongue. “Not all
of us grow up in loving households and get to frolic up and down the countryside. Most of us
have to hide who we are to survive. Most of us don’t have family and friends, just allies and
enemies. He can’t understand me by observing me, Potter. He only knows what I want him to
know, the story I’ve spun that he’s dumb enough to believe.”

“You really don’t care?” Sirius is hurt, and even worse, he’s confused. Regulus has left their
facade to go on too long. They aren’t pirates ready to take on the world, they aren’t leaves on
the same branch, they’re only two little boys made of pain and misery that find solace in each
other. One of them has to stay behind, and if it’s not going to be Sirius, then it must be him.

“Go, Sirius. Be stupid,” Regulus says in his haughtiest tone, the one reserved for high-society
small talk. Sirius flinches. Don’t think. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t—

“This isn’t stupid.” His grip on his suitcase tightens. A jumper peeks out of the bursting
clasp.“They’re. . . Reggie. They’re sick and twisted. This whole house is fucking haunted,
can’t you see that? Haven’t I taught you that?” He gestures at his broken leg, the gash on his
head that sends blood into his eye. His fingers spasm from the repeated Crucios , and he can
only be standing from pure adrenaline and might. “Regulus, I—are you blind? This isn’t
fucking normal, this isn’t right!”

Regulus smiles, its pointed lines and sharp teeth born and formed for ripping and cutting. “I
was made for a glorious purpose, Sirius, and you’ve made it easier to achieve.”

He knows what Sirius sees in him now, the perfect Black heir. Sirius backs away with jerky
movements as Regulus’ heart falls. It’s done now. Regulus has done it. Sirius won’t return
now that he sees Regulus as a lost cause. He’s given him a clean break.

Regulus steps around Sirius and ignites the Floo. “Go, blood traitor.”

And he shoves him into the fire.

Regulus snorts at James’ ashen face, slack with horror. “And my name is Leo.”

“I’m ready.”

Remus turns his head, catching as Sirius clears his throat and adjusts his guitar. He stifles his
smile. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes, you idiot,” Sirius snaps. “Let’s not be stupid now.”

“Come on, Starboy, play me a song.”

Sirius glares, but at least he looks less nervous. His fingers start to pluck at the strings,
twisting one of the knobs at the top of the guitar.

“What does that do?” Remus asks, just to be annoying.

“Tunes it. Hush.” He plucks the same string and turns the peg left and right before moving on
to the next string, seeming satisfied.

Remus waits approximately one minute. “I’m bored.”

“Deal with it you miserable sod.”

“You better watch your mouth. What do you think James would say if I told him you had
signatures from ABBA that got scraped off when you fell.”

Sirius looks up, eyes stormy underneath his dark brows. “You wouldn’t.”

“We both know I would.” They glare at each other without any real heat until Sirius quirks a
small smile. Remus mirrors it. “Play me a song.”

“Anything for our Moony,” Sirius says softly. He begins to play as Remus fights a smile.
He’d ripped the Marauder’s a new one when he found out they made themselves Animagi for
him. They were silent, all of them ashamed except for Sirius, who shrugged and said: “It’s
simple. We wouldn’t let you suffer alone. We’d do anything for our Moony.”

Remus was bewildered, but James and Peter nodded like it made perfect sense. It stuck
throughout the years. When they brought him meals after a full and Remus said thank you,
anything for our Moony. When Remus asked if Lily could stay behind and help him study for
a few extra minutes, anything for our Remus (she finds the nicknames childish). When
Remus was studying and he yelled at his dormmates to quiet down, an eye roll followed by
that horrid phrase. Anything for our Moony.

Sirius’ right-hand strums as his left moves up and down the neck of the guitar, fingers
straining to reach the different frets. Remus will never completely understand the whole of
Sirius Orion Black. The complexity and depth of him that allows him to be blushing and
sweet one moment and sultry the next. Remus could tear him apart, cover his body with his
own in the middle of this field, ask to consume him, and he doesn’t know if Sirius would
smirk or laugh or grasp him desperately. His heart skips a beat. He loves him so fucking
much.

With each note, Sirius’ face falls more, looking gutted against the unusually bright sky. He
fucks up, a chord of dissonance among the beauty of it, and he stops cold. “I’m sorry.”

Slightly worried, Remus swallows hard. “It’s okay, Pads. It’s just a song.”

“No, Remus. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Remus sighs. “I don’t want to talk about The Prank right now—”

“I’m so sorry.” His face is pale and pitiable, and it highlights the purple bags under his eyes.
“Oh Merlin, Moony. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll say it for as long as I live.”

“Sirius—”

“I wasn’t thinking.” He shakes his head in horror. “I don’t think.”

Remus freezes. He could be reading into it, but Regulus says the same thing. Don’t think.
“You know how that house is,” Regulus said earlier. “He’s probably still holding on to what
they taught him. Give him time.” Is Remus so blind that he didn’t see it before? What if
Sirius quite literally wasn’t thinking? He’s sick to his stomach at the thought. “Sirius,” he
says quietly. “When you say you don’t think, what does that mean?”

Sirius averts his eyes. “In that house—In that place, it’s so dark and chilling.” He puts his
guitar to the side, hugs his knees, and chews on his nails. “And one day, fuck, I don’t know, I
just couldn’t take it anymore. The things that they say so callously, it’s so cruel. They act like
they’re superior to everyone as if we all don’t bleed the same. I had to bite my tongue every
day so much it started to throb. During one of our lessons for Occlumency and Legilimency,
that woman told us that by the end we wouldn’t even need to think and that our bodies would
know what to do. And then it hit me.”

He closes his eyes. “I thought if I could lock the part of me that wanted to disobey and yell
away, I’d stop being punished. I’d finally be the perfect pureblood heir. Merlin, I knew it
wasn’t healthy. But when Alphard died, I didn’t want to feel anything.”

“I’m sorry, Sirius.” Remus rolls on his side and grabs Sirius’ hand. They hold onto each
other, Sirius’ grip tight and afraid of letting go. “What does it feel like?” Remus whispers.

“Cold. Detached. Like I’m outside my body and watching it all happen. Like I’m in survival
mode.” Sirius smiles, though it cracks at the edges and doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Remus
tugs him to the grass, and he lies down next to Remus, facing him. “It’s my biggest fear to be
left alone with all my thoughts and all my regrets.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize—”

“I’m sorry.” A beat of silence between them. Remus strangles Sirius’ hand. “Sirius, why
didn’t you tell me?” he hisses quietly. He can’t help but feel like he should’ve done
something. He should’ve helped. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know. James knew, but it was so embarrassing, Remus, I didn’t want you to know
that about me.” He bites his lip. “Are you angry?”

Remus faces the sky and huffs. “We wasted so much time. You should’ve—I should’ve—”
He sighs, helpless. “I don’t know.” Remus would’ve forgiven him faster if he knew. But a
whole year has passed, and they’ll be out in the real world soon. Their childish whims gone
and replaced with. . .taxes.

Sirius tilts Remus’ head back toward him and takes a deep breath, fortifying himself. “I have
to know,” Sirius starts. Remus nods encouragingly, and Sirius falters. “Why didn’t you
come?”

Remus blinks, trying to think about what Sirius is talking about. “To the Potter’s over the
summer?”

“No,” he groans. “The day after I left. I sent you an owl and you didn’t even respond.”

Remus laughs, thinking Sirius has him mixed up with someone else.“Pads, what are you
talking about? I didn’t know you left until we returned to school after winter break. I sent
Effie a letter to figure out why you all were acting so weird.”
Sirius pales, his mouth falling slack. “But, but I—”

Remus’ smile fades as he slowly starts feeling sick to his stomach. “Sirius, what owl?”

“I thought.” He swallows hard, looking like a scared child. “I thought you didn’t want me.
That you didn’t care.”

“Stop,” Remus says harshly. “This isn’t funny.”

“I’m not kidding. If you got that owl, you would’ve come?” He blinks rapidly as if he’s
stunned.

“Are you kidding me?” He shoves Sirius, getting to his feet as Sirius’ eyes go wide. “Are you
fucking kidding me? It’s like you don’t know me at all! I don’t care if we’re fighting, or we
haven’t talked to each other in a decade, if you’re fucking dying, you come get me. Do you
understand? For fuck’s sake. Don’t send an owl or try to Floo call me. Send a Patronus and
I’ll be there. I’ll always care, Sirius. You could kill me, and I’d still fucking care!” Remus is
shaking. He can’t believe that Sirius thinks he’d abandon him like that! That he wouldn’t
show up on one of the most important nights of Sirius’ life!

Sirius is on his feet, his hands spread to try and placate him. “I’m sorry, okay? Forget I said
anything.”

“God, if it were anyone else. If James or Lily or Peter betrayed me like that, do you think I
wouldn’t be there for them? That’d I’d leave them out to dry? Only you could make me this
fucking angry.” He paces through the long grass, his skin tingling. “Do you think I wouldn’t
come running if you called? You are the moon I howl for, Pads. You don’t listen. You never
listen.”

“Remus.” Sirius grasps him by his shoulders. His hands migrate to his flushed cheeks. “I
know you’re angry, but take a deep breath.”
Remus blinks. His eyes are different, and his teeth feel are big for his mouth. He closes his
eyes and leans into Sirius’ hands as he fights to take a full breath. “Fuck, they’re glowing,
aren’t they?” Remus mutters, more to himself.

“Erm, yes, they were. Is that good or bad?”

Remus opens his eyes. Sirius’ breath catches. So they must still be glowing. “I do that
sometimes. Reaction to magic.” His legs tickle, so he shakes them out one at a time. Ants
come flying out of both trouser legs. He looks up and sees a circle of birds flying above. He
sighs. The magic probably attracted them. He has to be more careful.

“But, you’re okay? Do you need Poppy?” Sirius’s eyes narrow in scrutiny, looking over
Remus’ face.

He clasps a hand over his, pulling it away from his face and lacing their fingers. “I’m fine,
Pads.” He looks up at the sky again. “We should probably head back, yeah?” Remus asks
tiredly. “They’re probably waiting for us.” He lets go of Sirius’ hand because he’s not
Rosmerta. They can’t hold hands in the street. Sirius was confused, and he doesn’t love
Remus like he thinks he does.

“I—Okay.” Sirius tucks a piece of hair behind his ear.

“You come to me,” Remus blurts. “If you’re in trouble, I’ll come to you. No matter what
happens, yes?”

“Okay.” Sirius picks up his guitar and shrinks it. His face is red. “I—okay.”

And they’re off.

 —

“. . .The night is as slow as molasses, their tension thick enough that a knife could cut
through. The troubadour sings his ballad: “My heart weakens and stutters/ the day drags on
without thee/ in my bedchamber your voice is a sweet melody.” As the troubadour says these
words, they look up and catch each other’s eyes across the ballroom. He can’t help but look
at her heaving chest, glistening with sweat. She fans herself as they stare, locked into each
other’s orbit, unable to move. And then. . .” Dorcas trails off.

“What?” James says. He’s gripping onto Regulus’ arm, literally on the edge of his seat.

“For fuck’s sake, are they finally going to kiss?” Peter yells. He slams his hands down on the
table.

Dorcas draws in a big breath, filling up her lungs with air, keeping everyone hooked. “. .
.And then an arrow comes down and strikes our lovely hero in his head.”

Peter bangs on the table again, adding to the rise of displeased groans. Dorcas sits back,
delighted.

“She does that every time,” Marlene drawls. She’s been dared to talk like a cowboy for the
rest of the game. She takes a sip of water, pretending that it’s alcohol. “Always kills the men
off in every story she tells. Feminists.” She scoffs as if the thought disgusts her, but there’s a
smile in the corner of her mouth.

“Fuck yeah!” Mary whoops and high-fives Dorcas. “Now do one where all the purebloods
die.”

James splutters, but Lily laughs.

“I think that’s enough death for tonight,” Peter says gloomily. “I really wanted them to have a
happy ending,” he mutters.

“It’s my turn,” Dorcas says with an evil glint in her eye.

“Who’s the idiot who dared the only Slytherin here?” James hollers. He’s barely in control of
his limbs, and Regulus barely moves out of the way before his beer goes flying. “Sorry,
love,” he says sheepishly. Regulus just glares. James has taken to calling him that so he
doesn’t accidentally call him Regulus instead.

“You’re the idiot, idiot,” Marlene says. She tips her magical cowboy hat in his direction.
Regulus could swear she was wearing normal clothes a moment ago, but now she’s wearing
full cowboy gear, equipped with a horse plushie and shiny sheriff’s badge.

“This is a fucking fever dream,” Regulus mumbles. Did he take acid again?

“Lily,” Dorcas says. A hush falls over the table. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” she says. Mary and Peter ooh. Somehow, they were able to alter the truth aspect, so
if the player lies they sprout pimples over their face that stay for a month. Then, they have to
do the dare, or more pimples sprout. Regulus declined to play for obvious reasons.

“Out of all your friends, who do you think is the hottest?”

Mary turns expectantly, batting her eyelashes. Lily rolls her eyes. “Remus, obviously.”

Mary jerks back, and Regulus’ head springs up. “What?” the table asks in unison. Even the
stuffed horse looks shocked.

Lily’s eyes are wide. “What? He’s hot!” She sniffs. “And he’s the boy version of me, why
wouldn’t he be the hottest? Unless anyone wants to refute.” Lily’s harsh face makes it clear
that if anyone so much as opens their mouth, she’ll rip them to shreds.

“Remus is hot,” James slurs. “Look at me like I’ve grown two heads all you want, but all my
friends are hot. Remus has this mysterious air, Sirius is the bad boy, Peter’s the cutie pie with
a secret, Lily’s firey, Marlene is the bad girl, Mary’s the it-girl, and Dorcas is scary in a hot
way.”

Mary smiles. “He’s right.”

“You only say that because you got a good description!” Dorcas cries. “What does scary in a
hot way even mean?”

“Exactly, ‘cutie pie with a secret?’ What am I, the Gerber baby?”

Regulus stifles a laugh at that.

“It means you have an intimidating, quiet confidence that everyone, especially guys, pretends
they hate, but end up panting at you and sending you late-night owls. And at first, everyone
overlooks Peter because he’s cute, but he’s actually a demon.” James nods, hair flopping. “He
forgot to set a Silencing Charm one time and I thought he was killing her in there, the mouth
on this one—”

“OKAY! We get it.” Peter is bright red as he takes a long gulp of his beer.

“It was kinda brill.” James shrugs.

Lily sighs, shaking her head. “James, what? What are you saying?”

“It was hot!” He pats his pockets as Peter groans.“I wrote it down somewhere. . .”
“Please, don’t,” Mary begs.

“Accio Peter’s Dirty Mouth!” His hand stays in the air for a while before he gives up. “I
thought my Summonings were getting stronger.” He scratches his head, then looks out the
window where the list is waiting. “Oh, hello!”

Regulus wonders if he Summoned it from the castle. If so, that’s extremely impressive.

“Oh my—” Dorcas covers her mouth with her hand. “It’s actually called Peter’s Dirty
Mouth.”

Regulus cranes his head and sees the top of the parchment. In scratchy handwriting, it says:
PETER’S DIRTY MOUTH (the cheeky sod) There’s a few smiley faces with their tongues out
surrounding it.

James clears his throat. “Number one: ‘This all for me, Emma? Merlin, this tight—”

“God, Peter!” Lily exclaims. “Look at thirteen!”

Helplessly curious, Regulus tries to look, but Peter Banishes it before he gets the chance.
He’s even redder than he was before. “Never. Again,” he grits out.

“Fuck, we’ve spent years calling our Remus a Casanova when we’ve had the real one right in
front of us this whole time.” Marlene groans, then twists the edge of her mustache (what in
bloody hell?).

“Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?” Mary asks innocently.

“You.” Lily snorts. “I think you were the one who started it just to take the piss. Sirius was
fuming.”
“Oh yeah,” Mary says, her eyes drifting off like she’s reminiscing. “I love it when he’s mad.
It’s our thing.”

“Wait a minute.” Dorcas holds up her hands. “James, you didn’t say anything about Leo.”

Regulus and James both tense. “Er, what?” James asks, drunk.

“How’s Leo hot?” The table’s attention shifts as sharp as a needle onto them.

“Well, he’s, uh,” James panics, drowning. He looks at Regulus, with wide, pleading eyes.
Regulus raises a brow, slightly curious at what James will say.

The bell above the door rings, and Remus and Sirius step through, windswept. “MOONY!
PADS!” James hollers. And—yep, sloshing beer all over Regulus’ sweats. “My compadres,
my soulmates, two out of four musketeers, the loves of my life, the apples of my eye—”

Sirius hoists himself on the table and slides into James’ open arms, toppling drinks without a
care. “Oh, Jamie! Jam-Jam! The jam to my peanut butter! The love of my life, half of my
soul—”

Regulus can’t hide his disgust. This isn’t a fever dream, it’s a certified nightmare. He looks
up and locks eyes with Dorcas, who isn’t used to the PDA either, and they share a smirk and
a pointed look. He’ll have to tell her that Leo and Regulus are the same person soon.

“Hey, Leo,” Remus says like he’s talking to a little kid. He goes on one knee and grabs
Regulus’ shoulder. “How’re we doing, buddy? Ready to get back?”

Regulus glares at him. “I’m not drunk you ridiculous bawbag.” He’s tipsy at worst. He’s
learned his lesson from Remus’ birthday party. Weed is so much better than alcohol.
Remus smiles. “That’s Scottish, not Welsh, but keep trying.” He slaps him on the back, and
Regulus almost strangles him right here. Instead, he gets to his feet and drags Remus up, both
of their knees cracking as they do. Remus winces. “We’re old.”

“I think that’s just you,” Regulus says, knowing damn well he has premature grey hairs. They
step out in the chilly air, the sun rapidly setting. In the house across the street, the lights come
on. Regulus fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it. “I’m not the grown adult out of
the two of us, am I?”

“You’re going to have to be one today.” Remus snatches the fag out of Regulus’ hand.
Regulus lets him. “If you think I’m putting all of those drunkards to bed by myself you’ve
lost the plot.”

“Well you’re not by yourself. Sirius will help you.” He smirks as Remus shutters. “The girls
are on their own anyway. Boys can’t go into the Gryffindor Girls dormitory.”

Remus sighs. “True.” He gives Regulus his fag back, but he’s lost his appetite for it. “What a
minute, how do you know that?”

“Fall back and tell Sirius to herd them to your dorm. We’ll force feed them Sobering Potions
and Transfigure beds.”

“Regulus, how do you know that? You cheeky—”

Regulus speeds up his pace to get to Gryffindor Tower before them. Now, Regulus has never
slept with any Gryffindor girl. He’s never slept with any girl or anyone at all. He knows
things, things he probably shouldn’t. He knows that Voldemort was a half-blood, tickling the
grapes on the painting gets you into the kitchen, and that if you push someone off a tower,
they can still live. He particularly enjoyed hearing Lucius scream, that golden-haired,
pretentious prick. He’s not good enough for Narcissa. He got scolded for that, but his mother
seemed proud.

The point is, Regulus observes and picks apart mysteries easily, like rib meat falls off bones
and into his awaiting hands. It’s why the prophecy is so annoying, because it’s the only
puzzle he hasn’t figured out. It wounds his pride and huge ego.

He gets to the Fat Lady’s Portrait and uses the password Dragon to get in. He knows the
passwords for all the Houses.

He sneaks up to Remus’ dorm, avoiding the people crowded in the horrendously red common
room. When he arrives, he finds James’ stash of Sobering Potions quite easily, and makes a
few extra beds with time to spare.

Regulus allows himself to look around the room. Peter’s space is chaotically organized, his
bed unmade but his shoes lined up. His books—Herbology, Photography, Advanced
Arithmancy— are stacked on his bedside table. James’ is such an eyesore, Regulus winces.
The bed isn’t made, his trunk is still unpacked and wide open in the middle of the room, his
Quidditch gear is shoved to the foot end of the bed, and clothes are everywhere. The wall is
splattered with colorful notes of things he needs to remember.

Sirius’ space is surprisingly clean. His shoes are buffed, shined, and lined up, his curtains are
pulled back to reveal a pristine bed, and his record player is in perfect condition. Regulus
remembers how often he’d complain about keeping up appearances. He’d promised it would
be a mess when he got his own place. Regulus thinks he needs a year or two more before he’s
free.

Remus’ bed has too many blankets and too many pillows. He has two mugs, a stack of school
books on the floor—Magical Theory, Defense Against the Dark Arts, etc.— and personal
books in his trunk. On his table is a parchment with his to-do list.

They seem to share a small records shelf overflowing with artists he’s never heard of. He’d
go through their closets and drawers, but he doesn’t know how much time he has to snoop.

There are giggles outside the door and someone hushing them loudly. The door bangs open.
Sirius storms in looking like he’s been to hell and back with Marlene over his shoulder.
Dorcas and Mary bumble through, giggling wildly and crashing into each other. Peter is using
Lily as a crutch, and Remus and James are still nowhere to be seen.
“Marls,” Sirius says, strained. “You heavy—” He drops her onto one of the cots and scoops
up the potion next to it. “Take it.”

She pouts, her mustache curling down. “I don’t want to—”

Sirius sticks his fingers into her mouth to keep her mouth open and pulls off the stopper of
the potion, forcing it down her throat. She coughs, wiping off the excess liquid. “Fuck you,”
she gets out.

“Fuck you!” Sirius whirls around and catches Regulus looking at him. His eyes are blazing,
his hair falling out of his bun. Looks like the Black Family Madness caught up to him.
“What?”

Regulus doesn’t say anything. He raises his eyebrows and turns around to give out the rest of
the potions. Thankfully, they’re less combative. Peter goes on his knees and groans, resting
his head on his bed. Sirius tries to get him under the covers with soft muttering, much more
gentle than he was with Marlene. The girls are already asleep on their cots. Lily’s curled up
with the horse, Mary’s limbs stretch over her, and Dorcas and Marlene’s foreheads are
pressed together.

Regulus wanders outside to figure out where James and Remus are. They’re right outside the
door, James sitting with his arms crossed, pouting, while Remus stands, leaning against the
wall with his eyes closed.

“Oh, sleeping on the job? It’s not like we have anything better to do,” Regulus says.

Remus cracks open an eye and sighs. “This one—” He shoves James with his foot. “Is having
a tantrum.”

“Just drag him into the room.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the whole walk here?” Remus snaps. “He’s waiting
for his love. Says we can’t go to bed without them and that we left them behind. He was so
upset he didn’t even stop to talk to the people in the common room.”

“Go to bed, I’ll handle it.” Regulus sighs. Remus hesitates. “Go.” Remus holds up his hands
and goes inside the dorm. It’s dark in the hallway and even darker in their room, so Regulus
gets on his knees in front of James, slowly dissolving his glamours.

Regulus clears his throat. “Potter,” he whispers.

James pouts harder, eyes downcast.

“Potter,” he says sharply.

James’ head comes up as fast as lighting. His pupils are dilated, and his mouth is slack in
shock. The beers must’ve caught up to him on the walk here.“Regulus,” he breathes. “Hey,
प्यार
.”

Something in Regulus squirms. James’ gaze pins him, and no matter where he looks, he can’t
escape his loving gaze. “Erm,” Regulus says intelligently. “Hi.”

“Hello.” He wraps a curl in Regulus’ hair around his finger, giggling. He sighs. “Missed you.
Thought if I invited Leo it’d be the same, but it wasn’t.” He bites his lip while he smiles.
“You’ll stay tonight, mi amor?”

Regulus’ breath hitches. He might not know what ‘pyārā’ means, but he knows what ‘amor’
means. Love. James is calling him love in Spanish. He’s been calling him love all night, but it
doesn’t feel teasing now. He’s never been this forward before, and it frightens Regulus a bit.
“Potter, I’m Regulus.”

“I know,” he says simply, like Regulus’ head isn’t spinning. “You’ll come to bed with me?
Say yes, Reggie.” James’ hands grasp Regulus’ clothes, twisting the fabric of his shirt,
desperate and needy as he whines. His warmth is everywhere, his attention a fire that lights
Regulus from the inside out. When James talks to him like this, like it’s only them in
Hogwarts, only them in the entire world, it’s hard to keep a level head.

Regulus almost shouts in victory, preparing to drag them both wherever James wants. He
pauses, though, and tries to think beyond his base instincts. The stink of alcohol is wafting off
James’ tongue, and Regulus realizes he’s blackout drunk. He’s seen needy drunks before
(Barty), and they’ll beg for the touch of a painting if they’re gone enough. He quickly Accios
the last Sobering Potion. “How about you take this, and ask me again,” he mummers.

James shakes his head. “No,” he whines. “Bed. Now.”

Regulus’ top lip twitches. Watching him being more annoying than usual is slightly funny.
“You’re quite demanding, you know that?”

James beams, delighted at the banter. “Yes.”

Regulus gets to his feet and holds out a hand for James. James looks at it with his eyebrows
furrowed. “Bed?” he asks. His eyes glimmer with hope.

“Bed,” Regulus answers.

James’ red, ratty Converse squeaks on the ground as he jumps up. Regulus guides him to his
bed, keeping his face away from where Sirius is sitting on his bed. Regulus deposits James on
his comforter and throws a strong Silencing and Disillusion charm, his heart in his throat.

James rolls over and smiles sleepily at him, his hair a brown halo around his head. “Ven aquí,
जल्दी करो ,” he slurs in a mixture of Spanish and Hindi. “You’re so beautiful. I love your eyes,
and your lips, your whole face and body is wow-wow-wow.” He gestures with his hands to
emphasize how wow-wow-wow Regulus is. Regulus’ blood goes hot, and he looks up. Sirius
is getting ready for bed and Remus stares at them with a slight frown, sensing the charms.
“And your brain. You’re so smart, so funny.”
That’s not a straight thing to say. That’s not an I’m in love with Lily Evans thing to say. And
what James says shouldn’t make his heart flutter. Regulus might be attracted to him (who
isn’t?), but he doesn’t love him. It’s too complicated if Regulus loves James. So he has to
hate him, right? Regulus shakes his head. He’s been over this, more times than he’d like. He
hates James Potter. It’s more simple that way. “Potter, you’re drunk.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true. I didn’t say it at the Three Broomsticks because I messed up
before with the big gestures.” Regulus slips off James’ Converse to reveal socks with little
zooming Quaffles. He lifts the covers but freezes when he notices James staring blankly at
the wall, his energy suddenly gone. “You’d probably hate me if I did that,” he says quietly.

And Regulus—fuck. For some reason, that statement cuts deep. James shouldn’t worry if he
loves too loudly. “I wouldn’t hate you,” Regulus says, just as softly.

James sighs, tunneling the air to blow hair off his forehead. “Yeah?”

“Yes.” He pats the bed, and James scoots over, sighing into the Warming Charm Regulus
places. “And I don’t think Evans hates you either.”

“I apologized,” he slurs. He blinks rapidly and shakes his head, opening his eyes wide.
“While back. Felt bad. She said it was fine, but I don’t know if I believe it.”

Regulus finds the colorful pads of notes and a muggle pen next to it. He writes Check up on
Remus, please. Don’t believe him if he says he’s fine. -RAB. James’ eyes droop with every
passing moment, and he keeps trying to shake himself out of sleep.

“Well,” Regulus tries to pivot. He takes his glasses off and places them on the nightstand.
“Believe me when I say that if you don’t take the potion, you’ll wake up nauseous and
disgusting.”

James rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes in frustration. “I don’t want it!”
Regulus could do this all night. He’s used to getting little sleep. “Why?”

“Because then I won’t have an excuse for flirting with you when you get pissy in the
morning.”

Regulus ignores that because if he pauses to dissect it, he’ll probably fall apart. “If this is
flirting, you’re doing a pretty shit job.” James pouts. “Take the potion, Potter.”

James turns his head away and crosses his arms across his chest. Regulus decides to bust out
his secret weapon because he’s not getting blamed when James wakes up with a pounding
headache. And, it’s dark, he’s near a bed, and James probably won’t remember any of this in
the morning. He’s allowed to indulge in beauty here. He’ll have to distance himself from
James because they’re both in too deep, so really, it’s a parting gift for them both.

“James,” Regulus whispers. It’s the first time he’s called him by his first name. He uses his
finger to tilt James’ head back to him, then leaves his hand on that warm, soft jaw. “Take the
potion.”

James is seconds away from cracking, his lips parted and his face slack in pure awe, bone-
shaking reverence. Regulus shivers under it. “For me, sweetheart?” Regulus swipes his
thumb over his cheek.

James leans closer, his eyes half-lidded. “Yeah, okay.”

Regulus has him prop up on an elbow to take it, watching as his throat bobs and the muscles
in his forearm strain. James slams the glass on his table with a sigh. “I see what you mean
about the lavender,” he grumbles.

Regulus can’t stop seeing how his words affect him. How someone so boisterous and
destructive can become soft and pliant under Regulus’ guidance. “Thank you, sunshine,” he
says, half curious at how James will respond and half greedy for the power.
James closes his eyes and giggles, practically giddy as he smiles drunkenly. He’s still trying
to keep himself awake.

“Go to sleep, James, it’s okay.”

James’ hand finds his. “You’ll be here when I wake up?”

“I—I’ll try.”

And that’s enough, because James falls asleep. Regulus watches him sleep like a creep, but
he can’t stop himself. He brushes his thumb over the brown skin of James’ hand. He takes in
how James relaxes completely in his sleep, utterly vulnerable and weak. He still has the ghost
of a smile on his face, long eyelashes fluttering.

“Is he out?” Remus whispers. He must’ve come over at some point.

“Yeah, I don’t want to move my hand. Might wake him up.”

Remus bores holes into the side of his head, but Regulus doesn’t look up. “Right,” Remus
says dryly. “You wanna bunk with me or stand here all night?”

Slowly, Regulus drags his hand away. James’ face changes: eyebrows scrunching, mouth
frowning. He starts to mutter, and Regulus hums softly. He puts his hand on the side of his
face and hums an old French lullaby. Eventually, James settles, and Regulus backs away,
keeping his footsteps light and careful.

“What was that?” Remus asks.

Regulus shrugs. “Ask Sirius.” He nods to the closed curtains around Sirius’ bed.
“Huh?”

“Sirius sang it for me when I was young and fussy. I can’t remember the words anymore, so
ask him.” It makes Regulus numb thinking about it, so he doesn’t think.

He ends up in bed beside Remus, and with every passing moment he stays awake, he’s aware
of the sleep he’s missing. He doesn’t want to wake anyone by Summoning his potions, so he
lies on his side as Remus snores behind him.

His mind is always too busy to rest.

Tonight, he’s plagued with old memories of Sirius. Them, running through the garden, Sirius
telling him what and what not to do. Them, sitting at the dinner table, sharing a look when
their parents said something crude. Them, clutched together on the rug after Regulus
drowned, Sirius’ fingers digging into his drenched clothes. “Frère,” Sirius said as Regulus
shook and shook. Regulus thought he’d never stop shaking, that his teeth would never stop
chattering. Regulus thought he’d be cold forever. “Petit frère.”

Regulus hasn’t been Sirius’ brother in a long time.

And there it is. That dread, that bone-deep hatred, the urge to throttle James Fleamont Potter,
to start a blood feud. Regulus almost sighs in relief. At least he hasn’t lost it. Whatever
conflicting feelings he has for James, he knows he’ll almost resent him for what he’s done.
James replaced him, usurped him, wormed his way into Sirius’ heart where his spot used to
be like a fucking rat. And Merlin, doesn’t he have enough? He’s a rich pureblood, Head Boy,
the favorite among the students and teachers, has loving parents, and he couldn’t let Regulus
have one thing? Regulus closes his fists, shaking with rage. That’s good. Regulus needs his
anger.

But Regulus understands Sirius. James is a ray of sunshine, a bright flower in the middle of a
thunderstorm. Gentle eyes, gentle hands, a smile made to blind and disarm. His shoulders
relax at the thought, and he finds himself shaking with unbelievable want. The want to be
back at James’ side, to call him those disgusting pet names like there’s no tomorrow, to have
James forever, by his side. Regulus sighs. He doesn’t know what love feels like, but this feels
pretty close.
Tomorrow, Regulus ignores James. Tomorrow, Regulus pretends that scene of beauty didn’t
happen. He can’t have weaknesses. He can’t have distractions.

He must restore the House of Black and stop the cycle.

To stop the cycle, he must make sure Sirius and Narcissa are happy (Fuck Bellatrix, she’s too
far gone).

Due to the latter and former reasons, he must stop the war.

That’s it. That’s his to-do list, his main missions, his purpose for breathing, for not following
Lucius off the tower.

But as time slips away, Regulus finds himself sacred of the sun rising, because it means he’ll
have to extinguish the sun on Earth.

His heart beats out of his chest, a cold sweat licking down his spine, and he sits up. Remus
snores. Regulus reaches into his pouch and gets his journal, not the decoy. He passes by the
pages filled with his ramblings, past the drawings of Remus and Sirius and Pandora and
Dorcas and James. (He’s the main star of his journal. He debated making another one just for
him.)

He opens a fresh page and sketches James from memory because he can’t see anything. Page
after page until the sun starts to rise and he can go back and fix them up. His breathing slows,
and his hands and back ache.

He closes the journal and tucks it to his chest, finally falling asleep.
Chapter End Notes

for anyone who was wondering, the poem Remus was thinking of is called "Lyric of
Love to Leah" by Aleister Crowley.
 Seigfried
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-implied SA and grooming

if you want to skip it, the scene is between the first and second middle dashes. ("When
Regulus. . ." to "There's isn't a choice not to.")

Maybe I’m a fool

Maybe I should move and settle

Two kids and a swimming pool

I’m not brave

I’d do anything for you

(In the dark)

I’d do anything for you

(In the dark)

-Frank Ocean

“What. The. Fuck,” Sirius says.

Regulus wakes more tired than he was before he slept. He snuggles into the pillow and tucks
his journal closer.

“Isn’t that,” Marlene asks slowly, “Baby Black?”

“Ah. So I wasn’t dreaming,” James says.

“You dream of Regulus?” Peter asks.

“REGULUS!”

So he can’t pretend to be asleep any longer. Regulus opens his eyes against the bright light.
Seven people surround the bed. Remus snores loudly, the traitor. Belatedly, he realizes that
the jig is up, and there’s no way he can explain how he’s ended up in Remus’ bed without
exposing himself as Leo. Sirius has a storm brewing on his face, his hair not done yet so early
in the morning. Regulus sits up to look at everyone one by one. He logs their curious and
confused expressions, then lays back down. He’s not doing this.

“Regulus. . .” Sirius warns. “Get up. Now. Get away from him.”

“No.” He sighs. “I’m tired, can we do this later?”

Sirius grabs him by the ankle and drags him out of bed. Regulus has to twist to put his hands
on the ground so he doesn’t bang his head. Bless his fast reflexes. He registers a gasp from
someone at the sudden violence.

“What are you going to do, Sirius?” Regulus taunts cruelly. He focuses his gaze on him, not
straying away. His past and future have formed themselves into one person, Sirius. “Are you
going to throw me around a bit? Break a bone or two because I slept with your precious
boyfriend?”

Sirius shakes his head. “Shut up.”

“No, please, I beg you. See how happy Remus will be when he wakes up.” Regulus spreads
his arms and bares his throat, closing his eyes. “Lay one finger on me and see what happens.”
Truth is, Sirius can’t do anything. He’s not backed by the House of Black anymore and
they’re technically not brothers, so it’ll count as an assault in Dumbledore’s eyes, and Remus
will be pissed. Regulus cracks open an eye to see Sirius’ veins popping out his neck and
forehead, his fists straining from how hard he’s keeping them closed. “Oh. What a pity.”
Regulus gets to his feet with a small smirk, looking Sirius up and down. “All bark, no bite,
Padfoot.”

Sirius lunges, but Regulus moves out of the way. Sirius is more deadly, his muscle mass
makes him have a strength that Regulus doesn’t have, but Regulus has speed to his
advantage.

James and Peter scramble to hold Sirius back. “No,” Regulus says, amused. James looks up
at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Let him go.”

All Sirius needs is the moment they falter, taken aback. He gets out of their hold, but instead
of going for Regulus, he goes for the journal.

Regulus’ blood goes cold. Sirius always knew what places hurt the most. And for a moment
he’s just a scared little kid. For a moment he’s seven years old being pushed around in their
garden, dirt on his face, while Sirius laughs. For a moment, he isn’t strong, he isn’t powerful,
he’s just Sirius’ weak brother who couldn’t win even if he tried. “Sirius put it down,”
Regulus says as calmly as he can.

“Oh what, this?” Sirius waves the journal in his hand and Regulus tries to get it. “Ah-ah. Too
slow.”

“You don’t want to see what’s in there,” he warns.

Sirius takes that as an invitation to open it. He barks out a laugh, and Regulus feels his body
lock up and freeze, bracing for the impact. All his magical ability leaves him. Regulus stops
thinking. He shuts down. Sirius loves an audience and has always had a flair for the
dramatics. He shows the crowd the first picture of James he ever drew. His private thoughts
and yearning exposed, just like that.

“Sirius,” James says. Regulus doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look at any of them. He’s sure they
can sense the care he put into it, the time and devotion. He stares at the wall beside Sirius’
head. Don’t think. Don’t think. Let him go, let him regret it.

Mary tries. “Sirius, this is kinda fucked—”

“There’s more!” Sirius laughs, delighted. “Almost every single page is dedicated to you,
Prongs, how sweet. Little Reggie still has his schoolboy crush.” He pouts mockingly. He
licks his finger, then turns the page. “Oh, Dorcas, this one is quite good, see? The shading
here, he put a lot of time into this. There’s Remus, of course,” he says bitterly, then freezes.

His face goes white as his eyes fly across the page. Sirius has found the part where Regulus
wrote, STOP THE CYCLE, RESTORE THE HOUSE, STOP THE CYCLE, STOP THE WAR,
SIRIUS HAPPY, NARCISSA HAPPY, YOU HATE JAMES POTTER, THIS IS YOUR
PURPOSE, SIRIUS HAPPY, PURPOSE. He wrote it over and over across three pages. As a
reminder, he’s pretty sure there’s some blood on one of those pages that he didn’t clean up.

“Reggie. . .” Sirius says.

“Are you done?” Regulus swallows hard to hide his voice crack. “Are you done trying to
embarrass me now?” His eyes brim with so many tears he can’t see, but he knows they won’t
shed.

“I’m sorry. Reg, I’m so—”

Regulus wandlessly and wordlessly Accios his shoes, wand, and journal. He puts on his
shoes. He rifles through the journal and finds the papers he needs. Regulus rips out ten pieces
of paper and shoves them into his pockets. Everyone is silent. There’s nothing to say.

He hurls the journal back to Sirius, and he catches it. “Reg, I don’t want it.”

“WELL HAVE IT!” Regulus yells. Sirius flinches. “You’ve ruined it! All of it! Burn it, throw
it away, I don’t care! No one seems to make you pay for your crimes, but I will!” He’s out of
breath, out of energy from the little sleep, but he’s able to glare at Sirius’ fallen face. “And if
you had just turned one more page, you would’ve seen the drawing of you, you fucking
cunt!”

Remus stirs on the bed, but Regulus turns on his heel. Before he leaves, he turns around and
stares at Marlene, who’s still in that stupid cowboy costume. Her eyes grow wide. “And my
name isn’t Baby Black. I’m the only Black. The only heir. Their only son.”

He storms out of the room raging, and it’s the only thing keeping him together. Anger. Anger
was his imaginary friend, anger was the one who kissed his wounds, anger kept him bound
and safe and filled with grandiose missions.

He barely remembers the walk to the Slytherin dorms. He bursts into his room, not caring
who it startles. Regulus has to get his papers in a safe place. He opens the warded part of his
drawer, and takes the pages out, one by one. He’s gentle as he smooths it out, contrasting his
erratic and impatient breathes. Regulus tries to get the wrinkles out and places them in the
drawer in chronological order.

“Regulus?”

The last paper is on the bottom, and the first is on the top.

“Reg?”

“Shhh, Regulus. Be good.”

He stares at the papers. He wards it more. They need to be safe. He needs to protect them. It
doesn’t feel protected enough, but he’s used so much of his magic so quickly in the day. He
closes it slowly with a shaky sigh.

“Regulus, you okay?”

“Yes, Evan.”

“Do you want to go get breakfast with us?”

Every day, Evan offers an olive branch. Every day, Regulus declines. He needs to distance
himself from them, let them figure out whatever’s going on between them. He doesn’t want
to get in the middle of drama. “No,” Regulus says gruffly. He stumbles to his feet and swings
the Dreamless Sleep Potion off his nightstand. He guzzles it down without another word and
crawls into bed. Evan and Barty whisper somewhere in the room. Regulus ignores them.

“I’m sorry, Regulus,” Barty says, surprisingly. “We’ll be here if you need us.”

The door clicks shut. Regulus is alone. He lets his anxiety attack start.

When Regulus was maybe six or seven years old, Aunt Druella and Uncle Cygnus came to
Grimmauld Place. They left Narcissa and Andromeda at home. Voldemort was alive at the
time, and over the years Regulus has been able to piece together the things he doesn’t quite
understand. He remembers seeing adult faces, many of them apart of the Sacred 28 like the
Malfoys and Lestranges. He’s put together that there was supposed to be some sort of Death
Eater meeting between the loyal families.

This was after the drowning, so he was petrified of Bellatrix. Her parents didn’t want her to
go, but she begged to. She loved and worshipped Voldemort more than Regulus did. Bellatrix
was mad even then, her gaze a little too intense and her laugh overly punctual.

But Regulus supposes none of that matters. Well, it does matter, but not for the point he
wants to make.
He liked Druella. She had a soft tone when she spoke to him, and after he drowned, she was
the one who warmed him up. She gave him sweets that he wasn’t allowed to at home. Sirius
smiled and laughed around her, so Regulus trusted her.

When she walked into Grimmauld Place, Regulus didn’t run to her, but he wanted to. He
waited for her to come to him. She kissed the top of his head, and her smile made Regulus
warm inside. He followed her around, wanted tea when she wanted tea, and laughed when
she laughed. Sirius was mildly upset that Regulus stopped playing with him (he threw a
tantrum), but Regulus didn’t care. He couldn’t have cared when Druella treated him like a
son. She doted on him and stole some of Bellatrix’s Death Eater propaganda to give to him.
Druella never said he should stop eating, or that he should stand up straight. She never told
him what to do like Sirius did, she never hurt him like his parents did.

He liked being around her. He felt safe being around her.

And that’s why he didn’t question why she entered his room that first night.

It was warm and for the first time in a while, Regulus felt safe.

She told him that she had a present for him. He asked if it was sweets. She laughed and said
no. She said that she’d show him, but he couldn’t tell anyone. Regulus thought that was
perfectly reasonable. He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about the extra doting. Her own kids
would get jealous, and then she’d have to take away the extra care from Regulus to give to
them. And if he told his parents, then they’d get angry. And they both knew what his parents
did to him when they were angry. She told him to be quiet.

That was the first time.

He was confused and betrayed but she was warm, and his shaky breaths were met with quiet
hushing. He didn’t understand what was happening, he didn’t understand any of it. Regulus
supposes that’s part of the appeal. The fact that he was helpless under her. And he felt—
Regulus felt—
Regulus was okay because she told him he was.

So he didn’t say anything when it happened again, and again. The second, third, fourth, and
fifth nights. He told himself not to think when it happened. The worst parts was when he tried
to stop her. When he was too tired but she didn’t care. It took Regulus a long time to realize
she never cared.

The sixth day, Regulus went to his father. He asked him what to do if someone wanted to
touch down there. His father puffed on his cigar and smiled. He said that Regulus was a
ladies’ man. Too attractive for his own good.

In another universe, Regulus believes that. He brags about what happened to his friends and
they say they’re jealous. That they wish it happened to them.

In another universe, Druella never did it. Regulus is as cocky and arrogant as he is in this
one.

In another universe, Voldemort lives and Regulus finds out he’s a half-blood. Regulus thinks
too highly of himself. He thinks that Voldemort is a liar and a mudblood. He dies arrogant
and calling out for his brother.

In another universe, Voldemort lives and Regulus spies for Dumbledore. Regulus thinks too
highly of himself. He dies arrogant and calling out for his brother.

But this isn’t any of those universes. In this one, Regulus was a scared, manipulated child. In
this one, Regulus feels dirty and used. In this one, Regulus scrubs at his skin until it goes raw
and red. In this one, Regulus can’t stand the touch of anyone he doesn’t trust.

Regulus promises that Sirius taught him to be gentle. He used to be a soft, weak child. He
used to be sweet, Walburga’s angel baby. And then he stopped feeling so pure. And all he felt
was violated from the touch of soft perfumed skin.
Regulus was wrong.

He didn’t feel cold forever from his first drowning. He felt cold forever from the second one,
the one in that bed. Regulus used to be a quiet child, so nobody noticed when he grew even
quieter.

That’s what’s on those papers. It’s something Regulus can never forget, not one disgusting
detail.

He must break the cycle.

There isn't a choice not to.

Remus wakes up and sees a right crowd in front of his bed. “Alri?” he asks, rubbing his eye.
And it’s the weirdest thing, because no one replies. He blinks, noticing the somber mood.
God, imagine if he’s dead and he’s a ghost and they can’t hear him, or something. Though, if
he’d died, he’d imagine (hope) there would be a bit more crying.

Regulus isn’t in bed, so he assumes he snuck out before everyone woke up. Remus slips out
of bed in only his pants. Too tired and uncaring about scarring his lifetime friends.

He pulls on a random jumper, relishing in the stretch of his muscles. Usually, he doesn’t sleep
so well, but he slept like an absolute rock. Can’t imagine what woke him up.

“Remus, you were really sleeping?” Lily asks slowly.

He chuckles. “I know, right? But I guess I was just absolutely knackered last night.” He looks
over his shoulder with a smile, but it fades when he sees her pinched face. His eyebrows
furrow, his sleepy mood rapidly depleting as his heart rate skyrockets. “What the fuck? Did
someone die, or something?” He laughs, but no one echoes it. “Shite, is it Mam? She okay?”

“Your mum’s fine, Remus,” James says, and Remus starts to get scared. James looks awful
and tattered, like he doesn’t know where to look or what to do.

Remus scans his friends one more time, and his eyes land on Sirius. All he can see is his
back, but Sirius is holding something. A sketchbook Remus sees attached to Regulus’ hip.
The sketchbook Regulus doesn’t let anyone touch, let alone see inside. Remus doesn’t
understand any of it, but he knows Regulus would never willingly give it to anyone, let alone
Sirius.

The sketchbook is in Remus’ hands in the next second with a Summoning Charm. Soft brown
leather under his fingers, Toujours Pure engraved on the front, R.A.B engraved on the back,
near the bottom.

“What is this?” Remus asks. There’s that silence. “I said what is this?” His tone is biting and
harsh. He was the one who made up Leo in the first place. If Regulus gets hurt because of it,
if Regulus is hurt because of Remus. . .

“It’s that arsehole over there,” Mary says. She gestures to Sirius with her head.

“Mary,” Peter pleas. He says it like he knows it won’t help, but he doesn’t have anything to
say. A knee-jerk reaction.

“He found him in your bed. Went absolutely berserk. Started showing us the pages inside.”

Rage curls Remus’ fingertips over the sketchbook. Regulus’ trust isn’t given freely. It took
over a year to let Remus even punch him on the shoulder, and the fact they violated him like
that. . .that they all stood there and watched as Regulus’ hard work that he’s ashamed of was
shown. His voice is calm when he says, “And Regulus?”
“He’s fine,” Lily assures softly. “Unharmed. He yelled and ran out.”

Remus nods sharply. He walks to the closet and pulls out a pair of jeans. He puts them on, not
even bothering with a belt.

“Remus. . .” James says.

“I’m giving it back to him,” Remus says. “Don’t expect me to be anytime—”

It’s a whisper, but Remus’ ears pick it up. “He doesn’t want it.”

Remus’ head snaps up. “What?”

Marlene looks into his eyes head-on. “He said that he doesn’t want it back.”

That scares Remus, but he guesses it makes sense. “Of course.” He laughs. “It was the one
thing that was truly his. The only thing he owned. The only shred of privacy he had left and
you’ve ruined it. All of it.” He’s probably scared that whatever is in that sketchbook will
make it back to Walburga. None of these Gryffindors are his friends, and if Remus didn’t
know any better, he’d be scared, too.

“That’s exactly what he said,” James says quietly.

“I didn’t even know you two were dating,” Dorcas wonders out loud.

Remus recoils at the audacity. “We’re not dating. I’ve never slept with him. Fuck, is that what
you think? That I slept with him in a room with seven other people? Are you fucking
insane?” He turns to Sirius, the coward, who’s still turned away. “Are you fucking insane? Do
you not hear the words that come out of my mouth?”
“I wasn’t thinking.” Sirius’ voice is raspy. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well start thinking, Sirius! You are not the only person on this Earth and you aren’t the only
one with feelings. Not everything has to be a fight that you win. Learn to let things go, for
fuck’s sake. You embarrassed him, your little brother, and for what? Huh? Did you protect
my virtue well enough?”

“Stop sucking his dick, Remus.” He turns around, eyes red with tears. “I know I fucked up,
okay? I don’t need you telling me.”

“Well you don’t learn, so someone has to. You can’t pull the trauma card every time you fuck
up.”

“And you can’t play the swot card every time you want to get a point across. We know you’re
smart Remus, but news fucking flash, you don’t know everything! Don’t tell me about my
brother! Don’t say he’s the victim when you were fucking sleeping while it was happening.
He knows how to push my buttons. He knew what he was doing.”

“And?” Remus snaps. Sirius recoils in shock, taken aback. Remus walks towards him. “Very
soon, you are going to become an adult, Sirius, and it scares me to think that you will be out
in the world, at uni or trying to find a job, and you’ll snap because someone pushed the
wrong button.” Remus shakes his head. “That’s no way to live. Life doesn’t work like that,
Sirius. You don’t get to say sorry and make a few promises to absolve your guilt. Your word
won’t mean anything if you don’t try to change.”

Sirius swallows thickly, his grey eyes flicking to Remus’. “I’m trying.”

Remus scoffs.“Are you? Because it seems like every time I stop walking eggshells around
you, you do something else. I know you’re not the person you were before The Prank, but
neither am I. And if you keep looking for the version of me that’ll baby you and hold your
hand, you’ll be looking for a long time.”
Remus doesn’t wait for him to respond. He steps, meaning to find Regulus, but his leg
buckles, his knee and hip locking suddenly. Sirius catches him, warm hands under his
armpits, and he shoves him away. The revulsion of it quick and sharp. “Don’t touch me,”
Remus snaps. Sirius’ face falls.

“Remus. . .” James says. His eyes are big and pleading, but Remus couldn’t care less.

“Don’t.” He hobbles out of the room, gritting his teeth from the ache.

“I have it,” a voice whispers in the dark.

Regulus springs up, half-asleep and dazed. His wand is in his hand, heart skipping a beat
before he forces himself to calm. He’s not afraid, necessarily. He’s found a sick sense of
comfort in the dusk. Grimmauld Place brims with dark, generational magic: the screeching of
portraits makes his fingers spark, Kreature can control something across the house with a
blink—

And late at night, between the lovely chorus of Potter’s sighs, his booming laugh, and the
soft, reverent tone that he takes when he really loves something, he hears whispers. His
predecessors try to lure him in and prepare him for the power he’ll have. (Sometimes, in
moments of weakness, Regulus will allow himself to think if Sirius was scared hearing those
mummers. He always did have a harder time not thinking.)

Regulus knows what horrors lurk in its covers and is ready with an arsenal of dark magic
spells. He grips his wand tighter, narrows his eyes into the darkness. “Wha’?” he asks
intelligently.
“Fuck, your room is so dark and it’s only midday. What’ve you been doing?” Remus limps
out with Regulus’ journal in his hand, his wand alight with a Lumos. “Your stupid
sketchbook, you little git.” Remus throws it onto the bed.

The sight of the leather-bound journal makes Regulus feel sick, and that whole memory plays
back in his head in vivid detail, excruciating color. He wasn’t being dramatic when he said it
was ruined. The journal was a moment of weakness, and he should’ve known better. He lives
in a house with a mind reader, is the heir to one of the most influential families in wizarding
Europe, and isn’t well-liked among his peers. He was dumb enough to think he could get any
privacy. The journal was too vulnerable, something he couldn’t keep hidden forever. It was a
mistake.

And now that he’s thinking about it, Regulus has too many weaknesses and too many sore
spots. James, Remus, Sirius, Pandora, Dorcas, and if he lets himself be honest, probably
Barty and Evan. They’re all an aching, ever-present bruise, a broken bone that never healed
right, his Achilles tendon that he walks a tightrope with, always trying to keep protected, but
not so much that people know there’s something worth keeping safe.

Anyway, Regulus doesn’t want the journal. He turns away from it, burying his wand back
under his pillow for a quick grab, and laying his head on top of it.

“Black. . .” Regulus can hear the frown in his voice.

“‘And you know what happens in this water, time?’” Regulus quotes "Giovanni’s Room" with
a sigh. “‘The big fish eat the little fish. That’s all. The big fish eat the little fish and the ocean
doesn’t care.’”

It’s quiet, and Remus keeps sniffing. It drives Regulus crazy, the way he’s always sniffing.
And then Remus says quietly, “I care.” Regulus scoffs and shoves his ear further into his
pillow. “I care, Regulus. I didn’t look in it.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?” he snaps. “Oh, thank you, poor, unassuming, gentle Moony
for having the decency to not look into my brain.”
“You’re being mean.” Remus doesn’t sound bothered by it, and it makes Regulus’ blood heat.

“I’m being me.” Regulus feels half out of his mind, dizzy and drunk and slightly unhinged.
“This is Regulus Black, this is me. My apologies if you’re disappointed.”

“‘When it was over, I lay in the dark and listened to his breathing and dreamed of the touch
of hands’—”

Regulus groans.

“‘Of Giovanni’s hands, or anybody’s hands, hands which would have the power to crush me
and make me whole again.’” Remus snorts. “Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what we all
want? To let go, to be a mindless, dumb puppet. If you think I don’t see past this act, you’ve
turned stupid. Maybe you were a heartless boy at some point. Maybe in some universe you
still are. But we all wear masks, and the Slytherin Ice Prince is yours. You are a scared,
lonely, weak little boy when finally stripped.”

Regulus lunges up and tackles Remus off the bed. They roll around on the floor, Regulus
striking him with an open palm as Remus grabs him by the shirt and tousles him around. He
makes little grunts. All he sees is the rapid, infinite black space before him. He can’t hear
anything but Remus’ harsh breathing and the simmer of their upset magic. Remus is
eventually able to pin Regulus’ wrists but Regulus fights, squirms, and shouts, shaking with
genuine fear of it happening again—

Remus lets go. “Do you think I’m not the same as you? No matter how mature people say
they are, no one knows anything. Humans are a bunch of idiots stumbling around in the dark.
Some of us have torches, but we’re still in the fucking dark, Regulus. No one can see. We’re
all a bunch of little children putting on adult clothes hoping it’ll make us better. Make up with
your brother. Draw in your stupid sketchbook.”

Remus’ body warmth is gone. There’s no harsh breathing or sniffing, it’s just Regulus lying
on the cold, hardwood floor. He opens his mouth, only partly aware of it happening. “‘Je
veux m’evader—this dirty world, this dirty body. I never wish to make love again with
anything more than the body.’” Regulus’ throat grows thick. “I can’t, Remus. They’ve
violated me. None of what I am is me. I have no secrets, I have no choices. I can try and write
a chapter but we both know how this ends.”
“And how does it?”

“My cousin forces me to join her. We end up on opposite sides of a war—”

“Don’t say that—”

“We grow dumb or grow up or sprout flowers from where our blood spills on the Earth but
we’ll never be adults. If I fail, if we aren’t enough, the violence will never end. It never—it
never ends.” Regulus draws in air as his ears start to ring. Just below his skin, his muscles
start to tingle. He puts his head between his knees as his heart squeezes, freezing his blood
and breath.

“Fuck,” Remus says. He gathers Regulus in his arms, letting Regulus lay against his chest.
Regulus can barely register the touch. He keeps shaking, his chest trembling in pain as
Remus runs the heel of his palm over Regulus’ heart. “Fuck, Regulus. Breathe.”

“I—” He sounds like a squawking chicken, slightly embarrassed by it. He can’t control his
magic but is still shocked as his calming draught flies to his twitching hand. “I—I—”

“Don’t try to talk.” The potion is ripped out of his hand. A few seconds later, cool glass
presses against his bottom lip. Remus tips the bottle, and Regulus takes tiny sips until it’s
done.

He licks off a drop of the draught that was on his lip. “Sorry,” he mutters and shuffles away
from Remus, mortified. It’s not like the attacks aren’t getting better. He’s used avoidance and
the calming draughts so they don’t frequent as often. Regulus has to get better. There isn’t a
choice not to. He has too much on his plate to let his body fail him now.

Remus audibly sighs. “We have to tell Dumbledore.”

Regulus’ head snaps up. He blinks. “What? No. Don’t be stupid.”

“Lily called it. We can’t figure it out, Reg—”

“All I need is a little more time. I’m almost there.”

“You’re still at the same place you were months ago.”

“It’s not like you’ve helped,” Regulus snaps. “I’m importing another rhyming dictionary and
a regular one to make sure I know the correct definition of the words—”

“You won’t be able to figure it out. Lily said—”

Regulus laughs. “Well, if Lily fucking Evans said it, we should run to her, shouldn’t we?
Because perfect Lily knows everything, right, Remus? She would’ve figured it out if we left
her with poem just a minute more because she’s so great.”

It’s silent for a moment. Then Remus scoffs. “What is your problem?”

“My problem is you underestimate me. I became an Animagus at eleven years old, survived
my parents, and solved the mystery of Voldemort. Just because Lily couldn’t figure it out, it
doesn’t mean nobody can.”

“What the fuck? I didn’t say that. She knows more about Divination than the two of us, so it
makes sense that we should listen to her—”

“Get out.”

“What?”
“I said get out of my room. I don’t care about your Gryffindor friends or your silly thoughts.
If you want to snitch to Dumbledore, then be my guest.” Regulus sniffs to preserve his air of
calm and salvage as much of his crumbling pride as he can.

“Oh,” Remus says. He laughs. “Oh, wow.”

“What?” Regulus snaps.

“You’re jealous of her.” Remus downright giggles. “You’re jealous of Lily Evans.”

“I’m not jealous of her.”

“Yes, you are.” Regulus can hear his smile, and his blood starts to boil. “You know she’s with
Mary, right? She and James won’t get together.”

Regulus grits his teeth.“I don’t care.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Get out.”

“Reg—”

“Get out!” He screeches. “Get out of my room you pretentious freak! I don’t want you here!
For fuck’s sake. You’re just like the rest of them, keep fucking pushing and pushing until you
can laugh when I snap. Is it funny? Am I funny enough for you, or do you need me to have
another breakdown to push my boundaries again?”
“That’s not what’s happening at all! You need someone to tell you the truth for once. All you
do is lie to yourself and pretend like you’re some martyr.”

“Fuck you!”

“Yeah? Well fuck you too, you ungrateful, spoiled cunt!”

“Get out!” Regulus stares into glowing amber eyes and only gets more angry. “Get out! Get
out! Get out! Get—”

“Fine!” The door slams shut. It rattles the frame and shakes Regulus’ bones.

“Fine!” Regulus screams. And he stews in the silent darkness for as long as he can.
 Gilded Lily
Chapter Notes

it's time for Lily's interlude!

no warnings for this i think

Haven’t I given enough, given enough?

Haven’t I given enough, given enough?

Haven’t I given enough, given enough?

Haven’t I given enough, given enough?

Always the fool with the slowest heart

-Cults

“Lils.” James shakes her shoulder. She hears _____’s cries, and she groans as she starts to
leak. She’s so fucking tired. She loves being a mum, she loves Godric’s Hollow and the little
oasis they’ve made in the middle of a war, but God, she also would adore something more
than two hours of sleep.

“Hmm?” Lily responds, half-asleep. The television is still playing some scary film. Lily rolls
over on the couch and looks up at James, his eye bags drooping and purple. He can still
conjure a small smile, though.

“_____’s hungry. I’m sorry to wake you, but I’m all dried up.” He cups his pecs and tilts his
head. He screws his lips trying to hold in his laugh. “Maybe you have some milk?”

Lily fights a smile then rolls her eyes. He’s made the same joke so many times it doesn’t even
sound like a joke anymore, but he seems sleep-deprived and frazzled enough that Lily will let
it slide. “Fine. I guess I have some to spare.”
She walks up the stairs to the nursery and picks up her heavy baby boy. He’s traded in his
newborn scrunch for a pair of pipes made for screaming. “Making so much noise on
Halloween, huh, little guy?” He answers with a wail, showing off his pink gums. “Trying to
scare away the ghosts? It’s okay, _____, it’s okay.”

She turns to the rocking chair, but there’s a shadow hovering over it. It has big, tight curls,
the brightest laugh, smooth skin that smells like her shea butter products.

_____ cries. Lily’s frozen to her spot. “Mary?” Lily whispers. Her Mary, distanced the
second Lily caved into James, and gone the minute the war started. Always too much of a
coward to stay, but too brave not to leave.

“Run,” Mary mutters. Lily feels a horrible tug in her stomach. Someone knocks on the door.
She puts _____ in his bassinet, but he keeps crying. It’s a war cry, a warning, a plead to get
out. “Run.”

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Lily shakes her head. “Neither of us is supposed to—” She
catches sight of the diamond ring that gleams on her left ring finger.

“Peter? What kind of costume is that?” James laughs. “I have some candy if you want some.
Oh, we just put on this brilliant muggle film—”

Someone screams, maybe it’s Mary, perhaps it’s the woman on the television covered in
blood, but it’s not James, because how could James be afraid of his best friend? Oh well. He
was always short-sighted, could never see what was right in front of him.

“RUN! RUN! RUN!” Mary’s as loud as a blaring siren, and Lily is terrified. She runs to her
child, her baby, born of blood and sweat and pain, but still so beautiful in the moonlight.

The house rocks and James dies seeing green, the colour of the love of his life’s eyes.
 —

Lily’s drunk. She giggles at the thought, at how she’s so light-headed and free. She knocks
against Mary’s knee to let her out.

“Needa piss,” Lily slurs.

Mary dips down and places a soft kiss on the hinge of her jaw. “Come back soon, yeah?” She
runs her fingers through Lily’s hair, and Lily feels the blood rush to her already red face.
Something about Mary touching her sends shivers down her spine, making the world brighter
and better. Mary, her brain chants. Perfectly manicured fingers skim over her skin, a soft
caress. She shivers again. Mary, Mary, Mary. “Come on.” Mary goes away, and Lily pouts.
“Hurry up, don’t burst.”

Lily stumbles through the crowd, ignoring the weird man staring at her from the bar, and
heads to the bathroom. She can barely walk straight, let alone read. So when she bursts into
the bathroom and sees Leo standing there with a blunt in his hand and red, watering eyes,
she laughs. “Oops. Sorry. Wrong one.”

Leo rolls his eyes. “Idiot,” he mutters.

He doesn’t seem like the nicest person, which fine, she understands, but that comment seems
targeted, and she can’t let it slide, whether or not he’s Remus’ friend. The way his gaze
lingers on her, his strange, aloof behaviour. Even the way he argues and probes like he
already knows them, as if he’s comfortable, rubs Lily the wrong way. She’s let his charged
comments and eye-rolls pass all night, but she’s over it.

“What did you say to me?” She tries to say it in her deadliest tone, the one that fends off
blood purists and cat-calls, but it falls flat, only an incomprehensible blur.
He turns and looks her up and down. “Nothing.”

Lily frowns. “No, I heard you.” She walks further into the bathroom. Leo watches the door
close behind her like his escape just left. “What did you call me? You already said it, so say it
again. Can’t be that difficult.”

“I just don’t get it,” he blurts. They both weren’t expecting it. “Why did you say no to him?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Why didn’t you go out with Potter?”

Lily rolls her eyes. “God, I’ll never understand why everyone’s so obsessed with that kid.”
She stumbles to the sink and frowns at the way her mascara is smudged underneath her eye.
How does this keep happening to her?

“You don’t think you would’ve been happy?”

“James is a great guy. But—but that doesn’t mean that I have to like him. I don’t owe him
anything. And I never asked to be relentlessly pursued by him. I told him to stop multiple
times, and he kept going! Everyone keeps staring at me like I did something wrong, but
what’s so wrong about not finding the right fit? You men are so entitled.”

She shakes her head because now she’s thinking about Severus. “All you do is want and want
until you run out of breath. Isn’t it exhausting to think that the world owes you everything, all
the time?”

She remembers in Third Year when she realized that Mary was beautiful. She asked Mary why
she didn’t have a boyfriend, and she said that most people aren’t attracted to black girls,
which Lily found ridiculous. How does the colour of your skin or how ‘pure-blooded’ you are
mean anything?
“And you, all of you. You think you can touch her and she’ll turn into gold like she isn’t
already a diamond. You’ll laugh when people say hole like it’s fucking funny. Like having
gaping nothingness is something to laugh at. And you make us feel dirty. Make us look down
at what our mothers gave us and feel filthy and disgusted. You laugh at this and make us feel
dirty, like your touch is the only thing that can clean it. As if your cock is bleach that will
make us clean. But all you want to do is bleach her. That’s it. You want her bleached and pure
and white for your consumption.”

Leo doesn’t say anything as Lily pants from her rant. She realizes that she’s so drunk, that
everything must’ve been nonsense to him, especially him. The alcohol in her stomach churns,
she makes a wounded sound and bends over the sink.

“‘The big fish eat the little fish,’” he muses, bordering delighted.

“What?” she croaks. He’s lost it.

“‘And you know what happens in this water, time? The big fish eat the little fish. That’s all.
The big fish eat the little fish and the ocean doesn’t care.’” Leo shuffles from one foot to the
next, and Lily realizes he’s really fucking awkward. “It’s from the book, “Giovanni’s
Room.””

“Yeah,” she breathes. “The school doesn’t care. Society doesn’t care. She’d be the prettiest
fish in the ocean, but she stands out too much for you.”

“I’m—sorry?” He asks. “I’m sorry for talking to you like that.”

Lily gets the impression he doesn’t apologize often. “Thanks,” she says. And, speaking of
Mary, she’s left her sitting at that table—

Lily gasps awake, the memory making her feel like she’s late for class. She places a hand
over her heart, feeling it beat wildly beneath her skin. She’s put together that Leo is Regulus,
which puts the past into a clearer perspective. They both have strange off-putting
personalities. The Regulus star is in the Leo constellation, and Regulus didn’t have a reason
to sneak into the dormitory in the middle of the night just for Leo to disappear.

Since she skipped her studying session to go out to Hogsmeade, she’s felt off. She’s dreaming
of memories, but also utter nightmares where she marries James, Mary moves overseas, and
Peter betrays her. (She supposes that Remus and Sirius are just as stupid in her nightmares as
they are now.)

The bathroom door slams shut, and the tension in the room is made clear. Even Mary, still
asleep next to her, has a cute wrinkle between her waxed brows as if she can feel the
anxiousness. Lily quickly runs a knuckle over her hot-pink bonnet to make sure Mary’s okay
and solid. Those nightmares, what she feels when she’s in them, sometimes feel too real.

Queen starts blasting at a record volume, and Mary wakes up grumbling. “Are you fucking
kidding me? Three days in a row?” She fights with the sheets, slowly revealing her smooth
brown skin and silk pyjamas.

Lily sighs, already exhausted from the impending argument. Lily, Mary, and Dorcas have all
agreed that what Sirius did to Regulus was shitty, but Marlene is still defending him. Dorcas
is one of Regulus’ best friends, so she’s obviously pissed off at her attitude, and Mary hates
Sirius more and more every time he makes a mistake.

Marlene’s extra petty. She takes Sirius’ clothes to wear, makes her eyeliner extra dramatic,
and blasts rock music at six in the morning instead of ABBA. Mary wakes up pissed off,
which means Lily wakes up jittery. And fuck, she’s so tired of this. It’s all so useless. They’re
fighting about something that has nothing to do with them. Yes, what Sirius did was shitty,
but why do three friend groups have to suffer because of it?

She’s just hoping that Peter or James or even Remus has convinced him to get some therapy.
She doesn’t know what happened during The Prank last year, but it must’ve been detrimental,
and she’s tired of her friends being unhappy.

“Come on, Mary, don’t fall for it. . .” Lily whispers as Mary uses a powerful Alohomora spell
to open the bathroom door. She sighs and pretends to care. Well, at least she can say she tried.
She rolls over and uses the pillows as earplugs as they start screaming at each other. She
hopes the boys are just as miserable.

Between her N.E.W.T level classes, studying for the exams, and watching the girls bicker and
peck at each other all day, Lily’s exhausted. All she has to do is make it to Christmas break.
She stops in the hallway outside Slughorn’s room and lets herself imagine it. Waking up to
the birds chirping, Mary cuddled up against her side, Petunia out with Vernon so they have
the house to themselves. She forces herself to enter the classroom to get her forgotten
textbook and give Slughorn his Christmas present: a bowl filled with water, one lily petal
floating on top that will turn into his favorite kind of fish when it hits the bottom. She
wonders how hot chocolate would taste against Mary’s—

Lily blinks. “Oh, hello, Regulus.”

Slughorn isn’t there, but Regulus is standing over a bubbling cauldron, the one to his right
also full. Lily would guess Calming Draughts and Dreamless Sleep potions from the colour
and viscosity. He doesn’t look up or even acknowledge that she’s there. She mentally sighs.
He’s definitely Leo.

She walks to her workstation in front of the Slughorn’s desk. And lo and behold: A Hogwarts
History is sitting right there. “You know,” Lily starts, running her finger up and down the
spine. “Remus has been upset lately.”

Regulus doesn’t pause his motions or react. He swiftly chops lavender into fine pieces,
scoops them onto his knife, and dumps it into the Dreamless Sleep potion.

“He told me that you got into a fight and he’s waiting for you to apologize. I think you’re
both too stubborn and if you keep waiting for the other to say sorry, you’ll never talk again.”
Lily isn’t even sure he’s hearing her. She narrows her eyes. “He said you were jealous of
me.”

Regulus looks up, and his grey eyes are cold, unblinking. “I’m not jealous of you, Evans.” He
smiles awfully, flaunting his sharp white canines. “No one is.”

“It didn’t seem that way in the bathroom.”

“You must’ve been drunk,” he says simply. He says it like he doesn’t care what Lily says, so
full of himself.

“And you were high.”

“High when?” He blinks, cocks his head.

“At Hogsmeade.”

“I didn’t go to Hogsmeade last weekend. Nor did I go the weekend before that.”

Lily laughs, rolls her eyes.“I know you’re Leo. You don’t have to lie.”

“Who are you to call me a liar? Your experience is failing you.”

Lily has no idea what he’s talking about.

“When your girlfriend asks when she’ll meet your family, what do you tell her? That you’re
not ready?”
She knows there’s no possible way that Regulus can know, but her heart rate spikes anyway.
He’s just trying to get under her skin and make her falter. She remembers that he’s not in any
of the other houses. He’s a Slytherin. He’ll do whatever he has to do to win. Lily calls his
bluff. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Your sister and her husband are about to move to Number 4, Privet Drive, in Little
Whinging,” he says calmly. “You weren’t invited to Petunia and Vernon’s wedding, were you,
Lily J. Evans? You’ve been on the rocks with her for years, ever since she started to resent
you for your magical ability. I wouldn’t take it personally, though. She seems like a dreadful
woman. No wonder you don’t want to introduce her to Mary.” The corner of his lip twitches.
“What does the J. stand for, by the way?”

Lily’s hand finds her wand. “Did Severus tell you that?”

“No.”

“Are you stalking me?” she demands.

“No.” He sniffs. “Will you leave soon? I’m afraid your agitated state isn’t helping my
potions.”

She scoffs, her anger rising hot in a rush. “You are such a prick.”

He simply hums, stirring his potion. His posture is rigid, spine perfectly aligned. He narrows
his eyes at his potion, mutters something under his breath, and then pulls out his wand to
place a spell.

“Why do you hate me?” It could be because she isn’t pureblood, but Remus wouldn’t hang
around someone who believes in that crap.

“I don’t. I don’t care about you. I don’t care about anyone.”

“You care enough to stalk me.”

His lips quirk as if he finds this amusing, as if Lily’s just a bug under his shoe, not worth his
time. “If that’s what you want to believe.”

It’s frustrating how he stays so calm. “Remus is really upset,” she repeats. That gets Regulus
to pause, but only for a second. “You have to apologize or else you’ll never talk again.”

“Right.”

“Don’t act holier than thou. You’ve known him for a handful of months, I’ve known him
years.”

“And yet I’ve learned secrets you won’t ever know.”

The self-assured way he says it makes Lily’s heart sink. They’ve spent countless nights in the
library quizzing together, made a study group, laughed so hard their stomachs cramped, and
whispered secrets in each other’s ear. She likes to think they’ve built each other up, that when
they look at each other, pushing themselves past the brink, forcing themselves to finish
assessments first, to write the best essay, that they understand why.

There’s no choice to fail. There’s no choice to be mediocre. Lily has had to prove herself
since she first walked into Hogwarts, not only because she’s muggleborn, but because she’s a
girl. Remus was the first one to understand. With his insomnia and chronic illness, he’s had to
prove that he can handle it, or else he won’t get a job after school.

But she supposes it wasn’t enough, that it doesn’t mean as much to her as it did to him.
Remus has trusted Regulus with something he feels he can’t tell her. Her lips flatten and she
leaves quite rudely without a goodbye.
She’s learned to recognize battles she can’t win.
 Heavenly
Chapter Notes

second part of a double update!!!

content warnings

-cringe at beginning but its necessary sry

-misogyny

-discussions of homophobia and outing

-drinking and substance use

Tell me it’s love, tell me it’s real

Touch me with a kiss, feel me on your lips

-Cigarettes After Sex

“Fuck me,” Regulus breathes. The Quidditch stands roar, a horrible clash of dark purple
outweighing the green. For years, they’ve both been evenly matched teams. He’s better than
their Seeker (obviously) but Ravenclaw makes exceptionally clever plays. Out of the four
teams, they’re the most likely to do distraction plays and secretly signal their teammates.
They change their signals right before every match so there aren’t any leaks. And even
though it drives him insane, Regulus has to respect it.

“I know, right?” Mulciber smiles, his teeth are weirdly big and straight. Regulus has to look
away or else he’ll cringe. “Those fucking swots. Hard work doesn’t always replace talent.
They can take their sides, but we’ll pull through.” He sniffs harshly and rubs a hand under his
nose, eyes ablaze. “When we take the cup, they’ll be ashamed they even doubted us. They
want to be progressive, but mudbloods can’t play as well as me. It’s a fact. I’ve been flying
since I was two.”
Regulus grunts in vague agreement, even though he wants to laugh in his face. Mulciber and
Avery always talk like they’re getting ready to jump someone.

Emma Vanity bangs on the lockers, and a flush of adrenaline courses through Regulus.
“Slytherin,” she hisses. Immediately, the hisses pick up. It starts quiet, the whole team
whispering it until it gets deafening. The sticks of brooms hit the ground, fists slam into
lockers, and they hiss their name until they run out of breath. The entire team has to do it,
even Regulus. It’s tradition and helps him get in the right headspace for the game. “Can they
catch the snakes?” she yells in Avery’s face.

“NO!” The veins in his neck bulge in rage, but he’s smiling.

“I asked, CAN THEY CATCH THE FUCKING SNAKES?”

“NO!” the room answers.

“We’re in the lead, and we better not fall behind. I’m not leaving this school without my
name on that cup!” She’s the first female Quidditch captain in Hogwarts history, and Regulus
sees why. She has fire, her eyes dark and terrifying, making goosebumps on his skin. “Don’t
you want to make history? Don’t you want your name on that cup? Are you a fucking loser?
Then don’t play like it! Lestrange, pass the damn Quaffle for once in your life, and Black,”
her eyes turn to him. “Don’t catch the Snitch. We need to rack up points. We’re starting the
game off in. . .”

Mulciber whistles for only Regulus to hear. “No way in bloody hellPettigrew caught her. The
minute she graduates, I’m hitting. Can’t be too hard, probably how she got Captain in the first
place.” When Regulus doesn’t respond, he jabs him with his elbow. Regulus only hums.
Vance got captain because she’s the best player on the team. She’s confident but not arrogant,
which makes her a good eye for catching mistakes and raising team morale. Mulciber is just a
misogynist arsehole, and Regulus can’t wait to get out of this stupid school. “You disagree?
You can’t tell me she’s not hot, mate. Don’t tell me you’re one of those poofters.”

Regulus internally sighs because he can’t passively play his role any more. He can’t let the
comment slide; just one rumour would kill his reputation. He turns sharply, eyebrows
downturned, puffing out his chest. “The fuck you just say to me?”
Mulciber’s hands go up. Not because Regulus is scary, but because his last name is. “Just a
joke, man.”

Regulus looks him up and down with disgust for a few seconds to drive the point home, then
settles back against the wall. Merlin, he’s so embarrassing.

Mulciber clears his throat, then lowers his voice. He waits for someone to pass them, then
leans to Regulus’ ear. “You’re Bellatrix’s cousin, right?”

Regulus’ eyes almost roll. He knows where this is going. “Yeah,” his lips barely twitch.

“Any news? Lestrange is useless.”

“Not here.” There isn’t anything major, even if there were, The Daily Prophet would
probably know before him.

She’s reinstating Dark Marks for followers, spreading the attacks outside Britain, deciphering
what propaganda works best and how to spread it, and gaining the support of different human
magical creatures like werewolves and vampires. He figured out her plan by reading between
the lines in the biased Prophet papers and figuring out the Dark Lord’s strategy.

He’s ruled out that she’s trying to slowly turn the Ministry of Magic into a corrupt, puppet
government. Bellatrix believes that everyone must truly believe in the cause to join, and that
anyone bought is less likely to be loyal. She seems to focus on quick responses and actions
rather than building something long-lasting, and most politicians are corrupt anyway.

Their team begins to funnel out, but Regulus keeps to the back. The winter air is pretty bad,
but he doesn’t want to be accused of cheating if he uses magic on the field for a warming
charm. Pandora announces their team’s entrance as he mounts his broom and shoots into the
air. He ignores the crowd screaming his name. There’s a dull throb behind his temples the
higher he flies, and he grits his teeth. He hasn’t completely healed from that Bludger hit, but
he can’t afford to rest any longer. Their reserve Seeker is flighty, scared, and can barely
control his broom.

Regulus closes his eyes, focuses on his pounding headache instead of his heartbeat, and
channels his rage because he’s too wound up to focus on peace. He imagines that the Snitch
is his father smoking another cigar, his mother with her nose upturned to muggles, Sirius
showing off the pages of his journal like he had any right—

His headache graduates to gnawing migraine, and his blood runs hot. His ego has always
been a flaw, it runs in the family, but this time instead of pressing it down, he lets it out. He
lets it grow claws and sharp canines, something dangerous and lovely.

He’s Regulus Black, heir to one of the most influential houses in all of Great Britain. Regulus
is perfect, he’s intelligent, athletic, handsome, and powerful. He feels it in his veins. The
magic he has can decimate city blocks and make Dumbledore and the Dark Lord piss their
pants. He is a weapon forged in tears and diamonds, clear and sharp under pressure, and what
is his family? A disgrace. The Sacred 28 thinks he’s weak and pitiful. He’s Walburga’s son,
Orion’s son, Sirius’ quiet, weak brother, the useless spare. He’s not outgoing and boastful, but
he’s a Slytherin. Regulus is in the best house in Hogwarts, he puts on a facade every time he
leaves his dorm, and he plays it perfectly. Who is anyone to think they can embarrass him?
He was made for a glorious purpose.

He opens his eyes. The cry of the crowd is nothing but a murmur, everything is a blur.
Yellow, gold, chartreuse, amber, mustard, honey, canary. His eyes were made to find this
colour, he was made to be perfect, a man of wax, cut from stone—

He was bred for a glorious purpose.

“. . . Oh, it seems as though our favourite Slytherin Seeker is awake. . .” Regulus stops
paying attention because it’s not important. He focuses on the game below, squinting through
the slight fog. He dips down closer and notices a bob of purple follow him. Annoying. He
weaves again, jerking wildly like he’s seen the Snitch, and the Ravenclaw Seeker zooms in
front of him, blowing air onto Regulus’ face and rustling his hair. The Seeker must’ve seen
his last game and decided to stick close. It’s smart because they should know they aren’t
going to beat him, but it’s a slight complication for Regulus. Instead of two eyes being
determined to find the Snitch, it’ll only be him.
Right. Time to switch up the plan.

Regulus tilts his broom and spirals at top speed at what looks like a Wronski Feint or Spiral
Dive. But then he lets his arms slack, his broom almost falling from his thighs, and he forces
his face to relax. The wind whistles in his ear, and Dora speaks urgently over the intercom,
just as he planned. Everyone will be worried about if he agitated his injury except the
Slytherins. As long as that whistle doesn’t blow, they’ll be able to throw Bludgers and rack
up some more points before Regulus is forced to catch the Snitch.

He peeks out of the slits in his eyes. Hootch is about to blow her whistle, so Regulus clamps
his thighs around his broom and forces himself up. His toes skim the grass before his speed
makes him do a loop. It’s a terrifying way to fly, but Regulus isn’t scared. He’s not able to be
afraid. He has to prove himself before he dies.

Regulus Checks then zips around a Ravenclaw player in a circle, making her dizzy and
confused before Vanity hits her with a Bludger. The Slytherins cheer, and the Ravenclaws
figure out what he’s doing. “Hit him!” The captain screams. “Hit him!”

Two of the Ravenclaw Beaters focus on him, which isn’t very good, but it keeps the heat off
of Avery as he throws the Quaffle, sailing it right past the Keeper and into the ring.

And then Mulciber makes it in.

Transylvanian Tackles, Power Plays, Body Blows.

And then Lestrange’s little brother hits the Quaffle in.

It’s like their team is unstoppable, a strong wall that they can’t push back. A Bludger skims
right past Regulus’ ear and he has to Twirl to miss it, which means it’s time to wrap it up. He
flies upward to find the Seeker. He brakes when he encounters her moving at a snail’s pace.
Regulus stares into her wide brown eyes.
He catches his breath as they survey each other. “Hello,” he says.

“Hi.”

“Wanna race?” He cocks his head and smiles.

She flinches, her gaze reminiscent of how he used to look at Dora, like she was fucking
insane. She squints and observes him once more.“Why?” she says carefully, warily, and
Regulus’ smile widens.

“Because I’m going to catch the Snitch,” Regulus says calmly, “but it’ll make it more fun if
you try to beat me.”

Without another word, he stops thinking. Sirius was the one who taught him how to do it.
Sirius was finally silent for dinner, and he told Regulus his secret. “Just don’t think, Reggie.
Let your soul go away and you won’t mind what they say.” Sirius had smiled at the rhyme,
and he had smiled back.

Regulus isn’t smiling now.

He goes blank, only hearing the ringing of his ears phasing out and the fluttering of the
Snitch’s wings, and he’s gone. The Snitch is a magical machine like any other, so it has a
signature. He follows the yellow trail, flying fast. Behind him, the Seeker is flat on her broom
to pick up speed. The Snitch comes into view, and Regulus barrel rolls out of the way. The
Seeker flies past like she did earlier, and Regulus corrects his course. He’s a bit too low to
catch it, and if he touches his broom any more, the Snitch will sense the magic and go away.

Regulus doesn’t think. His legs move, one foot in front of the other on the broom. His heart is
in his ears, his soul gone, eyes focused on the orb. Yellow, gold, chartreuse, amber, mustard,
honey, canary, yellow, gold, chartreuse, amber, mustard, honey, canary, yellow, yellow,
yellow—
He leaps, and he’s flying. No broom, no wand, just him and the Snitch and the savage, bitter
wind. Mine, he thinks as his fingers close around the Snitch. Mine, mine, mine.

He Summons his broom in his other hand as he falls and quickly shoves it under him. His left
hand holds the orb to his chest securely. It’s a little hard to make his broom calm down and
listen, but he tumbles to the ground without major injuries. He sprawls on the grass, his lungs
moving hard and fast against his ribs, and he closes his eyes against Dora’s conflicted tone
and Slytherin rushing the field, again.

Thankfully, his team understands that if they pat him on the back he might snap their hands
off, so he’s able to get into the showers untouched.

He’s slipping on a dark green long-sleeve shirt while Avery blabs in his ear when Vanity
walks by. He nods to her, but she rolls her shoulders back and barks, “Black.”

The locker room goes quiet. “Captain?” Regulus asks dryly. He expects her to congratulate
him like everyone on the team did; he can’t even pretend to be humble. He’s played a great
game and united the Slytherins even more.

“I never want to see you pull shit like that again, you hear me?”

Regulus blinks, thinking he misheard her. “What?”

“I told you not to catch the Snitch until we racked up enough points. Hufflepuff has a new
captain, and their plays are looking really good. You might’ve just lost us the Cup. Your
variations on Wronski Feint, Wollongong Shimmy, Dionysius Dive, and even that Sloth Grip
Roll last game were impressive, but you shouldn’t be arrogant, and you shouldn’t be doing it
for the scouts.”

Regulus didn’t even know there were scouts, but he keeps his mouth shut. She sticks her
finger in his face. “You ever pull shit like that and I’m telling Hootch you’re the last person I
recommend for Captain, and I’m benching you mid-game. You’re running an extra two laps
during practice, too.”

“I won us the game.”

“Is it worth it to win a battle when you lose the war?”

Regulus clenches his jaw so he doesn’t yell at her, his fists curl. “Yes, Captain Vanity.
Whatever you say.”

Her nostrils flare. “Four laps.” She turns to the room staring at her. “Anyone else having
something smart to say?” No one says anything. The shower still drips. “Good. Now
celebrate the win.” She pauses before she leaves. “But if you hurl during practice tomorrow
you’re running laps with Black.”

She leaves and Avery huffs out a breath. “What a dramatic cunt.”

“Fucking psycho,” Mulcibur mutters. “She has it out for Reg, I swear.”

It’s two weeks. That’s all it is. A couple of weeks and it’ll be Christmas Break, and Regulus
won’t have to deal with—

“Black!” Someone yells. “Head Boy wants to talk to you.”

They ooh like a bunch of children, and Avery actually has the balls to shake Regulus’
shoulder like they’re friends. He throws a quick nasty look, and Avery backs off.
“Vanity told Pettigrew and she told—”

“Oh, Regulus, honey, will you go to your boyfriend when he calls like a little bitch?”

“Oi! Who let Potter around here?”

Regulus brushes off the locker room talk and heads out. He hasn’t talked to James since,
well, since James was absolutely sloshed and Regulus was a tad tipsy. Regulus tries his best
to block that entire day from his memory. If it keeps him up for one more night he’s locking it
behind his Occulmenacy shields. He can’t imagine what James would say. What is there to
talk about? James probably thought Regulus was a creepy stalker when he saw the drawings
(which is slightly true, he supposes) and he probably doesn’t even remember that night at
Hogsmeade—

“I remember it,” James says.

Regulus leans up against the brick wall. “Okay?” He tries to sound nonchalant, but he’s
fighting off a vicious blush. Merlin, what did he say? He called James sunshine, and
sweetheart, and—this one makes Regulus slightly sick—James.

“I don’t regret what I said.”

“Okay?” Regulus can feel where this is going and it doesn’t feel good.

James pushes up his glasses before shoving his hands into his red varsity jacket. “And, uh,
obviously I was there when Sirius—when he. . .”

Regulus closes his eyes briefly, really hoping he won’t ask. “Right.”
“So, I guess this is me asking. Very politely, no one around, no big gesture.” James draws in a
breath and stands up straighter like he’s preparing himself for something. “Will you go out
with—”

“Are you fucking stupid?” Regulus snaps. “No. No, no, no.” He shakes his head. “No.”

James stares at him with his eyebrows high. “Way to let a guy down easy.”

“No.” And it’s settled. It doesn’t matter if Regulus is sick to his stomach. This was always the
plan. And now Regulus walks away, or James cries and walks away, and they never talk
about this. Ever.

“Regulus.”

“No.”

“Let’s cut the shit, okay? I like you, a lot. It’s becoming an obsession. And I’m pretty sure
that calling me sunshine and sweetheart isn’t platonic—”

Regulus scowls. “I was drunk.”

“And you drew me, a lot of times. Which— they were very fucking good.” He smiles
earnestly, like they’re already dating, like he’s proud of his boyfriend, and Regulus stares at
the ground, burning with shame. “You’re very talented, love. You’ll have to show me more
sometime. And Sirius said something about a schoolboy crush?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Regulus makes his words cut. “It’s illegal and cause to be ostracized.
We’re both purebloods. We’ll have to have heirs and get married, Potter, with and to women.
We’ve had our. . . fun,” If you can even call it that, “but it’s time to find our big boy pants and
move on.” James is silent, seeming to be thinking, and Regulus holds his breath. “Well?” he
snaps.
“I think that you’re one of the smartest people I know, and I value your opinion,” he says
slowly. “But I’ll be ignoring it, respectfully.”

Regulus blinks, trying to understand what James said, but it makes sense. He really thought
he’d get James to give up anything? Regulus throws up his hands and walks away.

“Oh, come on, Reg, who cares?”

“I do, Potter,” Regulus says. “I care. And my mother cares, and my father too.” He takes a
step forward. “This isn’t a game. This isn’t the part where you try to save me or show me the
light or bust out the grand gestures, this is the part where you give up.”

“Regulus—”

“You have good parents, and I don’t doubt they couldn’t give a single fuck, as long as you’re
happy. But you know it’s different for me. This space,” he lifts his left sleeve and shows his
forearm. “This won’t be empty for long, whether I like it or not. So you are going to go back
to your dorm, and you’re going to celebrate Sirius’ birthday, and you are going to forget
about the journal, and Hogsmeade, and the art supplies, and you’ll move on. I am not my
brother. There is no escape for me. There is no hope for us.”

James frowns as his eyes water. He looks away. “I’m not stupid,” he says quietly. “I know the
consequences, and I don’t care—”

“You will care.”

“You don’t get to decide that for me.” James holds out his hand. Regulus flicks his gaze to
the hand up to James’ face, trying to find a trick, trying to figure out why James wants to
touch him instead of walking away. Regulus hesitantly nods, and James’ hand cups his face
gently. His thumb runs over his cheek, slowly heating Regulus’ cold skin. He must be flushed
pink. “How can I care what idiots will think when you’re right here?” James asks. “We can
hide, Reg. I’ll wait if you want me to. I promise I’ll make you so happy. We’ll figure out the
rest later.”

James places his other hand on Regulus’ face, and he melts into the warmth. He shuffles
forward, and James rearranges his arms to bring Regulus into a hug. Regulus hides his face in
the side of James’ neck, smelling citrus as arms hold him tight against a muscled chest.
“There you go,” James mumbles. Regulus shudders as he feels his voice rumble against his
skin. James places a soft kiss on his hair. “There you go, love.”

That almost breaks him. James is a temporary safety net, a Warming Charm that protects him
from the frost, but it’s provisional. If, if, they date, and if they’re happy, it’ll have to end at
some point. And Regulus doesn’t know if he can handle losing another person. “I’m scared,”
he admits into James’ skin. He’s never said it out loud before. He twists his jacket in between
his fingers. That’s all he is, a scared child pretending to be mature. “I’m so scared.” His voice
breaks and stutters off.

“Hey, hey, hey.” James brings him out of the crook of his neck and holds his face. “You don’t
have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

But he has to stop the cycle. He has to end it because if he doesn’t, who will? How many will
he allow to suffer for his selfish happiness? “But—”

“If you want to get out, I’ll get you out. I’ll fucking kill them, Regulus. Just give me the word
and it’ll be done by New Year.” His eyes are hard and cold, and butterflies erupt in Regulus’
stomach. James will kill his parents, which proves his point. Regulus isn’t good for James.
He’s ruining him already before he’s even gotten the chance.

“James, I—” And then something flashes. Those tentative plans, sweet nothings, the softness
and vulnerability, it all goes away. Regulus has been to numerous galas and parties, his
family’s face plastered in The Prophet too many times to count. He’d know a camera flash
anywhere. Someone has a picture of him in James Potter’s arms, a blood traitor, a boy,
another pureblood. Regulus’ blood goes cold, his mouth slips in shock, his mind partly
floating from his body.

He stumbles away from James and looks to his right, but there isn’t anyone there, only a
cloud of purple smoke left behind. He saw that flash. “Is this some joke?” Regulus asks, heart
in his throat.

James’ eyebrows furrow. “What? No!”

“I don’t want you!” Regulus yells. It’s all unraveling. If someone has a picture it’ll be spread
around the school, in The Prophet, his mother will see it and she’ll burn him off the tapestry.
The cycle will continue, he’ll be on the streets or dead, he’ll be the laughingstock of the
school, and Remus and Sirius will hate him more than they already do. Regulus is
lightheaded, he can barely focus on Potter’s form. He’s sick to his stomach. So nauseous he
can barely move and talk. If Potter was in on this, if he thought this would be a funny prank,
he’ll kill him. “Don’t come near me, you fucking queer.”

Regulus quite literally runs away while Potter yells after him. And only when he knows he’s
alone does he vomit the little food he ate and collapse on the ground, his mind already far
away from his body.

Remus is flipping through the pages of some random book in the common room when James
bursts through the painting like all hell has broken loose. James brushes people off, his eyes
trained on Remus as he storms closer, and Remus quickly goes through his memories of the
last couple of days to find out what he did wrong. He did wish Sirius a happy birthday,
although a little dryly, but he shouldn’t have to pretend he likes him. Remus barely proofread
whatever crap essay James gave him, but that’s nothing new.

James draws to a halt in front of Remus, panting, and Remus shrinks back. “Erm, hello?”

“We need to talk,” James bites, eyes blazing. His hair is even more of a mess, his jacket
wrinkled, and his tone makes it sound like he’s in the middle of a particularly tough
Quidditch match. Remus doesn’t even get to respond. James hauls him up and drags him to
their dorm, which is thankfully empty. James slams the door, and Remus is half out of his
skin, the other waiting to throw up a shield. “What is wrong with Regulus?”
Remus blinks, not at all expecting him to be brought up. “I wouldn’t know?”

James starts pacing. “I told him I liked him.”

“You what?” Remus shrieks.

“I asked him to go out with me, and he seemed hesitant, which fine, I get it. But then he
totally freaks out and runs away.”

“Since when have you and—” He suddenly remembers how James called him Reggie in the
infirmary and how James has backed off Lily without even knowing she’s dating Mary. “Oh
my God,” he bursts out. “You like Regulus? Regulus?”

James’ nostrils flare. “I don’t think you should be judging anyone for who they like.”

Fair enough. Remus throws up his hands. “Wait, you said he ran away?”

“Yes! Everything was fine, and then there was this flash and he got really defensive and ran
away.”

Remus somehow knows exactly what Regulus was thinking. “What kind of flash? A
camera?”

James freezes, his face falling and growing pale. “Oh no.” He covers his mouth with a fist
and squeezes his eyes shut. Remus knows he’s already beating himself up over it, and his
heart sinks. It doesn’t happen often, but when James gets sad, it’s like the world is ending.
Something about a distraught James Potter guts him.

“Prongs, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. He was afraid of it happening. He just told me he was scared and then—” His
eyes grow wide. “Remus, what did I do?”

“James, look at me. This isn’t your fault, okay? You were just trying to figure things out and
someone took advantage of that. You need to breathe. You’ll be fine.”

James shakes his head, wiping tears from his eyes. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

Remus makes James try to get some rest as those words bounce around in his head. “It’s not
me I’m worried about.”

Remus thinks of that as Peter comes back in from Herbology Club. He thinks of that as
Gryffindor Tower stays silent during a Marauder birthday for the first time. He thinks of that
as the hours slowly tick by and Sirius doesn’t come back, as his name stays off the map.
Regulus stays in the Forbidden Forest and Pandora and Dorcas eventually find him.

Yes, what Sirius did was awful. But Sirius didn’t want a birthday party. He didn’t say that he
didn’t want it or that he wasn’t feeling it, he said he didn’t deserve it. Before they almost
kissed, Sirius asked if it was okay that he liked it.

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

It’s lights out, but Sirius still isn’t back, so Remus sits on his bed and waits. Because when
Sirius hurts others, it’s because he’s hurt himself. And that’s not okay, it’s a destructive way
to cope, but it’s Sirius. And Sirius keeps losing the things that make him happy. If he keeps
losing the things he loves, then he will hurt others, and then eventually they’ll all push him
away, and he’ll be left with nothing.

It’s not himself that he should be worried about.

Sirius walks in at about two in the morning. He didn’t even have the cloak. He stumbles in,
reeking of alcohol and sex, and instead of being mad like he should be, Remus is sad for him.
It’s just a sad sight. “Sirius,” he whispers.

Sirius’ head snaps up and he narrows his eyes at Remus. “Not now.”

“It’ll be now, Sirius. I’ve waited long enough.” Sirius stares at him, confused. “Come here,
Pads.”

Sirius looks about two seconds away from bursting into tears. He bumbles to the bed, his hair
a wild mess, black eyeliner smudged under his eyes, and his beloved leather jacket
abandoned on the floor.

Remus gets him to sit down on the bed. He picks up the leather jacket and drapes it over a
chair. He goes over to James’ stash and gets a Sobering Potion. Sirius takes it without any
hesitation. Remus stands over him, and he runs his fingers over his tangled hair, gently
untangling the knots. Sirius tilts his head back and lets it happen, his grey eyes dilated and
sluggish. “Did I do somethin’?”

“No.”

“Then why are you being so nice?” Sirius’ hair gets progressively more and more frizzy as
Remus goes on, so Remus frowns and gives up. He starts to braid it as best as he can in this
position and with all the knots. Then he gets a hair tie to end it off so it’s not too much hassle
for Sirius in the morning. “Remus,” he says, exasperated.

“Lift your arms.” He knows Sirius gets hot in his sleep. He takes off Sirius’ shirt and
uncovers tattoos. On his inner left forearm where the Dark Mark would be are the moon
phases from elbow to wrist. The waning gibbous, which is tonight’s moon, is glowing white.
Over his heart is a bunch of random dots with GO TO SLEEP MY LITTLE BROTHER under
it. He forces Sirius to lie down so he can take off his trousers and shoes but pauses. “You do
have pants on, right?”
Sirius nods his head and lets Remus wiggle his tight trousers down his hips and over his
knees. “I didn’t sleep with anyone,” he blurts randomly. Remus looks up. Sirius is propped up
on an elbow, peering down and frowning at him. Remus unties his Docs and lets them fall to
the floor. “I haven’t in a year.”

Remus is more relieved than he cares to admit. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that,” Sirius snaps. “I owe you everything. I’ll be making everything up to you for
the rest of my life.”

Remus sighs. “Okay, Pads.”

“I’m sorry. Effie found me a psychiatrist, so I’ll be better soon. I’ll be good enough for you. ”

“I don’t—Pads, don’t do it for me, do it for yourself. You’re my best friend. I just want you to
be safe.” Sirius stares blankly at him. “Are you listening to me? I just want you to be okay.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop the drinking. I’ll stop the drugs.”

“Stop, Sirius. Come here.”

Sirius scrambles up and pulls Remus into a tight hug, the air knocked right out of Remus’
chest. Across the back of Sirius’ shoulders are stag antlers, and nestled between them is a
little sleeping mouse. “I like your tattoos,” he murmurs.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”
He clenches tighter, and Remus can’t tell whose heartbeat is whose. “Thank you.”

Remus squeezes Sirius’ hips, frowning at how sharp they are. Being a Beater kept his muscle
mass up, and he’s been leaner since he was kicked off the team but never this thin. “You need
to eat more.” Sirius snorts. “I’m not joking. Take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever.” Sirius pushes back and rolls his eyes.

Remus licks his thumb and drags it under Sirius’ eyes roughly to try to get the makeup off.
He squirms, batting him away until Remus grabs his strangely delicate wrists (Oi! They run
in the family!). “God, you’re a mess. Have you even had a drink of water today?”

Sirius tries to blind him with a smile, and it would’ve worked if it didn’t display his cracked,
dry lips. Remus rolls his eyes and shoves him down. “Get ready for bed, I’ll get you a glass.”
He steals Peter’s Best Dad Ever mug and Aguamenti’s it full. Sirius is smoking a cigarette
when he gets back. His pale skin glows in the moonlight, looking so beautiful, and Remus
stumbles over his feet.

“Shotgun,” Remus demands. Sirius takes a deep hit, chest rising, brows furrowing, then props
up on an elbow and opens his mouth. Remus grabs his head, tilts it back, and breathes in the
nicotine, dragging Sirius’ bottom lip down with his thumb on instinct. Sirius kisses his
thumb, lips lingering. “Thank you,” Remus breathes.

Sirius’ eyes shine. “Anytime.”

Remus hands him the mug a bit shakily, and after Sirius is done he does a Scouring Charm in
his mouth. “Are you going to kiss me goodnight, Moonbeam?”

Remus leans over and kisses Sirius on the tip of his nose because he’s still high or drunk or
both. “Happy Birthday, Mr. Black,” he says, and when he pulls back, Sirius’ eyes flutter
closed as his cheeks flush pink.
 House Song
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-horrible mental space

-parental death

-murder

Something is rotten inside of me

I have to find it and cut it out, cut it out

-Searows

Regulus knows there are ghosts in Hogwarts.

They kiss at his skin, and place whispers of another life in his ear. They slip in and out of
daylight and nightfall smoothly without a trace. Ghosts are haunted, unrestful, and tirelessly
pushing to be put back into life.

There are ghosts in his head.

He awakes to Barty and Evan flirting as they usually do and he waits for them to yell. He
waits for them to call him disgusting and useless and ruined and dirty. Queerness is unnatural,
a waste of good seed, and now he waits for them to call him out. It’s like he’s blindfolded,
waiting for the hits to come, but he doesn’t know when. Perhaps it was one of them who took
the picture, and they’ll use it as blackmail. He lays on his bed, partially paralyzed, and he
waits. Time is nothing but a slow-moving river towards the gnawing mouth of the ocean,
where a great white shark waits.
Except, they don’t say anything. They wait for him to get up before walking to breakfast as if
nothing happened. No one stares at him strangely, or gives him long looks, but he can’t stop
his paranoia. Every student whispering is talking about him, anyone who shoots a smile in his
direction is mocking him, anyone who stares a second longer knows he’s dirty and useless.

But everything’s quiet. Too quiet. As if the scandal hasn’t yet hit the castle. Regulus has
precious minutes, precious seconds before his life goes to shit. Because the person would
wait for everyone to gather in the Great Hall, or maybe they’ve sent an owl to his parents and
are waiting for their reaction. Maybe it was a Death Eater doing recall and now Bellatrix
knows, and she’s waiting patiently to torture him for doing something for himself and not the
Dark Lord or The House of Black.

“Regulus?”

He picks up his head, wondering how he got to the table, and notices his hands trembling. He
can’t have another panic attack now. Regulus can’t be falling apart now. He could say that
someone cast an Imperio on him, that Potter was pulling a prank and the picture cut right
when he pushed him away. He’s a good liar. Regulus can lie.

“Regulus!” Barty yells.

“What?” he snaps. Pandora and Dorcas give each other a wary look. Regulus tightens his
fists. He should’ve pushed him away. He should’ve never let them see him so weak. He
should be ashamed of himself. Regulus is ashamed of himself. He let Potter get too close
when he should’ve been cutting him off. He should’ve stepped away. Regulus should’ve told
Potter that the journal was from years ago and that he was a phase.

“You’re in the paper, mate,” Evan says. And as he slides the paper over to Regulus, the entire
world slows down. He feels the air leave his lungs without a goodbye and his heart clamps so
severely that he might collapse on the table. Merlin, what’s his plan? Does he leave the castle
without another word? Does he curl up and hide until he dies? How many people have seen it
already? Do his parents know? Because if they know he’s already as good as dead. Nothing
matters. If his parents saw, it doesn’t matter what long-winded excuse he cooks up. He broke
one of the rules, and that’s cause for punishment, the reason doesn’t matter.
Regulus sees his entire life flash before his eyes, and he realizes that he’ll die without ever
kissing James Potter, without making up with Remus, without ever telling Sirius that he’s
sorry. He’s lived for seventeen years now, and he’s done nothing with it. The cycle will
continue, all of his friends will move on, the school will forget about him, and he’ll be
reduced to a grainy childhood memory, fuzzy with age and uncertainty.

He’ll be the one with the dark hair in Slytherin Quidditch photos, the potion wiz who
Slughorn occasionally mentions, but no one can quite remember his name. Always Bellatrix’s
cousin, Sirius Black’s forgotten and abandoned brother, another foot soldier and some boy
who was walking propaganda for blood purism. He’s a name glossed over in books, special
but not outstanding. The kid who could’ve been something if he wasn’t corrupted.

Regulus is drowning, tearing himself apart with his own hands, claws digging into his flesh
like vultures over a dead bird. He doesn’t know what will be left of him.

The paper is put in front of him, right over his plate. “Fuck,” he breathes. It’s just Seeker
Weekly. He’s made the front cover, and he can’t even read the headline because of the tears in
his eyes.

“Congrats, mate. You’re saving our arse this year.”

“Imagine if we actually win the cup,” Barty says wistfully. He and Evan start laughing, but
Pandora looks over at him, and she must know. She always knows.

Regulus leaves the table like death is running at his heels, which it is, and leaves the Great
Hall. He walks and he walks and he keeps walking until he can’t breathe, until his lungs
physically restrict and he’s left wheezing and clutching at his chest. He makes it to the
seventh floor, and the door makes itself known.

Regulus stumbles through and falls on the floor, and only then does he start to cry. No tears
fall, but he sounds like he’s crying, and it feels like he’s dying as the whole world has
reduced to only him, to this mildly tragic moment. He crawls across the floor like he can
escape the fear, but he’s dug his own grave, and in it, he must lie.
The pain only stops when he turns into a bird, when he’s no longer Regulus, just some
mindless animal.

“I haven’t seen him since breakfast,” James hisses. He’s lucky the Common Room is so loud.
It must be his eighteenth time talking about Regulus in the past hour, working himself into a
frenzy before he calms himself down, then starts again. Remus looks wistfully at Sirius
conked out asleep on an armchair. He wishes he was fast asleep so he doesn’t have to keep
having the same conversation over and over with James. Remus loves him, but Merlin, the
guy never lets anything rest. Like here: James grabs Remus’ shoulder and shakes him. “How
am I supposed to apologize if I haven’t seen him since breakfast!?”

“What’s that?” Peter asks on the couch. His book is laid out over his face. Peter was
determined to read it. He focused on it for a few words, then his eyes glazed over in boredom
before he shook himself out of it. He read the same page three times, blew a couple of
raspberries, and decided to give up.

Remus rolls his eyes. “James fucked up, and he’s been trying to apologize.”

Peter stretches, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, is this about that Slytherin guy you like?”

Remus and James both snap their heads up. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised. Peter is
scary observant, and James probably accidentally let something slip. “What?” James asks,
incredulously. It’s very loud.

Remus shushes him, genuinely afraid. They all look at Sirius, who always gets grumpy when
he’s woken up, and hold their breaths. His eyebrows crease before he lets out a deep snore.
Peter and Remus sigh in relief, but James still looks like a startled deer.
“What? I—No.” He laughs. It falls flat. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. I just,
erm, bumped into someone earlier. Yeah.” He clears his throat, totally not suspicious.
“Anyway, Exploding Snap?”

Remus stares at him hard, surprised at what a horror show that was. His eyes roll up. “You
are the worst liar. . .”

“I’m not lying!” It’s all high-pitched and horrible. His eyes are wide, and his cheeks are pink.
Remus and Peter give each other a suffering look. “Guys!”

“Okay, Prongs, we believe you.” Peter somehow manages to say it with a straight face. “Can
we play Gobstones instead?”

They start to set up for the game, but then the Common Room gets unbearably quiet. The
Gryffindor teachers never fail to remind them that the Common Room hasn’t been quiet since
before the Prewett twins, which must’ve been a million years ago now. Sirius actually wakes
up because of the lack of noise, and frowns deeply. It’s McGonagall, and she’s headed right
for Remus. His smile falters, then falls.

“What did you do?” James asks quickly.

Remus can’t answer, because he inexplicably knows. There’s no lightbulb that turns on in his
head, there’s no supernatural ability that tells him or some dark feeling that weighs heavy in
his chest. It’s the strangest thing that’s happened to him, this strange wayward place that he
goes to for reprieve.

“Mr. Lupin?” McGonagall clears her throat. “I’m going to have to ask you to gather your
belongings and come to my office.”

“Minnie,” Sirius says aghast. “You’re not expelling him, are you?”

“He didn’t even do anything!” James exclaims.

“Anything you have to say, you can say here, Minnie,” Peter says.

McGonagall looks at Remus, her face like nothing he’s ever seen before, and his heart sinks
further. And for some reason, he just knows. The words fall like molasses from his tongue,
almost unwillingly. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

She hesitates, and it’s answer enough. Remus closes his eyes against the oncoming assault. “I
think we should go somewhere more private.”

For a second it doesn’t register, it doesn’t feel real, because she didn’t answer the question.
He was fine. There were no signs, no dreams. His mother sent him a detailed letter last week
that he had skimmed. If his mother wasn’t dead, why didn’t McGonagall say that she wasn’t?
Why does he feel like the blood has been drained from his body? And why is this bloody
Common Room so quiet? She can’t be dead. If she was dead, the whole world would’ve
fallen apart. He would’ve felt her loss even from here. There would’ve been a sign, there
would’ve been something.

Remus is aware that he’s about to cry. He feels the tears pressing behind his eyes, feels his
friends visible shock, and he huffs out a disbelieving breath. He puts his head in his hands
and laughs, because didn’t he tell him? Didn’t he say she was sick, and he didn’t do
anything? It doesn’t make any sense, because his mother was alive. His mother was laughing
and breathing and sharing the state of her stupid garden that all the animals in the woods eat
but she never cared because she was happy that she was keeping them alive. His mother was
just doing the laundry, just making cinnamon scrolls and biscuits, just knitting or crocheting
or sewing or whatever it is she does to distract herself from how quiet the house is.

He hasn’t seen her since the summer. He isn’t sure that he told her he loved her before he left.
Remus cries quietly, his hands and face slick with tears.

“Moony,” Sirius begs. He tries to pry Remus’ hands away from his face. “Remus, look at
me.”

Remus can’t see anything except cool grey eyes pinched in concern. “You’re going to be
okay. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re going to be okay.”
Remus opens his mouth, but no words come out.

He walks to his dorm to get his things, and the Marauders trail behind him. He turns to say
he’ll be okay, but no words come out. They walk him to the Floo in Minnie’s office, and
they’re quiet. His chest feels like it’s creaking, like his heart has been ripped out and in its
place is a massive black hole.

He tries not to think.

When he sees his father step out of the Floo, he doesn’t say anything. Lyall signs papers, and
Sirius is squeezing his hand, whispering in his ear, and Peter and James aren’t there, and
Remus can’t think.

None of it makes sense. He sent her an owl last week. She was fine last week. What was he
doing when she was dying? Why didn’t Lyall help his wife?

Why didn’t he help his mother?

“Remus,” Sirius whispers. “You have to go home now, darling.”

Remus shakes his head sharply. He can’t go back to that house. There’s nothing there any
more. She’s gone. She’s gone, she’s gone, she’s dead. Remus plays with the words in his
head, but it doesn’t make it clearer. Can he even remember the sound of her voice? He tries to
find it, but he can’t, and he strangles Sirius’ hand.

“You shouldn’t have told him,” Lyall says. “I was going to do it myself.”

McGonagall sighs.“I’m sorry, sir. He figured it out before he even got his things.”
“That boy. He had a bond with his mother I could never understand. That boy. . . that bond. .
.”

“Moony.” Sirius makes Remus look at him. “I know you’re scared, but you have to go now
—”

Remus shakes his head again and again. He squeezes Sirius’ hand so he won’t let go. If he
could talk, he’d beg. If it brought his mother back, he’d get on his knees and pray for the rest
of his life. He would rather feel pain than this vast emptiness.

“I know, Rem, I know. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Sirius’ hands start to slip away, and Remus’ hands won’t stop shaking. He stares into the
glowing hearth. Don’t think, he tells himself. Don’t think, don’t think, don’t—

He breaks away, and he doesn’t remember anything after that.

Regulus is in his human form when his parchment vibrates.

Dorcas: Slughorn’s looking for you.

It could be because he skipped an entire day of classes, but it could also be because the
picture leaked. But if the picture did leak then Dorcas would’ve warned him, right? So it
must be because he skipped his classes.
He walks into Slughorn’s office, and the man looks like a bumbling idiot, flushed pink from
head to toe. “He’s a good boy! The best student I’ve ever had!”

“I’d hope so,” his mother drawls, amused. Regulus’ heart drops. She knows. They gave her
the picture first because they know that physical pain is worse than emotional. They know
he’d rather face the embarrassment of the school than the Crucio of his mother. It’s cruel, it’s
so cruel, Regulus has to take a second to applaud whatever mastermind has been plotting on
his downfall.

Regulus fixes his posture. “Mother,” he greets. It’s better to act like everything is fine than
apologize at her feet. If she truly knows nothing, it would make her suspicious of him, and if
she does know, it’s better to act like that whole situation is beneath him, a blimp of mistake
on an otherwise perfect record.

“Regulus,” she says. She’s dressed in black from head to toe. “You’ve sure kept us waiting
long enough, always taking your sweet time. And why are your clothes wrinkled? You look
like a hoodlum, Salazar a pitié.” Salazar have mercy. “When we get home, Kreacher will cut
your hair. You look absolutely ridiculous. I hope you haven’t been receiving company
looking like that.”

“I haven’t, Maman.”

“Good.” She sniffs. “I’ve gathered your belongings. You’re father is dying. You won’t be
returning until after Yuletide Break.”

Regulus has to work to contain his relief, and then his smug smirk. He’ll become head of the
house, which will help his plans tremendously, and his mother doesn’t know about the
picture. Perhaps the person was taking a picture of something else, but Regulus isn’t so quick
to think he’d be so lucky. “Yes, Maman.”

They Floo directly to Grimmauld Place. His father is in critical condition, doesn’t have much
time left, so they moved him from St. Mungo’s to his house so he could die more
comfortably.
Regulus wishes that they left him to rot in that hospital. That he would’ve died alone and
terrified, his weak lungs giving up on him as his eyes bulged. He wishes that they left him
alone in a sterile place with no love, that no one would be there to hold his hand as he passed.
He wishes they would’ve left him die painfully, excruciatingly, with the last voice he hears
some muggleborn nurse on the intercom calling for a code blue that’s not for him.

But, Grimmauld Place will have to do.

Regulus keeps his face passive as he stalks up the stairs. He draws closer to the sound of his
father coughing, dry and painful, full of mucus.

“Father,” he calls.

His father turns his head up, and the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Son, come closer, quick.”
Regulus averts his gaze. He has his father’s cold, dead eyes.

“They’ve told me you don’t have long now.”

“I’m afraid not.” He coughs again. “I’m sorry I won’t be there at your happiest moments. I
would have loved to see you fall in love, get married, have grandchildren.”

Regulus blinks. He didn’t think about it, but he doesn’t really care. If he ever does have
children—they would have to be adopted, he’s not passing on these inbred genes— his
parents, scratch that, his whole family wouldn’t be within 100 kilometers of them. It would
be a fresh start away from the pain, far away from Orion and far away from Walburga.
Regulus doesn’t know how to respond to his father. “Okay?” He then pictures his father’s
lungs, black and decaying, and he pictures his hand wrapping around them and squeezing.
Orion coughs again, looking alarmed, and Regulus is pleased.

His father will die looking at the gardens.

“Regulus.” He reaches out his hand, scrambling for something, no, someone to hold, but both
of Regulus’ hands are pressed into tight fists, blunt nails digging into his skin. “Regulus, I
have to tell you—”

“What?” He squeezes tighter. Orion springs up, clutching at his chest. “Father, what is it? Tell
me, now.” Regulus is drunk on the power, drunk on having his father on his string like a
puppet. Oh, how the roles reverse.

He doesn’t look scary now, he’s just an old, dying man at Regulus’ mercy, and he doesn’t
even know it. “None of it is yours.”

Regulus’ hands grow slack, and his father is rewarded a breath. “What?”

“You aren’t of age,” he moans. “And I never had the time to change the heir in the wards and
in the paperwork. The house is his, our gold is his, everything, it’s all Sirius’. I failed you.
Forgive me, son, please.”

Regulus gapes. That buffoon, that stupid bastard. He rises. “Well you aren’t dying yet,” he
snarls. “Summon the work. Sign them. Give it to me, it’s mine!” Regulus yells. If he isn’t the
heir, his entire plan, his entire life, goes to waste.“I’ve waited patiently, and I won’t let that
stupid blood-traitor get what is rightfully mine! You senile, stupid, stupid, old man!”

He coughs, and this one is longer, more deadly. “It’s too late,” he keeps saying. “It’s too late.”
He keeps coughing and Regulus rolls his eyes.

“Kreacher!” he calls like a spoiled brat. The elf appears with a pop. He looks at the dying
man, then back to Regulus.

“Kreacher is sorry, Master Regulus.” There’s nothing he can do.

Orion coughs, and he coughs. Regulus grabs his shirt and looks into his eyes. “You let them
touch me. You ruined this house. Don’t call yourself my father, for I do not claim you. You
are so pathetic, you make me sick. Sick!”

Orion’s eyes grow dull, the life slowly leeching from him as he wheezes. His lungs constrict
with Regulus’ magic, and he panics, legs kicking at the sheets.

Orion does not die looking at the gardens, he dies looking into his son’s hateful eyes, and
Regulus hopes he feels the red-hot rage.

He lets Orion collapse against the pillows and he stands over him, disgusted at the sight.
“Kreacher, call for my mother, please. We have a funeral to plan for.”
 half return
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-funerals

-emotional and physical abuse/torture

Standing in the yard, dressed like a kid

The house is white and the lawn is dead

The lawn is dead, the lawn is dead

-Adrianne Lenker

A plate with a measly peanut butter and jelly sandwich is shoved in his face. “Remus, you
have to eat.”

Remus stares unblinking at his mother’s bed. He waits for her to come out from the woods
from a wild camping trip or long holiday berry-picking, or maybe soon enough she’ll send an
owl and say that she left Lyall, and she’s out living her best life. Anything but this. Anything
but what the autopsy said. A large aneurysm in her brain made her dizzy and sick and
miserable before it popped and killed her. She never had a chance. Well, she would’ve had a
chance if Lyall had just. . . if he put his work down for one second—

“Remus, please, even a sip of water.”

A single tear falls down Remus’ face, and he closes his eyes, not thinking.
 —

He moves to send the funeral invitations. Her service is on Christmas Day. She’d like that.
Remus has simple thoughts. He likes his simple thoughts.

“Remus, did you eat today? Did you sleep at all?”

And he slips away.

The funeral home is mostly empty. Most of her family had died. All she had was Remus. All
she had was that house. A few of her friends come. They say they changed Remus’ nappies
when he was a kid. Remus doesn’t remember that. His grandmother comes. It’s awkward. He
doesn’t think he remembers how to talk. He hasn’t seen her in a while. It’s obvious she
blames Lyall for it. He blames him, too.

James and Sirius come. So do Effie and Monty. He doesn’t know why. It’s Christmas Day.
“Anything for our Moony,” James says, trying for a smile, and Remus has to work to keep
thinking, to be present.

He stumbles up to her casket, and he crumbles to his knees and cries. It’s an open casket. It’s
really her, and she’s really dead. It hits him then. He doesn’t want to leave her. He already left
her once. Then arms scoop under his armpits and drag him away while he sobs. Sirius said
he’d be okay. Remus wonders when he’ll finally feel it.

And then it’s time.

Remus stumbles to the podium and he delivers his eulogy. His voice is raspy and gone. It’s
the first time he’s used it in weeks.

“My mother’s headstone says she’s a daughter, a wife, a mother. All of those things are true.
But she was a lover, too. She loved love. She loved Valentine’s Day and opening presents on
Christmas. My mother loved baking and keeping tidy. She loved laughing so hard with me
that it hurt, and she loved helping people, animals, helping anyone with a hug or a smile or a
joke. She was a peacekeeper, a people-pleaser, an introvert. My mother hated wars and
injustice, people who underestimated her and who underestimated the power of literature and
history and art. She believed anyone could be redeemed. My mother loved love. She loved
happiness. And when I woke up the day after I found out she died, the sun didn’t seem to
rise, and it’s been dark ever since. The world has been bleak and dull without her, dim and
lifeless, and I fear it’ll feel like that forever.”

The first shovel of dirt goes over her casket. Remus slips away.

Orion’s funeral is maybe three days after he died? Regulus skipped the wake to write
something that would go in The Prophet, but unfortunately, he can’t skip the funeral. It was
relatively small, or what passes for small in high society. He poses for cameras that he
pretends he can’t see, puts his head down, and looks up at the sky to pretend he’s getting
emotional. The only emotion he’s feeling is absolute delight, downright giddy.

He let his mother say a few words, and when she starts crying—real tears, not the ones she
cries when she wants attention or pity—Regulus can’t help but feel a little bad. To give him
the benefit of the doubt, he’s never seen them sleep in the same bed, kiss, or talk to each other
sober without screaming. How was he supposed to know she actually liked him?

They were cousins. Must’ve been the familial bond that made her shed a tear or two. Merlin
knows her face is dry by the time they get to the Black Manor. He’ll have to talk to Sirius
soon and have him give his rights over to Regulus. It shouldn’t be too difficult; Sirius doesn’t
want the house or anything to do with the cursed Black family.
He walks through the door, ready to sign the massive stacks of paperwork his father’s lazy
arse has left him, and pulls up short when he sees Bellatrix wandering around just inside the
entrance. He’ll have to deal with her alone. Walburga decided to take a walk around the
gardens to clear her head.

“You didn’t send word you were coming,” he says. He hasn’t seen her in a long time. It’s not
like she could’ve gone to the funeral without getting arrested. Regulus has Kreacher take his
coat to disguise how much he wants to throw up. “You look just like your mother.”

She gasps, a hand over her chest. “Reggie kin, you wound me.” She breaks into a feral smile.
“Oh, I’ve missed you.” Bellatrix holds out her arms for a hug, then pouts when Regulus
doesn’t move. “Haven’t you missed me?”

“Not particularly.” Kreacher pops in to give him three fingers of alcohol, of which Regulus is
grateful. He wouldn’t be able to get through this without it. He throws the whole thing back
in one gulp. “I see your work in The Prophet almost every day, now. It means the Minis are
getting restless and bold. They’re pushing mudbloods in the hallways and using magic on
them.” He shakes his head. “Idiots,” he mutters.

“That’s funny, Reggie.” She laughs, and it’s a little too drawn out.

“Oh? How so?”

Her manic gaze swings to him. “Because you’re talking to blood-traitors.” Bellatrix is fast on
the draw, her wand and a binding spell flying out in seconds. Regulus’ arms get bound
together with tight, thick rope, and they wind down to his ankles. His body is thrown against
the wall, and his glass tumbles out of his hand and falls to the floor.

He looks longingly at the broken glass and ice on the floor. “I liked that glass, Bellatrix. It
has the house crest on it.”
“I’m sure you care about the house.” She Crucio’s him without another word. He expected
her to be a little more understanding, but fine. He supposes he deserves the Crucio for being
stupid and reckless in the first place. “James Potter,” she spits. “What does he have that we
don’t?” She removes the picture from her pocket and shoves it in Regulus’ face. “What is it?
What is it!? Do you want love, Regulus? You want Prince Charming to come down and save
you from our evil clutches, just like he did with Sirius. Are we not good enough for you?”

Picture Potter looks down at picture Regulus with soft eyes. His hold on his jaw is delicate,
his hands gentle, his thumb gracing across Regulus’ skin like he’s something precious,
something worth protecting. Regulus looks up at him, Adam’s apple jutting, head slightly
back, lips parted for a kiss. His eyelashes flutter. Then the picture stops playing, and it loops.
It’s incriminating, almost impossible to get out of.

“Bella. If there’s a side against you, Potter’s parents would be the cornerstone. They’re very
influential, very progressive,” he says slowly like he’s talking to a child. “And if I got in
there, if I had the chance to promise that I was better, changed, ready to fight for Dumbledore
and all his light magic, I would’ve got plans easily for you. All while breaking the bond
between Sirius and Potter. Instead, you sent one of your men to stalk me, and blew the whole
plan out of the water,” he hisses. “Potter won’t so much as look at me now, so I have to start
from scratch.”

Bellatrix drops her wand. “Oh, my favourite cousin.” The ropes drop, and Regulus crashes to
the floor, nerves twitching. “You would pretend to be a queer for me?”

Regulus rolls his eyes. “I’d pretend to be a queer for the good of wizarding society.”

“I have bad news and good news, Reggie kins. You’re old enough to get marked now. Bad
news is, your plan was all for nothing.”

“Oh?”

She smiles sheepishly, playing with the end of her wand. She shrugs.“I’ve already got a
mole.”
Regulus has to work not to flinch. If there’s already a mole, the Order of the Phoenix is still
alive and active, and someone has already betrayed them.

“Oh, Auntie!” Bellatrix calls, laughing and spinning in a circle. “Reggie is going to join our
ranks! Little Regulus, little lion.” She stops spinning, and stumbles. “We are going to have so
much fun.”

It fucking hurts.

It’s like a million knives digging into his forearm at once, over and over. He doesn’t scream,
though. He holds it in like he’s meditating as his veins bulge. His arm begs him to stop, his
mind begs him to break—

“All done!” Bellatrix chirps happily. “My husband told me Murlap and Dittany work great.
Oh, Auntie, here’s my favorite part.”

Regulus gasps through the pain. It doesn’t help. Nothing seems to help as the pain travels
from his arm, radiating throughout his entire body. His organs heat in his body, and he starts
to sweat. He shivers as the precise ache in his arm starts again, and he can’t help but scream
as the pain keeps infesting, melting him in how is scorches as it moves to throbs behind his
skull and eat away at his bones.

He somehow makes it to the couch, and he falls onto it. He buries a groan into the pillow. It’s
worse than a Crucio. The black ink is so hideous, and the stabbing aches come in
unpredictable waves.

“Bellatrix, you bitch,” his mouth runs. Bellatrix laughs. “You psychotic cunt. If I could, I’d
kill you. I’d kill all of you.” His veins are black, and power courses through him. It’s lovely.
It’s awful. “None of you possess a tenth of the power I have, it’s pathetic.” He tries to crawl
away from the pain, crawl out of the skin, and whatever demon is making him say this. “I’ll
own all of you, you’ll remember my name. R.A.B.” The ceiling swims with the faces of all
the names on the tapestry. “Regulus Arcturus Black! The lion! I shall be remembered, it is
written in the stars! I have been here before you and will exist after you. We are all written in
the stars!”

Regulus’ body locks up, his arm on fire, and he and the darkness become one.

“Hmm. I thought he’d be more interesting.”

Regulus sweats out the Mark on his bed. He’s sweating even though he’s cold, and he grits
his teeth so he doesn’t cry out. The door cracks open, and for a minute Regulus thinks that
it’s going to happen again. He thought Bellatrix invited her mother to his home, that she
snuck away and she’d touch him and he’d be too weak to stop her, again.

His vision clears, and he sees it’s just his mother.

“I saw the photograph, Regulus.” Her voice is low. He can tell she’s drunk. “You could trick
Bella but you can’t trick me.”

His heart drops. He doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to keep his Occlumency shields
strong. Regulus groans in pain. “Maman—”

“Shhh, boy.” Her hand cards through his hair. “I know you love him. You used to look at me
that way. You used to love me before you went to that stupid school and they corrupted your
mind.”
Regulus can’t remember his lines. He can’t remember anything. She hasn’t broken like this
since Sirius left. “I don’t love him, Maman. The House comes first—”

“I come first!” Walburga bellows. Her bottom lip trembles.“Your brother left and your father
left and now you think you get to leave me, too? Am I impossible to love? Am I too difficult
for you?”

“I love you, Mother.”

“Liar!” She cries. “You love what I did for you. I kept you safe for eight months, and I loved
you when you came out premature and weak,” she spits. “When your birthday turned out to
be the same as Sirius’, I made sure you both felt special. Your father was no good, he was no
help. I did everything myself. I slaved away and raised you two and all you do is spit in my
face. Do you think anyone else would ruin themselves for you, Regulus? Do you think you
are worth any more damnation?”

“No, Maman,” he says quietly.

“No, you aren’t. You stupid boy. You petulant, disrespectful boy.”

And then she Crucio’s him, and everything hurts. All of his cells, every nerve ending, the
mark on his arm, it all burns like he’s already in hell. It hurts, and he yells for her to stop, his
lips forced to say her name in a scream. His fingers spams, his body twitches. “Maman!
Maman, cesser! Cesser!”

She stops, and Regulus keeps saying it, a broken record. “Merci, merci. Je suis désolé. Je suis
désolé.”

“I forgive you.” She plays with his damp hair. “You know I love you. I do this because I love
you. We’ll go to the Potter’s and figure it out. You’re my good boy, you wouldn’t touch him.”
“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t, I swear. Please.”

“Shhh, it’s okay.”

“Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry.”

 I Don't Smoke
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-parental abuse

-homophobia

-starvation

-being outed as queer

So if you need to be mean, be mean to me

I can take it and put it inside of me

If your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room

You can lean on my arm as you break my heart

I am stronger than you give me credit for

-Mitski

The Potter Estate is massive. The house itself is normal, but the land they own extends out
into the forest. They keep the property untamed, but Regulus can feel the pulse of the strong
wards. They’re layered on top of each other, hundreds of wards sandwiched to make it
impossible to get through. Unfortunately, there isn’t any public quarrel between the Sacred 28
families. These are some of the most influential families in Wizarding Britain, so they all
work together closely in politics and legislature. Somewhere along the line— probably when
Walburga wasn’t horribly and viciously jealous of the Potters—the Black family was keyed
into the wards.

Euphemia Potter opens her door and her smile falters. “Walburga!” She practically yells. It’s
a warning to anyone in the house. “Oh, my. . . Are you alright? I read the papers. Orion’s
death was so sudden, I’m sorry—”
Walburga waves a hand, his death was nothing. “Oh, thank you, Euphemia. I have a rather
urgent matter to speak to you about. Do you mind if we stay for dinner?”

Her hand tightens on the door. Her eye twitches. “We?” It’s one thing to show up to
someone’s house without warning expecting them to be genial and give you a hot meal, but
bringing multiple people is against pureblood etiquette.

“Regulus!” she says sharply. Effie flinches. “Don’t stand behind me to hide like a coward.
Stupide garçon.” Stupid boy.

Regulus is hiding behind Walburga because he’s embarrassed to be here. His Christmas was
horrible, and now he has to end his break here. He’s dreading school, he’s dreading having
dinner with Sirius and Walburga and all the Potters. And he knows he looks horrible—
healing from the Dark Mark and daily Crucios and Laceros tend to do that—but Effie’s face
turns to pure horror when she sees him. He’s lost most of the lean muscle mass he’s gathered,
hasn’t been sleeping, and throws up whatever he manages to eat. He’s a walking skeleton
with sunken eyes, purple eye bags, clothes wrinkled and oversized, and a thousand-yard
stare. Regulus had to stop looking in the mirror to get through his day.

Yeah, he’d cringe if he saw him, too.

Effie looks at Walburga with her lips pressed together in displeasure. His mother smirks. “It’s
the grief,” she says innocently.

And that’s their ticket in. She probably would have made some poor-made excuse to get them
to leave, but how can her bleeding heart ever turn away a sick boy with a horrible, abusive
mother?

She cracks the door open wider. “Please take off your shoes,” she says. She walks away.
Their house is warm and cosy without being crowded. A decorated tree with ornaments
James made when he was young is tucked into the corner with some gifts still untouched.
The mantel over their fireplace has garlands and tinsels, and in the centre is a family portrait:
James, Fleamont, Euphemia, and Sirius. James’ smile is wide, eyes bright and clear. Regulus
thinks it’s non-magical, but then suddenly, Sirius’ gaze shifts, his smile turning into a smirk,
then he winks. James elbows him to stop, and Euphemia says something through her gritted
teeth, tightening her hand on James. Monty is still smiling, oblivious. They both freeze and
the painting stills.

Walburga wrinkles her nose and walks through the house without removing her red-bottomed
heels, but Regulus stops to take off his sneakers. His nerves are rubbish, so everything hurts,
and he lets out a soft groan when he puts a Cushioning Charm on his feet. He puts them next
to the red Converse with chewed-up laces, the pristine Doc Martens, and the—

Remus?

Regulus blinks, but yes, those are Remus’ brown dad loafers, old and battered. Remus is
here. He shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. Remus is here.

Regulus turns to follow his mother, but a little black cat blocks him. He’s always been more
fond of cats than dogs, so he lets the cat look at him. He tilts his head in question, and it
swishes its tail elegantly. It circles him, twice, before settling on his feet and meowing loudly.

“Jasmine!” Lady Potter yells. “ भेड़ यहाँ है!”

“कौन?”

“तुम्हारे भाई की माँ।.”

“Huh? What?”

There’s a loud bang, followed by multiple loud feet slamming on hardwood floors. They fly
down the stairs, James leading the pack and Remus bringing up the rear. James looks up, his
eyes locking with Regulus, and trips. Regulus throws a quick Levitating Charm to stop him
from crashing on the floor.
“Regulus!” James laughs. “I—hi. I’m sorry about your dad, nope, that’s a lie. What—What
are you. . .” He gets to his feet, eyes examining Regulus from top to bottom, and he frowns at
the cat at his feet. “Sorry about her. You should take it as a compliment. She doesn’t like me
half the time.”

Regulus isn’t shocked. James has too much energy for the relaxed disposition of cats.

“What are you doing here?” Sirius’ eyes are blazing. “You need to leave.”

“Sirius,” Remus says simply. His voice is raspy, his eyes dead, and skin dry and pale.

“No! For fuc—”

“Are you trying to leave?” Remus whispers. “Is that—Is this what this is?”

The boys turn to him, eyes wide like they hadn’t considered that, and then his mother breaks
whatever hope they might’ve had. “Regulus!” her shrill voice calls. “Make haste! Don’t
waste any more of the Potter’s time.”

Regulus looks away before he can see their disappointment. He carefully removes his feet
from under the cat, which earns him a loud wail, before following where his mother went.

The dining room and kitchen are connected. A wood table, possibly light oak, runs vertically.
Next to it is an expansive window that leads to a covered pool. In front of him is some kind
of half-wall with a hole, and behind it is the kitchen. It feels like he’s a rustic restaurant. He
sits down to his mother’s right. The cat immediately settles at his feet.

The boys trail in, all sitting opposite of them, leaving the two head spots for Monty and Effie.
Regulus keeps his eyes on his plate. The tension is thick. Walburga and Sirius haven’t seen
each other since he ran away last year. They’ve always had a strange relationship, abusive
and combative, their hatred for each the type that grows like two competitive trees reaching
for sunlight.
“So, Regulus,” Sirius starts.

“Don’t speak to him,” Walburga snaps. “You have no right.”

“You’re in my house. You’re my guests. Didn’t you teach me that I can ask whatever I want?”

“Didn’t I teach you how to be polite?”

Regulus can see Sirius shrug from the corner of his eyes. “Fair play. Guess those ones never
stuck well.”

A part of him knows that Walburga is enjoying the easy banter. She hasn’t had anyone to
challenge her in the past year. An even smaller part is jealous of it. Regulus has been nothing
but dutiful, nothing but perfect, and it still doesn’t beat that wild-haired buffoon. He starts to
get angry, but then he realizes it’s no use. He doesn’t really care. Regulus doesn’t care about
much these days.

Walburga huffs quietly. “And where is Fleamont?”

“Probably in the basement.” James smiles, but it’s lifeless, not even reaching his eyes.

“He’s still doing that silly little thing with potions?”

James is still smiling, but he cocks his head. “You’re still doing that silly little thing abusing
your children? Hmm.” He picks at his nail beds.

Remus makes a sound that suspiciously sounds like a suppressed laugh.

“It’s not abuse, child, it’s discipline.” She places a hand on Regulus’ shoulder, and he has to
work not to hide his disgust. Her touch is cold and bitter like wind that shoves its way
through all layers of clothing to get to skin. The dichotomy of it—her callous bigotry versus
the warm openness of Potter’s house—has him shivering. “Regulus is the best son I could ask
for. He’s quiet and respectful. He handled his father’s funeral, kept up with his grades, and is
taking up the families’ mantel perfectly.”

“Sounds like a little dog you keep in your purse for parties,” Sirius snaps.

“Better than a dog that chases his tail, thinking he could be better if he bit off a chunk of
him.”

“He looks like me right before I left. Battered and tired and fucking miserable. I bet you
make him so miserable he wishes he buried you instead of Father.”

“Are you happy with your life, Regulus?”

He lifts his head, making eye contact with his brother, who’s begging him to be brave.
Regulus wants to scream at him. Regulus is a live wire, seconds away from electrocution, his
hair standing on end. A part of him wants to tear down the walls, leave, and never return. He
wants the pain to end, to blend into the background of history as something less than a
footnote. Regulus wants Sirius to stop looking at him like he can just quit, and they’ll all live
happily ever after. “Don’t talk about cowardice when there is no situation to be brave in. It’s
just pain, Sirius. That’s all there ever was. Welcome to the most Ancient and Noble House of
Black.”

Regulus looks back at his plate. He nods.

“Do I lay my hands on you?”

He shakes his head. Waburga doesn’t use her hands, she uses magic, and words, weeds her
way into his brain and picks out insecurities like flowers to add to her bouquet of mass
destruction. He imagines she stops once in a while to smell her bloody, decaying roses.
“Well, then.”

A stilted silence falls on the table before Fleamont enters. He drags his chair across the floor,
making a horrible shriek. He drops into it without a word. There isn’t one person at the table
that wants to be there.

Effie comes back from the kitchen with a wary smile. “We’re having arepas for dinner
tonight.” She turns to Walburga. “If that’s okay with you, of course,” she says, sounding like
she doesn’t care what the answer will be.

“I thought we were having aloo gobi,” James says.

“Some of us here have sensitive palettes,” Effie says, a slight dig at Walbruga and Regulus
that doesn’t go unnoticed. Fleamont snorts.“Be kind, Jasmine.”

“Jasmine?” Walburga muses, lip twisting in slight mockery. “Are you one of those, oh, what
do you people call it?”

“I suppose you could say that,” James says easily. “The Healers said I was a girl at first.”

Remus’ eyebrows furrow. It’s his curious face. The brow and slight frown mean he’s
concentrating, processing. “How small is your—”

Effie snaps her fingers. The food appears on the plate suddenly. “Let’s eat, shall we?” Her
tone attempts to be light, but it’s strange.

Judging by how everyone is eating, it’s finger food. Regulus’ stomach is so shrunken, he
doesn’t have an appetite at all. He stares at the food, lets the steam warm his face, and closes
his eyes at the good smell. It makes his stomach roil, though. The only thing he’s been able to
get down is water.
“Thank you, Euphemia, but I ate before I got here.” A lie. She reaches for her empty glass.
“What’s your elf’s name, again?”

“They freed Tinky,” Sirius says coldly, “Because that’s what good people do. They don’t
partake in literal slavery—”

“Oh, here we go with your radicalism.”

Fleamont sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Can we please not talk about politics at the
dinner table?”

Effie’s head jerks back. “It’s not politics, Flea, it’s cruelty.”

“I’m trying not to start the next blood feud in my dining room, Euphemia—”

Something spills out of James’ arepa. He jerks forward, eyes wide. “Oh, shit. Anyone have a
napkin?”

“Language!” Effie and Monty yell.

“Regulus eat,” Walburga says.

“Not hungry.” He winces and rubs at his raw throat. He’s been screaming a lot lately. His
vocal cords are shot.

“Eat,” she says sharply. It silences the table, and hot fury and embarrassment crawls down his
spine and makes his fists clench.“I know it’s not the food you’re used to, but Kreacher isn’t
making you anything when we get home. It’s this or nothing. Be grateful you’re getting
anything at all.”
When Regulus eats too much, he’s unhealthy and gluttonous. When he doesn’t eat enough,
he’s ungrateful and starving himself. Regulus picks up the arepa and takes a huge bite, almost
unhinging his jaw while staring down his mother. “It’s delicious, ma’am. Thank you.” He
turns towards his plate and nibbles at it slowly, letting the flavors melt over his tongue. He
Aguamenti’s his glass full.

“See was that so difficult? You are so picky. It’s like trying to feed a dog it’s appropriate food
when all he eats is human’s.” Walburga loves subtle jabs, but this one makes Regulus
disgusted.

“Mother,” Regulus scolds.

“What, Regulus? What now?”

He grabs his glass, but his nerves spasm, opening his hand. The glass falls, spilling water
over the table. He grinds his teeth together, testing his hand for any more faulty movements.
“My apologies,” he says, and uses another round of wandless magic to dry the spill.

Sirius’ face is pale. “You’re using Crucio on him?”

Walburga laughs, but it’s a split second too late. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I know Crucio nerve damage when I see it,” he yells, standing up. “You did it to me!”

“I don’t know who you think you are, talking to your mother like this—”

“You are not my mother!” Sirius yells. Walburga flinches. “You are not my mother!”

“Sirius Orion Black—”

“Why are you even here, huh? Don’t you have people to torture, children to stuff with
propaganda?”

“I’m here because your so-called brother almost corrupted my son!” Her face is stony and
aristocratic with its sharp angles and cutting words. And, yep. She pulls out that dastardly
photo and slaps it on the table. “I did not spend seventeen years of my life raising this boy so
he could become some mudblood-loving queer with no legitimate heirs!”

“Oh my God,” Remus spits, disgusted. He covers his mouth with his hand.

James’ face leeches of all color. Without the context of the conversation, the image looks
damning. Both of their faces are earnest and determined, close enough to kiss. Regulus’
eyebrows are furrowed, eyes focused on James like they’re two young, star-crossed lovers.
As if their love It’s quiet like everyone’s brains have shut off from an overload. There’s
nothing to say. There’s nothing to think about. The evidence is there, clear and to the point.

“I’m not stupid. I know the consequences, and I don’t care—”

“You will care.”

Regulus hates that he’s always right.

“What is this?” Effie asks, voice quiet. “What is this, bēṭā?”

Sirius is strangely quiet, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He closes his eyes and breathes in
through his nose and out through his mouth.

“It’s not—” His shocked face looks around the table. “It’s not what it looks like! We were
talking!”
“What conversation requires you to be this close to my son?” Walburga presses. It’s personal
for her, that a Potter almost seduced her son when he already lured in her other one. When
Fleamont did the same to her. “Regulus, what is it that the Diviners say?”

“You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination,” he replies tonelessly.
“If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination;
they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.”

Fleamont rises, his face red with fury. “You will not touch my son!” he yells. It’s so loud, and
it makes Regulus’ ears ring. Like thunder through the sky, lightning ire flashing in his eyes.
James is embarrassed, trembling, staring down at his lap. Eupehmia’s eyes are teary.

Walburga flinches. “Of course I—”

“We let you in our house despite your disgusting and vile views on human life. We feed you
and you have been nothing but ungrateful and selfish. Then you dare to threaten my family?
You outed my son before he could tell us. Get out. You are not welcome here.”

“Fleamont,” she says, aghast.

“Get. Out,” he seethes. The house starts to shake, the lights flickering off and on. The dishes
clatter against each other, and everything is quivering. Regulus grits his teeth as his whole
body vibrates, shuddering his sensitive nerves as his magical core ignites at the magic.

“You’re all deranged!” Walburga screams, and she Disapparates.

Once Regulus’ nerves settle, and the quiet becomes too much, he picks up the arepa and takes
another bite. His stomach is so empty, a constant void, that he eats more, and more, the juices
dripping down his fingers and onto the plate. He knows he’ll make himself sick and that his
stomach has shrunken too much, but he doesn’t care. Regulus’ fingers spasm when he picks
up the second one, but he tries again and ends up eating it in less than a minute.
He then gulps down his glass of cold, refreshing water that he can feel go down. He manages
to hold in a burp. Regulus sighs happily and looks up. He doesn’t care much for the stares,
especially since he’s eaten something substantial for the first time in weeks.

“Do you want more, bēṭā?” Effie asks softly.

“No, thank you.”

“You can have more,” Sirius says. He swallows. “They don’t judge you if you eat more
here.”

Regulus hesitates. But if Potter’s parents are anything like him, he shouldn’t have anything to
worry about. Effie’s face is open and warm, the same smooth brown James has, and Regulus
finds himself nodding.

“Regulus,” Monty asks. “Are you dating my son?”

“Papa! Por favor—”

“No, sir,” Regulus answers. “I’m sorry for the disturbance, but I’d recommend updating the
ward and Floo access. Bellatrix knows.” Regulus looks up, suddenly, and it’s not quite an
Imperio, but there is magic behind his words. “Don’t tell anyone, not even Peter.”

“Bellatrix?” Sirius says, appalled. “She’s in Azkaban.”

Regulus blinks at the stupidity. “Well, obviously not.” He scowls. “I thought Gryffindors
were brave, not slow.”

“Not all of us live in the same house with her, you tosser.”
“I don’t live with her,” he snaps. He forgot how infuriating Sirius and his special brand of
insanity is. “If you paid any attention at all to the news in the papers instead of the Quidditch
scores, you would’ve realized that Skeeter reported a disturbance in Azkaban about two
months after you left. The Ministry cut a deal with her to keep her mouth shut, but she ran the
story anyway, without saying that Bellatrix escaped. If the Ministry declared that Bellatrix
escaped, there’d be mass hysteria and questions on how she broke out in the first place.

“I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting for her to bounce back this quickly, but with the amount of
Death Eaters feeling bitter and disappointed after the Dark Lord’s death, it’s only a matter of
time before they feel strong enough to strike.”

“So you don’t think it was a bad idea I told Dumbledore?” Remus says blandly.

“No, I do. Just know that if a war ever does start, you’ll be the first one he throws out there
for his so-called greater good. I should’ve never let you explode at Snape. Should’ve never
helped you with your wandless magic.”

“You didn’t let me do anything—”

“Stop,” Fleamont says. He holds up a hand sternly. “I need you to start from the beginning.
What did you tell Dumbledore?”

“Yes, Moony, what did you tell Dumbledore?” Sirius asks.

Regulus waves a hand at him. He thanks Effie quietly for another plate. “If you think about it,
it’s all Potter’s fault.”

“Me?” His eyes grow wide. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!”

“You were in the Forbidden Forest, where you not? You triggered Dora’s prophecy.”
Sirius butts in. “Prophecy? What the hell, Prongs? Why didn’t you say anything!”

“I didn’t know it was a prophecy, I thought she was high or drunk! I—” He jerks back. “Wait
a minute, I confirmed that stag was me!”

“Oh, please.” Regulus rolls his eyes. “Your names are Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot, and
Moony, and your stag has fur that looks like glasses. Let’s stop pretending it was much of a
secret.”

“Oi! You thought it had something to do with our. . . Patronuses? Patroni?” Remus frowns.
“Oh, who cares?”

“You told him already?” James groans. He shuffles around in his pocket before putting some
Knuts in Sirius’ awaiting palm.

“Oh spare me, it was an accident!”

“Exactly, Prongs. Almost like how you accidentally held my brother in a loving embrace.”
Sirius tries to pretend he’s cool with it, but he’s silently fuming.

James shrugs and leans back. “I warned you I liked him. And it wasn’t an accident.”

“It also wasn’t loving,” Regulus says, pointing out the obvious.

There are varying degrees of, “Yes, it was,” exasperated groaning, or “Shut up.” Regulus
rolls his eyes.

“Boys,” Euphemia says sternly. “What I’m hearing is that you have a prophecy about Death
Eaters, you’ve been gallivanting through the Forbidden Forest, Remus has done something to
that poor Severus boy again, Bellatrix has escaped prison, and the Death Eaters are
regrouping like never before.”
They all blink at her, realizing the weight of what she’s saying. James sucks in a sharp breath,
rubbing his hand on the back of his neck and leaning on the two back legs of his chair. “Well,
when you say it like that. . .”

“Wait a second,” Remus says. “You didn’t say anything about the Animagi, you knew about
it.” Remus raises an eyebrow and looks expectantly at Sirius.

“Damn it,” he mutters. He reaches into his pocket and gives the Knuts he just earned to
Remus.

“Hey!” James says, offended, a cute crease in between his eyebrows. “You expected me not
to tell my mum?”

“Come on, mate. We knew you would. Remus was betting on it happening in school, Peter
when we got out and the guilt ate you alive, and me never.”

Even Regulus wrinkles his nose. “Never?”

James points at him. “Thank you!”

Sirius shrugs. “Too much hope.”

His last word hangs in the room like an executioner’s axe. It eventually falls on Remus, and
his smile dims. The room quiets, the walls waiting with bated breath like the roof will
collapse. As if the world will fall apart like a sandcastle in high tides.

Sirius’ face twists in horror. “Moony, I didn’t realize—”

“It’s okay. Really, Pads.” Remus smiles sadly and stands up. “It’s been a long day. I just want
to get some rest.”

Sirius stands, but James places one hand on his shoulder, shaking his head sharply and
following Remus out. Eupehmia tosses Regulus a frown, shaking her head. “Poor boy. His
mum died.”

Hope. Hope died. Hope is dead. Remus is grieving Hope. Regulus’ vision tunnels as his brain
connects the information faster than he can handle it. He misheard the poem. It wasn’t Aware,
it was A were.

An executioner is naught without the master,

Delirious and crazed, she draws an army,

Which day by day, the numbers grow faster,

A were with a teacher whose beginning is starry,

He must draw on the grief of Hope,

It all rests on the fate of the. . .

Lycanthrope. It wouldn’t be in the rhyming dictionary because it’s too sensitive of a topic to
be put in a school library with First Years. Regulus leans back in his chair, his heart beating
out of his chest. “Holy shit,” he says.

Remus is the one in the prophecy.

 James Joint
Chapter Notes

James' interlude!

How you live and love like “fuck rules?”

Don’t care why, just know I love you

-Rihanna

When Regulus finally leaves, James releases a huge breath and puts his head between his
thighs. His heart is beating wildly, his blood hot and loud. James has never wanted to kiss
anyone so bad. The minute he came down those stairs, he wanted to gather Regulus in his
arms and never let go. He wanted to kill Walbruga for making him look so miserable and
thin. He wanted to banish everyone in the room so it was only him and Regulus so they could
finally talk. The back and forth and push and pull are killing him. If Regulus gave him a
chance, he could make him so happy.

Merlin, if Regulus gave James one hour, James would stop complaining about everything.
He’d shut up, never prank again, do all his schoolwork, and spin around on his broom
daydreaming and sighing dramatically like a lovesick idiot. James would make googly eyes
at him, soaking in his very presence because the existence of Regulus Black is a miracle, and
he’d dance when Regulus said dance.

He’s pathetic.

He doesn’t really care.

It’s different from Lily. There wasn’t some big moment that opened his eyes and changed him
completely. He’s not proud of it, but in his mind, Lily was something he was supposed to
like. She’s fiery, beautiful, smart, kind, and a girl. He was spoiled, confused, and knew how
much his parents loved each other. In his mind, they were meant to happen. They were the
next great big love story. He was scheming in his dorm when it hit him: he doesn’t care. The
planning made him excited. It was fun. The pranks and the planning and the will they, won’t
they? were so fun that James realized he could’ve done it with anyone, and it wouldn’t
matter.

And he started to wonder. Would he feel the same about her in ten years? Twenty? Waking up
next to her, starting a family with her, kissing and loving and being madly and passionately in
love with her until he died. His knee-jerk reaction was yes. But he sat there, thinking, and he
realized he loved her the way he loved Marlene, the way he loved Mary and Peter and
Remus. He was fooled by himself because his heart ticked when he thought of her.

But he wasn’t thinking of her, was he? It’s hard for him to tell sometimes. It’s all love. He
loves Quidditch. And Sirius. His parents. The way Alice smiled and laughed at his jokes, and
how Frank hugged him fresh out of the shower after a brutal match.

James realized that he could have been making an elaborate birthday gift for Sirius, and he’d
be just as excited as he would be if he were making it for Lily. And he does love her! It was
just always platonic. Lily’s fantastic, and James hopes someone will love her how they’re
supposed to.

And Reg. . . Regulus is brutally honest. Honest to the point of mean and uncaring and rude.
James wouldn’t have touched him with a ten-meter pole. But then the forest happened, and he
saw Regulus’ face light with laughter. He glowed in the early morning light. It was like
staring at the sun for too long. When he looked away, all he could see was that smile. All he
could hear was his bubbling, sweet laughter. It wasn’t something that Regulus could do for
him. He wasn’t admiring the way he caught a Snitch or the way he drew or the way he made
James feel. It was natural. He liked the core of Regulus before he started to like anything else
about him.

And, Merlin, it was all downhill from there, wasn’t it?

It quickly spiraled into an obsession. He found himself chasing his rude remarks, finding
relief in his scowls, asking his father how to brew better potions. Watching Regulus is like
witnessing fine art. There’s power in his every move. It’s all cutting, precise. So beautiful and
so smart. Suddenly, he wasn’t mean any more, he was funny and challenging. His ego wasn’t
annoying, it was well-earned.

James would watch as Regulus gave something his all. Regulus’ brow would be furrowed in
rapt attention at his art or in his potions, and James would do anything to get Regulus to look
at him like that.

James wants to find what’s behind the scowls and sophisticated sniffs and get to that sweet
centre where his laughs come from. He wants to unravel the mystery of Regulus Black and
never be tired. James wants the crude and snappy comments so he can respond with a smile.
He wants Regulus when he’s lovely and darling and soft.

James doesn’t care. He doesn’t know why, but he wants Regulus. He wants him bad.

James feels bad when Sirius punches him across the face later for messing with his brother.
He deserves it. That doesn’t stop the wanting, though. Sometimes it feels like nothing can. It
feels like they’re meant to happen.

Sometimes, it feels like they’re written in the stars.

 ACT FOUR: The Beast
Chapter Notes

second part of a double update!!!

content warnings

-discussions of abuse

-grief

And I’ll guess I’ll be getting another tattoo

Maybe pain will make me stop thinking of you

I spent twenty dollars

Just to feel

-Odie Leigh

On the day when everyone returns to Hogwarts, Remus goes back to his house. His absence
from school lasts at least two more weeks, and Remus doesn’t know what he’ll do with the
time. He wanders around the property and into the woods, batting rebellious branches out of
his way. It’s all very surreal. All of it. Regulus and his gaunt, emotionless body twitching and
vacant and gone at dinner last night doesn’t feel real.

Regulus Black isn’t someone who’s gone. He’s quiet, and sly, but you can always tell his
mind is working a thousand miles a minute. While talking to you, he’s also figuring out his
Arithmancy homework, planning his next masterpiece, wondering about a Quidditch strategy,
fretting about Bellatrix. When Remus is lucky, Regulus will completely check out mid-
conversation like he sometimes does, and they’ll sit in complete silence until they realize
they’ve left the real world behind.
Walburga must be a dreadful woman. Absolutely fucking abysmal. He knows she’s horrible,
but she hasn’t seen her before. She was all smoke and mirrors, a terrible villain in his best
friend’s world. But God, she was as vacant as her son. Her eyes were blank and empty.

And Mam being dead. . . It hasn’t sunk in yet. He’s cried and mourned and grieved but it felt
like crying for someone he’s never met. Crying over the idea and not the whole human that
she was. Having a dead parent is for other people. All of these atrocities hitting him left and
right are for other people. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him. It does feel like time’s
stopped, and it feels like he’s suspended in time, waiting for it in suspense to tick by again.

And you know what happens in this water, time?

He grew up here, and his mother taught him well. Remus picks wild berries and eats them
carefully, savouring the bitter and tough taste. He wanders most of the day, lazying about in
the forest, and taking a quick nap slumped against a tree. Remus awakes to the sound of
giggles.

“Before your father, I believed fairies were real. They’re quick-moving things, very light and
bright.”

“I think they’re real.”

“Really?”

“There’s all different types of magic. There’s so much we don’t understand yet. That he
doesn’t understand yet.”

“Let go of the yet, Rem. You’ll never understand some things, and that’s okay. Some things
don’t make much sense. When we die, it won’t matter how much we’ve learned. What will
matter is what we’ve done with it. How we’ve changed the course of history with our
knowledge and emotions.”
“Doesn’t it get lonely, though? I can’t imagine myself not being a part of something bigger
than me. I like to think that there’s more than that. When we die, we continue living through
the people we’ve taught, our children. They might not remember our name, but we’ll still be
there. Energy cannot be destroyed or made, it just is. We just are. We are born immortal.”

Mam looks at him. “I don’t know where you got your smarts from, but it wasn’t your father
and it certainly wasn’t me. Don’t lose it, Remus. Don’t lose that brain of yours. Don’t lose
that heart and soul, either.”

Remus blinks through his tears. He didn’t lose his heart and soul, it was taken by her when
she left. Remus gets it now, why Regulus never wants to draw again. I’d be like carving your
heart out just to stare at it, just to make sure you still have it. Bodies are nothing. Bodies get
destroyed. Bodies get blown to pieces, ripped apart, hurt, dissected. The heart, though? The
heart, the mind, the soul? Those are immortal.

He never wishes to make love with anything more than the body.

“Where have you been?” Lyall asks the minute Remus steps into the house. It’s cold in there.
It’ll always be cold. The fireplace is out. The floors haven’t been swept and the fridge is
filled with takeout. There is no love in this house, there is no care. Without her as a mask, he
can see the bare bones of it, the startling, horrible insides. “I must find some poetic figure,”
Baldwin wrote. Is there not one everywhere one looks?

“I spent last night at the Potters, and then I came home, tended to the garden, spent some time
in the woods. . .” Poetry is spelled out in the bark of trees, in the whistle of the wind flowing
between blades of grass. Poetry gets ripped apart to comfort the reader, and in that is a sick,
comforting juxtaposition.

“The woods? There are bears in there, Remus. You shouldn’t be there. It’s dangerous.”
Remus snorts. “I thought there was nothing more dangerous than me.” He’s silent then, and
Remus feels good knowing he’s won. He walks into the kitchen and puts on his mother’s
apron, whistling. His mother isn’t here, but she’s happy. Remus has to keep remembering
that. He has to find some poetic figure. . .

“You’re in human form, Remus.” Lyall had followed him.

“I am dreaming of the mountains of my home.” Remus sings it like a jaunty pub tune instead
of an opera. It’s a song Lyall has never heard because he’s not Welsh, and he’s never bothered
to care about anything Mam did. “Of the mountains where in childhood I would roam!”

“Remus! I’m trying to talk to—”

“I have dwelt ‘neath southern skies, where the summer never dies. But my heart is in the
mountains of my home.” Remus brings out a bowl and flour, eggs, lard, sugar, and some
currants he just picked. He’s making pice ar y maen, or as his father would call it, Welsh
cakes. “I can see the little homestead on the hill, I can hear the magic music of the Rhyl!
There is nothing to compare, with the love that once was there!”

“Remus!” Lyall grabs him and spins him around. “You can’t disappear like that, are you
crazy? You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Lyall looks older, his skin wrinkled and sagging. Remus used to be angry. He used to be
angry at anything and everything, but he’s learned that sometimes caring isn’t worth it.
Caring is conditional. Right now, his father seems like a weary old man because his wife
died. But when Remus goes to bed tonight, he’ll be reminded of all the times Lyall left her
alone like a house elf he didn’t have to talk to. He’ll be reminded of all the times Lyall
ignored him when he tried to talk about his books and the stars, how Lyall treated him like a
pesky untrained dog. How he always viewed Remus as a burden.

He cocks his head, realizing that the way he’s thinking can’t be healthy, but it’s the truth. The
truth he’s hidden from himself so he could go through rounds and rounds of useless self-
loathing and hatred, and for what? So he didn’t have to admit that his father was a bad
person? So he doesn’t have to admit that as much as he loves his mother, Remus raised
himself more than she did? He shouldn’t have to think about other people’s feelings in his
own thoughts. “In the lonely little homestead on the hill,” Remus whispers. “I can see the
quiet churchyard down below—”

Lyall pushes him away. He walks out of the kitchen.

“Where the mountain breezes wander to and fro!” Remus calls after him. “And when God my
soul will keep, it is there I want to sleep. With those dear old folks that loved me long ago!”

Lyall comes back with a belt in his hand, probably because he can’t do much magic without
his wand. Remus smiles, half out of his mind and absolutely crazed. “With those dear old
folks that loved me long ago,” he repeats softly, for dramatic effect, of course. His friends
have rubbed off too much on him.

Lyall strikes him with the belt, and it does hurt, but it doesn’t hurt as much as The Prank did,
or as much as full moons do. Lyall is just a man, and just as he often points out, Remus is a
werewolf. He’s stronger than anyone credits him for.

No one moves. “You wanna try that again?” Remus asks softly. Lyall does, his mouth
twisting into something ugly and deformed, eyes blazing with power he doesn’t own or have.
It’s quite pathetic. Remus knows sixteen-year-olds who could do more damage than him.

Remus winces and grabs the belt mid-swing when it starts to sting. He rips it out of his
father’s hands, but can’t use magic to vanish it. So instead, he hits his father with the belt. It’s
freeing and shocking and powerful, and nothing like his mother would have wanted. Nothing
like his friends would expect. The soft, quiet, meek parts of himself get hidden away. He hits
him again, and a sick sense of strong vibrancy flows through him when Lyall raises his arms
to protect himself.

Remus drops the belt at Lyall’s feet. “I’m not stuck in this house with you,” Remus tells him.
“You’re stuck in this house with me.”

He turns to his bowl and starts to drone. “I am dreaming of the mountains of my home. . .”
 —

Remus started it, and now Regulus has to finish it.

He’s decided not to get heir status from Sirius, because it doesn’t interfere with his plans yet.
Grimmauld Place and Kreacher are bound to respect anyone of Black blood, so it’s not like
he’ll be turned away from his house. Access to Gringotts’ vault might pose a problem, but
Regulus received a sizeable amount of inheritance from his father’s death. His family should
be able to draw money from the vaults if it’s not a tremendous amount. Only then will Sirius
be notified and asked to confirm.

Regulus will be free if his plan works, and Sirius will manage the House of Black. It’s the
least he could do. It could crash and burn, but Sirius has been raised since birth to do it. He’s
had extensive lessons and explanations that Regulus didn’t get, so he should be able to keep it
afloat for at least a couple of years.

Regulus sits at his desk in the Room of Requirement, so far, his plan works like this:

He’s unsure where Bellatrix will hit, but he knows she’ll go somewhere big. She’s not
interested in a government takeover, what she’s interested in is people realizing that Death
Eaters are right by immense displays of power. She’s going to gather her troops and deploy
somewhere like the Ministry of Magic, a Quidditch tournament, fuck, maybe even Hogwarts
if she’s deranged enough. Bellatrix needs it to be somewhere that will get coverage. Her
attacks aren’t even making headlines any more.

Remus is already prophesied to be the star of the war, so wherever Bellatrix hits, Regulus,
Remus, and the Order of the Phoenix will be there to intercept it. The problem is that they
don’t know where the battle will happen or when. He can make a war strategy for every
place, but he wouldn’t even be able to give it to the Order because there’s already a mole. His
little character break at the Potters’ was dangerous for his cover.
So Regulus will have to bring Remus into the fold but no one else, be extremely meticulous
with his planning, making sure his plans don’t have any holes. He’ll have to have eyes
everywhere to be prepared for when the attack does happen, and make a way to send for
Dumbledore quickly while also getting him to believe that Regulus isn’t tricking him. Oh, he
should also teach himself how to Apparate, too.

Simple stuff.

Regulus pops a Calming Draught.

First on his list is building that relationship with Dumbledore, and then by extension building
his relationship with the Order. Before he goes to dinner, he drafts a letter with the prophecy
and where to send his responding letter written down, except he writes it with his left hand so
his handwriting isn’t identifiable. He’ll send it with magic directly to Dumbledore’s office
during breakfast tomorrow when the owls come down, so his magical signature isn’t the only
one on it. He’ll find a way to trick other people into sending them for him, that way every
time it sends, it’s a different magical signature, therefore being able to be anyone. By doing
this, he’ll be able to build a link of trust with Dumbledore so when the time comes, he won’t
hesitate to act.

He signs it off with The Stars, his nerves conveniently twitching to make it look even
messier, which will make it look like he was the one who made the prophecy. He cracks his
back against the chair and heads off to dinner.

When he’s only a few steps from the Great Hall, he gets pulled into an alcove off to the side.
Regulus’ training kicks in before he can stop it, grabbing his attacker by the shoulders and
driving a knee into their crotch. No matter the gender, it hurts like hell.

The person groans pained enough that he can tell it’s a male, and then Regulus realizes he’s
holding onto nothing. He blinks, but even though he can feel shoulders beneath his palms, he
can’t see anything. He yanks off where the hood to an Invisibility Cloak would be, and James
Potter’s floating head, face scrunched up in pain, reveals itself.

“You fucking idiot,” Regulus breathes.

“Yup.” He gasps. “Wasn’t my best idea.”

They spend the next five minutes standing next to each other while James catches his breath
and whimpers through the pain. Regulus rolls his eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I know. You wanna kiss it better?”

Regulus rolls his eyes again and looks away to hide his small blush. He does feel a little bad,
but James shouldn’t be grabbing and manhandling people who walk past him, especially
Slytherins. It was self-defense.

James tosses his head back and groans. “I just wanted to talk to you. You seemed busy
yesterday.”

Regulus’ heart flutters against his will. “Why didn’t you write me?”

James’ mouth falls open. “Excuse me! I Flooted you a million times!”

“Flooted?” Regulus digs into his robe pocket and finds his parchment. James’ latest message
is him begging Regulus to answer. He must’ve been to busy to notice the buzzing.

“There’s nothing better to call it.” He shrugs.

Regulus scowls. “Well, I’m here now.”

James opens his mouth, closes it, then shakes his head. “I—well, it’s kind of a long—”

Regulus hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and he doesn’t want to stand here listening to
James bumble on. “Spit it out,” he snaps.
“Will you go out with me?” James asks in one big rush, words stumbling all over each other
like he’s afraid he’ll lose the courage.

Regulus blinks, strong deju vu washing over him. Did he not remember what happened two
days ago? “Do you not remember what happened two days ago? Are you slow?”

“Exactly, the worst has already happened—”

“I almost died,” Regulus says quietly. James freezes, his thoughts and words getting sucked
up into an invisible vacuum. “My life might not be as good as yours, but that doesn’t mean I
want to change it. I don’t want to die for you, Potter. I don’t want to die for anyone ever
again.” What did Baldwin say again? “You want to leave Giovanni because he makes you
stink. You want to despise Giovanni because he is not afraid of the stink of love.” And if
James is Giovanni, then Baldwin is right.

“What? She—” James blinks, and Regulus watches as he gains consciousness. As he realizes
that the people around him aren’t a book series that he needs to catch up with once in a while.

“She Crucio’d me every day. She forgot to feed me sometimes, give me water.” He shrugs.
“She ordered Kreacher not to help me.” He rolls his left sleeve up, feeling oddly detached.
“This hurt a lot too.”

James doesn’t flinch or recoil or curl his lip in disgust. His eyes start to water, and he
hesitates before touching him, giving him time to pull away. His hands are gentle as they
graze the disgusting ink, fingers roaming over the squirming mark. “Are you. . .” He clears
his throat. “Are you okay now?”

“I’m fine,” he whispers. Regulus nods his head, and James nods along with him, hopeful and
scared. “It’s not your fault. It would’ve happened soon, anyway. I don’t want to take any
more chances.”
“They touched you,” James says slowly. “She branded you like cattle.” His words are sharp,
made for cutting, but his touch is still soft, still warm.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.” He shakes his head. “None of this is okay. You deserve to be happy. I don’t
understand why they’re so cruel. They are so cruel to you.”

“It has to be done, Potter.”

His eyebrows furrow.

“Someone has to do it.” Regulus swallows thickly.

A breath punches out of him. “No, no, no. You aren’t going to die, Regulus. I won’t let you
become some martyr.”

“How many people do you think are telling their loved ones the same thing right now?”
James flinches then, and he pulls back. Regulus smiles weakly. “I’m not special, Potter. I’m
not exempt from death because there are a few people who care about me.”

James leans on the wall. “I don’t want to talk about this any more.”

“Okay,” Regulus says. He’s realized that James cares for him and wants him in some way.
But there is a real possibility that he could die, and he’ll have to prepare James for that
chance, no matter how slim. He’ll have to prepare Dorcas and Pan, too. Remus will have to
do the same. “We should probably go to dinner before the good food’s gone.”

“Yeah,” James says. His voice is hoarse and raspy. A tear falls down his face. “Yeah.”
When Regulus sits down at the table, he’s already exhausted. The Great Hall is as loud as it
always is, and most of the good food is gone. Pandora and Dorcas keep prodding him to find
out where he was, and Barty and Evan are fighting again.

And while Regulus is mid-bite (!!!) Lestrange has the nerve to ask if he really got marked. It
isn’t quiet. Barty and Evan stop fighting, Dorcas and Pan stop prodding, and everyone around
them at the table stops talking. If Regulus doesn’t say he was marked, he seems weak, if he
does, then rumors will spread and he’ll be in Dumbledore’s office in a week.

He turns around, faces Lestrange, looks him up and down, and says, “What do you think?”
He turns back to his plate while Lestrange stutters, not answering any more questions, and
eats.

He can’t believe his life has been reduced to this: playing games like a toddler. Send him
back to the womb if this was the glorious purpose he was bred for. Regulus will be enraged if
he dies in battle. He hasn’t gotten to do anything much of anything yet. Remus had to force
him to his first party, and it wasn’t so bad.

Regulus would like to have the chance to live. Regulus would like to have a choice at all: not
these recurring, life-changing ones, but the frivolous ones, what should I wear tomorrow
ones. Every day is a wizard chess game for him, one wrong move and he’s dead. Every day
he has to prove that he’s enough so he doesn’t get thrown out.

Regulus would like a day where nothing matters for a while. He’d like that. Before he goes to
bed that night, before he can think about it too much, he writes to James on his special
parchment.

Hogsmeade is in three Saturdays. Meet me in the Great Hall. Noon. Look presentable, for
once. And don’t get comfortable.
 Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-mild depictions of violence/fear

You know you can’t hold me forever

I didn’t sign up with you

I’m not a present for your friends to open

This boy’s too young to be singin’ the blues

-Elton John

I suppose you’re the one who made the poem, then?

It took Dumbledore long enough. Regulus doesn’t appreciate his teasing, carefree tone. He
probably thinks it’s a big joke played by a First Year.

Frowning, Regulus writes, I suppose I know that Bellatrix Lestrange broke out of Azkaban on
the 12th of January, last year. And I didn’t make the poem, it’s a prophecy. One that has
helped me more than you ever will. It’ll help Dumbledore realize that this isn’t a game. That
Regulus isn’t joking. He sits back in his chair, satisfied.

And then Regulus changes his outfit three times. He’s Leo, so it’s harder to tell if the colours
clash with his skin tone. He quickly sprays Evan’s strong cologne he never wears over his
pulse points, and he walks out before he can think about what he’s doing.

What is he doing?
Stupid Remus and his stupid have fun before you die ideology. Because he’s never felt like
this before. Regulus is in perfect control of his body. He has to be. But now his palms are
sweaty and shaking, even with the Calming Draught he took. His stomach clenches
repeatedly in pain even though he’s had breakfast, and his heart is beating like it’s about to
leap right out of his chest.

Maybe it’s a sign. Perhaps he should call it off right then and say he’s not feeling well. James
will understand, won’t he? Oh, of course, James would understand.

Regulus gets there first, so he has more time to contemplate whether he’s too young to have a
heart attack. The room is decidedly packed—Regulus did that on purpose—so they could
blend more easily into the crowd. And when James walks in, he literally turns heads. Regulus
is sure that he’s having a heart attack because James looks, James looks—

He has to turn around so James won’t find him as fast. James is wearing a tight T-shirt with
open-cut, ankle-length robes. His hair is miraculously pushed back and wet. There’s a watch
on his wrist that he uses to check that he’s ten minutes late. He looks around, clenching his
defined, sharp jaw, and pushes his glasses up his nose. He looks older. Sophisticated.

Regulus somehow walks towards him. James looks around, catches Regulus’ eye, and smiles.
It lights Regulus from the inside out, that smile. Everything that had looked different fades
away. It’s just James, kind and loving James Potter. No matter how he looks or acts, at his
core, he’s the same. Regulus was being dramatic. Just because he looks a little different, this
is the same James that blushes when Regulus speaks, touches, and acknowledges him. He has
nothing to be worried about.

But then Regulus realizes he can see the outline of his abs through the tight, fitted shirt, and
most of it goes out the window.

“Hey, love.” His voice is soft and quiet, and so are his eyes. James slides his hands into his
pockets and jerks his head. “Ready to go?”

Regulus has lost the ability to speak, so he grunts with a nod. It’s cold. Snow glistens on the
trees still like crystals. It snowed just last night.
“Hopefully I meet the dressing requirement.” James squints because it’s bright from all the
snow, his smile is wicked. “What shop do you want to go to first?”

What Regulus had meant by look presentable was for him to shave and put on shoes that
aren’t three seconds from falling apart. Not dress like they’re going to some version of a
Potter black tie event or going fine-dining, for fuck’s sake. He’s not complaining too much
though.

Regulus shrugs. “Wherever you want to go.” He doesn’t know Hogsmeade well.

James smiles like he’s planning something, like he’s about to make Regulus eat his words. “I
know the perfect place.”

He drags him through the whole town, past The Three Broomsticks, that horror pink shop
(thank Merlin), and even the Hog’s Head Inn. They stop in the middle of two dilapidated
buildings. The narrow passageway between them is filthy, and there’s barely anyone around.
James steps into the alleyway and sinks onto the floor, his back pressed against one building.
He gestures for Regulus to do the same.

“Are you insane?” He’s wearing real, galleon-worthy clothes this time, not cheap Conjured
ones. He’s never sat in the dirt comfortably anywhere, and he’s certainly not going to in the
middle of a village. And, Salazar Slytherin himself, is that a rat scurrying by?

“Reg. . .” James says quietly, not begging, but waiting. Regulus did say he’d let James pick,
and he supposes he should have a little trust in him. That doesn’t mean he has to be happy
about it.

He wades through and uses a Scorgify on the ground—because he hasn’t completely lost his
mind—before he sits opposite James, their folded legs brushing each other. He then
Scorgify’s his hands, back, and the wall quickly before relaxing a little with a prim sniff.
James is a little more than a little amused, the corner of his mouth ticked up and hidden
behind his hand.
“Don’t laugh,” Regulus snarls.

“Oh, never, love.” James lays his head on his tucked arms with a smile and a shrug. “Who
knows what could be lurking? Chlamydia, herpes, gonorrhea. . .”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he lets himself smirk. “You are such a fool.”

James groans as if he’s personally offended by Regulus’ reaction. “Oh, come on. How do I
earn a toothy grin from you? Maybe even a hearty laugh if I’m a good boy.”

“Hmm. I’d start as to why you dragged me all the way out here. I’m very busy, you know,
I’m supposed to have this date pretty soon. . .”

“Oh, I see,” he says with a satisfied smirk. They’ve never bantered like this before, flirted
like this before. Only sharp, hurtful words from Regulus met with smiles and delight from
James. “Is that what this is, baby? I’m on a date with the Regulus Black.” He hums
thoughtfully while Regulus’ heart races. Baby, baby, baby. Since when have they graduated
to that? “Was it the muscle shirt that did you in?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he murmurs, eyes wandering. Baby, baby, baby. Love, love, love. James
adores love, doesn’t he? Cherishes everything about it. “I can’t see it very well.”

James smiles before peeling off his robes. Much better. Regulus places a Warming Charm so
he doesn’t get cold, along with some Disillusionment and Silencing spells just in case.

“Anyway, I thought you’d like being out here better. Away from all the people, you know? I
brought your art supplies, and we can sit here and draw for as long as you like. If you get
hungry, we can stop to get some food.”

“What about you?”

He grins and raises his eyebrows. “What about me?”

“That doesn’t seem fun for you. I can’t picture you settling down and doing nothing.”

“You don’t know me.”

I’d like to, Regulus thinks. He looks up at the grey sky. It’s always miserable in Scotland.
James unshrinks the art supplies he has in his pocket and passes a sheet of paper over to
Regulus. He keeps a sheet for himself and lays the arrangement of markers, pencils, etc. on
the ground.

“Scorgify the ground you imbecile,” Regulus snaps.

“Yes, my lion.” He squints. “Regulus is in the Leo constellation, right? Mi león, मेरे शेर,” he
teases.

“Mon lion,” he adds. That’s what it’d be in French. He presses the paper against his knees.
Regulus starts drawing his glasses because for him that’s the hardest part. He’s able to get the
general shape down, so he moves onto the eyes. Regulus can draw James from memory if he
wants to, but he’s trying to get the right angle. James furrows his eyebrows, grunts, and turns
his paper in all different directions. He keeps squirming and moving, and it’s making Regulus
agitated. “What are you doing? Stop moving.”

James perks up. He beams, an overexcited puppy. “You’re drawing me?”

“It’s not like there’s anything better to draw around here,” he mutters. “You want me to draw
the spider by your head instead?”

“Where!?” James screeches. He flinches forward and shakes his hair with his hands. “Fuck,
Godric, is it gone? Why didn’t you say something earlier!”
Regulus laughs at him as quietly as he can.

“Oh.” James’ shoulders relax, his face soft. “It’s a joke. You’re laughing.”

He bends down and hides his face so he can laugh louder. James is so fucking gullible, it’s
borderline scary.

“Oi!” James sounds like he’s fighting back a killer kind of giggle. “I have to make a fool of
myself to get you to laugh?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard for you, then, huh?” He draws James’ lips, full, plush, and pink.

“I will tackle you.”

Regulus lifts his head, smiling. Something takes over him, the cruelness leaving his body like
it always does when James is around. Having fun doesn’t seem like a bad idea. It doesn’t
seem dangerous. Nothing seems quite too bad when he’s around. “Do it.”

James lunges, his hands reaching for Regulus’ waist as Regulus laughs loudly in his face.
James’ fingers dig into his hips and drag him onto his lap, and Regulus is too busy feeling
free to notice. “You are so—” James starts.

Regulus starts to tickle him, fingers scuttling over his abs and the sides of his waist. His
stomach clenches as he giggles, trying to fend Regulus off. Eventually, James grabs Regulus’
wrists and stops him.

They catch their breath, grinning at each other like psychos. “Your hair’s all ruined,” Regulus
says. He should move off, he should stop this from happening. But James is so warm, and
Regulus is so cold. “You’re a wreck.”
James pouts. “It’s your fault.” He brings Regulus’ wrist to his mouth and places a soft kiss on
his pulse point. They both freeze. James looks up, his eyes wide. “Is this okay?”

Regulus swallows thickly and nods. This is his one chance to soak up happiness. He
shouldn’t let it go to waste by pretending they’re friends for their first and last date. “I like
your hair better this way.”

“Yeah?” James places one of his large hands against Regulus’ lower back and pushes him
closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. His head is fuzzy. “You look more like you.”

“What do I look like to you,” James mumbles, dazed. His hand is rubbing circles, slowly
hiking up Regulus’ robes to get to skin.

The sun. “Bright, kind,” he says shortly, snappily.

“Not too loud?” His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. He picks up his head, eyes
curious and focused on his lips. “It’s not too much for you?”

“Don’t be stupid.” James doesn’t seem too loud now. He’s quiet, subdued. Before he can stop
it, the truth slips out. “Never,” he whispers.

James discovers skin, his warm palm finding his icy skin. “You’re so cold, love,” he mutters,
then drags up his wrist to mouth there again. James’ kisses are small but frequent. Regulus
has lost his ability to think. His shields fall away, or maybe they’ve been knocked down for a
while now.

“Is this okay?” He sounds way too sober for Regulus’ liking. “I’m doing good?”
Regulus digs into his soft hair, dry and thick and luscious. “Less talking.” Regulus presses a
smile on James’ lips, then seizes them.

The hand on his back presses Regulus closer, and they both let out a moan. James tastes like
sunshine, like hope. His mouth is warm and wet and luxurious, letting out soft, ruined
sounds. It’s all for Regulus. He tightens the grip on his hair, pulling his head back and diving
in closer, those stupid glasses in the way.

Regulus knows now that he’s in too deep. That he’s in love or close to it. He can’t imagine a
universe in which he freely gives this up, where he’s brave enough to let James go with
someone else. The idea has him kissing harder, rutting closer, wanting to be the best, to stake
an obvious claim that James is his.

He wanders down James’ neck, smelling that sinful citrus and sandalwood, the scent that’s
purely him. It comes from his hair. It comes from his skin. It’s intoxicating and Regulus is
woozy and unsteady at finally being this close to the source that haunts his dreams. He sucks
on James’ neck, feeling the rumbles that come from James in his mouth. “Regulus,” he pants.
“Reg. . . fuck. You’re so good, so good.”

He hums and runs a hand up and down his arm, feeling the goosebumps he leaves in his
wake. His mouth travels lower, his hands reaching for the bottom of James’ shirt. But then,
James mutters quietly, “Wait.”

Regulus stops immediately and yanks himself away quickly. He’s slightly scared,
embarrassed that he let himself go so far. He goes to move off of James’ lap, but James
clamps down on his hips, not letting him go. “It’s not you, it’s me. Fuck, no. That’s not what I
meant.” James squeezes his eyes shut and licks his lips. “I have something to tell you before
we do anything else.”

There’s a pause of silence where Regulus is supposed to respond, but he’s terrified that James
will say that the same thing that happened to Regulus happened to him. He doesn’t want
James to have gone through that. He doesn’t want—he’s scared that—

James blows out a breath. “I trust you, a lot. You’re perfect, it’s just—I made this decision a
long time ago, and I want to stick by it. It’s really important to me, and I hope you understand
that it’s not some excuse, I just—”
Regulus is cold. “Say it!” he yells. “For fuck’s sake!”

“I’m waiting until marriage!”

Regulus blinks, then sighs in relief. “That’s it?” That fucking idiot had him about to piss his
pants for that? He rolls his eyes and scowls.

“I—” James says warily, his eyes tracking Regulus’ face. “Are you mad?”

A lot of purebloods believe in waiting until marriage so there’s not a chance of having
bastards. He assumes that James doesn’t care about babies out of wedlock, and instead wants
to give himself completely to his partner. James wants a fairytale love story, just like his
parents. “No, I’m not mad.” If anything, Regulus draws comfort in the fact that he doesn’t
have to tell James yet.

“Love, it’s okay if you’re mad,” James says softly. His thumb is rubbing reassuring circles on
his hip.

Regulus groans. “Shut up, Potter.”

“Well, you don’t look happy about it!”

“Do you want me jumping for joy?” Regulus barks. “You should tell people beforehand so
they don’t get any ideas. And if they get pissy you walk away. You’re worth more than some
trashy mark on someone’s list, you people-pleasing little shit.”

James’ eyes are wide. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” James’ hands are still on his waist. He sniffs. “So is snogging on the table or
what?”

James puts his hands on either side of Regulus’ face and brings them crashing together. It’s
better than it was before. James is intense and eager, his tongue pushing into Regulus’ mouth,
controlling the kiss. His hands fall from his face and back to his waist, making his hips roll,
grinding them together. Regulus gasps into his mouth, hands grasping for his shoulders. “You
okay?” James asks, out of breath.

Regulus presses his lips into James’ and dives right back into his hair, rubbing his scalp to get
him to take it easy. James gets lazier, hips stuttering, mouth slowing down, producing more
of those sweet sounds.

A flock of birds screech and flap their wings, agitated, and James pulls away with a smile.
Regulus kisses a pathway up his jaw and nibbles on his earlobe, still out of it. A cat meows
nearby, and Regulus digs his fingers into James’ hair, frustrated that the world won’t let him
have this moment. “Come on, Reg.” His hands are running up and down his torso. “I want to
get some food in you. There’s this great place—”

“Shush.” Regulus’ hair is standing up, and something is wrong. It’s quiet. Too quiet. The
flock of birds is flying away, the cat is scurrying down the street, and even that stupid rat is
nowhere to be seen.

James frowns. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The animals are leaving. The animals are worried.

They can tell when something’s wrong. Most humans have lost their animal instinct and
traded it for trust in Aurors and the Ministry. But animals have to have it to survive. They
know when their food source is dwindling, if a break of a branch is from predator or prey.
Regulus hasn’t lost it. And he trusts himself, he trusts nature, and he trusts that nature is
telling him to run.

He gets on his feet and hauls James up with him. “Reg, love, talk to me—”
There’s a whistle, not from a human or bird. It’s high-pitched and long-winded, unnatural.
Regulus turns his head to the sky, but it’s too late. He watches as a house across the street
bursts into flames, the wood splintering and exploding into pieces, some flying into their
alleyway. The heat and shock of the blast warms his face before James tackles Regulus into a
hug, pinning him against the wall. The Earth shakes. Someone down the street screams. His
mark pulses. The Dark Mark is looming above them in the sky.

It’s always miserable in Scotland.

“Merlin,” Regulus says. He digs his fingers into James. “We have to go.” Another explosion.
It makes Regulus’ ears ring and the ground tremble. Remus told him a story once. Him and
his mother throwing water balloons at each other one hot summer day. It feels like that, one
after another, never-ending. Except there’s no one there to protect them, no one here to help.

There are streaks of swirling black forms slicing through the sky. Regulus doesn’t move to
look out into the street. They’re lucky enough to be so far away from where the people are.
They’re less likely to get hit.

James tugs on his arm, but Regulus tugs him back, harder. “Wait,” he hisses. “Are you crazy?
Let’s think.”

“We have to go to Dogweed and Deathcap.”

That sounds like a joke. “What? No. We can’t go downtown, that’s where they’re bombing.
We can’t go to the woods because they’ll have men there waiting. They aren’t dumb enough
to strike the same building twice, so we go across the street to hide until the Aurors arrive.”

“You want to hide?” James says aghast. “We have to help people.”

“Potter, listen to me.” He clamps his hands on James’ face. “If you go out there, you will be
killed.”
“We have to try—”

“No, we don’t!” Regulus starts to tremble. “There are no Aurors, there is no backup, okay?
You are one man—no, one boy—against an entire army!”

James’ face screws up, eyebrows wrinkled. “I can’t let people die, Reg.”

“Potter!” Regulus screams. “You are not leaving, you stupid Gryffindor fuck!”

His mouth quirks on one side. He bends down and gives Regulus a quick, harsh, bruising kiss
that leaves him breathless.“Go to Honeydukes. There’s a trap door in the cellar. It takes about
an hour, but you can do it, okay? You’ll end up in the third-floor corridor in Hogwarts, and to
get out, say ‘Dissendium’ Or go to the Shrieking Shack. There’s a tunnel that’ll get you to the
Whomping Willow—”

“Please,” Regulus begs, desperate and pleading, seconds away from tears, because it sounds
like a goodbye. “James, please.”

“Oh, love,” James says, his thumb running over his soft skin. “How many people do you
think are telling their loved ones the same thing right now?”

Regulus opens his mouth, but there’s nothing he can say because those are his words. James
used his words against him.

“Sirius, Peter, and Remus are here, love. I can’t leave them behind.”

Regulus’ tears get sucked up. Remus came back to school? “Sirius? Remus?”

James sighs. “Yes. You see now? Do you see why I can’t run away?”
And Regulus, fuck. Regulus’ magic is two steps ahead of him. Destination, Determination,
and Deliberation, right? How hard can it be? Regulus digs his fingers into James and
imagines the outside of Hogwarts. There are anti-Appiration wards, so Regulus chooses the
Forbidden Forest. James can turn into a stag and he’ll be fine. Regulus squeezes his eyes shut
and calls to his magic, to the magic in the air around him.

He stops thinking.

It’s like getting pulled through a thin tube, his whole body compressed and flat. They land in
the forest, stumbling, and Regulus turns away to throw up. He has all of his fingers, and he
can wiggle all of his toes. James stares at him furious and flushed red, but he’s otherwise fine.

“Go get Dumbledore,” Regulus says before he can get a word in. His mark pulses again, and
he can’t ignore it this time. He cries out and falls to his knees, clutching his arm. Bellatrix is
calling.

James rushes to his side. “What is it? What—” Regulus sheds his robes and hikes up the
sleeve of his shirt. The Mark is squirming and hot. Regulus grits his teeth to stop from
screaming out. James is horrified, staring at the horrible, painful thing. “We—We have to get
to Pomfrey.”

“James,” Regulus begs. “Sweetheart.”

His head snaps up, and he’s crying silent tears. They’ve already been through the Great Fear,
and now they’re going through a war. His whole body is trembling. “We have to get you help
—”

“I’ll be fine, okay? Focus on Sirius, Remus, and Peter, they need more help than I do. Go get
Dumbledore, and tell him what’s going on.”

“Reg—”
He smiles. “I’m okay, sunshine. You can go.”

James is visibly torn, but Regulus surges up and kisses him. When his Mark pulses again, he
uses the pain to Apparate back to Hogsmeade.

It’s bad. It’s really bad.

The minute he Apparates inside, he wants to leave again. People are running everywhere, and
streaks of magic fly through the air on both sides of the field. Magic comes from the sky, the
ground, from the cackling laughter that follows a terrified scream. A curse hits the ground
beside him, and he gets blasted to the cobblestone. He groans and opens his eyes, his head
pounding from adrenaline, and looks into someone’s dead grey eyes. Regulus freezes, the
whole world slowing, as he watches blood drip from his head.

It’s a kid. Maybe a Third Year. . .

A man runs over his little body while trying to escape another blast, and he trips, falling to
the ground. Regulus finally gets to his feet. He could be alive. The kid could be alive. He
scoops him up, throws him over his shoulder, and starts to run. When he looks back, the man
is up on his feet and running again before a blast of green comes flying from above and
strikes him in the head. Regulus had gotten hit by a Bludger in the same spot.

Regulus doesn’t look back again.

He races through the square but doesn’t come into contact with werewolves or vampires. This
isn’t Bellatrix’s final plan, then. This isn’t the worst she can do. She’d bring out giants and
centaurs, any group of people the Ministry has wronged. Everyone’s screaming and crying
and there’s that whistle and sound of brooms slicing through the air. He whips around a
corner and comes face-to-face with someone in a Death Eater mask.

There’s a brief second where Regulus thinks he might die. Without thinking, he shows his left
arm. They look at it, put their wand down, nod at him, then continue running. Regulus has to
breathe for a couple of minutes before he can move on.

“Remus!” he shouts. His compass is shaking in his hand. He’s getting closer. There’s a
horrible gas in the air. Regulus can barely see or breathe. The smog comes in thick, and
Regulus coughs. “Sirius! Remus!” If he doesn’t find them soon, he’ll have to leave. He trips
over something, maybe someone, and he goes crashing down, the wind knocked out of his
lungs. It hurts. Everything hurts. There’s blood dripping from his mouth and from his split-
open palm.

He maneuvers the kid off his back and buries his head into his shirt. He should get to live.
Even if Regulus dies, he should get to live. Someone should protect him. Regulus coughs,
lungs screaming, and he thinks he’s going to die just as his father did.

A shadow emerges from the fog. Someone in a Death Eater mask stands over him with a
cocked head. They have a mask in their hands, and they force it onto Regulus’ face. He swats
the hand away once the mask is on and breathes. He almost cries because he can finally
breathe. He lies there, not wanting to think, but the shadow hauls him up.

Regulus stumbles to his feet, using the shadow as a crutch. They struggle through the fog, but
eventually make it inside a building. This is where Regulus leaves the kid he slung on his
shoulders. He’s heavy, and the building already has some damage to it, so it’s unlikely to be
hit twice. Regulus doesn’t want the kid to wake up and think he’s a hero. He doesn’t need that
on his conscience. He removes his mask and puts it on the little boy’s face.

The shadow forces him down the stairs into a cold, concrete basement. They open something
on the floor, and Regulus goes down the hole with no complaints. He’s not dumb. It doesn’t
matter if the person who saved him is a Death Eater or not, the person saved him. They
wouldn’t rescue him just to kill him right after.

“Regulus,” they say, and he blinks through the darkness.

A wand lights up with a Lumos, and Regulus is awarded with Remus’ big ugly face, and
Sirius’ big dumb one beside it. He could break down in relief. “You two shits.” His voice is
wrecked. He coughs.
“Where’s James?”

“I made him Side-Along with me to get out.”

“You Apparated?” Sirius says, stunned.

Regulus’ throat tickles. “First time for everything.”

“We tried it earlier,” Remus says, voice hollow. “Didn’t work. Other people tried, too. They
must’ve put up wards that only Death Eaters could get through.” His gaze falls to the ink on
Regulus’ arm.

“Over break,” he mutters.

Remus laughs dryly. “For fuck’s sake. Did anyone have fun?”

It’s silent, but then Sirius opens his big dumb mouth. “I did,” he whispers, trying to lighten
the mood. Remus has to suppress a smile but Regulus rolls his eyes.

“Where’s Peter?” he asks before he punches Sirius.

“Lost him in the crowd when it first started,” Sirius answers. He shakes his head. “So much
death. Someone was able to land a hit on one of the Death Eaters. A whole brawl broke out
over who could get the mask. I duplicated it.” The light on the wand flickers as Sirius looks
away, and Regulus can see the big shiner on his eye, already a nasty purple. “This one.” He
points a thumb at Remus. “Refused to leave until we found you all.”

Remus rolls his eyes with a small smile. “You refused to go, too.”
“Nah.” He sniffs and runs a finger under his nose. “I’m the smart one.”

They make eyes at each other in the middle of an active war zone. Unbelievable. Regulus
stands up and walks past them. “One of you send a Patronus to James.”

“And why can’t your lazy arse do it?”

Regulus turns around and looks his brother in the face. “I can’t.” He’s never been able to.
He’s seen specialists, tutors, French snobs his father found. No one can help him. “And don’t
tell him I’m with you, either.”

Sirius has no response to that, so Regulus continues walking. He hears their echoing steps
behind him. Soon enough, a wolf made of light trots past and disappears into the wall.

“What do we do when we get back?” Remus asks quietly. “Do we tell Dumbledore?”

“What is your obsession with him?” Regulus snaps. “Our heads of house have probably done
a head count and found out who’s missing. We’ll have Aurors there to check the memory if
our parents consent, and they’ll question us and send us to the hospital.”

“There’s no need to be snappy about it,” Sirius mumbles.

“Shut up,” they say simultaneously: Remus warily and Regulus biting.

The rest of the trip is silent. Remus and Sirius occasionally exchange a few hushed words,
but Regulus keeps to the front of the pack, fuming. He should’ve been warned that this was
happening. He should’ve predicted it. Hogsmeade is as public as it gets.

Once the pathway stops, Regulus goes to the back, feigning innocence on how to open the
passage. He Disillusions himself and sticks to the wall. The minute light spills in, he squeezes
past Remus and Sirius in a rush, hopefully unseen. He can’t afford to get caught up talking to
Aurors or Dumbledore because it’ll look like he’s snitching on the Death Eaters.

Just like he predicted, James is standing outside the statue with Dumbledore. He tackles
Sirius and Remus into a hug. It takes a while for him to peel away. He peers into the
darkness, and Regulus realizes he’s looking for him. His face is pinched up in concern and
he’s biting his nails restlessly. His expressions shutters when he doesn’t emerge.

It’s cruel to let James thinks he’s dead, so as they walk away, Regulus brings out his wrinkled
parchment and a quill from his pouch. I’m alive. Don’t worry, meathead.

And the smile that breaks through James’ face is completely worth it.

Regulus spends the rest of his day checking up on his friends and ensuring they’re alright.
Pandora was injured but can heal in the school infirmary, and everyone else is fine. He found
out Peter was crushed and found underneath the rubble of Fickle Fabrics. He was sent to heal
in St. Mungo’s.

Regulus also figures out that almost all of the Slytherin children stayed at the castle. A couple
of days later, Bellatrix sends a letter under an alias that says Walburga was supposed to tell
him, but conventionally forgot. It was probably supposed to be a test of allegiance and loyalty
that went wrong. Regulus’ excuse was that he was studying and didn’t know how to
Apparate. Barty and Evan are scared of him enough that they’ll go along with the story if
anyone asks.

But since he’s not a complete idiot, he goes to the infirmary the day he gets the letter from
Bellatrix. He feels fine and has run some basic diagnostic tests on his own, but it’s better to
be safe than sorry.
Madamn Pomfrey looks tired and worn-down. When she’s finished and declares that he’s in
perfectly good health, Regulus asks his burning question.

“Ma’am, did you go out into the field as a medic? On that day?” The Prophet calls it the
‘Hogsmeade Homicide.’ It feels too catchy to be real. It feels like an understatement, a catchy
headline to draw eyes rather than peak journalism. Sometimes, Regulus can still hear that
whistle. . .

“I did.”

“Did you see a little boy in Honeydukes? He—” Regulus swallows. “He kind of looked like
me.”

Pomfrey’s eyebrows furrow. “I don’t believe so. The shop was empty when I got there.” She
sighs and puts a hand on Regulus’ shoulder. “I’m sure whoever he was got out fine. If you
want I can pull a few strings and figure out what happened to him.”

He imagines those cold grey eyes. The icy, pale skin. Short black hair swept over his
forehead.

Regulus declines.
 Black Star
Chapter Notes

sorry that this chapter is slightly late!

content warnings

-graphic descripiton of violence

-bullying

Blame it on the black star

Blame it on the falling sky

-Radiohead

“Remus?” Sirius whispers.

Remus lifts a corner of the blanket without saying a word. Sirius rushes in, warm in the cool
night air. Sirius is always warm. He presses close to Remus, and Remus throws an arm over
his shoulders and hauls him in closer. He can feel Sirius’ rushed, uneven breaths, the rapid
beat of his carotid artery against his lips. “What did you dream tonight?” Remus mumbles,
unable to muster the energy to speak any louder. He’s always tired. He’s not been sleeping
well.

“I was in that fight for the mask again, and the crowd mauled me alive,” Sirius says bluntly.
Not much fazes him after growing up in that house. “I should’ve duplicated it over and over
and given them out.”

“The quality goes down after a while, you know that. You couldn’t have saved them.”
“I should’ve tried, Moons.” He shakes his head. “I should’ve tried,” he murmurs. He goes
pliant, his pulse slowly going down.

“Remus?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Sunlight shines through the curtains. They’ve spent the whole night talking.

“Where would you go?”

“Anywhere,” Sirius proclaims. “Anywhere but here. Anywhere but Scotland or Britain or
France. I hate it here. It’s disgusting here. We’re rich and young and so much better off than
most of the world, and we sit here doing nothing with it. Waiting eighteen years to live is
crazy to me. I never want to feel tied down again. I never want to be in an office building
bored. You’ll come with me, Remus. All of you. We’ll see the world and we’ll never be old.”

“I like the way you dream.”

“It’s not dreams. I’m not staying here after graduation, Remus. I’m not sitting here.” He rolls
his eyes. “I never want to be told what to do again. If you see me chained to four walls, kill
me. I’m already dead.”

Sirius slides into Remus’ bed, and Remus grabs him and pulls him close. “Where’s Reg? Is
James okay? Peter? Did the girls go—”

“Shh, Rem.” Sirius runs a hand up and down, Remus’ arm. “Everyone’s okay. You’re safe.
Everyone’s safe.”

“Everyone’s safe?” Remus can’t breathe. His heart is beating out of his chest. Adrenaline
rushes through all his veins, and he can’t remember what he felt like without it. His life was
always like this, a worry knot in the middle of his chest threatening to get tighter.

Sirius presses a small kiss to the side of his head. “Everyone’s safe.”

Remus sees dark blood, darkness, an impending endless smog, thick like smoke from a
chimney. He feels the heaviness in his lungs, the heaviness that weighs him down with every
step. “I saw them kill a pregnant woman,” he whispers. It’s easier to confess in the dark. It’s
easier to confess when no one can see or trace it back to you. “I think they knew she was a
muggle-born because they killed her baby before they killed her. I heard her wail. They let
her scream for so long. . .”

Sirius doesn’t know what to say. They’ve shared horrors like this so many times it feels
hollow to say sorry. Remus appreciates the silence.

“Are you scared?” Sirius asks.

Remus doesn’t know. He thinks. He curls into Sirius’ body, and Sirius curls into him. Two
kids seeking asylum in the comforting lines of each other’s bodies. “I’m not scared any more.
I’m just tired.”

“That’s what they want. They want you tired and miserable, Moony. You can’t let them. You
can’t give up.”

“I know,” he says softly. “But I’m so fucking tired. It’s so fucked. Why is it a crime that we
exist? Why is Lily’s existence worth a protest? Worth mass destruction and death?”

They’ve shared truths like this so many times it feels hollow to pretend to know the answer.

“Fucking mudblood.”

Remus lands face-first on the floor, banging his mouth on the cold, hard dirt. He tastes the
sharp metallic of iron and musk of blood. He reaches out to grab his books, but Mulciber
kicks it further away. They outnumber him, so Remus doesn’t try to fight. He doesn’t cast
any spells because it’ll only make it worse.

“What? You think you’re better than us? Bet you study night and day just to make up for how
much you lack in everything else.”

Avery forces him to flip over. Remus stares at the cloudy sky, clenching his jaw. One of them
kicks him in his side, and Remus has to pretend to be in pain.

“Loony Lupin,” another jeers. “What a freak.”

Remus closes his eyes and remembers waking up in Sirius’ bed. It was warm, and they were
shirtless, skin pressed tight against skin like they were afraid of letting go. As if the promise
of starting the day was a promise that they’d lose each other. Remus woke up scared. He
woke up and saw James’ curtains flung open and started to panic before he heard his
humming and the spray of the shower. James walked out with a smile, he always does, but
sometimes if Remus stares hard enough he can catch him mentally slipping away. He knows
that James feels guilty for it. He knows that James thinks he doesn’t get to feel bad because
he wasn’t in the worst of it. Peter’s quieter now. He always seems like he’s thinking.

Anywhere, he thinks to himself, a promise, a threat, a badly disguised daydream. It was why
he was outside in the first place, getting some fresh air before breakfast and wondering where
he would go. Anywhere but here.

Remus gets a few more kicks and wonders if hurting him makes them feel better. They’ve
always had a sort of rage and entitlement. It’s like their brains can’t handle anything other
than shallow, narcissistic thoughts. He lets himself feel the pain of it, the sting of their words,
and he makes himself promise to not let himself be so cruel.

Remus drops the belt at Lyall’s feet. “I’m not stuck in this house with you,” Remus tells him.
“You’re stuck in this house with me.”

Hmm. Well, it’s too late for that, he guesses. And hurting others does make one feel better,
especially if you come out untouched, victorious. They finally get bored and tired, and they
leave. Remus lets himself stay in his little curled-up ball for a while to catch his breath.

He limps through the courtyard, his measly healing charms patching him up slowly as he
hobbles, promising himself that he’ll only be angry if he misses breakfast. Remus pauses,
though, when he sees Snape on a bench with his nose stuck in a book. He blinks, then
waddles faster.

He’s almost clear when that stupid nasally voice perks up. “Lost a fight, Loony Lupin?”

Remus sighs but doesn’t answer. He keeps going. Sirius, James, and Peter were always the
ones who loved to torture him. Remus never partook, but he started to step in and stop them
when he realized they didn’t like him for how he looked. Of course, Snape pranked them
back, said nasty and did malicious things, but Sirius and James always knew how to take it
too far.

When they trudged up to him and embarrassed him in front of a crowd, he realized they
started bullying him because he looked funny, sounded funny, and was maybe a bit annoying
and pretentious. He realized that it could’ve easily been him strung up there. And suddenly,
Remus was sick to his stomach. It just wasn’t fun to watch any more.

Snape split apart James’ skin, almost killed him, and McGonagall told them that the next
person who used a simple stinging jinx would get expelled.

So Remus keeps walking, because Snape isn’t a good person, but there’s bigger fish to fry.
And, God, maybe in some other universe, Remus could’ve easily been like Snape.

“How’s your mum doing, by the way?”

Remus freezes. His whole body and thoughts freeze, and he lets Moony take over without a
second thought. Birds squawk in warning overhead, Remus’ body starts to buzz, magic
sizzling at his fingertips, and he knows his eyes must be glowing amber.

He turns around slowly, and Snape is seared to his spot. “What did you say?” Remus asks. He
sounds more calm than he feels.

Snape swallows thickly. “I—Nothing.”

“No. You were talking shit.” Remus takes a step forward, and Snape takes a step back.
Remus stares at him. “If you run, I’ll chase you.”

The strangest thing happens. A growing dark spot appears near Snape’s legs. Remus can
smell it from here. It’s piss.
Snape is shaking, sweating. His eyes are wide and deep in his sockets, such a ferocious,
primal fear. Remus feeds off of it. Fear smells better than his Amortentia, chocolate, than
Sirius Black himself. Remus lunges and Snape launches himself backward, tripping all over
his feet, and falling on his arse. “Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. It was cruel, I’m sorry.
Please, my mum’s dead too. Please—”

When Remus moves closer, Snape covers his head with his arms. Remus sits on his chest and
forcefully wrenches his arms away from his screeching head. His veins bulge out of his neck,
his eyes swell out of their sockets. Remus brings back a fist and throws it full force across
Snape’s cheek, making him taste dirt and iron. He could do it again. And again. The
courtyard is silent. No one is here to stop him.

But then Remus gets off of him.

He could do more, probably kill Snape where he lies, but beating up someone who doesn’t
deserve it would be like beating up himself. Snape is weak and traumatized: it wouldn’t even
be a good fight. What Remus needs to do is to start training with Regulus again.

Snape is still shivering and whimpering scared on the ground. Remus waits for him to stop
being dramatic. “Get up. We’re having a talk.”

Remus sits on a bench aside from Snape, who’s holding a bag of ice on his rapidly bruising
cheek.

“You hit me.”

“You brought up my mum.”

“You hit me!” he yells in that horribly nasal voice.

Remus looks at him from the outer corner of his eyes, barely moving his head, and Snape
quiets down. “I could’ve left you as an unrecognizable mountain of flesh. And I swear to
God, if I ever hear you mention her again, you will be.”

Snape is silent, holding the bag of ice to his face, doing some serious frowning.

“Tell me about your mum.”

“Oh, come on—”

“Five points from Slytherin.”

His mouth hangs open. “You can’t—” He blinks, looks around for someone to save him.
“You can’t—”

“Ten points from Slytherin.”

“Fine!” he snaps. “I don’t remember her at all. She was a drug addict, my dad too. He beat us
both, and she decided to take the easy way out. Is that what you want to hear? Does this make
you feel better now!” He grits his teeth and stares at Remus.

“My dad’s a piece of rubbish on the bottom of my shoe. Your dad works for the government
and kisses you good morning and good night like bloody clockwork. Because you are so
fucking special, aren’t you? Aren’t all of you? You get the girl, and the love, and the grades.
Who cares if you almost killed me? Who cares if I have to live with that for the rest of my
life! The life I’ve built brick by brick, by my own bloody hands. Fuck it all! Because Remus
Lupin is here to save the day.” He pants, out of breath, and Remus sees him in a new light.
He’s so pathetic. Snape is at the bottom of the food chain, trying to work to the top because
he knows he has no other chance.

“You are a special kind of idiot,” is what Remus lands on to say. He’ll never be at the top.
The system isn’t made for them to be at the top. “You think that when I rip myself to shreds
every month I have a parade waiting for me. Well, guess what? You don’t have a pity party
waiting for you. You chose to get into the Shrieking Shack. Blame it on me and blame it on
the world all you want, but you have free will. No one made you step foot in there. The fact
that Sirius was the one who told you should’ve been a clue on its own.”

“You’re trying to absolve your guilt and shift the blame—”

“No. I almost killed you. ” Remus lights a fag and shrugs at Snape’s shocked face. “I almost
killed you and—” He lets smoke fill his lungs, dig fingers into his system. “I’m sorry.” He
had apologized in the face of their professors and parents, but never alone like this.

“What’s your angle?” Snape sniffs, eyes shifting. “What do you want from me?”

Remus doesn’t know. It feels like he’s closing a chapter on a part of his life. Moving onto the
next book, maybe a whole new series. His life hasn’t felt real. Sitting on this bench smoking
while Bellatrix looms somewhere on the horizon, his mother facing east towards the sun in
the cold earth, his father somewhere in the Ministry building, trying to forget that he exists.
His friends sit in the Great Hall, eating breakfast, and life is moving on. It’s a train that
doesn’t stop by his station, just keeps chugging on because that’s all it can do, and Remus has
to jump not to be left behind. His mother can’t help, or Regulus or Sirius, it’s only him.

And you know what happens in this water, time?

You know what happens in this water, time. . .

Remus smiles. “I want you to answer a question for me, and then we never speak again.”
Snape is staring at him like he’s vaguely lost his mind. Fuck, maybe he has.

“Two observers are locked inside a room. Which is the observer and which is the observed?”

He blinks, then sniffs, crossing his arms. “It’s a trick question.” He gets to his feet and finally
looks Remus in the eyes, greasy hair limp and eyes tired and dead. “They’re both just
animals.”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Sirius bursts out.

Remus collapses in his seat, sighing heavily and digging into the piece of toast already made
for him. Regulus raises his eyebrows from the Slytherin table, a request on why he showed
up so late, and he makes a face that means later. A letter from Effie is on his plate, and he
tries his best not to feel so frazzled. “Cheers.”

“You’re lucky, you know,” James says, his mouth full of some sort of protein. He points a
thumb at Peter, a smile already curling the edges of his lips. “Pig Peter over here almost
demolished it.”

“Oi!” Peter snaps. “I’ll have you know I don’t eat that disgusting thing you call food.” He
wrinkles his nose. “Remember that one time where you put six different—”

“—jams layered on top of each other!” James exclaims. “I thought the corners were bad
enough.” He looks away wistfully. “Looked like absolute and utter—”

Remus rolls his eyes. “I was hungover.” Dubious looks get changed. “I was!”
“Where were you?” Sirius asks again, more urgently.

Peter and James seem to realize they’re curious about it, and Remus pretends he needs to
chew longer to buy him some more time. “Maybe ask your mother?” He takes another bite,
pretending that wasn’t the worst comeback he’s ever muttered. He’s usually sharper than that.
“I’m not sure.”

“Are we playing Hide-and-Seek with secrets now?” Sirius’ eyebrows are lifted high. Remus
has to fight not to smile. It feels like they’re flirting for some reason, this tightrope of tension
that keeps them tethered. “Need me to cover my eyes and count to ten?”

“Is this a sex thing?” James asks randomly. He doesn’t balk at their bewildered stares. He
shrugs. “Who knows what you kinky bastards get up to. It might be like oooh when I reach
ten I get smacked on the arse, or something.” Sirius barks out a laugh, and Remus’ chest
glows at the lovely sound. James waggles his brows, smirking, and takes a monstrous bite of
eggs that has his jaw unhinged. Remus doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to James being
James.

“Hmm,” Sirius says thoughtfully. “It’d be more like ten smacks as I count, or maybe I count
to ten and he,” he slides his hands together dramatically, a gesture Remus could’ve lived
without seeing, especially as he says, “slips it in.”

“Why is he the slipper?”

“Well If I’m covering my eyes and counting to ten I have to be slippee. Unless it’s like, a
weird thing where I accidentally slip in.”

“Well if you’re playing Hide-and-Seek, that’s more likely.”

“Exactly!” Sirius smiles like this isn’t ridiculous. “And then at the end, we find out the secret
I was searching for wasn’t a person,” he fans out his hands, makes them jazzy, eyes sliding to
Remus for validation, “but a glory hole.”
James laughs, and it triggers Sirius to laugh, and Peter looks disgusted and unimpressed,
shooting Remus a look. Remus, covering up a giggle, coughs and takes his last bite. For the
first time in so long, everything is normal and settled. He thinks there might be a chance that
Sirius lets it go. James and Sirius get lost in their own world most of the time, so he wouldn’t
be surprised if Sirius forgot his question. But Sirius turns back to Remus, his eyes suddenly
turning soft. “Siriusly,” Sirius says, lips twitching at his stupid joke. “Everything alright?”

The sunlight makes his piercings glow. His brows are upturned slightly in barely repressed
concern. A soft wave of his black hair curls over his forehead, and Remus’ fingers twitch,
wanting to push it back. Sirius smiles that smooth, Sirius Black smile, and Remus is
hopeless. He looks down at his plate. “Ran into Snape, is all,” he says quietly.

“What?” They all say, and then break out into small, overlapping, punctual statements.

“Well are you alright—”

“Fucking bastard—”

“Do you need me to hurt him?” Sirius asks calmly, eyes unblinking, and out of all the
simultaneous sentences, Remus’ brain snags onto that one. It’s the way Sirius’ face is overly
calm, the way it gets when he’s plotting murder.

“For fuck’s safe,” Remus rolls his eyes, even though his heart’s pounding. “I’m fine. We just
talked.” Sirius is still looking at him, and he’s making that face like there’s a cute girl across
the room and he’s subtly checking her out, passive but undeniably sensual. Or maybe Remus
is reading into it.

“What do you mean you just talked?” James snaps.“The git isn’t programmed to do that.” He
looks around pointedly, scoffing. “The git isn’t programmed to do that!” He exclaims, and it
catches the attention of the girls.
Remus laughs while opening Effie’s letter, unfolding the delicate paper and seeing her
smooth, careful cursive. “Prongs, it’s really not—”

“Remus John Lupin?” A voice carries over the room. The Great Hall is deathly quiet, and
Remus sees the bright red Auror robes from the corner of his eye. Six Aurors stand in the
middle of the Great Hall, and Dumbledore rises out of his seat. “What is the meaning of—”

“Remus John Lupin,” the baritone voice says again.

“Mate,” James whispers. “I think that’s you.”

“They had to use my government name?” he mutters. It’s probably his idiot father trying to
plan something. It wouldn’t be the first time he does something dramatic to get Remus’
attention. Lyall is the type to send Howlers using his work owl, but only when he knows
Remus is alone. The kind of man who was never around long enough to raise their child, but
thinks they have the authority to discipline them. He raises his hand warily. “Uh, here?”

Peter and Sirius snort and exchange a gaze. Peter raises a finger like he’s pushing glasses up
his nose and snorts again. “Erm, here?” he says like a swot, and Remus elbows him, hissing.
James’ ears are red and his cheeks are blown up with air. Sirius has a palm over his mouth to
cover his laugh.

The Aurors stalk over. One of them with dark hair pulls out a photo, looks at it, looks at him,
then nods sharply. “You’re being arrested,” he says coolly, and Remus jerks back. “You do
not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when
questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be taken
and given as evidence.”

“Woah there buddy!” James laughs dryly, standing up. “I don’t think so.”

Sirius rises, hands already curled into fists. “You’re not taking him!”
The Auror looks over them, bored, and then two Aurors descend to hold Sirius and James
back as they yell and fight. Remus finds his face shoved into the table, arms wrenched behind
his back as magical handcuffs are placed around his wrists. Peter is completely white in the
face and frozen.

“The Investigation Department of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement has made an
allegation. I am arresting you for the offence of terrorism, utilizing Dark magic—”

“Are you kidding me?” Mary spits out. “Remus would never—”

“—and mass murder. The reason for your arrest is so that a prompt and effective
investigation can be carried out, including an interview at the DMLE. The arrest is also
necessary to keep the public safe from the risk of your capability of Dark Magic, treason, and
your lycanthropy.”

It’s all happening so fast. Dumbledore and McGonagall are rushing over which means they
didn’t tell anyone they were arresting him. Does his father even know? And Peter’s face is
fallen and ashen, and Sirius is screaming his name, trying to get to him, and Lily is trying to
reason with the Aurors, and it’s a barrage of sound and noise and bright, bright, blinding
colour. His face is smashed against his plate, and they take Effie’s letter for evidence, they
ask Remus if he understands what’s happening, and he can’t even talk.

Because he didn’t do anything. This is an elaborate prank, or he’s been framed, but anyone
framing Remus wouldn’t make sense. He’s nobody! So this is a very good prank, and
someone’s stolen Auror robes and is very good at polyjuice or glamours, and he’ll be released
any moment.

Except he feels the magic on the handcuffs putting a clamp on his magical core cutting off his
access to his magic, stealing the breath from his chest. They muzzle him like he’s a rabid dog
covered in fleas and rabies, and they chain his ankles together. It stings him even through his
trousers, and he remembers once when Sirius was suspicious of him and asked him to pass
over one of his pure silver earrings. It burned like he accidentally touched a stovetop or
brushed his hand against the side of a hot oven. He let go of it, feigning butterfingers as
Sirius’ eyes narrowed doubtfully. It was the first, and what he thought would be the last time
touching silver.
The cuffs around his ankles are a hot knife digging into his skin, and they must be searing off
his clothes and skin because it hurts. He flinches away from the pain, Moony an anxious,
howling, desperate thing in his chest, and they press him further into the table. They tell him
to stop resisting.

His blood goes cold because he’s never pissed off the wrong people. He hasn’t done anything
wrong, and they’re associating all of these crimes that he’s never done with his name, and he
doesn’t understand anything. He’s never understood anything at all, because he followed the
rules perfectly. He didn’t talk back to the mini Death Eaters, he got all the right grades, he
never complained when Sirius curled against him, lonely, while Remus had to fight not to roll
over and kiss him senseless, and yet this is still happening. In front of the entire school. They
all know he’s a monster.

They hoist him off the table, holding him too tight, dragging him out of the hall, and Remus
says nothing.

Regulus blocks their exit, looking up into the eyes of an Auror. “Let him go.” The words are
filled with so much venom and disdain that a chill goes down Remus’ spine. The Aurors
pause, the grip on Remus hesitating, and then they tell him to move.

Regulus then pulls out his wand and shoots something right next to the ear of the Auror
holding Remus. Except Remus knows one thing about Regulus. He’s trained with him so
many times, been the victim of his wand, power, and magic, too many times to know that
Regulus doesn’t miss when his target is standing still in front of him.

An Auror breaks away to arrest Regulus, pushing him against the wall with too much force,
his face crushed, but he manages a slow, manic smile at Remus.

Remus has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he does know that he just got arrested, and
Regulus got himself arrested, too.
 forwards beckon rebound

Villain and violent

Infant and innocent

Baby, both arms cradle you now

Both arms cradle you now

-Adrianne Lenker

A bright light blinks on and shines in Regulus’ face. He squints against the rays and sees
Barty’s face staring back at him. He stares longer and realizes the face is too serious, too
solemn. There are deep indented lines on his forehead, a gleam in his eyes that isn’t maniacal.
It’s not Barty, it’s his father.

The room is perfectly drab, grey, and metal, something out of a muggle detective book.
There’s glass behind Crouch, of which he can only assume is two-way glass fortified by
charms, the entire building protected by wards. His eyes flick towards Crouch, who’s relaxed
in his seat, waiting for Regulus to break. He won’t resort to torture just yet. Regulus is very
powerful and as far as Crouch knows, the current Lord of the House of Black. If Crouch lays
a single finger on him, raises his voice just one decibel, Regulus will have the entire place
brimming with Death Eaters and members of the Sacred 28.

Regulus closes his eyes. If Crouch thinks he can’t play the waiting game, he’s in for a long
day. Regulus weighed the risks of Remus getting arrested solo versus with someone there,
and found that Remus’ odds would be better if he were there. While Regulus tried to teach
Remus the best he could, the thought of Remus enduring court proceedings, public backlash,
and possibly the cold walls of Azkaban alone didn't sit right. Remus is his friend, and
possibly the savior of the English wizarding world. He's not going to leave him to rot.

If Bellatrix doesn’t show up, his mother will, or the Potters. It doesn’t matter. Someone will
eventually show up and clear their names. He doesn’t want to be here, but it could help him
with his plans. He still hasn’t told Remus that he’s the one in the prophecy, has barely even
seen him, so it’s a good time to catch up. Regulus can also connect with Death Eaters, maybe
gleam some more information and past plans, build an ally or two—
“One count of using Dark Magic against an Auror.” Crouch whistles, taps his finger on the
table. “That’s not some jail time, kid. We’re talking prison. Azkaban.” He settles closer. “You
seem like a good sort, mixed in with the wrong stuff. I know you’re friends with my son.
Don’t ruin your life over some werewolf.”

Regulus blinks at the audacity. It’s not like they won’t see the Dark Mark eventually. Why
would he throw Lupin away over some silly bite when he’s the most fascinating thing he’s
seen in years? Well, James Potter’s mouth is certainly up there on the list, with the capability
to be warm and comforting, a bed to sink into, but also firm and demanding like—

Crouch sighs, realizing he's not getting anywhere. “Put him in a cell.”

Remus’ leg bounces wildly, and Crouch sits across from him, arms crossed over his chest.
“Sir, you really have the wrong guy.”

Crouch purses his lips, and then opens a folder lying on the table. “You were at Hogsmeade
on the 18th of February, yes?”

Remus grinds his teeth together. “Yes, I was.”

“What injuries occurred because of that day?”

“Some small lacerations. Shell shock. I have a prescription for Dreamless Sleep Potions to
help with the nightmares.”
Crouch lifts his eyebrows, expecting him to continue. “That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. No extensive lung damage?”

Remus fights not to throttle him. “No,” he spits out. He’s certainly not going to drag Sirius
into this by saying he got a mask, and they were able to get to Honeydukes by their extensive
knowledge on hiding places in and out of Hogwarts, it would sound too suspicious. He
suspects they’ve already reviewed his original interview with an Auror on the day of. “My
friend, Peter, was crushed under the rubble. Marlene—”

“And you are familiar with the terrorist group, the Death Eaters?”

“When my entire childhood was filled with Voldemort’s followers’ children screaming at me
for not being a pureblood and looking different, yeah I became pretty familiar with them,” he
snaps. He can’t help his snark. This entire situation is ridiculous. A department of adults
thinks that an eighteen-year-old somehow has the capacity to plan the decimation of a whole
town.

“So you’re angry at them? The Death Eaters?”

“Yes! Which is why I would never work with them!”

“And are you angry with the Ministry, too?”

Remus leans back in his chair. “What?” His only quarrel with the Ministry is the language
they use to describe magical creatures and the fact that they haven’t fired his father yet.

“We’ve had reports of magical creatures like packs of werewolves, centaurs, and vampires
suddenly disappearing. Fenrir Greyback publicly declared his allegiance to the Dark Lord
during Voldemort’s rein because he promised better conditions for people like you.” Crouch
shrugs. “It’s not always about who’s your enemy and your ally. For you, it could be who
promises a better life. And with the laws I’m trying to pass for mandatory werewolf
registration, did you feel as though the Death Eaters could give you a pack? Solidarity? A life
off that list?”

Remus stops thinking that this is a fuck-up. They need a scapegoat. Most of the Slytherin
children were conveniently at the castle during the attack. Sirius was publicly disowned and
has been in multiple fights protecting Lily against blood purists, Regulus wasn’t even
reported as being there, and everyone else is somehow related to the Order of the Phoenix or
muggles. He’s one of the few people they could’ve picked that wouldn’t cause a massive
public outcry. He’s a werewolf, quiet, and has the right motive. Even if they don’t get anyone
else, it’ll satisfy the public enough until they can find another person to pin it on.

“I want my Floo call,” Remus says calmly, and Crouch smiles like he’s won.

Remus calls Effie. He throws the stupid powder and calls out her name, sitting crisis-cross on
the floor while he’s sure people are watching him.

She answers smiling. James has her smile. “Remus! My letter should’ve shown up by now
—”

“Mrs. Potter,” Remus croaks. His voice cracks and goes hoarse. He clears his throat, and her
smile falls off her face, brows furrowed.

“What’s wrong, bēṭā?”

Remus tells her all of it. How they arrested him, the circumstantial evidence that could sound
convincing to a frightened jury. Her face slowly falls, twisting with disgust, and Remus gets
increasingly quieter as he keeps speaking, the seriousness of the situation starting to set in.
“Can you send James a letter? Tell them that I’m okay?”

“Yes. Don’t say anything, Remus. It’s not enough to send you to Azkaban, but don’t dig
yourself into a deeper hole.” She sighs, her face weary. “I can’t believe Crouch would do this.
He’s just like Dumbledore, sometimes. So focused on the right thing that it blinds them. The
Great Fear was bad, Remus. You were all such little kids.” She gives him a small smile, one
that cracks at the seams. “Everyone was terrified. It was horror every day. Everyone’s so
quick to forget and move on because they want a clean slate, but it always lands us back in
the same spot again.”

Remus is starting to fucking hate this water, time.

Her face starts to fade, her voice cracking like static on a radio. “I’ll— a lawyer—” The call
fades out, and she disappears, lost to the vibrant green fire. His time is up. Remus sits on the
cold floor, arms slung lazily around his knees, waiting for the guards to get him.

It doesn’t take long, and Remus is in a trance as they drag him into a cell. They won’t let him
leave because he’s a “hazard to the public” so they’ll stick him in a cell overnight. His father
must know about his arrest by now, and they’ll ask permission to use Veritaserum and
Legilimency. Remus is—Remus is terrified.

He sits on the little raised metal platform, shaking. The moonlight shines through the bars in
the wall, and he takes comfort in the fact that the full isn’t tonight. His NEWTs will be all
messed up, his entire life will be gone. Worst case scenario, he spends the rest of his life in a
cell with a Dementor sucking out his soul while the public hates him. Remus will turn into a
villain. Best case scenario, Effie covers up this situation, but the entire school still knows he’s
a werewolf, a sketchy one at that, and the public will slowly start to hate him.

Remus leans his head against the stone wall. He has no wand, no robes, and it’s freezing. The
cuffs around his wrists, ankles, and throat, reduce his magic to almost nothing, but at least it’s
not silver. He curls up on the cold metal, ready to just cry until he passes out, when he hears
something hiss.
He picks up his head, peering into the darkness. “Remus, you thick head,” it hisses again.

“Regulus?”

“Who else would it be?”

He moves to the bars and uses the little bit of moonlight to see Regulus frowning in his cell.
He looks good, all things considered, unharmed. His hair is slightly out of place, and he
knows it must drive him crazy.

“Fuck, they got you locked up good, don’t they?” Regulus murmurs, his eyes catching on the
shimmering metal around him.

“I try to take it as a compliment.” He’s so glad that Regulus is here. “You fucking idiot,” he
snaps at him. Regulus shouldn’t be there.

“Well, I couldn’t let you go alone, could I?”

“Yes, you could’ve.”

“I couldn’t. Trust me, I wanted to.” Remus snorts and then rolls his eyes. “But I couldn’t.”

They’re silent for a second because there isn’t much to say. “Do you think we’re going to
Azkaban?”

Regulus looks up, a glint in his eye that reminds him why Regulus and Barty are friends.
“Without a doubt.” And then Regulus smiles, his eyes and face lighting up by the sheer force.
“That’s what makes this fun.”
“You’re barking mad,” Remus says softly. It doesn’t disturb him. He’s been around insane
people for his entire life. Regulus sees this as another challenge, a small roadblock in his path
to greatness. He’s terribly arrogant like that, but Remus can’t be bothered to humble him.
And to get out of Azkaban, Remus will need crazy.

Regulus shrugs. “I do what I have to do.” He shuffles closer and drops his voice down to a
whisper. “Remember the poem?”

“How could I forget?”

“I know who it is.”

Remus jolts up, his heart rate speeding. They’d spent months trying to decode it, Regulus
more than that, and they’d both started to give up hope. When Remus anonymously tipped
off Dumbledore about the prophecy, there wasn’t any big movement or grand battle. It was
quiet. If Regulus figured out whose shoulder this war falls on, they might have a chance at
winning. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I swear.” He licks his lips. “I figured it out when I saw you over break.” Regulus’ words are
careful and fragile. Trying to cover up what they know from prying ears. “When we get to
Azkaban, I’ll tell you. Be patient.”

“When we get to Azkaban?” Remus asks incredulously. “What? No! Tell me now, you
imbecile. If we get to Azkaban, it’s done. We’re not seeing any more of each other. If you
think we’ll get meal times and social hour like we’re in Hogwarts—”

“Hope is the thing with feathers,” Regulus interrupts quietly. “That perches in the soul, And
sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the Gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm, That could abash the little Bird, That kept so many warm. I’ve
heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest Sea; Yet, never, in Extremity, It asked a
crumb of me.” He pauses. “One thing, and once you’re done, disregard the whole theme.”

Hope, sea, wind, land, or birds. It takes a whole ten minutes for Remus to figure it out, but in
his defense, he hasn’t done this with Regulus in quite a long time.
Remus was just finished talking about how it wouldn’t be like Hogwarts and how they
wouldn’t have any time to socialize, and Regulus is an Animagus, a bird. Regulus will come
to him by slipping out of his cell because he’s a small, unregistered, bird. The theme is that
hope will never disappear and that it only requires a small piece of a person to keep going.
But Regulus said to disregard it, which means hope is gone, just like in the prophecy. Regulus
is trying to tell him what rhymes with hope and who the person in the prophecy is. “Right,”
Remus says slowly. “I got the thing, and I’ve gotten rid of the theme, but I don’t get the
second part.”

Regulus sighs. “Be selfish on Christmas, Casanova.”

Regulus called him the Casanova of Gryffindor Tower because ‘the entire castle’ has a crush
on him. He’s telling him to think about himself, to let himself be considered in the process.
On Christmas, he buried his mother, Hope. Remus doesn’t linger on it or think about it too
deeply. He rolls his eyes. “You’re not funny, Regulus.”

“It rhymes,” he says, so, so quietly, barely a whisper. “The first thing you think people see
when they look at you.”

His scars. The werewolf. The lycanthropy.

An executioner is naught without the master,

Delirious and crazed, she draws an army,

Which day by day, the numbers grow faster,

A were with a teacher whose beginning is starry,

He must draw on the grief of Hope,

It all rests on the fate of the lycanthrope

Regulus is too close to the case, is all. His friendship with Remus blinds him. Why would
Remus be the center of a war? He’s nobody! “That’s only a theory.”
“Remus think. Who would listen to me, or Dumbledore? Muggleborns wouldn’t listen.
Greyback wouldn’t—”

“Oh, please—”

“Look where we are right now,” he hisses. “What else could be the bridge between two—no
—three wildly different groups of people? Who would it be if we haven’t heard of them by
now?”

It makes sense. It makes a scary amount of sense. He’s a half-blood and a half-breed. The
Ravenclaws respect him because he’s salutatorian, the Gryffindors like him because of James
and Sirius, and he doesn’t bully or talk down about the Hufflepuffs. Regulus taught him more
about magic, his name is derived from the stars, and anyone in Slytherin would jump if he
said jump.

But if it’s true, his mother died to fulfill a prophecy. His entire would have led up to one,
avoidable moment. A slow march to be the savior of people he doesn’t even know or care
about. Regulus is still chattering in the background, but all Remus can hear is the slow beat
of his heart, the rise and fall of his chest, and when he yells, “Shut up!” his voice echoes
down the hall, freighting birds to squack and fly off. He knows Regulus can hear the terror in
his voice, the pure defiance. He knows that Regulus is disappointed.

“Get some rest,” Regulus says sharply. “Even if we’re not going to Azkaban, tomorrow will
be a long day.” He blends back into the shadows, and Remus is alone with a simple
possibility.

“Did you have fun at the playground, cariad?” Remus is covered in mud and blood,
trembling in the doorway, and his mother’s smile falls when she sees him. “What happened?
Who did this?”

She draws him a bath a couple of minutes later. “Am I a freak?” he asks. That’s what they
had called him. They said his scars were creepy. That he was a weirdo.
“No, Remus.” She’s quiet for a moment, carefully weighing her words. “Some people are
afraid of things that switch the norms in their life. You are so special it scares people.”

He nods and thinks of the full moon when he rips himself apart. He thinks about him lying
under the bed while his parents yell at each other, hoping that the monsters there will pull
him somewhere he’s supposed to be. “Is that why I’m scared of myself?”

He tells himself that he’s not the one in the prophecy, but it’s reminiscent of him in Second
Year, when all the weariness between Sirius and Remus faded and they fell face-first into
friendship. He told himself then that he didn’t like the way Sirius smiled, or his sudden,
barking laugh. When Sirius had sent Remus a Howler on Valentine’s Day that had
proclaimed all the best things about him to the entire giggling Great Hall, he pretended like it
didn’t make him blush that Sirius had liked all these little things about him.

He knows the last time he denied himself the truth and knows how well that went. He leans
against the cold metal floor and tries to get some sleep.
 Paint It, Black
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-discussions and depictions of past trauma

I look inside myself and see my heart is painted black

I see my red door, I must have it painted black

Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts

It’s not easy facing up when your whole world is black

-The Rolling Stones

Regulus is bad at sleeping.

Objectively, it’s not one of his strongest suits. He has too much going on to turn off his brain
and let it all fall away, and Druella ruined any chance of letting his body be vulnerable. It’s
strange to think about it that way. Sleep is fundamental, but for people like him, it’s a luxury
he can’t be awarded in this odd place with people he doesn’t know or trust. He’d usually have
his sleeping potions, but it’s not like they’ll lend him any. So he stares at the ceiling, hoping
the tiredness will override and Remus won’t snore and wake him up. Oh, did he mention he
was a light sleeper, too?

Suddenly, his eyelids start to droop, and he forces his muscles to relax, to let everything go.
He doesn’t do anything as silly as thinking. He’s an animal submitting to the inescapable
future that is unconsciousness or death, but he’s not supposed to be thinking too hard, so he
likes to believe that he’ll be unconscious, not dead.
Except he’s unnaturally sluggish, and when he opens his mouth to yawn, it moves out of time
with what he expects, almost lagging. He lifts his hand in front of his face, and it blurs,
leaving a streak of his hand and arm in the moonlight. He opens his mouth to speak, but the
only thing that comes out is a weak, incomprehensible murmur. Regulus knows he should be
panicking but can’t muster up emotion.

He’s either having a stroke, or he’s somehow on acid again. Neither are good options.

He groans loudly, trying to get Remus’ attention. The world is reduced to a swirl, a sharp pull
deep in his stomach like he’s being forced to Apparate, and the lethargic nausea he feels
building up.

Regulus’ breaths shallow, and then he’s not sure he’s breathing at all.

He wakes with a gasp.

His chest shudders and quakes as he tilts his head and vomits on the cold ground, hauling in
breaths to get rid of the horrible dizziness behind his eyes. While he’s collecting himself, he
forces himself to assess. Sunlight shines from behind him, but it’s cold, colder than he’s ever
felt. A layer of frost covers his cylinder cell, his teeth chatter, his bones creak, and when he
lets his tongue lick his lips, the saliva dries down immediately.

His throw-up is gone, and before the bars lies a lunch tray with the Daily Prophet tucked
under it. The tray has stale bread, a milk carton, strange green beans, and slimy meat. He’s
laying on something stiff and white, a mattress he presumes, but there isn’t a pillow or sheets.
His clothes look like pyjamas, striped navy blue and dusky grey. Down the hall, someone
screams, “No, no, no, please! Please!” before it cuts off suddenly, and a loud thump hits the
ground.
He’s in Azkaban.

There was no trial (which is illegal), and no warning before he left (which is illegal), and
when he looks in front of him, he sees Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix’s husband, curled up in
the back of his cell and muttering to himself. He was always a nutcase, but now he’s mental.

Regulus draws himself up to sit, and a sharp pain blooms in his abdomen. He gets his tray,
ignoring how his joints are tight and painful, and eats it quickly before he loses his appetite.
This could be his only meal of the day, so he has to be careful of how he uses his energy. The
sun is high in the sky, sometime around noon, and he passively wonders how long he’s been
out. As he eats, he skims over the Prophet paper and realizes he and Lupin have made the
front cover. It’s a photo of him being slammed against the brick wall while smiling, and then
the camera pans to Remus, muzzled, and dead-eyed.

DEATH EATERS IN DISGUISE?

Yesterday, Aurors made an arrest at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My

trusted sources reveal that Remus Lupin, age 18, was arrested on the offences of
terrorism, utilizing Dark magic, and mass murder! Do these charges ring a bell in your
mind? Only a while ago were these tactics used during the Hogsmeade Homicide. But,
dear reader, that’s not all. Lupin also happens to be a werewolf! I’m sure it’s not just me
who wonders how Dumbledore, the headmaster, had allowed him to attend school, and
not notice how he had single-handedly planned the attack on Hogsmeade. Perhaps our
beloved headmaster has gone senile in his old age, for there is no respectable reason that
he would allow someone so predisposed to violence to attend such a prestigious school
with innocent, young, impressionable children, your children!

But, perchance, there is hope for him yet. Regulus Black, age 12, was at the scene of the
arrest and tried to reason with the Aurors. He was then cast against the wall [see picture
above] but only matched the cruel violence with a smile. Perhaps young Regulus, now
the Lord of the House of Black after his father’s death, knows something we don’t. If
Lupin is guilty, Regulus could be trying to help out a murderer, and one must wonder
why he would do such a thing unless he’s involved himself. . . [More on page four]

-Rita Skeeter
Regulus wrinkles his nose. The propaganda in this is so easily seen. For Merlin’s sake, he
isn’t even twelve! He doesn’t even look twelve! He sighs, flipping through the pages as
someone else screams. The Falmouth Falcons lost their match against Puddlemere United,
nothing surprising there, and when the pain in his abdomen grows even more, he has to put
down the paper. His pain threshold is high, but it aches. He goes to reach into his pouch, but
there’s nothing there. Right. No magic for him in Azkaban.

He could do wandless magic, but it wouldn’t be worth his time. In his opinion, all magic is a
form of power, like electricity and sunlight. In the same way that one’s cells could be more fit
to handle a lightning bolt, one’s cells could be more fit to handle magic and a magical core.
But there are different forms of magic: light, dark, Earth, elf, love he supposes, etc. Power
exists all around, and wandless and wordless magic draws on the magic in everything.

It’s much more taxing, though, and requires more energy and magic than it would take if one
had a wand. Wands are extensions of wizards and slightly sentient. They tunnel magic from
the core to the target easily, and some might be able to draw from magic around them as well.
Without wands and words, magic has to assume what one wants, and magic doesn’t like
investigating. If it did, Veritaserum and Legilimency would pick the memory and truth the
user wants. While wands act like a funnel guiding magic to a cup, wordless and wandless
magic forces magic to be the funnel, the magic, and the cup. Most can’t manage it because
it’s so difficult.

With the deplorable meals, the strange lingering pain in his abdomen, and a complete cut-off
from his magical core, Regulus might kill himself by trying to make the thousands of
different types of magic merge into one. Especially when they’ve most likely made Azkaban
with as little magic as possible. His only chance would be if all the prisoners and the
Dementors surrounded him so he could draw magic from all of them.

Speaking of the devil. . .

It somehow gets colder in the cell, and time goes by as fast as dripping molasses. Darkness
descends as a chilling, inescapable storm. Rodolphus starts to whimper, a cowering puppy,
and it gets so frigid Regulus can’t move, his fingers turning a deep violet, his milk frozen in
its carton.

Rodolphus begs, but Regulus learned a long time ago that pleading only makes them want it
more. The memory gets pulled from Rodolphus’ mouth by a dark shadowing figure, a silvery
dashing wind made solid, and it seizes itself out of his straining throat, his body pulled taut
and rigid.

The shadow turns to Regulus, and Rodolphus slumps against the wall, panting. Regulus
tenses, but he knows it won’t help. He thinks of turning into a bird, but then the Dementor is
already whispering in his mind. The draining isn’t sudden. It starts soft, a muttering of
overlapping memories and voices, before he’s ripped into multiple simultaneously.

Water rushes over him, stinging his eyes and choking him as fingers wrap around his flesh.
The water rushes down his throat, and all he can smell is her terrible perfume. All he can
sense is Bellatrix clamping on his ankle, Walburga casting Lacero and Crucio, and Sirius
screaming out for him to help as he’s tortured in their living room. The laugh his father let
out when Regulus asked him to stop Druella from touching him. Water rushing down his
throat, filling his stomach, his lungs, and Regulus is dying. Sirius’ disappointed face when
the Hat declares he’s a Slytherin, the look on Orion’s face when he told him Andromeda died,
and the pure agony of being alive, of being Regulus Black. If he’s not dying, then he wishes
he will.

The Dementor leaves him, but he still sees pale grey skin, a wide gaping mouth with jagged
teeth, a dark ratted cloak following it as it leaves.

Rodolphus lunges at the bars of his enclosure. “That’s Bellatrix’s cell,” he seethes. His eyes
are wide and red-rimmed, his hair mused and his skin pale, staring at Regulus. “Get out!” he
yells. The shadow comes back, and Regulus starts to tremble. “It’s hers!” His hands start to
pry at the bars, pulling them apart with his adrenaline, and he froths at the mouth, spit flying.
“It’s her! Give me her! Get out! Get out! GET ME OUT—”

The Dementor takes another piece of Rodolphus’ soul for the ruckus.

Regulus rolls over and tries to think of a good memory. He thinks of James and the sweet
smell of his citrus sandalwood skin, the force of his smile, of his hands entwined with
Regulus’, dark and rough and beautiful. His laugh, the sound of a thousand twinkling bells,
wind chimes ringing together, the satisfaction filling Regulus. He likes the harsh dissonance
of their smiles, skin, and laughs—no one makes Regulus laugh like James.
Regulus searches for and finds relief in the day at Hogsmeade before it went wrong, their
giggling bullying into each other’s spaces. He finds relief in the first time James made him
laugh, that day in the infirmary—

He sits up, his hand pressing on that sharp stab in his abdomen, because he can’t remember it.
Regulus remembers every cruel and clear second of when he was with his mother, and
connecting James to the written Floo network, but there’s a big yawning gap between those.
All that’s left is the soft vestiges of Regulus’ laughter fading, James’ soft smile at seeing him
relaxed, his nose tucked into James’ neck. “No, no, no,” he begs himself. He feels them fade
away until he can’t even remember what he was looking for in the first place.

He finds the second heartbeat that lurks just beneath the skin, and gives into the urge. He
turns into a bird immediately and slips out to find Remus. Regulus loiters outside his cell for
a little while waiting to see if the Demonters come floating down the hallway, but nothing
happens after approximately ten minutes.

No one says anything if they see him. Most of the prisoners have a vacant, dull look, their
eyes not seeing anything. Their trays are untouched, the paper is still folded lengthwise and
tucked underneath. He can’t seem to remember any of the Death Eaters that should be here
over the adrenaline running through his body, the icy darkness of Dementors, the grief over
the idea of a missing memory, a happy one.

Repeated grunts echo down the hall, and Regulus sees him like one sees an ocean or the
Eiffel Tower in front of their eyes. It’s rippling muscle under sweat-slick hairy skin. His hair
is long, brushing the floor with every press-up he does, all in rapid succession, like he could
go on forever. Sometimes he claps his hands or presses himself up on one hand, the lack of
his shirt showing every carved bit of muscle.

Eventually, he stops, but not from lack of breath. He tilts his head, eyes a luminous amber,
and a deadly smirk lights up his face. “Little bird. . .” his voice is smooth and low. He
chuckles. He slams his hands against the bars and laughs again when Regulus doesn’t flinch.
“Run along, now, little bird.”

It makes a shiver ruffle his feathers. Fenrir Greyback. He keeps moving. The longer he stays
in this form, the simpler his thoughts turn. Colors are brighter, sounds sharper, and the only
thing on his mind is the goal of reaching Remus. He passes by a boy who looks perpetually
bored, and he lets out an unbidden little chirp.
Remus’ head snaps up, and a majestic grin lights up his face. “I’d never thought I’d be so
happy to see your ugly mug.”

Regulus squawks and flaps his wings to let Remus know he did not appreciate the comment,
then slips through the rods while he laughs. Remus picks him up immediately and Regulus
titters at the touch at first, but Remus is cooing at him, and his bird form does love coddling.
“You are so pretty, yes? Look at your plumage, so blue.”

Regulus doesn’t know what security measures are in place in Azkaban. For all he knows, the
minute he turns back into a human, the Ministry gets alerted that two people are in a cell.
And he can’t let that happen, can he? So he has to let Remus catch under his chin and say
sweet remarks.

He chirps quite loudly, shivering, and Remus laughs. Regulus straightens quickly, not
knowing what got into him to make him act so cuddly. He starts to peck at Remus’ hand to
get him to back off, and he eventually gets the hint and drops him.

Regulus ruffles his feathers, then he pecks at Remus’ hand again.

“Ow! Stop that!”

Regulus whistles. He flies about the cell, then nips at Remus.

“What are you—”

He lets out a sigh. Regulus lightly taps his beak against the stone floor, repeatedly,
rhythmically, a warning. Regulus doesn’t know how any of this works, whether or not they’ll
run into him, or if Remus already knows he’s here, but he has to remind him anyway.

“Morse code?” Remus asks.

Regulus chirps happily.

“Well, okay then. F.”

Regulus chirps, and he goes through the name, the word, the most menacing threat looming
in this prison.

“F-E-N-R-I-R,” Remus spells cautiously, eyes flickering to Regulus for confirmation. “Fenrir
Greyback.” Regulus nods, and Remus lets out a small woosh of a breath, brushing the back
of his hair like he took a particularly bad fall. “Fuck, I forgot about him.” He puts his head
between his knees as his chest trembles, and Regulus starts to think that he knows Greyback
already.

Regulus is bad enough dealing with tears and emotions as a human, and now as a bird, he’s
practically useless. Is he supposed to hug him with his wings? Is he supposed to turn into a
human, damn the consequences? It’s not like he has friends to do this with. All of the
Slytherins are naturally withdrawn, the type of children that get told to hold their cards close
to their chest and build a poker face. He doesn’t think he’s seen anyone cry in front of him
since Hogsmeade, and even that was a rare experience that cleared up in less than two
minutes.

Remus is making these sounds that sound awfully similar to Regulus during an attack, and
before Regulus even realizes what he’s planning to do, it already slips out. He starts to sing.

It reminds him of Sirius’ whispers in the night when he couldn’t sleep. It’s the background
music that plays while they run through tall grass, their governess with a face blurry with
memory laughing and waiting to catch them in her arms. It’s the ice cream and sweets that
Andromeda would give them, giggling and full of freedom, hyper from sugar highs. It wasn’t
all pain. When their parents were out of the picture, it was the perfect childhood. But pain has
a habit of lingering where it’s not wanted, growing cracks and fissures in places he thinks are
healed. He understands, slightly, why Sirius left, why he let the pain blind him from seeing
the good.
Regulus begins to run out of breath, and Remus reaches a type of homeostasis. “You sang
that to James, trying to get him to sleep.”

Regulus doesn’t know what to say, or more accurately, what to do, so he stays still.

“Greyback bit me.” Remus lets out a shaky sigh. “I don’t. . . I don’t remember it quite well,
but my father had insulted him somehow at work. He came during the night and found a
break in the wards. I wasn’t scared. I was a weird kid, marked by loneliness, and I thought he
was coming to save me.” He lets out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head. “I had read too
many books, one too many fairytales. He would’ve killed me, but my father was working on
a case in the living room, heard me scream. . .” Remus’ eyebrows are wrinkled together like
he doesn’t know what to make of it. “I guess, it was a fairytale, in a way, just not the one I
wanted. Be careful what you wish for, and all that.”

His eyes water briefly before he blinks the tears away.

The days pass so slowly that Regulus isn’t sure they’re moving at all. Memories plague him,
nightmares are thieves stealing his sleep away. It’s all very abstract, outside his body. The
pain in his abdomen grows exponentially to the point that he has to bite his check, his tongue,
his lip, to stop himself from crying out. He wakes up with growing, fresh purple bruises. He’s
weak and pale, his veins the only colour in a black-and-white picture. The only anchor to the
real world is the food he picks off Rastaban’s tray, workouts, his visits with Remus that get
progressively quieter, and the Prophet. He stares at it day and night like a flower pointed to
the sun. It doesn’t matter how bad they are.

HECTIC IN HOGWARTS

After the arrest of Remus Lupin and Regulus Black, there have been multiple protests at
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. James Potter—Head Boy—and
muggleborn Lily Evans—Head Girl—lead the charge for the release of who they say are
innocents.

“I’ve known Remus since First Year,” quiet Lily said. “His magic is very gentle. If he
ever finds spiders, he doesn’t banish or kill them, he brings them outside himself.”

James agreed. He was out of breath from his Quidditch practice but still gave a winner’s
smile when I told him of Lily’s words. “Regulus is very dear to me. He knew what was
happening was wrong, and he stood up to it. We were all there that day at Hogsmeade.
We all saw those horrors, and we’ll have to live with them for the rest of our lives.”

I got a statement from Sirius Black, who you may remember from an earlier publication
for his disownment and denouncement of the House of Black. He’s very charming and
was happy to stop for a chat. “I think the Ministry is made of a bunch of old twats,
including my ex-father [Orion Black] and my ex-cousin’s husband [Lucius Malfoy].
Paint me as a radical all you want.” His many piercings, jewelry, and tattoos twinkled.

“They’re out of control. Arresting people with no trial, throwing my underage brother
against walls, putting a muzzle on my friend, embarrassing him, outing him [as a
werewolf], and thinking you’re getting away with it?” He smiled. “No chance. I was
with Remus the entire time at Hogsmeade. If he’s complicit, then I guess I am, too. If
the Ministry wants to arrest me on whatever bulls**t charges they have on Remus, they
know where to find me.”

That’s the new trend here. Almost every student in the Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw,
Gryffindor, and Slytherin houses are sending letters to Lord Bartemius Crouch Sr.
demanding the release of Remus Lupin or Regulus Black by naming the reasons why
they should be arrested as well. Outside, Lord Fleamont and Lady Euphemia Potter are
actively working to get them free.

Evan Rosier, heir to the House of Rosier and life-long friend of Regulus, said, “The
Aurors didn’t know they were doing something illegal because they don’t know the law.
They were warned, though. Regulus told them to move and they didn’t.” He shrugged,
not at all bothered by his bold claims.“In any other situation, Reg would be praised as a
hero for defending his friend.”
 Bartemius Crouch Jr. smiled. “Exactly. F**k Crouch!” he yelled with enthusiasm.

What do you think? Do these kids have a point about our “corrupt government”, or does
Dumbledore need to step in and instill discipline once and for all?

-Rita Skeeter

“How the hell did Skeeter get in the school? And Lily is not quiet!” Remus complains, dark
circles under his eyes. But Regulus can see a peek of a smile shining through as he circles
Sirius’ name with his finger.

OPINION PIECE: IS THERE A REAL DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MUGGLE-BORN

AND PUREBLOOD WIZARDS?

Rita Skeeter: RS

Anonymous Historian: AH

RS: Why did you choose to stay anonymous for this piece?

AH: The topic of blood purism is one of the most conventional and controversial among
the wizarding community. The history of magic and the study of its properties is a
dangerously understudied field, and that leaves those that are unqualified to speak on the
topic to voice their opinions.

RS: And you believe you are more qualified to talk about it?

AH: Not necessarily. I’m past the age of a hundred, you see. I’ve seen many historical
events unfold in front of my eyes. I think it’s important we see sense and look at the
warnings that history tells us.
 RS: What are those warnings?

AH: People will reject the idea of blood purism because it has quite the nasty name and
connotation attached to it due to Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. But rejecting it completely
due to that is a genetic fallacy. Most of the most powerful wizards we see are half-
bloods. I don’t think that it’s a coincidence.

RS: Why not, if you don’t mind me asking?

AH: Look at the way muggles live! They rely on such finicky things, start wars over
nationalism and ego. Now, look at how wizarding society across every continent
continues to blossom without muggle influence. Look at how we’ve been alive for as
long as muggles, yet in every culture worldwide, we’ve still managed to maintain
secrecy. We’ve kept entire buildings—whole dragons, under their noses—and they have
no clue. Muggles are wild and slightly barbaric compared to us, and I don’t think there’s
anything wrong with pointing that out.

RS: What do you think are the cons of blood purism? What do you wish people could
take away from this article?

AH: The cons? I think it becomes uncomplicated to turn on each other. Half-bloods and
muggleborns do have much more, ah, wild magic, compared to purebloods. It makes
them more of a hazard, especially when research shows that this wild magic isn’t more
powerful, just more uncontrolled.

AH: The only thing I wish for people to keep an open mind, Rita. Open minds lead to
easier acceptance, and that leads to progress.

Regulus is three seconds away from ripping out his hair. How do people not understand that
magic has nothing to do with it? Magical beings aren’t superior to one’s without, full stop.
There isn’t any way around it.
And just when Regulus starts explaining to himself why the Anonymous Historian is wrong
and he’s right, the bars on his cell start to separate, almost like it’s creating a door, the same
thing happening to Rodolphus’s cell across the hall.

He rises, a hand pressing to his abdomen as he gapes in disbelief. He blinks, wondering why
Rodolphus isn’t moving or saying anything. There’s no other explanation, at least, not one
he’s heard of. It’s so simple, it punches Regulus right in his chest.

They’re free.
 The Killing Moon
Chapter Notes

werewolves when transformed look like wolves in this story btw.

content warnings

-discussions of sexual assault

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Fate

Up against your will

Through the thick and thin

He will wait until

You give yourself to him

-Echo & the Bunnymen

Remus sees the bars on his cell stretch. He processes it, stares for a while so he knows the
impending full moon isn’t messing with his mind, and rolls over. Not today. Not today. A
Dementor just finished taking away another memory of Sirius while making him get torn
apart under a full moon over and over. He has a full-fledged fever and a headache. His hip
aches and pops, and whatever the fuck this stupid prison is trying to tell him can wait. He
wants to sleep. He wants something that isn’t that weird sludge they put on the trays. His
stomach roils at the thought.

“Remus,” Regulus says.

Remus doesn’t think anything about it because Regulus is always in his cell, but then he
thinks about it and springs up. Regulus is there—pale even for him, almost sickly, with a
crease between his eyes and more grey hairs—and he’s human.

“Oh my God.” He has his arms around Regulus before he can even think. Regulus is cold and
shivering, his nose pressing into Remus’ shoulder, and Remus says it again. “Oh my fuck.”

“You’re such a sap.” His voice is barely a croak.

“Yeah, I know. I know.” It’s so surreal having him here. He’s been here the whole time, but it
never helped to curb the loneliness. Regulus as a bird that could only talk in Morse code, that
was able to squeeze in between the bars of the window and leave at any time, it was kind of
disheartening to feel alone with his nightmares. Remus had asked why Regulus didn’t just
leave, and he had pecked out P-A-T-I-E-N-C-E. An eye roll that Remus couldn’t wait for
their friends to come. Then after a second, he pecked O-C-E-A-N. Regulus couldn’t fly for
that long over the ocean. Much more believable.

Together, they venture out of the cell.

Most of the cells are empty except for some mind-broken prisoners huddled up in the corner.
When they pass by Rodolphus’, he’s no longer there. Against the still, cold walls of the
prison, the loud clatter and brightness at the end of the corridor make Remus and Regulus
give each other a look.

It gets louder as they approach, and Remus’ ears twitch. Men are crowded in a huddle,
tearing and punching at each other as they yell. A door on the side brings more light into the
dim room, casting shadows against the long muggle lunch tables.

“What are they. . .” Regulus mumbles as Rodolphus screams and jumps on someone’s back.

“Once a week, they let us out,” a raspy voice says. A girl who can’t be much older than
Remus steps up in line with them. Her dark, greasy hair is pulled into a ratty ponytail, her
face is covered in grime, and her brown eyes are wide and shell-shocked. She shivers as a
Dementor passes by, the coat brushing her leg. “They let us write letters to whoever we want
and plead for our release to the Ministry. Over there,” she jerks her head to the open door, “is
for visitors. Ministry members will come and get you, though. So don’t get in the habit of
checking.”

Before either of them can respond, she sits at one of the tables and waits for the mob to wade.
Remus goes to sit next to her, but Regulus tugs on his sleeve. Remus lifts his brows in
question. “What?” he whispers. He can’t find a reason not to, and it’s not like many people
are ready to open up and give advice in this place. “You reckon she’s got a Dementor hidden
under her shirt?”

Regulus gives him a completely unimpressed look, but still trails behind as he sits beside her.
“I’m Remus,” he says softly, trying not to spook her. She barely seems like she’s breathing.
She’s clutching the sleeves of her shirt, scrunching it beneath her fingers. “And that’s—” He
glances across the table, where Regulus gives him a death stare. “That’s Leo,” he lands on
hesitantly. “Thank you for telling us that.”

“Euryale,” she says, and for a moment Remus wonders if there’s anyone in this prison that
has a normal name. “You one of those Death Eaters?” she asks, squinting. Her eyes roam
over to Regulus. She has a smooth drawl to her words that makes her sound sweet. “You look
like one of ‘em. Same hair and bored face. Bad names, too.”

Remus can’t help but let his lips twitch. She must be talking about Bellatrix. Although these
days, he imagines she doesn’t look quite as bored. Regulus scowls, lifting his chin, but says
nothing.

“No, we’re not,” Remus answers. There’s an awkward lull in the conversation where the girl
stares into space and Regulus scowls harder. Remus clears his throat, his fingers tapping a
pattern on his legs to purge his anxiety. “Is it okay if I ask what got you here?”

The girl’s eyes are dead as she turns to him, her posture deceivingly relaxed. “Some guy was
trying to rape me, and I used the Imperius Curse on him. Dementors used that memory
against me when I first got in here, but I stopped getting scared of it. They use my mom’s
death, now.” She looks away, then says quickly, “What about you?”

It makes him feel ill. He shakes his head, not knowing what to say. “I’m so sor—”
Regulus cuts him off. “They think he planned an attack on Hogsmeade. I tried to stop them
from arresting him. Might’ve used a Dark curse or two.”

She blinks at him, her face completely impassive, and then she lifts her hand. Regulus sways
back, eyeing her warily, before lifting his hand and giving her the slowest, quietest, least
powerful high-five he’s ever seen.

And before Remus can help it, he just laughs. The girl laughs with him, and then they’re two
psychos laughing at nothing, really. It’s not funny—after a week in here, nothing is funny, or
happy—but it feels nice to pretend he’s at Hogwarts, and all of this is normal. Regulus looks
appalled to sit with them, and he probably should be. The girl’s laugh is old and creaky like
she isn’t sure she remembers how to laugh, and a pleasant feeling washes over him at
knowing he got her to giggle.

“We should write a letter,” Regulus declares, staring at Remus. “To Lord and Lady Potter, to
my mother. To someone.”

“You think it’ll help? They’re doing the best they can.”

“Well, it’s better than doing nothing,” he snaps.

Remus leans into the girl’s ear, mock conspiring. “Someone’s in a bad mood,” he mutters,
loud enough for Regulus to hear. She smiles, seeming more present, the grip of her shirt
loosening. “You’re so impatient. You remind me of him.”

Regulus looks at him blankly before he goes pale in recognition, his mouth gaping like a fish
out of water. “No,” he spits out, shaking his head in downright repulsion, his upper lip
curling.

“Yes.” He grins. “Always did have a hard time sitting still, your brother.”
“You realize we’re on the brink of a war, right?” He blinks. “Like, you’re the king in this
game. Perhaps we should talk about something more important.”

“You’re still harping on about that?” Remus asks exasperatingly. “If the king is anyone, it’s
you.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he singsongs.

“What war?” The girl asks, a kink in between her brows.

Remus opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know where to start. It’s not even confirmed yet, it’s
a bunch of ideas merged into one. Is it even moral to warn this girl that the world could fall
apart outside when that might not happen? Make her worry for her loved ones while helpless
and isolated and alone? Regulus waves a hand. “Long story.”

The crowd eventually starts to wane, and the girl walks up to the table, grabbing a quill and a
piece of parchment, Regulus and Remus trailing behind her. Regulus writes a letter, too, but
he hides who he’s writing to, and instead of giving it to the awaiting grumpy owl with at least
twenty letters, he slips it into his pocket. Remus raises an eyebrow, and Regulus clears his
throat.

“That was quicker than I thought it would be,” he says. Such a little shit avoiding the
question.

The girl shrugs. “The prison has multiple floors. I guess there are separate stations for each
one.” Remus realizes that for her to know the prison so intimately, she must’ve been her for a
long time. But that—that doesn’t make sense. Sure, she used Dark magic, but as self-defence.
And if she’s as young as Remus thinks she is, then she’s been here for years, will be here for
many more, getting her soul sucked out for daring to use magic.
Magic shouldn’t be something hidden away from a certain group of people. It shouldn’t be
moral to throw a girl into prison for daring to defend herself, for throwing out the first spell
she could think of to get that arsehole off of her.

“Does it matter?” Regulus frowns. “I mean, do our crimes relate to what floor we’re replaced
on?”

“Not really. The bottom floor is for half-breeds, though. Vampires, giants, centaurs, and
werewolves during the full moon. Fenrir does love to talk.” She rolls her eyes. The term hits
Remus straight in the stomach, and he can feel himself swallow thickly, pretending he didn’t
hear it.

“Don’t say half-breeds,” Regulus says sharply.

Remus’ pulse starts to rise in anticipation. He never knows someone’s opinions on the subject
until it’s too late. Remus quite likes hanging out with this random girl, and he doesn’t want
her to be offended by Regulus’ defensive tone or disgusted once she realizes what his scars
are from. It’s not really her fault. Ever since, what? Third Year? They’ve been taught that
werewolves are horrible creatures that go bump in the night and if you’re not careful, they’ll
end up splitting open your stomach and killing you.

She blinks at Regulus, then shrugs. “Okay.”

There’s a rush of relief. In the corner, emerging from the light, is a dark-skinned man in
bright red Auror robes. Beside him is another man, who nudges him. The dark-skinned man
—boy, now that Remus can look at him better—has wide eyes and a small accent in his
words. “I—” he stutters. He looks up at his superior, who looks back at him bored. “I’m
looking for Remus Lupin and Regulus Black?”

“You have a visitor,” the girl rasps, impressed. “Good luck.”

There’s no point in pretending like they aren’t there. They have their face, names, and crimes
on file. They slowly walk forward, and Remus starts to tamper down his excitement. Getting
his hopes up doesn’t do him well here.
The older Auror gives them a sharp nod. “There’s a barrier between you and your visitors. If
you fight these restraints,” he holds up the magical handcuffs, “or make any sudden moves,
then we are well within our right to do as we see fit to subdue you again.”

“Is it in your right,” Regulus asks, “when our imprisonment isn’t lawful in the first place?”

There’s no response to that.

“Here goes nothing,” he mummers to Regulus. He only grunts in response, but Remus can
tell he’s a little nervous too.

He squints through the light, and the first thing he sees is long black hair, wide grey eyes, and
a slow-growing grin. “Hey, old man,” Sirius says. He shimmers behind the magical barrier,
the waves of purple washing over his face. Merlin, Remus could kiss right now. A smile
stretches across his face, and he’s helpless to stop it. “No jumper today?”

“Starboy, you fucker. Taking my epithets?” Remus walks forward, forgetting all about
Regulus, and Sirius’ face goes soft. Remus drinks in everything about him, the leather jacket,
the Docs, his tumbling hair down because they took his wand. Remus knows he looks
unbelievably fond, and Sirius winks.

“Away from the barrier!” One of the Aurors barks. Remus does back away, but not without
baring his teeth at them in some kind of silent growl. He stops when he realizes that he’s
acting insane.

“Don’t worry,” Effie assures him. He hadn’t even realized she was there, too swept up in his
smooth alabaster skin, the brightness in his eyes, the twitch in his smile that only happens
when he’s looking at Remus. Fuck, he can almost recall this one memory. . . “The court
proceedings shouldn’t take too long. Only take a couple of days.” Sirius’ eyes drop at that,
almost like he’s ashamed, and Remus doesn’t know what to think.
“And what about Reg?” he asks. He trusts them fully, but they’ve barely glanced at Regulus
lurking behind him. Sirius stares harder at the floor, lips pursing, his grip tight around a
slightly open mirror. James must be on a call. But how can Remus feel excited when they
won’t answer such a simple question? “What about Reg?” he asks, and the tension and anger
in his voice startles everyone, including himself.

“They can’t get me out,” Regulus says hollowly. His face is passive, body leaning against the
wall.

Remus knows that it’s tougher for Regulus, that attempted aggravated assault against an
Auror (fuck, say that five times fast) using Dark magic isn’t taken lightly. “If he’s not out,
then neither am I,” Remus says. He’s not letting Regulus take the fall for the Ministry’s
mistakes.

Effie says calmly, “Remus, it’s not that simple. You were wrongly accused, but multiple
Aurors saw him commit a crime—”

“If he’s not out, then neither am I.” Remus won’t let Regulus get tortured because he decided
to defend him.

“Moony,” Sirius says exasperated.

“Lupin,” Regulus snaps. “You have to get out of here, not me, you.”

“Oh, will you shut up about that?” Remus says just as sharply. The Aurors shift slightly, so
Remus lowers his voice. “Even if you’re right, and that’s a big fucking if, then who do you
think is the ‘teacher whose beginning is starry?’ You, you imbecile.”

Regulus grits his teeth. “That’s not how that works.”

“One minute!” The Auror barks.

He turns back to Sirius and Effie. “Listen, I love you guys. But I’m not leaving without him.”
He shrugs. “I can’t let it happen.”

Regulus groans. “Stupid Gryffindors.”

Remus smiles, and then an Auror grasps his arm and brings him out of the room. He blinks
though, because Regulus didn’t follow behind him. He turns towards the door that the Auror
slipped through, letting the door close behind him, and blinks.

Well, what the fuck does that mean?

Regulus is left alone with Dementors when the Aurors grab Lady Potter and Sirius, and
Apparate them out. He’s left with the slow turmoil of nightmares, a soft chill that’s become
somewhat comforting, and the sluggish flutter of his frosted eyelashes. The Dementors aren’t
trying to kill him, just keeping him in line with the swirl of their presence, their wave of
tattered black fabric. His mind is pleasantly quiet except for the whispers of memories, and
that constant twist in his abdomen.

Through his haze, he sees a stern face. The face is like his, but effeminate. “Mother,” he
whispers. He wonders how many strings she had to pull to get here with no Aurors to look
over it. He wonders why she’s here in the first place.

She has a purse, and Father’s walking cane, her fingers tapping on it rhythmically as her lips
purse. “I met with your cousin. We’re all prepared to let you rot in here.”

“Maman—”
She slams the cane on the floor, her eyes blazing, black hair falling out of its bun. Regulus
shivers. “Don’t you cut me off, boy!” She starts to pace, spit flying. “First you took Sirius’
side with his idiotic ideas, and then it was those mudblood books I found, cuddled up with
James Potter, throwing yourself in the way of the Ministry to protect half-breeds!” She huffs
out a crazed laugh. “If you were going to act like a blood traitor, you should’ve left with your
brother.”

“He is a werewolf, Mother!” Regulus yells. Her head jerks back. “One of the most powerful
ones I’ve seen in my life. He influences both the Ravenclaws and Gryffindors, sired by
Greyback himself. You and Bellatrix are too hot-headed. You have no idea the nuance and
delicateness this takes.” He finds his blood heating. He hates stupidity, no matter the side. “If
the Dark Lord were alive, he would be disappointed with you.”

“Don’t you say his name in vain.” She sounds hurt like a child being told no.

“And don’t you drag his name through the mud by half-baking your plans, then coming here
to yell at me like my IQ isn’t triple yours.”

And then for the first time in his life, he leaves mid-conversation with his mother. If no one
will help Regulus escape, he’ll do it himself.

Remus’ leg keeps bouncing. He can’t seem to get it to stop. He picks at his nails, not
knowing what to expect. It gets darker, the sun making the sky turn burnt orange. Dementors
swarm the halls, forcing prisoners back into their cages, the bars warping back to their
original shape.

All of them except his.

A Dementor forces him out of his cell, and he’s herded to a new place in a cold daze, his feet
stumbling, his breath like cotton candy in front of his shivering mouth. He sees a blur of
blood-red eyes and long fingernails reaching to grab his neck and suck his blood. He sees
giants strapped into a sitting position, hunched over their knees. Centaurs lying down, curled
into a ball, ears flickering. They pass by it all until they find someone who must be Greyback
in a cell.

His head starts to throb, his palms sweat, and his heart rate picks up as he nears the man who
bit him. That turned him into this. He’s not sure if his physical reaction is because of
Greyback, or the fact that this cell is made of silver. The Dementor pushes him inside. There
will be no kindness. No Madam Pomfrey patching him up with her sweet, floral perfume. No
Padfoot or Prongs or Wormtail. No one there to give him weed or Stupefy him when the pain
gets too bad.

Greyback looks up, rolling his shoulders to his full height, smiling with a sniff. “You’re one
of mine.”

“No, I’m not.” His denial is fierce. He’s not one of Greyback’s. He’s not anyone’s.

“I can smell me on you. All of mine have a similar scent.” He takes a step forward, and
Remus takes a step back and runs right into the bars. His back gets seared by the crippling
heat of silver branding into his back. He cries out, paralyzed by the pain, and Greyback grabs
him by his shirt to pull him off. “Are you alright, little one?” he asks as Remus pants, the
pain lingering deep under his skin. The hand on his shirt tightens. “Speak.”

“I’ll be okay.” The words rip from his throat without permission, and Greyback hums, finally
letting go.

“You’re a sweet one,” Greyback says, almost off-handedly. “Are you the prostitute from
Romania? Or was it Bolivia?”

Remus lifts his eyebrows. “That’s illegal.”

“Look where we are.” Greyback lifts his arms, showing off his rotting teeth. “Legality is a
silly thing. It doesn’t matter. Legal doesn’t mean moral, little one. If all was right in the
world, they wouldn’t have made the bars out of silver. They wouldn’t have forgotten about
beasts in the first place when they made this place. I was fighting for the rights of my people,
and yet I’m the one stuck in here while dainty purebloods run free,” he sneers.

“I never said it was bad or good, I said it was illegal.”

Greyback starts to smile, but then Remus’ ankle breaks clean. He falls, his palms grating
against the concrete, panting as brown hair starts to grow rapidly on his hands, muscle
building, blood pulsing. His hip throbs and he cries out through gritted teeth, his spine
curling.

“Little one,” Greyback says. He hasn’t made a sound since their transformations started, the
only sign that he’s in any pain the small puffs of his breath.

“Fuck off!” Remus shouts, sounds louder, his heart beating at a pace too fast, scents sharp
and muddled together.

“Look at me.”

Remus looks at him, lips parted, before he even processes the words. Greyback looks sincere
as his kneecaps break and his legs shift. “You have to let go.”

Remus shakes his head. He can’t. He doesn’t want this to happen. Remus wants to be at
Hogwarts. He doesn’t want to be a monster. He doesn’t want Moony here now. Remus wants
to go home. Remus wants his mom. Remus wants someone here to hold his hand, to hold him
against his chest, to let him be small and innocent and painless.

“Give up, let it wash over you. It’s like being high.”
Remus tosses his head back, the pull in his stomach drawing him into darkness. It’s like
drowning in cold water, salt burning his nose and eyes. Tendons, ligaments, sinew, bone,
brain, vocal chords, nerves, all shifting. The pain feels good, feels like control. His vocal
chords strain, vibrate with the force of the howl. Kinship builds under his fur as he hears
another one. Another one like him.

Pack isn’t here. The stag, the dog, the rat. But there is a wolf. One larger than him, grey hair,
amber eyes. Friend. He leans back. He tilts his head. His ears are twitching.

Don’t trust, his human whispers.

The strange wolf lifts his tail, makes eye contact, makes himself bigger. The wolf bares his
teeth, ears pointed up towards him. Trying to intimidate. Trying to make him submit.

Oh, this won’t do. Usually, packs consist of families, with the mother and father leading their
children. Technically they should submit to Greyback, but the thought makes him angry, and
with Moony being a pack leader himself, he doesn’t want to let up either.

Moony shoves Remus back, upset that he’s taking up so much space in their brain and
thinking so much. Remus steps back with a little grumble.

They start to circle each other, gums bared, eyes blazing. Been so long since he’s been able to
sink his claws into something.

Don’t, the human whispers. Moony growls. We’ll be here for hours. No help. I’ll make it up
to you.

Nothing will feel better than plunging his claws into the wolf’s flesh.

We’ll see Padfoot.

Moony’s ears pin back. Padfoot?

Padfoot.

Moony huffs. Fine. He walks to a corner, bundles himself up, and lets his tail rest near his
head. He won’t passively or actively submit and he won’t start a fight either. It’ll have to be
good enough.

Remus awakes with clothes on and a deep ache in his bones and muscles. He ignores
Greyback, trying to focus on not passing out, closing his eyes against the vertigo threatening
to make him hurl.

“Have you ever spent a moon with a pack before?”

“I have a pack,” Remus grunts out.

Greyback tilts his head. “Not a wolf one. You are so repressed. It’s a shame. I have a pack
around here—”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Remus snaps, Moony lurking beneath his sternum, ready
to return at Remus’ command. “Everything bad that’s happened to me is your fault.”

He laughs. “Don’t blame your problems on me, little one. It’s the people you surround
yourself with.”
 Remus snorts. The only reason he’s here is because the Ministry thought they could make an
example out of him. He remembers approximately 156 times he’s been torn apart under the
moon. That’s not something his friends can fix, and neither can his teachers. “Yeah, sure.”

The Dementors come to escort Greyback first, then Remus. Most likely to limit their chance
of teaming up to escape. Not like he’d ever escape with fucking Greyback of all people.

He’s passing by a cell when he sees familiar dark hair and brown eyes. “Euryale,” Remus
whispers. All of the blood drains from his face when she turns to look at him, a notch
between her bewildered eyes as if she’s never seen him before. She doesn’t say anything as
he passes, not a hint of recognition in her eyes.

When he collapses on his cot in exhaustion, he realizes that their meeting was the happiest
memory she had left, and the Dementors took it.

Chapter End Notes

im sorry if this chapter isn't as put together as the others. all of the details are really
important, and i couldn't find a better way to make it run more smoothly!
 Chapter 28
Chapter Notes

no content warnings!

Stop calling

It’s time to let me be

If you think you can save me

I dare you to try

-Weyes Blood

Remus’ cell clicks like muggle machinery. It lifts out of the ground, ripping concrete, and his
stomach lurches, mouth dry. Sneaking to Hogsmeade—a bright smile that rivals the stars—
breath like Firewhisky—“Come on, Moons, let’s get you home, yeah?”

Remus blinks against a barrage of light, sound, and smell, seeing shapes and colours even
when his eyes are closed. He leans his head against the bars of his cell, the cool metal making
him sigh against his flushed skin. Remus gets like this sometimes after the full, his body
trying to fight off his lycanthropy.

He must draw on the grief of hope,

It all rests on the fate of the. . .

The prophecy. Bellatrix. Regulus. The sound gets louder, not like his mother banging pans,
humming while making breakfast. Not like waking up with Sirius pressed against him. It’s
not soft, it’s not welcoming. It makes his spine curl, Moony lurking just beneath the surface.
He feels his teeth grow, his eyes glow, and he lets it happen, breathing fast. It’s like his
parents debating whether to put him down like a rabid dog at seven years old, the look on
Sirius’ face when he told him: “I’m sorry. Fuck, Moons, I didn’t mean for any of this to
happen. I wasn’t thinking. I—”

It’s a broken record in his head. A bad fever dream.

His twinkling eyes. His long white beard. “How do you do, Remus?”

“Don’t. You’re a healer, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m a professor.”

“I don’t believe you. Da wants me looked at. They think I’m different.”

“Well, perhaps they’re right.”

“They think I’m a monster.”

“Hogwarts isn’t a place for monsters. Hogwarts is a school. A school of magic. I’d like you
to come to school there, so you can learn magic.”

Remus is hesitant.

“You don’t have to decide now, Remus. How about we play a game of Gobstones?”

His sparkling blue eyes.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes.

Dumbledore’s eyes staring at him through the bars.

Remus shivers. He smells Sirius. He smells Bartemius Crouch Snr. He sees people, Skeeter,
his father.

“Remus?” Dumbledore asks. “Are you alright?”

Remus shakes his head. “Put me back,” he whispers. “Bring me back.”

The last thing on his mind is Regulus when he passes out.

Remus wakes to soft light, the smell of nature, and the soft titters of birds. There isn’t a
churning, crashing ocean or screams that echo down a hall. Remus doesn’t open his eyes,
because if this is a dream, he doesn’t want to wake up. He opens one eye and is met with a
foreign scene. Smooth and warm wood, comforting shades of earth. He’s buried in a mess of
creamy, velvety blankets. The room is too clean to be lived in, the rug fluffed, the curtains
pushed aside, letting the morning sun in.

The door is cracked open ever so slightly. Through the crack, he sees eyes staring at him. The
eyes turn red, while the skin beneath them turns a violent and unnatural shade of pink. They
both startle and with a squeal and loud footsteps, they’re gone.

The bedside table has a glass of half-empty glass of water. Remus guzzles it down in one
gulping burst, then throws it against the hardwood floor, picking up a chunk of glass for a
makeshift weapon. He realizes he’s not wearing the Azkaban uniform, but an old jumper of
his and a pair of loose cloth shorts.
What the fuck?

His plan of breaking the window and escaping goes out the window. He has to be with
someone he knows if they could get something of his. But, few people would care to put him
in clothes he likes. He notices that his body is scrubbed clean, the little stubble he was
beginning to grow gone. The disgusting fuzzy feeling he had on his teeth replaced by fresh
mint. Remus clutches the piece of glass in his hand, not caring if it draws blood, and heads
towards the commotion on shaky legs.

“Mum!” A girl cries. “He’s awake! I saw him!”

A tired sigh. “Dora, please.”

“This time he really is!”

“Was it your true love kiss that did it?” Sirius snarks with a snort.

“Shut it, Snuffles.” The girl teases, and Remus walks into the kitchen, seeing Sirius tickling a
little girl. Her hair is red, her skin pink, and she’s begging for mercy from Sirius’ deft fingers.
They’re sitting at a table made of dark oak. Behind them is a living room with a muggle
television. It’s a cozy house, seemingly one story.

A woman looks up from where she sets the table and gasps at Remus. She has the Black
family cheekbones, dusky straight hair, and big brown eyes. They stare at each other for a
while, and though she was initially shocked to see him, she doesn’t seem surprised to see him
in her house. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” she says finally, waving her wand to refold a
wayward blanket on the couch. She seems nervous for some reason, wary and young.

The last thing Remus remembers is being in his cell, the eyes of Dumbledore staring into
him. “Am I?” he asks wryly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Despite it, Sirius’ head
snaps up, his fingers retreating from the girl—Dora, he guesses—to stare at him.
“I told you he was awake,” Dora whispers.

Sirius palms her head and rises with a lopsided grin. He stalks over to Remus, and Remus
can’t help his responding mischievous smile, throwing his arms around him and drawing him
in. He’s firm and solid, the band tee he has on weathered and soft, and when Remus buries
his nose above his ear, he smells coconut and feels the silky strands of his hair tickling his
nose. “Starboy,” Remus whispers harshly. His throat is thick, and he can’t help but feel at
home now.

Home used to be in his little cottage in Wales, but it’s cold with the death of his mother and
the attitude of his father. Home used to be Hogwarts, but it’s ruined with the stain of his
outing. But here, in the space between Sirius’ shoulder and head that Remus owns, is a new
home filled with soft sighs and understanding. A home that Remus doesn’t want to give up,
that he’ll hold onto harder than the last two.

“Old man.” Sirius laughs, a delighted sound full of wonder. He leans back, his hand on the
back of Remus’ neck, staring into his eyes. “Don’t do that again, yeah? Scared the shit out of
us—out of me.” There’s a slight wobble to his voice and a shine to his eyes that Remus
doesn’t point out.

“I’m not planning on going back to Azkaban anytime soon.”

Sirius’ hand runs through the clean curls at the nape of his neck, and Remus is grateful that
someone took the time to clean him, no matter how embarrassing it is. Sirius’ eyes are very
grey, with a small crease between his brows that he gets when thinking.

“Pads,” Remus says, his heart pounding at this strange tension that lingers between them.
Unfinished business Remus wouldn’t like to unpack in front of Sirius’ family members,
especially the five-year-old child.

Sirius hums, his gaze rising from Remus’ lips to his eyes. A smirk on his lips that reads
nothing but trouble. “Yeah?”
“Not that I’m not happy to see you, but can you tell me what’s going on?”

“We got you out, mate. They’re searching the Potter’s house, making sure they have a
Ministry-approved containment area for lycanthropy-based transformations.” He rolls his
eyes at the term. “Effie’s still fighting to get you back to Hogwarts. In the meantime, we’re
staying with my cousin, Andromeda.” Sirius seems bashful, his eyes not quite able to meet
Remus as he backs away and gestures a hand at her.

Remus shakes her hand. It’s soft and unblemished, with her mid-length nails painted nude.
“I’ve heard a lot about you.” It’s true. Sirius talked about Andromeda in the way Remus did
about his mother. He brought her up like she was an authority figure who made the rules on
how to be cool. His record player and most of his records came from her. Dromeada did this,
Dromeada did that. It was constant.

She smiles, and Remus is taken aback at how similar it is to Sirius’. The way one side quirks
up before the other before pink lips split to reveal perfect teeth, eyes crinkling. “All good
things, I hope.”

“That’s an understatement. Since First Year he’s been going on about how cool you are. Your
letters were like Gospel.”

Andromeda laughs. “I’m afraid I’m not as cool as I used to be. Traded in late-night
adventures for Dora.”

Sirius snorts. “A late-night adventure is what made Dora.”

She swats Sirius with a tea towel. “Behave, bug.” She addresses Remus. “My husband Ted
should be coming in any minute, always likes to take a morning run.” Remus limps to the
table, hiding back a wince, his body still sore. He sits across the table from Dora, who looks
at him with wide eyes. Her skin and eyes have returned to normal, but her hair is still a
vibrant red. A metamorphmagus, then. Remus feels almost uneasy. He’s forgetting
something. . .
Before Remus can strike up a conversation, Effie bursts through the Floo. She tugs her
wizard’s hat off, leaving her hair frizzy. It’s a sight. She prefers muggle clothes to wizarding
ones. She only wears robes when it’s something for work. “Andy, where’s Ted? Not out for a
run still, is he?”

“Afraid so.” Her eyebrows crease, her tone turning cautious. Her eyes dart to Dora, who’s
trying to rub out a fresh orange juice stain on her shirt, before returning to Effie. “Everything
alright?”

Effie waves her hand, and the Daily Prophet appears. She shows the front page to
Andromeda, and her brows crease further, her eyes flying across the page. “That can’t be,
Mia. . .”

“Flea’s confirmed it.” Effie sighs, shaking her head. “I’ve told Dumbledore. He’s putting the
Order back together. They’ve decided to expand the search on the house. The Ministry talks
of putting Dementors out to search for him.” She shakes her head again as if her body can’t
help but protest whatever she’s seeing.

Sirius frowns. “What’s up, Mum?”

Dementors, Azkaban, Remus, and then it hits him. “Regulus,” he blurts. He’s such an idiot
for not realizing it sooner. That’s why he’s been tense even though he’s safe. He’s why
Remus is still clutching onto the piece of glass, hoping someone will give him his wand. “It’s
him, isn’t it?” He smiles, even as everyone’s faces drop. His heart beating out of his chest.
“That bastard’s managed to escape.”

The day after the full moon, Regulus rises, ignores the pain in his abdomen, eats breakfast,
and goes to Remus’ cell. He’s not going there for his company anymore. It’s not for witty
smiles or Remus’ stories from when he was a child. He’s going to make sure he can leave. It
makes Regulus feel dirty, using Remus like this, as if he’s a foe, an obstacle to be put out of
the way. But Regulus got himself arrested to keep Remus safe, and if Remus is secure, if he’s
gone, so is his reason.

Regulus starts not to think, and everything becomes simple. He flies to Remus’ cell, and he’s
not there, neither is his food and newspaper. Regulus waits for the next day’s paper, which
exclaims that Remus is free, yet ill. A picture of protesters outside the Ministry makes the
front page.

Regulus waits for the cover of the night.

The Dementors slow down their soul-sucking when the sun goes down. While the Ministry
wants them as broken as possible, they still want them alive. Sleep, food, stimulation via the
paper, and the small bit of hope they give them by letting them out once a week are there to
keep them alive enough to get tortured. It’s sadistic and masochistic, but utterly beautiful in
its execution.

Regulus slips out through the little bars that are in the windows. Across the way, Rodolphus
makes a wounded sound. For the first time, Regulus wonders why the Death Eaters would
leave Bellatrix’s husband. He must not be important to the war effort.

Regulus flaps his wings over the mist of the ocean, flying through the night, and stumbling
on land by morning. He transforms back into a human, so out-of-breath his lungs ache, sinew
and muscles screaming for a break.

Somewhere, sirens sound.

He’s doubtful it’s real, but it doesn’t matter. It motivates him to continue, stumbling across
the path, everything a blur of hot sun and dark oak. He collapses, dehydrated and starving,
and pulls enough energy from his magical core and the surrounding air. He grits his teeth to
block a scream. It hurts, but everything does.

Half-dead, Regulus Apparates.

He’s inside Black Manor, the cold, dead atmosphere familiar to him, and he calls for
Kreacher. “Get me food and water,” he snaps, and Kreacher disappears with pulled-back ears
and a pop. Regulus doesn’t have time for amiability. He doesn’t have time for anything—

Regulus takes a deep breath, falling further into his fuzzy, comforting subconscious, not
thinking. Regulus takes in substance without care, abandoning years of eloquence lessons. He
can barely taste it as it goes down. It’s hot, too hot, but he doesn’t care. He chases it down
with water that’s so cold it makes his teeth cringe. Preferences don’t matter. Nothing matters.
He needs a plan. He needs—

“Regulus?”

He whips around.

His mother is pale, paler than he’s ever seen her. Her dark hair is slicked back into a low bun,
eyes flicking over his face as if she hadn’t seen him a handful of days ago. Regulus is sick of
her already.

“Regulus, how are you. . .what—”

“Fetch Bellatrix. Or has she moved into my room already?” He straightens his back, the pain
in his abdomen and multiple bruises that he suspects are hemophilia from the inbreeding
fading. He sighs as magic returns to him in a rush. He’s unsure if the Ministry binds
prisoners’ magical cores, but it doesn’t matter. Regulus is too powerful for whatever half-
arsed spell they could’ve done on him. He slowly becomes the heir he’s been forced to
become, his tongue sharper, his movements cutting, his mind laying out plans and discarding
them as if he’s a machine.

“Stop your gaping, mother. You look like a fish. It’s unbecoming.” He walks—more limps—
to the stairs and cups his hands around his mouth, the Sonorus already forming.
“BELLATRIX!” Regulus shouts, letting the name bounce around the house as an echo. He
presses on his Mark so she knows it’s urgent.
She comes only a few minutes later. “Auntie, I’ve told you and Kreacher that I want no visit
—” She stops short when she sees him, not surprised in the slightest. “Well, hello, Reggie
kins. You know it’s rude to show up uninvited.” Her wicked smile turns into a deep pout.

“You’ll need to assemble a meeting. When Dumbledore catches wind of my escape, he’ll
reassemble Order because he’ll assume you’ve aided in my escape. It’ll solidify in his mind
that I’m no longer on his side. Owl your spy and tell him to ensure he’s in the meeting. We
need to move quickly. We’re on a precipice that either one of our sides can be pushed off, so,
if you have a plan, it’s time to start putting it into motion.”

Regulus is out of breath, and Kreacher presses another glass of water into his hands. Regulus
mutters his thanks.

Bellatrix smiles. “We're so happy to have you back.”

 BLUE
Chapter Notes

our last chapter before things get rough!

no content warnings

But we can’t save you

You were born reachin’ for your mother’s hands

Victim of your father’s plans to rule the world

Too afraid to step outside

Paranoid and petrified of what you’ve heard

-Billie Eilish

Regulus dunks under the water, letting the world turn quiet. He wonders if Remus thinks it’s
deafening or soft. If he’s back at Hogwarts, cuddled up with his brother. He wonders if
Remus has thought of him at all. Regulus emerges with a gasp, clutching the sides of the
bath, teeth chattering. The frigid water helps him stay awake. It keeps him from slipping back
into bed and sleeping until he physically can’t.

He climbs out of the tub, so cold he’s expecting a Dementor to round the corner any second.
He pats himself dry and wraps his bathrobe around himself. When he steps into his bedroom,
someone wraps a hand around his mouth and draws his back into their chest. “It’s me, Reg.”

Regulus can’t place the voice, but when he does, he carefully pries their hand off his mouth,
swiping a thumb over his brown, calloused hand. Regulus can barely believe it, and he slowly
turns around, fear spiking in him. Glasses, a bright grin, messy hair. James, James, James.
Regulus places his hands on the side of James’ face, disbelieving. “Potter? What are you
doing here? How are you—”

James takes his hand and presses a chaste kiss to his palm, lips lingering. “We don’t have
time, Reggie.” James rips himself away, leaving Regulus unsteady and mind whirring. “I’m
getting you out of here.”

“I—what?” As much as Regulus would love to run and not look back, it’s not possible. James
isn’t stupid. He knows Regulus won’t go, but he’s opening his bedroom window, grabbing
the broom propped against it with his right hand.

He turns to Regulus with a broad grin, shifting the broom from his right to left to grab the
potioner’s knife in his pocket. “Here, take your knife. We have to go.” He shakes the hand,
and Regulus warily grabs it.

He looks James up and down. James wears his red Converse, baggy jeans, and a garish red
jumper. Nothing seems amiss, but a deep feeling in his stomach screams something is wrong.
It’s the same feeling he had in Hogsmeade before the bombs dropped, the day when Sirius
packed his bags, bruised and battered, and looked hopefully at him. The sharp twist in his
gut, the spasm in his legs to run, the animal part of his brain running rabid. “What if I just set
you on mother instead?” Regulus asks.

James’ eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t blink, dazed. He doesn’t laugh. His eyebrows furrow,
deeply, an expression saved for a tough Quidditch match, a difficult assessment. “What?”

Regulus smirks, casual. “Only joking.” James still looks confused, so Regulus says, “When
you were younger and bit her in the leg.”

James lights up in recognition. He laughs. Regulus draws him into a sudden hug. He tilts his
head towards his ear, void of any citrus, and tells him, “If you go quietly, they might not kill
you.” He spins his knife and drives it into James’ back. Regulus feels a phantom pain in his
back as James cries out, his body locking in pain, and Regulus squeezes his eyes shut at the
sudden burst of sorrow that blooms in his chest.
James is left-handed. James bit his mother in the arm, not the leg. Regulus doesn’t know who
is in his arms, but it certainly isn’t James Potter. It is not the man he has grown to love. He’d
know him backward, after thousands of years. He’d know him by the brush of their skin, the
force of his smile and laugh. Regulus would know him on his deathbed, in his grave.

The stranger jerks back, a shocked look on his face, stumbling. He tries to get the knife out of
his back but grasps it uselessly. Regulus goes about his room, getting dressed, as someone
bleeds out on his rug.

“Reg,” he moans. “Regulus!”

He flinches, his fingers shaking as he slips on the sleek black robes Kreacher left on his bed.

“You don’t walk away from me, Regulus,” he pants. The way he’s screaming at him only
hardens his resolve that it isn’t James, but it still hurts. It still makes his eyes sting with tears
he won’t let fall. “Regulus, please, I love you. I would never do this to you. Darling, please.
We can be happy together, I promise. I promise.”

“Kreacher,” his voice is a croak, and he clears his throat. He doesn’t turn at the sound of the
elf popping in. He can barely look at James, at the elf, at himself. “Please tell Mother I have
James Potter in my room.”

He turns toward the door briskly, packing the part of him that feels, that aches, in a small box
to open later. He swings it open and finds quite the crowd. Regulus can see the Malfoys,
Notts, Muclibers, Goyles, Greengrasses, and Crabbes. There’s more, but his eyes find his
mother’s first. “We’re here to escort you to the meeting.”

Regulus assumes it was all a test to prove his loyalties. He clenches his jaw but says nothing,
Summoning his knife and gladly watching his mother flinch as he wipes off the blood on his
new robes. “Vulnera Sanetur,” he says with appropriate hand movement, and not-James sucks
in a breath as the wound is healed. “Who is bleeding on my floor, then? Whose son has this
as his initiation?”
He shoulders past the crowd, not particularly caring for the answer over the rush of
reassurance that it’s not James he’s stabbed. “As if we’d let one of ours be so undignified,”
Narcissa answers primly, her high heels clicking on the marble floors. “We’re sorry, Regulus,
but it was on Bellatrix’s orders.”

“Oh, spare me, Cissa,” Regulus spits, letting his true frustration shine in his words. “Bellatrix
has been wary of me since I refused to throw myself on my knees and bow to her. Don’t be
surprised if you’re crowded outside my door again next week.”

“Are you talking ill of her?” Lucius’ tone is icy, and it frosts over the group. Has Regulus
mentioned how much he despises that man?

Regulus stops sharply and turns, raising an eyebrow. “I think that Bellatrix is a raging bitch.”
There’s a horrified gasp. “And you can tell her I said that. She’s heard it all before.”

“It’s true,” Bellatrix says, rounding the corner. “If you wanted something to be disgusted at,
you should’ve been there when I marked him.” She smiles, sighing as if reminiscing. “What
did you say, dear Reggie? Ah, yes. Something about me being a raging bitch, psychotic cunt,
he’d kill me if he could, all dramatic. But if my memory serves me correctly, I believe we
have many things to discuss.”

The Order consists of too many people. Some are families like the Prewetts, Weasleys,
Potters, Pettigrews, and Bones. There are a few like Alice, Frank, Benjy Fenwick, Caradoc
Dearborn and more that Remus doesn’t know about. He and Sirius have been booted to
what’s basically the kid’s table. While they’re old enough to join the Order, no one seems
comfortable including them in important conversations. Peter and James are still in Hogwarts
(Remus hasn’t found the right time to ask why Sirius isn’t with them) and no one else of their
age is milling around.
It’s just Remus and Sirius, Sirius and Remus, once again. Remus can faintly hear the Order’s
mutterings in the living room from their place in the guest bedroom, Sirius lazily strumming
while sprawled out on the bed.

“Moony,” he sighs, the blur of chipped black polish pausing over the strings.

“Padfoot.” Remus smiles from his place on the floor.

“I’ve held out long enough.” Sirius pushes his guitar aside, sitting up with a wicked smile.
“What are you doing?”

Remus is lying flat on his back, and he bends one knee to his chest, holding it there for
roughly ten seconds before letting it down with a quiet sigh and repeating it on the other leg.
“Hip stretches,” he grunts. He spent most of his time in Azkaban doing them. Remus is
always uncomfortable discussing how lycanthropy affects him, but he decides to try. It’s not
like it’s a secret he has a bum hip. He averts his eyes, saying somewhat awkwardly, “Poppy’s
on me about them. Says it’s supposed to help strengthen the muscles around the joint. It could
help relieve some pain.”

Sirius watches for a couple of seconds, unknowingly making Remus’ heart beat faster, before
he makes eye contact. “Why have I never seen you do them before?”

“I dunno. . .” Sirius lifts his brows, not satisfied. “It’s awkward. I didn’t want to be fucking
splayed out in the dorm.”

“And you also didn’t want to admit that you might need help.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Sirius watches for longer before he blinks and asks, “Can I? Help?”
Remus pauses, not sure how to respond. Can Sirius help? Absolutely. Should Sirius be
hovering over him, panting on his face while Remus grunts in his? Absolutely not. “I’m not
sure if it’s a good idea.”

Sirius rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, Moons.” He hops off the bed, eager to aid a friend.
Coddle Remus like he loves doing. “C’mon, where do you want me?”

Remus sighs and looks heavenward, knowing that Sirius is hell-bent on assiting, and that
nothing he can say will sway him. “Get in between my legs,” he mutters, embarrassment
already making him pink.

Sirius settles, his hand swiftly cupping Remus’ knee, all sweet and gentle touches. “Like
this?” he murmurs, watching Remus’ face as his knee bends and presses deep into his
sternum. Remus melts because having someone help him does unfortunately make it better.

Remus makes a vague grunting groan. “Push it out.” Sirius does, lightly pushing his knee to
the floor, and Remus’ jaw drops as his hip audibly pops.

Sirius laughs. “Fuck yeah.” He does it again, pushing a little too far, and Remus grimaces,
pulling in a sharp puff. “Sorry, too much?” His eyes glint with worry as if he’s just broken his
hip.

“Do it on the other side but slower, please.”

Sirius presses the other in, then swivels it out with careful but confident hands, as if he’s done
this a thousand times. He wiggles his body closer between Remus’ thighs, and Remus is
trying so hard to keep his eyes on the ceiling. Sirius lays both of Remus’ feet down and his
thumbs start to kneed at the tight muscle at the joint. “Anything else?”

Remus shakes his head. “The other ones hurt too much.”
Sirius hums, but doesn’t back away, his thumbs wiggling into his flesh the same way he
wiggled closer to Remus’ pelvis. “Are you going to look at me, Rem?”

He rolls his eyes and stares at grey ones gazing at him. He can’t get a read on Sirius, which is
odd. “Happy?” he questions dryly, and a slow smile stretches across Sirius’ face. “I don’t
know why you’re smiling,” he grumbles. Merlin’s sake, he sounds like such an old man.

“‘Cause you’re always taking care of me.” Sirius shrugs, but there’s discomfort in how he
looks away and the faint blush that dusts his cheeks. In all their years, Remus has only seen
Sirius flush after Quidditch, one too many drinks, or sex. “It just feels right to finally be able
to take care of our Moony, yeah? Especially when you loathe it so much.” The smile that’s
built up on Sirius’ face falters, and he clears his throat.

Remus blinks. He restrains himself from surging up and kissing him. To try and diffuse the
tension, Remus flicks Sirius. “I didn’t know you knew what loathe means.”

Sirius’ grin comes crawling back. “I’ve been around the block once or twice.” He hooks his
hands on Remus’ waist and hauls him onto Sirius’ lap. “Or maybe you’re just rubbing off on
me.” His voice is low and sultry, eyebrows waggling suggestively.

Remus rolls his eyes and pinches Sirius so hard he jerks. “I’m not one of your little fuck
buddies. The flirting doesn’t work on me.” The flirting is working, and Remus doesn’t know
how to hide how well it is.

His eyes turn soft and fucking fond—which no one’s eyes should be allowed to do—and
Sirius’ voice goes faint. “Don’t I know it.”

The door opens then, and both their heads snap up to find Andromeda (Please, Remus. Mrs.
Tonks makes me feel old.) peeking her head through. “Oh!” She blinks harshly. Sirius stiffens
but doesn’t move. They’re not doing anything bad, but it’s like they’re two naughty kids
caught shaking presents on Christmas Eve.

“My hip,” Remus grimaces as an explanation, and she nods like it explains why Remus’
bottom half lies comfortably in her cousin’s lap.
“Dumbledore’s calling you.” She looks at Remus. “Just you.”

Sirius’ jaw clenches. It’s a sign of distrust on Dumbledore’s part. If it were a couple of
months back, Remus would’ve winced, but let Sirius stay alone in this room. It’s
Dumbledore, for Merlin’s sake. The kind, righteous man who played Gobstones with a
werewolf in Wales. The man who delivered the final blow to Voldemort and ended the Great
Fear. Pushing back against him, saying no to him, makes something violent squirm and rebel
against his very being.

Remus gets up, but before he walks out the door, he gets an overwhelming sense of deju vu.
Sometime, somewhere, he makes this mistake, and it costs him his friendships, his family. He
can’t help but think of Regulus’ extreme dislike for Dumbledore. He can’t help but think of
what will happen to him after the war, broken and battered without a friend by his side.

Without thinking, Remus turns to Sirius and nods his head out the door, gesturing for Sirius
to come with him. There’s a brush against his back, a blinding smile, and they head toward
battle plans, together.
 Grace

There’s the moon asking to stay

Long enough for the clouds to fly me away

Well it’s my time coming, I’m not afraid, afraid to die

-Jeff Buckley

Remus walks through Hogwarts’ doors with Sirius by his side. It took a long time, more
petitions signed, Skeeter begging for an interview, and hundreds of angry Howlers sent to the
Potter’s doors to allow him to finish his final year. And, well, Remus can’t say it’s going well
so far. When he steps into the Great Hall at dinner, the hall goes silent, and they stare at him.
Something ugly unfurls in his veins, and he feels himself going red. Are his scars too visible?
Do they notice how his pants end above the ankle? Do they think he’s a freak, a monster,
more fit for Slytherin than Gryffindor?

“It doesn’t matter what your friends think, Remus. The system is against you. It’s rigged so
you can’t succeed. You’ll always be a monster to them.”

“You’re wrong. You’re wrong.”

“Wait a couple years, kid. See if I’m wrong then.”

Sirius throws an arm around Remus’ shoulders and walks them to the Gryffindor table. His
friends erupt in defeating cheers that make him duck his head to hide his smile, Sirius
shaking him in excitement. Lily gets to her feet and throws her arms around him, and tears
sting his eyes. He’s missed him, he’s missed all of them.

“Why didn’t you tell me, you wanker?” she asks.

“It makes so much sense, now,” Mary groans. “I swear I heard howls on the full moon.”

“Sure,” Dorcas drawls, smiling when Mary punches her in the arm.

Sirius pushes on his shoulders to get him to sit down, and he’s bombarded with questions. Is
he okay? Does he know where Regulus is? What was Azkaban like? (James gets chastised for
that one.)

“Uh, hey.”

Behind him stands Emma Vanity, Peter’s recent ex-girlfriend, and a member of Remus and
Lily’s study group. He blinks, the air going awkward as Peter slumps. “Emma! Hey!”

She laughs, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Don’t look so scared, it’s nothing bad! I just
wanted to tell you I’m glad you’re back. You didn’t deserve for that to happen to you.”

“I—” He swallows through the lumps in his throat. “Thank you. That means a lot.”

Emma smiles as she walks away. “See you in the library.”

“See you in the library,” Sirius mumbles, poking at his food. “Making me lose my appetite.”

“Stop it,” Remus hisses. “She was being nice.”

“You don’t even like nice.”

He doesn’t know if it’s the fact they’ve spent too much time together, or what, but Remus
isn’t thrilled about his sudden shift in mood. Sirius’ jealousy streaks are something else.
“Everyone likes nice.”
He glares pointedly at James laughing at Marlene’s joke. “James doesn’t like nice.”

James feels the stare and tries to ignore it. He sighs deeply. “Why do I always catch strays in
your arguments?”

“We’re not arguing!” Remus and Sirius shout. Remus stares at him from the corner of his
eye, catching Sirius staring at him from the corner of his eye. Sirius scoffs.

“Boys!” Lily scolds. “This is supposed to be a happy occasion. No fighting at the dinner
table.” Sirius gives her a look. “Please,” she adds wryly.

They have afters, then stumble up to their dorms with everyone acting like Remus’
bodyguards. Peter hangs back, his hands stuffed in his pockets, head hanging. He’s been quiet
all night. Remus can’t help but be reminded how Peter never advocated for his release, how
he’s been jumpy and antsy. “Hey, Pete.” He slings an arm around his shoulders. “Alright?”

Peter gives a dry smile that cracks at the edges, shrugging. “Feeling off. My wand’s been
acting off all year, but it barely works for me anymore. Things are just weird lately, you
know? Doesn’t feel real.” He pauses. “I dunno,” he adds in a whisper, ashamed.

“Nothing wrong with that. You up for a game of chess tomorrow? Like old times.”

Peter slouches. “Yeah. Like old times.”

Remus tries to figure out why Peter’s acting so strange as he gets ready for bed. He’s sitting
on the edge of his bed when he feels the buzz in his pocket. He brings out his piece of
parchment.

Pandora: I require your assistance.

Remus’ eyes furrow. Pandora’s never used the parchment before, and they haven’t spoken in
so long. The glowy text fades before a new one comes in its place.

Pandora: It’s Regulus.

An audible breath punches out of Remus’ chest. James and Sirius exchange a look. “You
good, Moony?” Sirius asks.

“I—um—yeah.” Remus internally winces. He fumbles for his wand and holds it like a
muggle pencil, trying to figure out what to write.

Remus: ???

Pandora: It’s a lengthy story that involves a lot of owls. I don’t have my wand or parchment.
I need you to do something.

Remus: Are you here?

Pandora: In Hogwarts? What? No. That’s the point, Lupin.

Remus: How do I know this isn’t someone else?

Pandora: I must find some poetic figure.

Pandora: Also, we kissed in the Astronomy Tower.

Remus’ heart beats out of his chest as it eventually goes lights out. He waits for Sirius’
breaths to even out and for James and Peter to snore. Peter is restless for too long, so Remus
hops out of bed, thinking his chances of being questioned or heard are low.
He tiptoes around the dorm, collecting the Map and slipping out the dorm. Thankfully, no
one’s in the common room.

When everyone’s asleep, go to the seventh floor, where our room is.

Remus’ breaths are loud and shaking, his wand a wobbling light. This is illegal, isn’t it? He’s
helping a fugitive. They’ve already released Dementors to find him. He feels the creeping
memory of the damp, dark, recess of Azkaban threatening to intrude in his thoughts, and he
pushes it away with a shudder.

Don’t ask for the Come and Go Room, ask for the Room of Requirement.

A giant door looms over Regulus, and he pushes his way inside. It’s an expansive room, just
as Regulus had described.

You’re looking for a dark oak box, almost like an edgy wardrobe Sirius would have. It’s
distinct, tall, and riddled with Dark magic.

It takes him a long time, but he finds it. There are mountains of junk and treasure, but the
cabinet isn’t discreet.

Look for damage. You won’t like it, but you must reach into the magic and search for damage
there too.

Remus searches the outside of the box, looking for rotted wood. The Dark magic leaks off it
in waves, and Remus rubs his sweaty palms against his jeans. He reaches out for the magic,
like in the DADA classroom. This magic is much more complex, but in a way, it makes it
more simple. It’s laid out like a network of nerves or clusters of veins. Some parts of the
magic are like rogue pieces of thread that have to bond back to fabric with Remus’ hands as
glue.
He rips himself out before the magic tempts him, and a headache throbs at his temples.
Panting and dizzy, he rips out the parchment and writes. It’s done.

Pandora: Five minutes.

“Fuck,” Remus says softly. He runs his hands over his face. “Fuck.”

“Remus,” a voice whispers. Remus looks up and sees a face appear from nothing. Sirius’ face
alongside James’ appears from the invisibility cloak.

Remus blinks in complete shock.

“Okay,” James placates, “I can sense that you might be a little upset, but we’re all adults here
—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? What are you doing here?” he hisses.

“You think we wouldn’t have followed you when you acted all weird? And you sneaked out
with the map without telling anyone!” Sirius whispers. “Of course, we came after you!”

“Listen,” Remus says, eyes bouncing between the twin idiots. “You need to get back to the
dorm.”

“Moony—”

“Go—” Remus’ head snaps up at a soft whirl. There’s a loud, distinct thump inside the
cabinet. Sirius and James flinch.

“What the hell was that?” James squeaks.

The cabinet opens from the inside, and out steps Regulus Black. His hair is slicked back,
showing off his clenched jaw and his cold grey eyes. His robes are formal, pressed, and
ironed, the kind a Death Eater would wear to battle. Regulus’ eyes flick to Remus first, then
to his brother and James, who stare, shell-shocked.

Regulus is not impressed. “I told you to leave the circus behind.”

Before Remus can say anything, James steps forward, Regulus takes a responding step back.
They have a whole conversation with their eyes, and whatever they speak about makes
Regulus nod hesitantly. James surges forward and wraps his arms tight around Regulus. “I
missed you,” James mumbles. Remus only hears it because of heightened senses. Sirius has
his arms crossed, a vein in his forehead pulsing, but he doesn’t say a word.

“We don’t have time—” Regulus’ fingers dig into James’ back, desperate, his tone anything
but.

James presses a quick kiss to Regulus’ temple, turning Regulus soft and gooey in the way
only he knows how. “There’s always time, love.”

Citrus, citrus, citrus. Home, home, home. Citrus citrus citruscitrusci—

—
As far as Remus knows, they never talked after Hogsmeade, and before they planned to,
Regulus got arrested. It’s been months since they’ve last seen each other from something
other than a newspaper, and longer since they’ve talked. Remus shifts closer to Sirius and
pinches him, trying to stop his pout, but only making him frown harder.

“Come on, Starboy. Let the children lose it.” Sirius gives him a completely bewildered look.
“Let the children use it. Let all the children boogie.”

Sirius’ face sags, the wrinkles in his forehead finally fading away, and he shakes his head,
trying and failing to hide a smile. He snorts then shakes his head again. “You are such an
idiot.”

“There’s a starman waiting in the sky. He’s told us not to blow it ‘cause he knows it’s all
worthwhile.”

“For Merlin’s sake, Moony,” he groans. “Leave the singing to Bowie.”

Remus shrugs. “I’m just saying. He’d like to come and meet us, but he thinks he’d blow our
minds.”

Sirius shoves him, laughing. “Shut up, you wanker.”

Regulus sighs, pulling apart from James. “Oh, playtime’s over?” James quips, his fingers
searching the expanse of Regulus’ back. Regulus rolls his eyes, batting him away, but there’s
a brightness in his eyes that Remus hasn’t seen in a while.

“We don’t have much time.” Regulus whips out his potioner’s knife and stabs it once into the
wood. Unhappy with the vandalism, he mummers a couple of incantations. His head tilts, and
he says sharply, “Incendio!” The cabinet bursts into flames, and Sirius’ hand shoots out
against Remus’ chest as if he were about to run into the fire.

“Are you mad!?” Sirius screeches.

Regulus shakes his head. “I had to make sure they wouldn’t follow me through. It’s a
Vanishing Cabinet, connected to another in Borgin and Burke’s. If they remember it, it’ll
make it easier for them to come here.”

“Are you running away?” James asks.

Regulus sighs, eyes rolling heavenward. “Why do you always ask that?” he snaps. “I don’t
have time to stand here and explain what’s happening. All you have to know is that it’s time.”

“Time for what?” Regulus shakes his head sharply, and James uses one finger to tilt Regulus’
head towards him. “Reg, it’s okay.”

His posture stiffens. “The Death Eaters are planning on attacking Hogwarts.” Regulus sighs,
looking at Remus. “They want to do it today.”

He refuses to answer any questions, instead hurrying to Gryffindor Tower while they all hurl
questions at him. Remus knew this day was coming, but the brisk pace at which it’s
happening worries him.

“Stop,” he says sternly. They fall quiet. “I’m only explaining it once, and I’m not letting you
morons screw up the story when you tell your friends. Potter and Black, go wake up the girls
and meet us back in your dorms.”

Sirius makes a face. “I don’t know who you think—”

“Mate,” James says plainly. He tugs on Sirius’ arm, and they’re on their way, Sirius still
giving his brother a death stare. When they finally disappear up the stairs, Regulus grabs
Remus by the shoulder, his eyes glowing in the dim light.

“I know you don’t like it,” he says. “But you are the chosen one.”
“But—”

“Remus.” Everything is sharp about him. The cut of his jaw, the press of his robes, the glean
of the Death Eater mask peeking out his pocket. “This isn’t the time for you to be humble, do
you understand? Say it.”

Remus swallows, and something is jittery in his veins, some vague understanding washing
over him. His shoulders drop as it clicks in his head. He remembers the calls when he was
inside Dark magic. The hushed whispers of agreements and contracts. He realizes with a start
that it wasn’t asking for him to give into the power, it was warning him he’d always fall.
Foretelling that Remus would always end up the way he is, no matter if he shook hands with
the Dark or not. “I’m the chosen one,” he mutters.

“Again.” Sharp, sharp, sharp. Power, power, power.

“I’m the chosen one,” he decides. Even if he isn’t, he’ll fight like one.

They’re the last ones to the dorm, Regulus stopping to write a letter that disappears with a
swish of his hand. When they make it, it’s deathly quiet as they all stare at Regulus with
disbelieving eyes, mouths slack in shock. Remus throws Silencing Charms in anticipation of
the room exploding, and when it does, he winces.

“This is illegal!” Lily screeches. Remus idly wonders what James and Sirius told them as he
watches Lily pace in her fluffy socks.

Dorcas just scoffs. She’s weirdly put together for so late at night, nonchalant, picking at her
nail beds. “You could’ve told me you were okay, you lanky bastard.”

“What is he doing here?” Peter asks, eyes wide.

Mary laughs. “I cannot do this today.”

“That’s what I said,” Sirius mumbles.

“Okay, everyone settle down!”

“Shut up, Potter!” Marlene yells. She’s clad in an oversized Weird Sisters shirt, her hair a
mess. “You better start explaining why you woke me up this late at night to have a cuppa
with a fugitive!”

“This is illegal!” Lily shouts.

“What is he doing here?!” Peter stresses.

“Shut up!” Remus bellows. Everyone quiets down, and Remus sighs as his ears ring, getting
a break. “Thank you. Now if we could all settle down, Regulus will gladly explain what’s
happening.”

Regulus sits on the edge of Remus’ bed, rubbing at his knees like they hurt. “The Death
Eaters plan to attack Hogwarts this morning at nine. They have enough sway in the Ministry
and the public to subdue the school. They’ll ask for all the muggleborn students to come out
first. They’ll lie and say they want to protect them, but in reality, they’ll take them hostage. If
Dumbledore doesn’t agree to make Cygnus Black the new Headmaster, they’ll kill the kids
one by one until he complies.”

It’s silent. Lily’s voice rings out, soft, like a pebble hitting a pond. It ripples. “You’re lying.”

“Come on, Lils,” James mutters.

“Don’t Lils me,” she snaps. “I don’t trust him. He’s escaped Azkaban, he’s a Death Eater, and
if they wanted to take the school, there has to be an easier way than to murder children.”
“He’s not lying,” Sirius says. The room is so loud, though, that his voice gets loud against the
renewed arguments. “For fuck’s sake, he isn’t lying!”

Sirius sighs when the room turns to him, rubbing his eyes. “Reggie’s a little shit.” Regulus
pulls a face. “Yeah, I’ll give you that. But he also went to Azkaban for Remus. And this isn’t
Voldemort, okay? Bellatrix isn’t strategic like that. Dumbledore isn’t going to let children die,
so he’ll give up the post right away. I bet she’s planning to swing through and kill all the
muggleborn children anyway and pin it on him. Owl Skeeter and say he’s gone rogue.

“We’re the first people to grow up in a world without full memory of the Great Fear. We’re
living shoulder to shoulder with purebloods and muggleborns. But outside here, if half-
bloods have to swear allegiance to Bellatrix to stay alive, they’ll do it. If the Ministry gets
paid enough, they’ll start a muggleborn registration. The things I’ve heard Hufflepuffs say
about a muggleborn they’ve just smiled and conversed with are disgusting.”

Sirius sighs. “And also, the kid’s a shit liar. He’s not lying but he’s also not telling the truth.
What are you not saying?”

Regulus clenches his jaw. “If they take Hogwarts, then they’ll storm the Ministry. After that,
it’s done.”

“What do you mean it’s done?” Marlene asks.

“Once they have control of the children, education, and government, there’s no stopping
them. They’ll kill whoever they want, pass whatever legislation they want, and no one will be
able to stop them. Last week, sandwiched in between standard bills, they decreed something
else. If the current Minister for Magic Harold Minchum dies or gives up his post, Druella
Black becomes the Minister automatically and indefinitely.”

“They’re setting up an oligarchy,” Remus blurts, appalled. “A dictatorship.”

Lily shakes her head. “It’s already in place. They’re waiting for the right time to stage a
coup.”

“Who cares what it’s called?” Sirius groans. “It’s a fucking mess, is what it is.”

Mary is staring at Regulus. “Why are you here?”

He raises one sharp eyebrow. “I believe we’ve—”

“Yeah, I know you’re not lying, but why are you here?” She scoffs. “Are all of you deaf?
He’s just said that the Blacks will be the most powerful family in wizarding England in six
hours. What if you are trying to lure us into a trap? Where’s your wand? How did you get into
the school? Are you bugged? Are the Death Eaters listening?”

“I’m not trying to lure you into anything. The Ministry has my wand, so I’ve been doing
magic wandlessly. There’s a secret room where I asked Remus to let me in, and no, my
cousin does not know I’m here.”

“Hold on, what?” Marlene smiles mockingly. “You’ve been doing wandless magic since you
broke out? It’s been almost a month.”

James frowns. “Come off it. Don’t do that, Marls. I’ve seen him do it. We’ve seen him do it.”

Regulus holds up a hand. “Enough.” He massages his temples. “If anyone doesn’t want to
listen to what I have to say, they are more than welcome to walk out right now. And if all of
you don’t want to listen, then me and Lupin will do it ourselves. I promise you, you are not as
important to my plans as you think.”

Mary scoffs again, but Lily has a vice grip around her arm, not letting her leave.
“Gryffindors,” Regulus mumbles. “Potter.” James snaps up, his body at attention, practically
buzzing with excitement. Regulus’ mouth parts for a second, and no sound comes out. They
stare at each other. Lily catches Remus’ eye, mouthing, No way. Remus nods with a small
smirk, Yes way.

“Kill me now,” Sirius laments.

Regulus recovers with a scowl. “Potter. I need you to tell Dumbledore what I’ve told you.
Leave my name out of it.”

James nods. “Can I send a Patronus?”

“Good idea, Prongs,” Sirius says.

“Interesting,” Regulus mumbles, eyes focused on nothing in particular. There might as well
be a lightbulb above his head. “While you’re at it, send one to your parents in case he doesn’t
believe you.” Twice, they watch as James’ stag trots out of the room, and Regulus’ eyes
linger for longer on the stag, twisting his rings, thinking. He shakes his head. “Anyway, I’ll
need everyone to prepare for a battle.”

“Excuse me?” Dorcas blurts.

“Dorcas.” He says her name like he’s disappointed. “We can’t let them take the school.”

Dorcas rises. “We’re a couple of kids! What are we going to be against a whole army, Reg?”

“The Order of the Phoenix will be here, too.”

Dorcas blinks. “I thought that was a fairytale.” With the Ministry’s adamant denial of
massacres and Voldemort’s swift killing, the Great Fear was mostly a time of smoke and
mirrors. Your neighbor was the enemy, every day was your last. Dumbledore is such a
legendary man, that most people roll their eyes at the thought of a secret society of everyone
from purebloods to muggleborns.

“It doesn’t matter,” says Remus. “We must evacuate anyone underage or who doesn’t want to
fight.”

“We’re actually doing this,” Marlene says in shock.

“Pandora?” Dorcas asks.

Regulus shakes his head. “I told her to leave. She’s too important for them to capture.”
Suddenly, he freezes. With a frown, Regulus walks to Peter’s photography book. He runs a
finger over the spine, then his camera. “You’re into photography?”

Peter, who’s been quiet ever since his outburst, swallows thickly. “Yes.”

“You’ve been invited to attend Order meetings?”

“I have.”

Regulus stares at him unblinking. “Come here and touch your toes.”

Remus has to ask. “Reg, what’s this about?”

“Pettigrew, I said come here and touch your toes.”

Peter rises, and the room is unsettlingly quiet as he leans over and attempts to touch his toes.
Regulus takes two brisk strides and pulls up his shirt. He runs his finger over a faded scar,
raised and angry, then puts Peter’s shirt back into place. Peter stands up, his cheeks flushed,
but he makes eye contact with Regulus. “They won’t believe you. Not over me.”

Photography—Order meetings—Regulus’ knowledge of a scar that no one else knew about—

his wand rejecting him—his Slytherin girlfriend breaking up with him—a year of avoidance—
reluctance to make plans—

“Peter?” Remus asks quietly. He looks at Remus, cheeks ruddy, eyes innocent. He’s given the
same look to McGonagall when trying to plead his way out of a prank. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?” Sirius blurts. “What the hell’s going on?”

“It wasn’t my fault, Remus.” The words are a slap to the face, to his heart. Tears sting his
eyes against his will. “You of all people should understand.”

“Understand what?” Mary’s voice is loud, and she steps back. She’s afraid.

Regulus looks at Remus. He shrugs. “You have to tell them. He’s right, they won’t believe
me.”

“Moony,” Peter pleads.

Remus takes a deep breath in. “Peter is a spy for the Death Eaters,” he croaks. He can’t stand
to look at any of their faces.

“No,” Lily says viciously. “No, Pete wouldn’t do that—”

“Oh shut up, Lily.” Peter curses. “It’s over. Whatever.” He rolls his eyes.
“Peter?” James sounds confused, hurt.

“It’s your fault, James. I did it for you. I took the picture of you and Regulus and sent it to
Walburga for you. You fall in love too easily, it’s embarrassing.” He looks around, eyes
manic. “All of you do. You let love keep you on a leash. You let love take advantage of you.
Take Remus, for example—”

“Peter,” James says briskly.

“—he’s been in love with Sirius since at least Second Year.” Remus blinks away his tears, not
letting a single one fall. He stares at the wall. “Second Year! He let himself get walked over
for years while Sirius fucked every bird he came across and treated him like shit. He still
forgave him, even after the Prank. Mary was ready to give Lily up because she felt like she
wasn’t pretty enough for her.” He pouts mockingly. “Dorcas used to be frightening, but now
she’s useless because of Marlene.

“So yeah, I tried to save James from being heartbroken and a fucking stalker for the next
seven years of our life, but once Bellatrix had her claws in me, she didn’t want to let go.”
Peter holds his hands up. “And I had to take care of myself because everyone was too busy
making lovey-dovey eyes at each other while war plans were being made.”

For the first time since Remus has known her, Mary looks on the verge of tears. Dorcas’ jaw
is clenched tight, and Remus can’t bear to look at Sirius.

“But,” James’ voice is soft. “If—If Bellatrix hadn’t trapped you, would you still pick them?”

It’s silent. Peter sighs and gives a small shrug. “They’re the winning side.” Lily lets out a sob,
a shaking hand covering her mouth.

Sirius stalks across the room, horrible temper flaring. “You little—” He grabs Peter by the
shoulders and shoves him into the wall, his wand at his throat, everything rattling. Everything
crumbling down. “You rat! You coward!”
“What would you have done? Wouldn’t you have done the same thing!?”

“I would’ve died!” Sirius shouts, shaking with rage. “I would’ve died rather than betray my
friends!”

Peter smiles, looking eyes with Remus over Sirius’ shoulder. “We all know that isn’t true.”
Peter turns into a rat then, and someone starts to scream. The girls still don’t know they’re
Animagus. One minute, Peter is there, and the next, a grey mouse scurries around their feet.

And Remus blinks. He blinks again to clear his vision, but it only gets worse. The screaming
gets louder. Remus stands, stumbling, and quickly Stuepfy’s Peter. His hearing goes fuzzy,
then sharpens so they only ring. He sees the cold, enclosed walls of Azkaban, the Dementor’s
swaying fabric, and the darkness that washes over him when they come closer and closer.
There’s nothing he can do to stop it. The shadow looms over him, and he’s powerless.

It grabs him, and he rips out of their grasp, misstepping backward and falling. He can’t quite
catch his breath, and nowhere is safe. His back presses against the cool wall, his wand held
tightly in his hands, and he still isn’t—

A bird starts to trill.

It’s a song he’s heard multiple times before, sometimes the only thing that’s helped him to
sleep through the night. It’s Regulus’ song. Regulus is here. Remus is not alone. Slowly, he
registers the smooth wood of his wand between his fingers. The one he doesn’t have access to
in Azkaban. The screaming has stopped. There is no dark, tattered clothing that paces the
halls. Greyback isn’t waiting for him to lower his guard.

Remus is safe.

He closes his eyes with a sigh and reaches for Regulus. The velvet feathers flutter under his
touch. Remus blinks. Remus blinks again to clear the haze, and he looks at the concerned
gazes of his friends. Regulus nips his fingers, angry that Remus’ contact continues, and
Remus’ lips quirk into a small, helpless smile. He retreats, and Regulus turns into a human
again.
Dumbledore and McGonagall burst through the door, both dressed in their pyjamas. Their
eyes glance over the scene, shocked. “Children,” McGonagall says sharply. “Can someone
please explain what is going on?”
 End of Beginning
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-graphic depictions of violence

You take the man out of the city, not the city out the man

You take the man out of the—

And when I’m back in Chicago, I feel it

Another version of me, I was in it

Oh, I wave goodbye to the end of beginning

(Goodbye, goodbye)

-Djo

Dumbledore’s office is nice, Regulus supposes. A little too whimsical for his tastes, but at
least it’s on brand. The Order is there when they arrive. It consists of some people he
recongnizes—Alice, the Potters—and others he doesn’t care to learn the names of. Regulus
has done everything right, but there’s a deep feeling that he’s running out of time.

Regulus has to explain the story again to the Order, and of course, they don’t believe him.
Dumbledore doesn’t say a word as everyone squabbles. He stares at Regulus over his
spectacles like he’s a variable he didn’t expect.

Your move, old man.

“As Mary so helpfully indicated earlier,” Regulus waves a hand to her. “I’m an asset to both
parties. I’d like to do the right thing and help you, but if you don’t require it, I’m more than
happy to kill Pettigrew and return to my post.” He doesn’t want to go back. They’re already
suspicious of his loyalties, he’s not the Lord of the House of Black, and the cycle would
continue. Sirius would die if Bellatrix got hold of him.

Dumbledore raises a brow. “Do you have a suggested course of action we can take?”

“Albus,” McGonagall scolds. “He is a child.”

“You evacuate the children. Anyone who is of age and wants to fight shall be allowed. Put up
a shield over the school and call Aurors that aren’t corrupt for backup.”

“What of the Slytherin children?” Dumbledore asks. “How do we ensure they won’t warn
their parents once evacuated?”

“Albus, I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but elitism isn’t confined to houses. We let the
children go because it isn’t our job to decide who gets to be held hostage and used as pawns,
and who gets judged for the sins of their parents.”

Dumbledore nods his head. “Have you heard of Azkaban?”

Regulus sighs. “I am aware of it. It will have to be handled in the moment.” What he means
is he’ll have to have Remus there and cross his fingers that Pandora wasn’t kidding.

“By whom?”

“By the stars.”

Dumbledore is taken aback. His lips twitch, and his eyes sparkle with mirth. “Very well,
Regulus Black. Minvera, please awaken the statues.” He turns to a painting. “Dippet, please
fetch Moody.” The man nods, then leaves his frame. “Are the Tonks planning on joining us?”
“I believe so,” Edgar Bones says.

“Once they arrive, they will join the Potters in making the shield. The rest of us will be
evacuating the school.”

“I’ll assist with the shield as well,” Regulus says. While he’s sure the Potters—and whoever
the Tonks are—are competent wizards, he’s sure none of them are willing to infuse the shield
with Dark magic.

“Reg,” Sirius says. “You don’t have a wand.”

“I said I’ll help with the shield.” His tone is more bitter than he wanted it to be. “Now let’s
get to work.”

“Hogwarts is threatened! Man the boundaries, protect us, do your duty to our school!”

Regulus hears the words as he thrusts his magic from his core, to his hands, and into the sky.
It hits the barrier made, the squirming ink of darkness fusing with the iridescent light,
strengthening it from Dark and light magic.

“What are you doing?” Lady Potter shouts. The powerful magic swirls in the air, creating
wind, and adding to the shouts and clatter.

“We’ll be able to cast spells from inside,” Regulus explains, “and all of theirs will ricochet
back to them!”
“What!?”

He turns. “I said—” and he stops, and blinks, because he’s seeing a ghost. Andromeda smiles,
the man beside her wrapping an arm around her back. “They told me you died,” he says
quietly.

She breaks forward and surrounds him in a hug. He’s thrown back to the only good thing in
Cygnus’ house, her singing lullabies to Regulus and Sirius in the dead of night, the
gentleness of her hands and her cunning kindness. She peels back, tears in her eyes, and they
both laugh. “You’re all grown up, bug.” He’s taller than her now, and when she plants her
hands on the sides of his face, the coolness of her ring meets his chilled skin. He is trying
very hard not to cry.

“They told me you died that—” he shakes his head. “That you and Ted ran away and some
muggle car crash killed you.”

“No. We got married. We had a kid.”

Andromeda has a kid. His cousin is a mother.

“She’s so beautiful, Reg. I can’t wait for you to meet her. Her name is Nymphadora, and she’s
so clumsy and curious and brilliant—”

Regulus startles. “Her name is what?”

She looks rightfully sheepish. “We wanted to be original.”

“It’s, certainly. . .” A mouthful, unappealing, “unique.” He lands on. He turns to the man
behind her, appraising. Regulus never met Ted, only hearing stories about him through family
gossip. Ted isn’t the devil his parents portrayed. His skin is pale, and a dark scruff surrounds
his jaw, his hair curling around his ears. Regulus holds out his hand.

Ted grasps it, swallowing. “You must be Regulus. I’m Ted, Andy’s husband.”

He squints, his eyes taking in how Ted squirms in discomfort. He tightens his hand, his eyes
going purposefully cold. “I know who you are, Edward.”

“Reg!” A voice calls. Regulus stares at Ted, ensuring he knows that marriage isn’t a strong
enough bond to stop him from dying at Regulus’ hand. “Reggie!” He finally releases his hand
and takes a step back.

James Potter runs toward him with a huge smile, and he pants when he finally reaches him.
“Regulus.” His chest is heaving, glasses askew, hair a mess.

“Potter,” he says, trying to tamper the butterflies stirring at the sight. He’s starting to become
terribly fond, something that would’ve started introspection, but Regulus is resigned to it
now.

James has a gleam in his eye, and he steps forward, Regulus standing perfectly still. “We
have about ten minutes left until they show.”

“And you’re happy about that?” Regulus snaps. “You’ve decided to bother me at this crucial
time?”

He grins, winks. “I’ll say it on record.” He shuffles even closer, his heaving chest brushing
Regulus’ robes, his face softening as his eyes roam Regulus’ face. “You’re allowed to bother
me anytime, love.”

Regulus grabs James’ head and smashes it toward him. James lets out a small surprised sound
before wrapping his arms around him and squeezing like they aren’t close enough. The world
narrows to this moment, to James’ warmth, the soft plush of his lips, the smile they’re both
trying to hide. James’ hand fists in his hair, and Regulus’ mouth drops further. James kisses
him like they’re running out of time, his grip digging, possessive, and everything is warm,
warm, warm.

Regulus pulls away, disoriented, and sends a little shock through James’ body as punishment.
He yelps, and Regulus scowls at him. “Back to work.”

James smirks, walking backward, his eyes unable to leave Regulus’. “Yes, sir.”

The Dementors come first. They glide over the barrier, the world turning cold and dark.
Remus’ heart picks up into a rabid frenzy, the press of memories weighing down and him,
and he has to excuse himself to shake and vomit somewhere with less eyes.

Next comes the creatures. Remus shivers as howls crackle through the artificial night, a call
for home. The ground shakes as they come rushing, vampires, werewolves, trolls, and giants.

Then the dog. Pulled from Greek mythology, three-headed and massive, corded with muscle,
all three heads barking, spit drooling off its sharp teeth as it paws at the shield that comes
before the gate. Its claws tear through it before Dark magic swirls and repairs it.

Regulus steps next to him and draws something from his pocket. He takes his hand and
presses a warm vial into his hands. Inside is a liquid golden and bright, simmering and
leaping. “What is this?” Remus asks quietly.

“Felix Felicis.” He watches Remus swallow it in one gulp, the potion soothing him more than
any Warming Charm. The warmth comes from his mouth, throat, and chest, radiating so
deeply he’s sure Regulus can feel it.
“When did you make it?”

“I didn’t,” he says, and doesn’t explain further.

“Halt!” A voice screeches. The dog falls on its rump, one head barking once defiantly before
quieting.

Bellatrix comes up the path, dressed in lacy black layers, her husband on one side, her family
—Cygnus, Walburga, Druella, and Narcissa—on the other. They must’ve broken out the
remaining Death Eaters from Azkaban. Regulus stiffens, but Dumbledore talks before Remus
can ask why.

“Bellatrix,” he says, genial, as if her entire army isn’t dressed in black, wands in hand,
standing behind her. As if creatures aren’t pressing on their protective dome, trying to force
themselves in. “How can I help you?”

“Albus!” Bellatrix laughs. “I suppose you already know why I’m here. Was it the kid that
betrayed me? Percy?” She hasn’t noticed Regulus standing on the wrong side.

“Peter,” Remus corrects softly, an ache in his chest. He’s not used to letting people attack
him.

“Bellatrix, what you’re doing now isn’t right.”

“It is right!” she yells suddenly, her face quickly turned sour, eyes wide. “They think they’re
better than us! As if they aren’t dangerous and disgusting. Muggles hunted us for sport,
mudbloods carry their traditions here, and I’m expected to sleep well at night?” She takes one
step, pouting. “You’ve gone soft in your old age, Albus.”

“And you’ve been blinded in yours.”

Bellatrix throws a spell at the barrier, which rebounds and flies over her head, killing one of
her privates. She watches him go down before waving her wand and Banishing him.

“You’ll have to leave at some point, Albus! And when you do, when any of you do, I’ll be
waiting.” She smiles, then snaps her fingers. The dog sets at tearing through the barrier, and
Bellatrix curtsies.

Remus steps forward when something nudges his back, and his mouth opens as if someone
has their fingers attached to his jaw, suggesting his lips part. “Where is Greyback?” His voice
is clear and rings out through the yard.

Bellatrix’s manic eyes swing towards him, flitting to Regulus for a few seconds. “Why do
you ask?” She sounds curious.

“If I fight him and win, you’ll leave. If I fight him and lose, the shield comes down.”
Dumbledore’s stare is pinned to his head, but he’s staring straight at Bellatrix, who’s eyes
light up in pure delight, a laugh squeezing from her throat.

“Someone find Greyback! We have some entertainment on our hands!” She raises her arms
as if to pump up the crowd, and they respond accordingly, jeering and becoming so loud, his
ears twitch.

“Moony!”

Regulus huffs out a breath. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he murmurs.

Remus tilts his head from side to side. “Fifty-fifty chance.”

“Moony!” It’s angrier, and before he can look up, a body slams into his, knocking the breath
out of his chest and grabbing him by the shirt. It’s Sirius, and his temper’s flaring, and James
is trying to stop him from crushing Remus into the wall. “Are you crazy!?” he keeps saying,
shaking Remus, his eyes wild and wide with dilated pupils. “Are you crazy!?” His skin is
flushed.

“Sirius,” Remus says gently. He puts a hand on Sirius’ waist, dipping to his ear. “Down,
Padfoot. Take a deep breath.”

“You—you—”

“I know, I’m an arsehole. But I’ll be fine.” He backs away, patting Sirius on the shoulder with
a smile. He takes Sirius’ hand and presses their scars together. “You promised, Pads.”

Sirius closes his eyes, nostrils flaring, and shudders in a deep breath. Remus loves him, he
really does, but the potion is urging him to keep it going. He looks over Sirius’ head and sees
Greyback tearing off his shirt, whipping it into the cheering crowd. He presses a chaste kiss
against Sirius’ warm temple, breathing him in and letting his lips linger before striding off.

“Little one,” Greyback says with a cold grin. “We meet again.”

“I suppose we do.” Remus rolls up the sleeves of his jumper. Some people have started to
laugh, and he can’t blame them. It’s the reprise of David and Goliath.

“Figured out where I know you from.”

“Oh?”

“Saw you in the paper, and then it hit me.” He snaps his fingers. “Lupin. The government pig
whose son’s pretty flesh I had the pleasure of turning.” It isn’t lost on Remus that Greyback
called his five-year-old’s flesh pretty. “Do you know what your daddy said to me?”

“You’re going to tell me anyway, I presume?”

“That werewolves were soulless, evil, deserving nothing but death.” He spits.

Remus swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s something his father would say, but that
doesn’t mean it hurts any less. Remus shrugs as they circle each other. “He’s reformed.”
Kinda.

Felix tugs on his jumper and Remus takes a hasty step back before Greyback lunges. “You
missed,” Remus points out helpfully.

Greyback smiles. “When this is over, your boyfriend will be the first prize I claim, little one.”

Remus blinks and sees Sirius in a cage similar to the one he was in Azkaban. He sees Sirius
muzzled in silver, Sirius feeling as shitty as Remus used to, Sirius propped on Greyback’s lap
with dead eyes, Greyback’s teeth sinking into alabaster skin—

Remus’ fist slams into Greyback’s jaw. They both hear it crack, and Greyback grips his jaw
with a laugh. He’s like every bully who pushed Remus into mulch at six years old. He’s like
Remus’ father who was like his father and the one before him. Every scar in his skin was
Greyback, every tear falling from his eye, all of the breaking bones, his popping hip joint.

Greyback throws a punch that clips his nose. Makes it numb. Blood gushes over his lip and
down his chin. Remus doesn’t think. He swivels and magic bursts from his hand. Green
sparks fly into Greyback’s chest. Sends him flying flat. Remus stalks towards him, and
Greyback gets to his feet, shouts in anger, neck tightening.

Remus lets Greyback lunge forward. Remus isn’t fast enough. Greyback grabs his arm and
plunges his sharp teeth in. Remus screams, plants and twists his feet, and hops onto
Greyback’s back. Greyback immediately sends them flying to the floor, and Remus cries
louder as something in his back shatters.

Remus loops his legs around Greyback’s neck, then slides his arm around, squeezing and
lifting his chin. Greyback scratches and leaves raised scarlet lines on his arm, legs kicking.
Remus tightens his hold and roars. Greyback’s eyes roll to look at Remus, and there’s a sick
sense of pride and relief there that one of his own will kill him. He’s unsure if there’s magic
infused in it or if it’s rage. Greyback smiles as Remus rips his head clean off all the same.

Remus stumbles to his feet, wands point at him but he’s crazed. He doesn’t care. Nothing
matters. “My name is Remus John Lupin!” He screams. “Son of Hope, sired from Greyback
himself, and I am of the prophet’s word!” He lifts Greyback’s decapitated head, some of his
spine sticking out, ruby-red blood and muscle. He’s not talking to Bellatrix. He shifts to the
werewolves. “This is your Alpha! Your leader! And I have beaten him!” He throws the head
at their feet.

It’s silent. If a murderer kills an undefeated tyrant king, is he devil or God?

One by one, the werewolves throw back their heads and howl. The Earth shakes, and Remus
joins them, vocal chords straining, eyes amber, canines long.

God.

Water churns, and a dark shape appears over the castle. Looming over, causing one massive
shadow, is a giant squid, tentacles knocking Dementors out of the sky. It lets out a terrifying
screech, it’s one eye scanning the field, and Remus smiles. He whistles, catching the three-
headed dogs’ attention, and orders it scrambling into his enemies.

Birds squawk overhead before tunneling like torrential rain, smothering the Death Eaters.
The giants, werewolves, humans, and trolls all turn on each other, magic flying through. Felix
tells him to duck, so he does, narrowly missing the rapid fire of spells Bellatrix hurtles at
him.

Centaurs trot out of the woods, muscled arms holding heavy bows. A Hippogriff comes
through from the sky, unicorns and spiders scurry around him, ants crawl up his legs, and a
giant spider comes out of nowhere, rippling off someone’s arm with a savage bite. Bellatrix
yells, her dagger in one hand, wand in the other, as it swipes through the chilled air, and
something black and thin runs into her, trampling her in a heap. It whinnies, reeling on its
hind legs before snapping her neck by coming crashing down.
It looks like a horse, except he can see the bones—ribcage, skull, knees—poking through its
thin, dark skin, wings fluttering. A Thestral. A beautiful, beautiful Thestral. He runs his hand
over her velvety coat, and when he gets no complaint, he hops on her back, partly afraid of
breaking her.

She takes flight, powerful wings breaking through the air like lightning. Sirius and James
fight back to back, taking down Death Eaters with gleeful smiles. He passes over them,
Sirius’ “Nice one, James!” still ringing in his head. He finds Regulus quickly, and he reaches
out his hand. If they win, it’s as much of Regulus’ victory as it is his.

Their hands clasp together, and Remus pulls him up with strength he didn’t know he had.
Remus looks over his shoulder, gaze clashing with bright grey eyes and windswept black
hair, and grins.

The Thestral barrel rolls in the sky to avoid a handful of spells being thrown their way. She
flies down, swooping over Walburga Black, and Regulus shouts. “Sectumsempra!”
Walburga’s skin splits apart. Her chest heaves as her heart splits in half, cuts like a network of
veins over her pale skin. Her eyes go wide, and she screams as her skin disintegrates, leaving
nothing but crimson muscle and those grey eyes, no eyelids to hide her fear. They’re gone
before she hits the ground.

Next is Druella. Regulus pants hard at her death, watching as his poisoned knife flies out his
hand and into her back. Even if she gets the knife out, the toxin will be in her system, giving
her excruciating and unending pain until her heart gives out from stress.

Then Cygnus. His death is quick, the anger and hatred from Druella overflowing and helping
Regulus deliver the Killing Curse.

Regulus requests that Narcissa stay alive, but she and Lucius are nowhere to be found. They
thin out the mass with waves of magic. Shouting spells together in sync as they fly through
the air. Everything is sharp, and Death Eaters fall like dominos. Remus feels like he’s on top
of the world, like he actually might survive, when the Thestral lets out a pained whine, wings
flailing, body crashing toward the ground at top speed. She’s been hit.

Regulus grabs Remus around the waist before abandoning ship, hauling them off her with a
grunt. Remus screams as the world blurs, blood roaring in his ears. Then a broom is shoved
under him, Regulus’ broom, and Remus’ stomach churns. He hasn’t eaten anything, but he
still feels woozy.

The broom is wobbly, and Regulus has to reach around Remus’ body to try and control the
spinning broom. Regulus sets them on a course to fly behind the shield, and they hit the
grass, broom snapping, tumbling, rolling, Remus crying out as his back gets agitated, bite
wound filling with dirt.

“Reg,” Remus moans. He can’t see him. He hitches on his forearms, tears in his eyes.
“Reggie are—”

“Don’t move.”

“Reg—”

“I know.”

“We could’ve died. Without the potion, we might’ve—”

“Stop moving you’re fucking up your spine. You’re in shock.”

There’s the flash of Auror robes, Sirius and James running from the field to Hogwarts.
Regulus should leave. “Go.”

“What?” Regulus says sharply. “No.”

“They’ll arrest you again. I’ll be okay.” Remus doesn’t want him to leave. He watches as
Dumbledore strikes down another Death Eater. All the things he’s had to run from are slowly
dying, and now all he’s left with is love. Remus doesn’t want to run from love anymore. He
deserves that much.
“But Andy and James—”

“You’re glorious purpose, it was to stop the war, right? To fix the House of Black.” Regulus
doesn’t answer, but his breath is shaky. “You did it, Reg, I’m so proud. You’re free, now. If
you want to stay, don’t do it for them, do it for yourself.”

“W—What do I do?” He sounds like a scared, meek child. His eyes are big and round.
“Where do I go?” His mission is over now, and he doesn’t know what he wants. Regulus
never planned for this, he realizes. Regulus planned to die in this war.

“Don’t think. Don’t think.”

Across the yard, Sirius and James advance. “Moony!”

Regulus looks up at them, then at Remus, and he gets to his feet. “It’s okay,” Remus assures,
holding back a moan of pain. “You’re okay.” Regulus runs one hand through Remus’ hair
before standing. Remus watches him walk away, transform into a bird, and fly away. Tears
fill his eyes, but he doesn't feel sad. It doesn't seem like the end.

“Moony,” Sirius says. He’s closer. “Where does it hurt?”

“My back,” he pants.

“Poppy’s here, somewhere. You’ll be okay.” Sirius runs his hand through Remus’ hair, and
Remus shivers, the tension falling from him at his touch. So when James and Sirius assure
him that he’ll be okay, he believes it. When Poppy comes flying out of the school, and Remus
is gripping tight onto Sirius’ hand, he embraces the pain.

Remus is no longer running, and Regulus is free.

 epilogue/teaser
Chapter Notes

content warnings

-drug use

See the end of the chapter for more notes

My body turns and yearns

For a sleep that won’t ever come

It’s never over

-“Lover, You Should’ve Come Over,” Jeff Buckley

The night sky is as dark as Sirius’ hair. The old car rumbles under Remus’ hands. It’s Lily’s
—beat-up, something that should belong to a football mum—but sturdy. Remus had
discovered pretty early that he loathes driving, but there’s not much of a choice. If he were to
Floo or Apparate, it would make Sirius vomit.

War changes people. That’s not a secret.

No one said anything when Sirius started drinking. It wasn’t always like this: driving around
to different strip clubs and bars to pick up Sirius, who reeks of sex and alcohol. It was simple.
Sirius would have a little too much wine or a fifth bottle of beer, but it wasn’t like it was
happening in the middle of the day. And they had been through a battle, a very traumatizing
battle. One that had Sirius back on his feet quicker than any of them, even Lily. He took
stride in the court proceedings, the changes in law, Skeeter around every corner trying to get
an interview from The Heroes of Hogwarts.

It happened so slowly that no one seemed to notice.

Marlene and Sirius started a band. And when Remus had moved into Sirius’ flat in Soho,
he’d smiled when Sirius had said it. He didn’t think they’d blow up to the size they are now.
He thought it was a fleeting thing. A blimp in the mess that is someone’s late teens and early
twenties. It doesn’t happen often, but Remus was wrong. And now Sirius and Marlene need
to party all the time. What rock/alternative band isn’t partying from four at night to four in
the morning?

Sirius pays the bills, and Remus watches him crash with nothing but his hands to stop him.
He’s tried to convince him to take it easy, but the only person Sirius listens to is James. And
James—

James lost his shine.

Between Peter’s betrayal, Remus’ dozens of surgeries, and Regulus leaving, James is vacant.
Too heartbroken to focus on Sirius, his mind only focuses on one thing: Quidditch,
Quidditch, Quidditch. He was signed to Puddlemere United and left school immediately, not
staying to finish his N.E.W.Ts. He sent overwhelming love through the mirror and letters and
Floo calls, but he loved from a distance, like he couldn’t afford to get up close and personal
any more. He’s here now, crashing through their lives, being around and smiling and making
them dance when the mood gets too glib. But he doesn’t go on any dates. He flits between
Lily’s house and practice as if that’s all there is to life, as if life left him years ago in the form
of a bird.

The girls aren’t much better, taking holidays every other week. “We need to get away from
here, Remus. We just need to get out.” Lily always tells him, packing the boot of this very
car, Dorcas asleep on Marlene’s shoulder, Mary biting her nails in the passenger seat. He can
tell she’s chasing reprieve, chasing the life they had before when it was contained to
Hogwarts grounds. “And you should, too.”

So it’s Remus driving to pick up Sirius when his phone—a new invention inspired by the
muggle telephone—beeps with a message from Sirius of some random location. (Every time
Remus holds his phone, he can’t help but think of Regulus. It’s so similar to the magic he did
linking parchments. He wouldn’t be surprised if he invented them.

Sometimes, Remus can swear he sees a small blue bird perched outside his window.)
He pulls up right outside the entrance to the muggle bar. Sirius is laughing, his white teeth
glinting from the street lights as he stumbles away from the embrace of a woman, pulling
open the door, and letting himself in.

“Cold as shit tonight, huh, Moons?” He turns and beams that Sirius Black smile at him, but
when he opened the door, he let in cold air too, and Remus feels it seep into his bones. He
clenches his jaw and presses on the gas. “Oh, come on, my friend. I’ll be right as rain for the
full ‘morrow, don’t you worry.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Because when it really matters, when it’s a concert, a game
James invites them to, or the full, Sirius is stone-cold sober. Everyone pretends they can’t see
the flush in his cheeks. The outline of a flask in his pocket.

“. . .you ‘member Barty from Hogwarts? Reg’s friend?” That’s how Remus knows he’s
drunk, the off-hand way he brings up Regulus without a pinched look. “He was out tonight.
He’s fuckin’ crazy. And he does this weird thing with his tongue, like his lips are always dry.
It’s like a—fuck, what’s it?—a snake! Yeah! Funny, ain’t it? ‘Cause of the whole Slytherin
thing, or whatever.”

They stop at a red light, and Remus begs it to turn green. He hears more than sees Sirius’
frown. “You trynna make an iceberg? Fuck, it’s cold.”

He reaches a hand to turn up the heat—it’s always a bit finicky—and Remus’ gaze snags on
the pale expanse of Sirius’ arm, his leather jacket that he went out with nowhere to be seen.
There are little inflamed circles near the inside crease of his elbow. His gaze travels to his
face and the white powder smeared across his nose and cheek.

The light turns green. Remus looks towards the road and presses on the gas. Moony whines
in his chest.

Remus doesn’t unlock the doors when they get home. He takes the keys out of the ignition
and fiddles with the keychain. “Tomorrow,” his voice croaks. “You’ll call Marlene, and you’ll
apologize. And then you’ll call your manager, and tell her you’re taking a hiatus.”
 “I can’t just tell her—”

“She’s one of the rare good ones, so she’ll let you. And then you’ll say bye to the girls, and
James, and I’ll drive you to rehab.”

There’s a tense pause where Remus can feel Sirius staring at him before he scoffs. Remus can
tell by the way his shoulders square that he’s getting ready to fight. “You can’t make me—”

Remus sighs, his shoulders slipping, eyes closing, so tired of battles. “Shut up, Sirius,” he
whispers. Sirius is stunned silent. “Please. For once.” His fingers clutch the keys, and he
leaves without an answer.

He’s older now. He knows even the best fairytales never have a happy ending.

Chapter End Notes

and that's a wrap on Re's Room! this story taught me so much and I'm so thankful for the
reception it got. if you want to leave this story as an open/ambiguous ending, then our
journey ends here. i am working on a sequel, but it will unfortunately be a while before i
can start posting it!
Please drop by the Archive and comment to let the creator know if you enjoyed their work!