Chapter Text
Regulus doesn’t know how he manages to Apparate without Splinching himself. His hands are shaking, and the wound on his flank is starting to hurt so much that he can’t think straight. His robes feel wet to the touch, the dark stain getting bigger every time Regulus checks it.
He lets out a ragged breath and looks at his bedroom, or what’s left of it.
The other Death Eaters must have come here to look for him, to search for clues about his whereabouts. Maybe they’re still downstairs. He needs to leave, and quickly, but he’s rooted to the spot, unable to think of a single safe place where he could go with the little magic he has left in him. He presses a trembling hand to the bleeding wound just under his ribs and whines, low in his throat, unable to keep the noise down.
There’s a loud crack of Apparition next to him, Kreacher’s big and scared eyes meeting his. Regulus exhales in relief, realising it’s his trusted house-elf and not one of the people who want him dead.
“Master is hurt,” Kreacher whispers, his voice tinged with dread. He moves fast, casting his mysterious magic and temporarily fixing the worst of the wound with something akin to a Stasis. Regulus knows it’s still open; that he will need to see a Healer if he wants to make it to tomorrow, but at least he’s not bleeding all over his mother’s beloved cream carpet, and he can move. He takes a step, then another, looking for his old suitcase. He needs to pack his things and then think of a safe place to Apparate to.
Dumbledore always told him to go to Hogwarts if things got ugly, but Regulus doesn’t know who he will find there. No one knows he was a spy for the Order. No one except for the Death Eaters who just saw him killing Bellatrix and casting the spell that disarmed the Dark Lord so that Dumbledore could kill him. All he knows is that everyone will want him dead right now, Death Eaters and Order members alike. Dumbledore was badly injured in the fight and probably unable to brief the others about the fact that Regulus has been a double agent for the past two years.
Regulus destroyed the locket, that fateful day two years ago. He wasn’t expecting to succeed, let alone to find an ally in his old Hogwarts Headmaster, but Dumbledore was sly and smart. He wanted Regulus on his side, especially because he knew a lot more than expected about the Horcruxes, but he didn’t want anyone to know that Regulus was fighting for the Order.
“I need to pack,” Regulus whispers now, the words coming out with difficulty. Salazar, his ribcage hurts like hell, and even breathing is suddenly becoming difficult.
“Kreacher will help Master,” the elf says, quickly Summoning Regulus’s suitcase from Merlin knows where and filling it haphazardly with his robes and his books, anything that his magic can fit inside the suitcase before the door bursts open.
Regulus pales, staring at his mother with his heart in his throat.
She knows. He can tell by the devastated and furious look on her face. He always wondered over the years what it would feel like to be on the receiving end of her contempt—what it would feel like to be like his brother. As her voice starts rising, spitting dreadful insults and accusations, an onslaught of venom that goes straight to his heart, Regulus feels smaller and smaller, guilty even though he was expecting it and had been mentally preparing for it for years. He closes his eyes, the pain so palpable now, so intense that he can almost taste it on his tongue. It takes his breath away, and he wishes he could just disappear; Apparate into oblivion. His mother screams at him, calling him scum of the earth and traitor, wishing him the worst, saying that he is no longer her son.
“And how could you kill your own cousin?” she shrieks, but Kreacher places the closed suitcase in Regulus’s cold hand, his tiny fingers warm and solid as they curl around Regulus’s until the elf is sure his grip will hold.
“Mother,” Regulus simply says, unsure what he wants his parting words to be. He’s thought about them, during the long nights when he was lying in his bed, thinking about the giant lie that his life had become. About his brother, fighting in the open, always so brave. About James, who had broken up with him when Regulus got the Mark, about the devastated look on his face every time they met afterwards and James still couldn’t keep his hands off him but never failed to look utterly guilty and heartbroken afterwards.
The number of times Regulus thought about confessing the truth…
He tries not to think about James, not now. He’s not strong enough. But all he can think of is that he won’t even manage to explain or apologise; to say he’s sorry he made James feel disgusted with himself for sleeping with a Death Eater. To confess that Regulus loves him with all of himself. That he will never love anyone like him.
“Get out,” his mother spits out, her hand pointing at the door, down the stairs, out in the world. It’s a death sentence. She knows as well as he does that as soon as he sets foot outside, there will be someone there to kill him.
Regulus exchanges a glance with her, then he simply nods.
There are no words for this. For a mother willing to kill her son over her purist beliefs.
Regulus turns towards his trusted house-elf, giving him a fond look and noticing the tears gathering at the corner of his eyes.
“Thank you, Kreacher,” Regulus breathes out, his body starting to shake when the dread takes over. How long is he going to survive on his own? How many hours or minutes is it going to take before another Death Eater finds him? The Mark is eerily still this morning, no pain or burning, as if it were dead, like the person who engraved it on his skin.
So, Regulus takes a wobbly step, then another, and he slowly goes down the stairs and past the entrance. He turns around, one more time, giving a last look at his childhood home. And then he opens the front door.
It’s a cold, sunny day.
Regulus is twenty years old and about to die.
He fills his lungs with the freezing air, wishing it would placate the burning pain on his flank, the way his lungs seem about to implode.
A Muggle woman walks past with her dog, staring at him in confusion. He’s probably a spectacle with his pale, exhausted face, his stained formal robes and the old-fashioned suitcase in his hand: brown leather with black straps, the family crest fading on the side but still visible.
He thinks about the four remaining Horcruxes, wondering if Dumbledore will be able to locate them all without him. He prays with every fibre of his being that the Dark Lord will be defeated, thinking about all the people who died during the war.
He thinks about James.
He hears a noise, up above his head, and braces himself for the attack. He tells himself to be brave for once in his life, to take it like a man, but he’s terrified and full of regrets. He only wanted one last chance to see James and his brother, to part with them on good terms.
He hears a roar and wonders what kind of curse is about to hit him. He hopes it’s going to be quick and painless, but he strongly doubts he will be this lucky.
But then, the most miraculous thing happens. Regulus lifts his head, and a motorcycle appears in the sky, heedless of the fact that they’re in a Muggle neighbourhood and anyone could spot it.
Regulus knows that bike; he would recognise its roar amongst millions of Muggle devices.
“Hiya, Reg,” his brother says with a grin as soon as he lands right in front of him, almost splashing Regulus’s black trousers with the murky water of a puddle. “Jump on.”
Regulus stares at him, blinking a couple of times, wondering if he’s dreaming or hallucinating.
Jump on?
He hasn’t spoken to Sirius in three years. The last time they did, it was more a series of shouted insults and accusations, rather than a civil conversation.
If Sirius is here, Regulus reasons, it could mean two things.
Either Dumbledore has told him that Regulus has been secretly working for the Order for the past two years, or Sirius is here to take him to justice because he assumes he’s still a Death Eater.
Either way, Regulus has no other choice. He knows his brother is lethal, and he’d rather meet his fate by the hand of someone he loves.
So, he jumps on.
Sirius doesn’t offer him a helmet, nor is he wearing one. His black, wavy hair floats in the breeze as they take off, and Regulus holds on tight to him, Sirius’s warmth seeping through his cold body, making him feel grounded. Sirius’s leather jacket smells like firewood, like home and something else that Regulus can’t quite place. He closes his eyes, willing for this to be over quickly because the pain is so strong, and Regulus is so tired. The strong Notice-Me-Not cast on the motorbike makes his teeth rattle, but Regulus clings to his brother’s warm body and remembers what it felt like to be children together, to play-fight and be beaten every single time by Sirius. To cuddle up together in Sirius’s bed on the cold winter nights when their parents were out on one of their soirées. To feel loved.
He realises only now that for the past few years, he missed Sirius like a lost limb. He never allowed himself to feel it in the long days of working undercover, but now it washes over him, the love for his brother, the longing and the nostalgia.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” he says, unsure if Sirius hears him over the rumbling of the engine, but then Sirius nods and turns back to shout that they’re almost there.
The trip probably doesn’t last long, but Regulus hasn’t slept at all the previous night, and his head is spinning like mad. Regulus realises they’re still in London when they land in a tiny garden, the grass completely gone and replaced by the muddy tracks left by the wheels of Sirius’s bike. They dismount and Sirius catches Regulus’s elbow when he slips on the mud, quickly taking him inside by a wooden door that looks like it has seen better days.
The kitchen Regulus walks into is tiny, warmed by an Aga in the corner, stuffy and cramped with broken crockery on shelves, pots and pans hanging from the walls, and a very familiar face sitting at the kitchen table.
“Hello, Regulus,” Remus Lupin greets him calmly with a small smile. “Glad you both made it without any problem. Moody just informed me that Grimmauld Place is swarming with Death Eaters right now. You barely made it out in time.”
“Wait, do you—” Regulus starts, unsure where he stands.
Is he here for an execution or as part of a rescue mission?
“Dumbledore told us literally half an hour ago that you were a spy for the Order,” Sirius explains with a grin, looking younger and relaxed in a way that settles Regulus’s nerves and makes his shoulders slump in relief.
He’s safe.
His brother knows.
Sirius laughs at his reaction, patting him firmly on the back and nearly making him stumble. Then, Sirius crosses the kitchen in two long strides and leans down, kissing Remus on the lips. The other man keeps eye contact with Regulus, as if in a silent challenge. Regulus feels his cheeks heating and turns his head, embarrassed by the public display of affection. He was raised as a pure-blood. The first time he saw a couple kiss was when he went to Hogwarts and everyone seemed to be so relaxed about everything, including touching and kissing each other.
He knew that his brother and Remus were together—it’s not like they ever kept it secret, even back at school. They were forever getting told off for snogging in the corridors and being late for curfew or lessons; everyone knew that. Besides, Remus is aware of the fact that Regulus likes men, too. He’s probably the only person who knows about him and James; about their tentative, budding romance before Regulus made a mess of his life and joined the Death Eaters. But Regulus doesn’t know if Remus is aware that James kept on coming back to see him, every time he was meeting Dumbledore at Hogwarts during Regulus’s last year at school or in the place where they used to meet in secret after Regulus left Hogwarts.
James had been clear; he hadn’t wanted to do anything more than kissing or platonic touches until Regulus had turned eighteen. Regulus didn’t know why, especially since he knew James had had sex with girls before starting whatever it was that they had (Regulus never dared to call him his boyfriend, not even before James had broken up with him). What he hadn’t expected was James still coming to see him during the misery that was Regulus’s last year at Hogwarts. That it would continue the years after. It always started with owls signed with a simple J, asking Regulus to meet him at the Shrieking Shack. He always went, like a moth attracted by the most blinding light, even if it meant risking his own life to be there.
Regulus tries to bite back the memory of feverish kisses in the dark, of James’s warm hands sneaking under his dark robes, but it’s all too much, and all he craves is one more chance to see James. One more kiss.
His eighteenth birthday had been a sad affair, between his mother praising what a fine gentleman he had become, unaware of the fact that he was plotting to destroy the locket and kill the Dark Lord, and Sirius sending him a birthday card saying Hope you enjoy your special day, you wanker.
Regulus still doesn’t know why he went to the Shrieking Shack that day, right after meeting the Dark Lord, who had insisted on wishing him a happy birthday in person, making Regulus’s skin crawl and leaving him sick and nauseous of what his life had become. When he Apparated to the place where all of his secret meetings with James had taken place after James left Hogwarts— fleeting things that always ended with James looking miserable and Regulus swearing that was the last time he was doing this to the love of his life—Regulus wasn’t expecting James to be there, not really.
James didn’t even say anything. He didn’t wish him a happy birthday, didn’t accuse him of being a wanker like his brother had; he didn’t even look surprised by the fact that Regulus was there, clearly wanting to see James on his birthday. Instead, James took Regulus in his arms and kissed him slowly and languidly, a desperate note in the way he was holding him so tight, as if afraid Regulus would vanish in front of his eyes.
James took his time undressing him and kissing every imperfection on his skin, the hidden freckles and moles that no one knew about, the small scars Regulus had gathered over the years, especially in the past two. James managed to make him feel whole, for the first time in his wretched life, to make him feel fully alive and brimming with so much love that Regulus thought he would burst.
They transfigured an old table into a bed, and James took him slowly, spending ages fingering him and sucking his cock, making Regulus come once before James even slid inside him. Regulus’s legs were shaking, mainly from nerves, aware that this wouldn’t last until tomorrow, that it was the best birthday present he could ever hope for and he had to cherish every second of it. So he wrapped his arms around James’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss when James finally sank inside him with a shuddered gasp. Regulus tried to be quiet, to bite back an embarrassing moan, but James shook his head, gently brushing a lock of hair from Regulus’s face before he started moving. And Regulus let go, letting his voice carry and fill the room with his pleasure, with the sound of his heart getting broken and mended and broken all over again.
He wanted the moment to last forever. He wanted to confess everything to James; to tell him that he regretted every single awful decision, every wretched insult and nasty belief. But he had to protect James, to make sure he would be safe, because he knew the Dark Lord was after him and Sirius. He knew his time was running out, and his only chance of success was to be quiet and discreet.
So, he let James love him, slow and deep, his hazel eyes wet with tears after he filled Regulus with his come, staying inside him a little longer, as if he wanted that fleeting moment to stretch indefinitely.
“I don’t want to leave,” James whispered after pulling out. He looked at the mess he’d made of Regulus, running his warm hands on his pale, sweaty skin, brushing his fingers against his used hole and making Regulus shudder and whimper. “Don’t want to go. Come with me, Reggie. Please…”
He always said that, and Regulus would normally reply that he had to go; that they both had to. But this time, only this time, he allowed himself to close his eyes and just breathe, letting James touch him for a moment longer, making an ever bigger mess of him with his hands and his lips and his terribly sweet words.
He assumed it would never happen again. When they parted that day, Regulus thought that was it, that he was going to die trying to destroy the locket anyway. He had left instructions with Kreacher to contact James and deliver a letter to him, and another one to Sirius, to try to explain and make amends.
But then, he unexpectedly survived thanks to Albus Dumbledore, and together, they managed to destroy the locket.
Regulus couldn’t believe it. He felt elated and terrified at the same time. Dumbledore, however, was very clear about what he was supposed to do once they sat down in a run-down Muggle flat in the middle of nowhere, probably a safehouse for the Order. Regulus didn’t even ask, his hands still shaking and his clothes all wet from falling into the water in the cave.
“You’re not going to tell anyone you’re on our side,” Dumbledore said categorically, his blue eyes so cold and piercing that they sent a shiver down Regulus’s spine. “Not even to your brother. If we want to defeat Voldemort,” he said, making Regulus shudder at the name being uttered so casually, “we have to be stealthy. This is our only chance, and it rests in your hands.”
“Right,” Regulus replied that day, thinking that he would surely die sooner rather than later. There was no chance he would survive and manage to defeat the Dark Lord; Dumbledore was delusional.
And yet, somehow, they managed.
They located and destroyed another Horcrux, and the months went by as the war became bloodier and more terrifying. More Death Eaters joined. Regulus sometimes couldn’t breathe at night, lying in his bed at Grimmauld Place, wondering what James was doing; if he was safe. Dumbledore told him that most of the Order members were hiding, but that some of them had been killed. Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon murdered, the Longbottoms driven to madness by his cousin, Moody’s eye gone.
Regulus couldn’t even grieve the losses because they were not his friends, even though they were fighting on the same side. He felt strangely detached, trying to keep at bay the dread that the next missive he received would be about his brother or James or Lupin.
Even worse, he had to pretend to be happy about all these Order members falling, congratulating the other Death Eaters and opening bottles of elf-made wine to celebrate. He doesn’t think he will ever be able to drink that bloody wine ever again.
“Reg,” his brother says now, snapping him out of his memories. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he slowly replies, still clutching his suitcase, wondering if he can put it down. “Just tired. C-can I—what am I supposed to do now?”
“Dumbledore wants you to go into hiding,” Remus explains matter-of-factly. “He said you’re better off lying low for the time being, and then you can resume the hunt for those mysterious things you were helping him find once we manage to get most of the Death Eaters in Azkaban.”
“Hiding…” Regulus mutters, wondering if he will ever be able to stop hiding who he is; what he’s been fighting for.
“Our flat is pretty cramped, as you can see,” Sirius says with a relaxed grin, “so it’s been decided you’re going to hide with James.”
Regulus freezes.
He stares at his brother, then he looks at Remus for support. Do they know? Does James know about this—about him?
“W-wait,” Regulus starts, anxiously pacing around the kitchen. “The last thing I heard Potter was hiding with Evans. I’m not playing the third wheel with the two lovebirds. I’d rather try my luck with the likes of Rosier or Greyback.”
“No, James and Lily were only hiding together for a couple of weeks,” Remus explains, a knowing smile appearing on his scarred face. He knows, the bastard. “Lily is staying with Molly and Arthur Weasley. Peter is their secret keeper.”
Regulus stills, his eyes widening as he looks back at Remus in panic.
“Peter Pettigrew?” he asks, slowly. “He’s on the Dark Lord’s side. Did Dumbledore not—did he not get my message yesterday evening? I sent him an owl two hours before the attack, as soon as I found out—”
“Fuck!” Sirius shouts, Disapparating instantly and leaving Regulus standing there, a wave of panic rising in his chest.
“Who is James’s secret keeper?” he quickly asks, terrified of the answer, his hands shaking as he moves closer to Remus.
“I am,” Remus replies, getting a folded piece of parchment out of his pocket and offering it to him, “And now you are, too. These are the Apparition coordinates to Godric’s Hollow, where James is hiding. You need to go there now. I have to warn Dumbledore.”
Regulus looks at the address, thinking that he doesn’t even have the time to mentally prepare himself, to find the words he will need to explain all this mess to James.
“Does James know I’ve been spying for the Order for the past two years?” he finds the courage to ask.
“Yes,” Remus replies with a raised eyebrow. “He completely lost it when I told him earlier. I’ve never seen him so distressed. He wanted to come and find you straight away. It took ages to convince him to stay hidden at Godric’s Hollow. Apparently, he’s one of the number one wizards You-Know-Who wanted to kill. You should know.”
Regulus thinks about his options, knowing that this is a terrible idea. James will never be able to trust him again. He will have so many questions and accusations.
But as always in his life when it comes to James, he finds himself pulled by a strong force, like a magnet, pushing him to nod and hold onto his suitcase, taking the piece of parchment containing the Apparition coordinates to James’s cottage.
He squeezes his eyes shut and Apparates.
When he opens them again, he finds himself in another kitchen, this time a cosy and lovely one, the furniture old and made of lacquered wood. He hears a gasp behind him, and when he turns, he sees James, sitting on a chair by the table. His face looks tired, dark smudges under his beautiful eyes, black stubble on his cheeks. His fingers were probably torturing his curls until a moment ago, because his hair is sticking out into a million directions like it always does when James is nervous.
Regulus grips the handle of his suitcase, his mouth suddenly dry.
“Hello, James,” he murmurs, wondering what James is thinking.
Is he mad at him for lying for two years? For pretending James was delusional every time he tried to convince Regulus to join the Order? For making James feel like shit after sleeping with the supposed enemy?
“Fuck, you’re alive!” James breathes out, standing up and closing the distance between them to hug him so tightly that he takes Regulus’s breath away. “Merlin, you have no idea how worried I was. I got an owl this morning, a-a-and I thought—Reggie, I thought…”
James squeezes him tighter, his arm moving to get a better grip of him, and Regulus moans in pain, his wound opening again. He drops the suitcase, which falls on the wooden floor, opening and scattering all his belongings around them. It’s a mess of odd socks and books and dark robes.
“Fuck…” he whimpers, clutching his side and watching James’s eyes widen in fear, his arms letting go of him instantly, then hastily lifting Regulus’s robes to check the damage.
“Shit, shit, fuck!” James curses, freezing for a moment before he retrieves his wand from the kitchen counter. “You should have told me you were injured. Why has no one treated your wounds? Oh dear Merlin, this is deep, Reggie. Bloody hell…What the actual fuck was Remus thinking, making you Apparate like this?”
“I was okay,” Regulus replies through gritted teeth, the pain suddenly unbearable. There’s a red stain on the kitchen floor, and it’s getting bigger with every second. “My house-elf cast some sort of Stasis, and there was no time.”
“You need to be very still,” James says, making Regulus sit down on one of the chairs. It has a burgundy cushion on it, with tiny chickens embroidered on the fabric, and for a fleeting moment, Regulus thinks it’s cute, wondering if James’s mother made it. His mother would have never made anything like that, let alone allow it in her house. Regulus’s vision suddenly fills with white specks of light, dancing around his open eyes and making everything feel floaty and precarious. “Reggie, look at me. You need to stay with me; don’t pass out. I’m going to stitch your wound and heal it. I know how to.”
“You’ve been studying to become a Healer; I know,” Regulus whispers, his voice coming out faint. He closes his eyes for a moment, but James takes his hand and squeezes it. “I trust you.”
“Good,” James replies, and then he casts a spell, and another. Regulus whines, low in his throat, because it fucking hurts. He opens his eyes to look, because he’d rather see what’s happening. He sees the broken flesh, his wound getting stitched back by magic, James’s worried expression as he concentrates, his dark eyebrows knitted in concern. And then, he suddenly remembers.
“Your girlfriend,” Regulus says, thinking that it’s important; that James needs to know, in case he wants to go and save her. “She’s in danger.”
“Girlfriend?” James asks, sounding confused, his eyes still focused on the wound. “I’m going to get you a pain relief potion as soon as I’m done here. I’m sorry, I know it hurts.”
“Evans,” Regulus explains, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as a groan escapes his lips when James does something that hurts almost as much as the curse that hit him in the first place. “She’s—fuck, her secret keeper’s Pettigrew. He’s with the Dark Lord.”
“Peter’s a spy?!” James blurts out, and Regulus opens his eyes to watch the reaction on his face; the betrayal and horror. The heartbreak. It’s the same way he looked at Regulus when he showed him the Mark on his pale arm what now feels like a lifetime ago.
“I only found out yesterday evening, but Dumbledore didn’t get my owl,” Regulus explains, noticing how the pain is slowly ebbing away and he can breathe again, little by little. James’s hands are gentle as they press against his waist, moving him so that he can get closer and assess the progress of his spell. “Sirius went to check, but—”
“I’m sure they’re all fine,” James says, but Regulus can spot the lie straight away, can feel the worry lacing James’s words. “We need to treat your wounds now. You could have died, Reggie. Besides, Lily’s not my girlfriend.”
“B-but—” Regulus starts, frowning and then gasping when James flicks his wand and pulls the magic thread that was stitching his wound shut. Then, James Summons a box from another room, getting bandages and a small pot with an ointment that smells distinctively of dittany.
“No buts,” James says, his tone authoritative. Regulus thinks he would make a good Healer one day, when the war is over and James can finally get on with his life. Probably marry a lovely girl and have a baby. Regulus has always wanted to have a family of his own…“We need to make sure you’re fine, and then we’ll worry about the others. We can’t leave the cottage, anyway. Dumbledore’s orders.”
Regulus can imagine how much that pains James; how desperate he must be to join the action and make sure his loved ones are safe.
“How long have you been stuck in here?” Regulus asks when James starts spreading the magical ointment on his skin, so very careful and tender with him, as if Regulus were something fragile, easily breakable.
“Three months,” James replies, running his fingers on his skin, then stopping in his tracks and staring up at him. “I think I’ve managed to treat the worst of it.”
“Thank you,” Regulus breathes out, relieved and overwhelmed by it all. It’s always James saving him, one way or another.
“You’re so skinny…” James murmurs after a moment, tracing Regulus’s ribs, his touch featherlight and tentative. They haven’t seen each other in months. Regulus feels goosebumps erupt on his skin, suddenly missing James’s warm body pressed to his like a lost limb. “You’ve lost weight since the last time we—”
“I haven’t had much appetite lately,” Regulus confesses with a shrug that hurts more than expected. He grimaces, and James Summons a potion from what looks like the bathroom, offering it to him. It has no labels, and Regulus raises a suspicious eyebrow at it. “Have you brewed this yourself?”
“Yes, but you can trust it,” James replies grumpily, his freckled cheeks flushing in the most adorable way, pulling an unexpected smile from Regulus. Salazar, he hasn’t smiled in months. “I know I’ve always been shit at Potions, but I’ve been practising. I was stuck here on my own, so I had to do something. I used the notes in your Potions book; the one you said you didn’t need any longer. My mum used to be so good at brewing potions…”
“I’m sorry about your parents,” Regulus says softly, letting his hand move of its own accord, reaching for James’s cheeks, to feel the warmth of his skin and offer some comfort, knowing how much he adored his parents and how it must have hurt to lose both of them while he was stuck here on his own. But before he can touch James’s face, a glowing light flashes around them, startling Regulus and making him pull back. He watches the squirrel Patronus scamper around and finally draw closer. Regulus has never been able to cast one, despite James trying to teach him several times.
“Everyone’s safe,” the squirrel says with a woman’s voice. Regulus recognises it straight away as Lily Evans’s voice and pales, thinking that he shouldn’t be listening to this; that he’s only intruding. “Moody got Peter. Dumbledore said not to move. Stay safe.”
The squirrel disappears in a puff of blue smoke, and Regulus stares at the wooden floor, wondering if James is going to do or say something. He feels his fingers on his ribs again, tentative and fluttering like scared little birds.
“Are you hungry?” James asks, tilting his head and unravelling a roll of gauze that he starts carefully wrapping around Regulus’s torso, pulling a groan from him. “Sorry, this needs to be tight. I’ll change the dressing later. You look exhausted.”
“Didn’t sleep last night,” Regulus replies, feeling the adrenaline whooshing out of him and leaving exhaustion in its wake, making his shoulders slump and head loll back as he sighs and lets James pull his robes down over his bare skin.
“When was the last time you ate?” James asks, casting a Cleaning Charm on his robes. Regulus thinks he ought to change into something more comfortable. His belongings are still scattered on the floor, but he’s too worn out to care.
“Yesterday morning,” he replies, feeling so weak, so incredibly tired that he could probably fall asleep on this kitchen chair.
“Let me warm up some soup,” James says, standing up and pottering around the kitchen while Regulus keeps his eyes shut. He still can’t believe that he’s alive; that he’s here with James. That they have to hide together for Merlin knows how long.
Fuck.
He wonders why James still hasn’t kissed him. It was always the very first thing he did, during their secret meetings. James would grab his face with both hands and kiss him like a starving man, threading his fingers through Regulus’s locks and pulling him closer, stealing the breath away from him with his burning need to have him whole, now, all of him.
Regulus listens to the sounds of James warming up what smells like tomato soup and sighs, his stomach suddenly waking up and rumbling.
“I don’t eat meat anymore,” Regulus confesses, and James stills, the noise ceasing. “Can’t face causing more death, sorry.”
“It’s just tomato soup,” James replies, his voice soothing. “And there’s fresh bread. Remus brought it yesterday, but I’ve kept it under Stasis, so it’s still nice and crunchy…Besides, you haven’t—Reggie, you haven’t killed anyone.”
“How do you even know?” Regulus asks after a pause, finally daring to open his eyes and locking his gaze with James.
“Remus has tol—”
“I killed my cousin, Bellatrix,” he confesses, his fingers suddenly shaking with the realisation of what he’s done. Gods, what has he done? “Last night. She…”
“Reggie?”
“She tried to kill me,” he confesses, his lips wobbling so much that he struggles to speak. He swallows loudly, but his mouth is so dry that it hurts. So much pain. So much fucking pain. He’s had enough. He doesn’t think he can take any more. “She cast a Crucio on me, must have really meant it because it was pure agony. And then—then she stepped on my hand, and was about to cast an Avada, but she didn’t realise I had my wand in my left hand. My…my Shield Charm worked too well, and the spell bounced back. James, I—”
James is there in an instant, crouching at his feet, gently parting Regulus’s knees so that he can slot between them and cradle his cheeks in his warm hands.
“Hey,” James murmurs, waiting for Regulus’s chest to stop burning, and for his lungs to fill up with oxygen again. “You did what you had to do. You’re here now, and you’re safe, and that’s all that matters.”
Regulus would like to say that he’s not so sure. That he doesn’t know what truly matters anymore—the outlines of what’s right and wrong have been so faint and washed out lately that he feels like a kite in a storm, the rope keeping him tethered to the ground getting thinner and thinner.
He let James pull him into his arms one more time, this time a loose embrace that doesn’t threaten to make his wounds reopen. And then he eats the hot soup, blowing on it while his eyes water, for no reason other than he’s too tired and overwhelmed and doesn’t even know what to think anymore.
“Can—can I go to bed?” Regulus asks once his stomach is full and sleep is settling over him like a warm and thick blanket. He can barely keep his eyes open.
He wonders how many bedrooms there are in this cottage. He spotted stairs earlier, on his way to the tiny bathroom by the front door, but there was also a big sofa in the living room. He wonders if that’s where he will be sleeping.
“Of course,” James replies, standing up from his kitchen chair and flicking his wand to pack Regulus’s suitcase and Levitate it all the way upstairs. Regulus follows him, his legs like lead and head sore, a pounding ache making him wince when he turns his head too fast as soon as they reach the landing. There are three doors. “That’s the bathroom, this is my room, and that’s the spare bedroom,” James announces, pointing at the wooden doors. Then, he deposits the suitcase by Regulus’s feet and just looks at him for a long moment. “I’ll be downstairs. Call if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” Regulus mumbles, watching a small smile bloom on James’s face, the freckles making him look younger, even more dear to Regulus than he’s ever been before.
James takes his hand and squeezes it tight. It only lasts a fleeting moment, but the contact is enough to set Regulus’s body on fire, wanting more, craving everything. To have James pressed against him; to feel his hot mouth and demanding hands all over him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” James whispers, as if it were an embarrassing confession, before he makes his way downstairs, his steps muffled by the carpet.
Regulus looks at the doors in front of him.
He realises now he’s been given a choice. He could sneak into James’s bedroom; lie down in his bed and just snuggle up under blankets that smell like him. But he’s not sure he can have that now, not before he sits down and talks to James.
There have been too many secrets between them. He knows James; he will have a million questions, wanting to know why Regulus never told him the truth and for how long he’s been a spy. The only reason he didn’t say anything is because Regulus was injured and ready to drop.
So, he heads for the door in the middle, the one to the spare bedroom. It’s a cosy room, the blankets with a pattern of bees and marigolds, smelling faintly of lavender. He places his suitcase on the soft carpet and inhales deeply. Then, he gets his pyjamas out and changes slowly, careful not to open his wound with a sharp movement.
He closes the green curtains and lies in bed, staring at the ceiling before he finally succumbs to sleep and his eyes drift shut. There are a million things on his mind, but he manages to sleep nonetheless. It’s a restless sleep, though, laced with confusing dreams, loud voices and flashes of green light that make him toss and turn in bed, until he wakes up with a start, a silent scream on the very tip of his tongue.
His wound hurts, and his head is still throbbing. Regulus doesn’t remember where he is for a moment, and he looks around in panic, thinking he’s been captured, but then he sees it, in the corner of the room. It’s a picture of James as a child, his curls an unruly and adorable mess, one of his front teeth missing as he grins at the camera in that cheeky way that never fails to pull at Regulus’s heartstrings.
He fell in love with that smile so many years ago. He fell in love with it and hasn’t been able to move past, most likely never will. He knows himself. He will never be able to love anyone the way he loves James.
He gets up slowly, then pulls the curtains open and realises it’s dark outside, the day already drawing to a close. He wonders what time it is as he pads downstairs, still in his pyjamas and with his hair falling in gentle waves around his face.
He finds James sitting by the fire, a big tome in his lap, open on a page with illustrations of the human body. James doesn’t notice him straight away, too focused on his book, his fingers idly playing with his curls as he concentrates and mumbles something under his breath, repeating it again to memorise it. Regulus smiles despite himself, because he doesn’t think he deserves to have this—a second chance at life; a man as good as James sitting in front of the fire and now turning his head and smiling at him, the warmth going straight to Regulus’s frozen heart.
James grabs a bookmark from the small table next to the sofa, without breaking eye contact, and then he shuts the book and pats the place next to him. Regulus hesitates for a moment, then crosses the distance between them, sitting opposite James and stretching his bare feet on the sofa until they’re so close to James’s thighs that he can feel his body heat.
“Did you sleep okay?” James asks, and Regulus tilts his head and shrugs minutely.
“Got a headache,” he mumbles, trying to forget about the nightmares and the sense of dread that fills him every time he wakes up, preventing him from falling back asleep.
“I think you ought to take some painkillers,” James says, looking at his watch and counting on his fingers. “Yes, your wound is probably starting to get sore. Let me fetch some. I also need to change the dressing and apply more dittany.”
“James,” Regulus says, reaching for the sleeve of his red jumper before James can stand up and move away from him.
“Yes?” James asks, a worried look casting a shadow on his face, his eyes boring into him, eyebrows knitted in concern. “Are you okay?”
Regulus looks for the courage in his heart. It’s always been hard to find, always such a small and fickle thing, crushed under years of wrong teachings and worry and the desire to just be a good boy and please his parents.
He swallows and looks at James, at this lovely man who still hasn’t asked him anything; who has welcomed him in his house without demanding a single thing from him.
“I’m sorry,” Regulus admits.