Chapter Text
It all starts with a knock at the door.
“Jamie,” Lily whispers, kneeling beside his bed in her satin purple robe. She looks like a vision, with fiery red hair pulled back into a loose knot at the top of her head, her face clear of any makeup, and green eyes that are awake but weary. She had woken him up with shallow whispers, a healthy distance away from the bed – oftentimes, the weary look in her eye was because of him, because of James. “Jamie, there’s someone at the door.”
James frowned, lifting his weighed-down head. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, palming blindly on the nightstand for his thick-framed glasses. Harry, who was sleeping peacefully in the crook of his arm, groaned quietly in his sleep before shifting over. “What?”
“There’s someone at the door,” Lily repeated, almond-shaped eyes wide, the green of her irises shining like a mosaic of green bottle glass. Behind the exhaustion and the wariness was an old fear they hadn’t quite been able to shake since Halloween of 1981. Lily still couldn’t answer the door, especially at night. James always did it for her.
They didn’t talk much lately, but James would never refuse her this kindness.
“Okay,” he whispered, tugging himself free from his son’s octopus-like limbs. He shivered slightly, feet cold against the chill of the wooden floor. Lily stood up and followed behind him, silent as the dead. Her willow wand was held firmly in her white-knuckled grip. Strands of hair were falling loosely from her bun, resting against the sides of her face as if she had been through a whirlwind, not a twenty-foot walk from James’s bedroom to the front door.
I’m sure it’s nothing, James wanted to say, but he found he couldn’t force his tongue to utter the words. I’m sure it’s just Sirius and Remus, he tried again, because Sirius and Remus were among the only visitors they’ve had since they moved from Godric’s Hollow… but the two shadows he could see through the mahogany door’s frosted glass insert – one quite tall, and one of medium height and quite willowy – did not look very much like Sirius and Remus at all.
Another knock upon the door.
Taking a breath to steady himself, he wrenched the door open firmly. “Can I help you?” he snapped tersely, wrist flexed and ready to grab his wand from the holster he kept strapped to his forearm. The two men – he assumed they were men – were cloaked against the brisk wind outside. One man’s cloak, the willowy one, was quite old and frayed but had clearly been of excellent quality at some point due to the intricate stitch work and the quality of the fabric, and the other man, the quite tall one, was wearing a royal blue cloak inlaid with white dancing stars, and – oh.
“Good evening, Professor Dumbledore,” James greeted, every muscle in his body relaxing all at once. Faintly, he could hear Lily release a sigh of relief behind him. “Or should I say good morning? It’s quite late.” Lily smacked his shoulder playfully with the back of her hand, nudging him out of the open doorway.
“Nonsense, James,” she sniped playfully. “Please come in, Professor, it’s quite cold out this time of night.” James admired her ability to gripe about the late hour with more subtlety, something he had never quite mastered. While Lily had all the grace of an acrobat, James was more like a bull crashing through a china shop.
“Thank you for your kindness, dear,” Dumbledore murmured his appreciation. “And I sincerely apologize for the late hour. I would not have stopped by if it were not of the utmost importance, I hope you know.” James’s eyes shifted, almost involuntarily so, toward the man at Dumbledore’s side. While Albus had removed his hood upon entering the home, no longer needing to protect his face from the cutting wind, his companion still had his face completely hidden and was gazing down at the floor.
He looked a bit like a dog that had been kicked.
“Of course, sir,” Lily replied, guiding the group toward the sitting room. James grabbed his wand, intending to light the fireplace, but Dumbledore stopped him before he could so much as lift his wand.
“Please, dear boy, allow me.” With a flex of the wizened old man’s fingers, a flower of flame had burst from the empty fireplace, and a kettle was heating over the open fire. “I think a spot of tea will do us all well enough!” Dumbledore hummed happily, making himself comfortable on their plush sofa.
“I’ll fetch some mugs,” Lily smiled kindly, bustling around in the attached kitchen and dining room in a way James knew by heart. Lily, although she adored the headmaster, was a pretty shoddy hostess – James knew she was trying to hide her nerves.
James crossed his arms over his undershirt-clad torso, his hand resting comfortingly against the wand holster strapped to his forearm. “Not that I don’t love seeing you, Headmaster, but it is almost–” his eyes flitted to the clock on the wall “– three in the morning. Could this not have been an owl?” Dumbledore sighed with a weariness that betrayed his advanced age in a way James hadn’t heard since the height of the war.
“I think you may want to sit down, James,” Dumbledore spoke kindly. James’s eyes flitted to the cloaked man, who was still very much standing off to the side of the sofa, still as a statue and entirely anonymous.
“I don’t think I will,” James replied edgily, shoulders straightening. Lily came back into the sitting room just as the kettle whistled, holding a tray of chipped blue mugs as well as tea bags, cream, and sugar. With another wave of the headmaster’s hand, the kettle was pouring steaming hot water into the mugs. Lily and Albus grabbed their mugs of tea with relish, while James and the mystery wizard allowed theirs to grow cold on the coffee table. “Albus, may we please stop wasting time? What is the meaning of this?”
“James,” Lily hedged, but he waved her off.
“No, Lils, he came into our home in the middle of the night with a stranger. I would like to know why.”
“I wouldn’t say a stranger. More of an old friend,” Albus replied airily, pouring himself another cup of tea with a splash of cream and a God awful amount of sugar. “An old friend that, by all accounts, is quite lucky to be alive… and who is currently under the Order’s protection.”
James and Lily’s shoulders stiffened in unison.
“We aren’t members of the Order anymore, Albus,” Lily stated firmly, the shutters going down behind her eyes. “We made that clear over three years ago. The war is finished, and so are we.”
“I understand your hesitancy to be involved in Order business, but I must admit I am quite desperate for assistance,” Albus sighed. “If it makes you uncomfortable to think of it as work for the Order, perhaps a favor? For a very old friend?”
“Is that old friend supposed to be you, or him?” James asked shrewdly. Albus hummed.
“I suppose that depends on your own perspective.” Albus sipped from his mug of tea, long and slow, before gazing at James and Lily from over his spectacles. “I understand things have been… difficult between the two of you, lately. You have both been through more than most twenty-four-year-olds. War is painful, and so, I’ve heard, is raising a little boy. And, of course, there is your separation,” Albus tacked on briskly. A deep frown etched itself into James’s face. Lily’s grip on her mug tightened to the point where her knuckles went pale. “And I’ve given you both time to process everything you both have gone through. Time to live quietly with the comfort that you are raising young Harry in a world where he can feel safe. But not all loose ends have been clipped, so to speak, with Voldemort’s defeat. I need your help with this one.” Albus gestured to the man who had remained silent throughout the entire interaction. “I need you to provide this man with temporary safe harbor.”
“Why us?” Lily demanded. “There are plenty of ex-Order members, plenty of others you could have called upon in the middle of the night to help you, isn't there?”
“Well, I am mostly asking for assistance from James, if I am being honest.” James pursed his lips in confusion, dark hands fisting and unfisting at his sides in discomfort.
“Why?”
“Well, frankly, because you are unemployed. Lily is a Healer. Most of the other Order members are employed by the ministry or have many children, as in Molly’s case. You are simply the only one with enough time to assist on this matter.” James sputtered.
“I do work–”
“Yes, you assist the aurors on occasion, but you and I both know you are not reenrolling in the auror program anytime soon.” James clenched his jaw. He’d dropped out of the auror program shortly after Harry was born, when they’d learned of the prophecy and had been forced to go into hiding. Lily had given up her mediwitch apprenticeship as well. They’d both planned to pick up where they left off once the war was over, and Lily had, but James…
Well. James had difficulties. And most of the time, he preferred staying home with his son anyway. Besides, he still got his kicks in on occasion, helping Sirius out on tough cases. He just wasn’t as quick with a wand as he used to be, before Bellatrix–
He shook his head dazedly. Best not to go down that road.
“Remus works from home. And he’s childless,” James pointed out.
“Mister Lupin was a brief consideration, but as he lives with Mister Black–”
“What does that have to do with anything?” James demanded. “I’m sick of these riddles, Albus. If I’m being asked to take a man into my home, I would at least like to know all of the information!”
“I suppose you do have a point,” Albus admitted. He turned to the cloaked figure. “Young man, if you would..?” The cloaked man lifted his hands slowly to his hood, and James noticed that his skin was as pale as carved alabaster. Long fingers drew back the edge of his cloak, his loose sleeves falling down his wrists as he tugged the hood off of his head. Before James ever noticed the perfectly coiled black curls, the aristocratic features, or the exhausted, sunken-in eyes that were the color of liquid iron, he noticed the skull tattooed in unforgiving, slightly faded ink on the man’s forearm.
James’s wand was in his hand in an instant, breath ragged like torn newspaper, but the wand tip was steady as it trained itself on the Death Eater’s chest. It was a soldier’s instinct, brought on by years of duels and battle, and far too much blood, split skin, and broken bones to ever be caught by an enemy with his wand down.
In the corner of his eye, he saw that Lily had her wand up as well, pointed at the man’s head.
“James, Lily–” the headmaster attempted to placate the pair, raising his wrinkled hands in a show of good faith. “This man means the two of you no harm.”
“You brought a fucking Death Eater into my home, Albus!” Lily shouted, voice harsher than James had ever heard it before. Her hair had fallen almost completely out of its bun, and she had the wild look in her eyes of a woman starved – hungry for a reason to curse the man, to incapacitate him, to vanquish the threat before he became dangerous. “My child is here!”
“If you would allow me to explain–”
A creaking noise attracted their attention to the hallway, where Harry stood, clutching a stuffed bear and rubbing a tiny fist against a bright green eye. His wild black hair was sleep-mussed, and his brown skin was pale with exhaustion, powder blue pajamas wrinkled from his tossing and turning. “Mummy, what–”
“Stay back!” Lily barked, attention now fully focused on her son and not the dark-haired Death Eater in the living room. Harry flinched, looking more awake than before, and took a baby step backward and deeper into the hallway.
“Lily, take Harry and run!” James snapped, hands beginning to tremble at the thought of his son being in danger – again. Lily darted toward the hall, swooping their son up into her arms and holding him close to her chest as he regarded Albus and the Death Eater with heavy mistrust. The man, the Death Eater, took a small step toward Albus. “Do not fucking move! I will fucking kill you if you take another step, you piece of–” James didn’t get to finish his sentence.
Albus waved a hand, and James’s feet seemed to stick to the floor as if he had been glued in place, his wand flying out of his hand and towards the headmaster’s. Lily’s wand was summoned barely a moment afterward, Albus placing them neatly into the pocket of his robe. “That, I think, is quite enough, dear boy,” Albus said decidedly. He turned to the dark-haired man, who looked rather pale and sick. And who was beginning to look oh so familiar. “Regulus, I think you ought to reacquaint yourself with the Potters.”
The room froze, as if James and Lily had been doused with a trough of ice-cold water. James took in the man’s features – the messy black curls, slightly lopsided as if Regulus spent a lot of time pushing them out of his face. The high cheekbones, a common trait in the Black family that James couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed before – Sirius had those cheekbones, Narcissa had them, Bellatrix–
Well. He couldn’t truly blame himself for not recognizing Regulus sooner. He looked nothing like he had the last time James saw him almost seven years ago. Regulus had been a short, quiet lad with perfectly combed black curls and clothing that was always in pristine condition, nothing like the shabby clothes that this Regulus wore. And Regulus had always been thin, but this man was nothing short of skeletal – James could see the bones sticking out of this man’s wrist, could see the sharp cut of his cheekbones through the skin of his gaunt face. This man looked nothing like the Regulus that James had known, the Regulus that had been his best friend’s baby brother. If Albus hadn’t said his name, James would never have guessed that these Reguluses were one and the same.
Not to mention that Regulus was supposed to be dead.
Harry broke the tense silence first.
“Baba?” the small boy called in confusion. “Is that Uncle Sirius..?”
~-~
The Potters’ home was warm. Regulus liked that.
Black Manor was always freezing, metaphorically and physically. The winding halls and achingly large rooms left little room for things like warmth and comfort, yawning bookshelves and arching wooden doorways giving no opportunity for joy or love.
The Potter home was positively bursting with joy and love.
Albus and the Potters – or Potter and Evans, perhaps, since they had apparently separated – talked in hushed whispers in another room. Potter Junior had been given strict instructions to go back to his father’s bedroom and stay there, but of course, the child had wandered back to the sitting room shortly after his parents had vacated the area. He was playing with his stuffed bear on the floor, making the worn thing walk in circles.
“You look like my uncle,” Harry informed him. He was quite well-spoken for a child his age. His mother’s doing, no doubt. Regulus knew very little about Lily Evans, had never spoken to her at school, even though she had been so close with Severus, but he did know she prided herself on her education and her intelligence, and that she would probably try her best to pass that trait along to her child.
A lot of good she could do there, with a husband like that.
Regulus had no positive feelings for James Potter. The boy who had stolen his brother away from him had become the man who pointed a wand at his chest and threatened to kill him. A bully growing up to be a bully – what a surprise.
Regulus was so tired.
“My Uncle Sirius,” Harry clarified, as if the matter needed clarification. “Uncle Remus looks different. He’s really tall, and you aren’t. And his hair is different. Like–” Harry made an odd gesture with his hands, a swooping gesture down the sides of his head, as if trying to communicate that Remus had straight hair, which Regulus knew. “But you and Uncle Remus both have the lines.”
“The lines?” Regulus croaked, the first words he’d spoken since entering the home.
“Yeah!” Harry brightened slightly now that Regulus was finally speaking to him. “The ones on your face. Mummy says Uncle Remus’s lines are scars. Are your lines scars?” Regulus’s fingers traced the deep gouges on the column of his throat, the ones that climbed up the corner of his jaw. They weren’t the only scars, obviously. Just the visible ones. His body was a map of scars – his calves, thighs, torso, and even the back of his neck where hair met skin.
Something that wasn’t taught about Inferi in Defense Against the Dark Arts? Their fingernails were bloody and sharp.
“Yes,” Regulus answered shortly.
“I have a scar on my knee,” Harry confided in him. He rolled up the pant leg of his blue pajama bottoms, gesturing to a still fresh, healing pink scar on the bend of his knee. “I fell off my broom. Mummy was so angry with Baba. He got me a new broom that goes a bit higher, since I’m so good on my trainee broom – the cat tried to jump on and I fell.”
“I see.”
“My cat’s name is Lewis. He’s orange. But he stays in the back garden at night because he doesn’t like being cooped up in the house, Mummy says. I don’t like being cooped up in the house either, but I’m not allowed to sleep in the back garden. I have my own room to sleep in, Baba says, even though I don’t usually sleep there. I sleep in Mummy's or Baba’s bed. They keep me safe. Are your scars from magic?” Harry climbed up onto the couch, pointing a tiny finger at a scar sitting in the middle of Regulus’s throat. “Uncle Remus says his scars are from magic because he gets them from Moony. Moony comes to visit Uncle Remus sometimes, but he used to beat Uncle Remus up.”
“Mine aren’t from magic,” Regulus said, gently pushing the boy’s hand away from his face. The sensation of skin against his made his stomach roil. “Just… bad things.”
“What kind of bad things?” Harry asked curiously, head tilted to the side. Regulus gnawed on his lower lip. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay. Mummy and Baba say sometimes people don’t like talking about bad things because it makes them sad. And you’re my Baba’s new friend, so I don’t want you to be sad. Why do you look like Uncle Sirius?” Regulus fish-mouthed for a moment, at a loss for words, before Lily Evans swept her way back into the room, picking Harry up and balancing him onto her hip.
“You are supposed to be asleep, young man. Let’s go back to bed with Mummy.”
“Noooo,” Harry whined, head thrown back as he wiggled in his mother’s arms. Lily patted his bottom, poking out her bottom lip at her son.
“Please? Mummy needs someone to stay with her tonight. I’m scared of the dark…” Harry narrowed his eyes at his mother, assessing her, before letting out a put-upon sigh.
“Fine, I’ll protect you, Mummy.” Lily squealed, pressing frantic kisses into her son’s cheeks, who giggled and attempted to swat her away.
“Oh, thank you, love.” She turned to her husband – her ex-husband. “We’ll be in bed… let me know when you get him taken care of, okay?” James nodded stiffly, ducking down to kiss his son’s forehead. Regulus’s mouth felt as dry as the dusty old tomes in the Black family library. Taken care of?
Lily and Harry leave the sitting room, and James Potter perches himself across from Regulus on the coffee table. His hands are steepled together in his lap, and he’s surveying Regulus over the tops of his thick-rimmed glasses, lips pursed into a disapproving line. He’s still in his pajamas, white linen sweatpants, and a black undershirt, and the brown skin of his arms glows warmly under the light of the fireplace. Their shadows are long, stretching things against the dim floor.
“Where is Albus?” Regulus finally broke the silence. James sat up straighter, hands falling to rest on his lap, and Regulus saw that his wand was back in its original place, holstered on James’s forearm. The sight made Regulus itch for his own wand, not that it would be of any use in his current state.
“He Apparated back to Hogwarts ten minutes ago,” James murmured, his voice must be calmer – much quieter – than it had been earlier. The warmth and baritone of his voice made the hairs on Regulus’s arms stand up in discomfort. “You’re staying with us for a while, it would seem.”
“Not my choice.” If anything, he was actively planning his escape route.
James scoffed.
“Yeah, well, I’m not happy about this either, Black, trust me,” James groused. “And, of course, Albus wouldn’t tell us a damned thing about why you’re here in the first place.” For the first time in his life, Regulus felt grateful for the headmaster’s tendency toward secrecy. He could do without his business being spread around, thank you very much.
“You’ll be rid of me soon enough,” Regulus dismissed. “I’ll be out of your home by the time spring rolls around, and–”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” James interrupts. Regulus frowns deeply. It feels almost natural on his face, frowning. He hadn’t smiled at all in years, not since before he took the Dark Mark. He wasn’t sure if he even remembered how.
“Well, Potter, clearly I’m not.”
“Your brother mourned you. He was in pieces for months.” Now it was Regulus’s turn to scoff.
“Don’t patronize me, Potter,” Regulus sneered.
“You had a funeral, Black.”
“That says more about you all than it does me. I wasn’t the one stupid enough to have a funeral without a body–”
“Don’t disrespect me in my house,” James snapped. “In case you forgot, we were in the middle of a war. There were a lot of empty caskets. A lot of people will stay missing forever. You don’t get to call us stupid for how we chose to cope when all that death was your fault!” Regulus narrowed his eyes.
“I’ve never killed anyone,” he said, tone utterly no-nonsense. “Not a single soul. Can you say the same?” Potter’s hands tightened into fists.
“At least I was on the right side of history. Can you say the same?”
“You will never understand what I did in the war. What I did for the right side of history.”
James opened his mouth to respond before seeming to freeze, to remember how late it was, perhaps. He stood up from the coffee table abruptly, and Regulus jerked backward into the couch, shoulders drawing up to his ears, bracing himself for – something.
“You’re here,” James murmured, “because Albus trusts me to keep you in check. To keep you from running off and doing – Merlin knows what to Merlin knows who. Albus trusts me. That doesn’t mean that I trust you.” Regulus stood from the couch, looking James in the eye. They didn’t have much of a difference in height – Regulus was the same height as Sirius, who was more or less the same height as James, but where Regulus was made up of thin and narrow edges, James had broad shoulders and a filled-out figure that came from regular meals and good health. The difference set Regulus’s teeth on edge.
“I wouldn’t trust me either.” They stared at each other for a long, weighted moment. The air between them felt thick with frustration, anxiety, mistrust – Regulus could have choked on it. It hurts to breathe.
“You’ll be staying in the guest room tonight,” James finally said. “And we’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.”
“And if I refuse?” Regulus could leave now. He knew he could. Surely at least one of his friends was alive after the war, someone he could stay with – surely Severus –
“I’ll call the aurors,” James stated simply. “Happily.” A pause. “It’s either here, under house arrest, or you can have a nice cushy getaway in Azkaban prison. And judging by the looks of you…” James let his gaze trail up and down Regulus’s body. “You won’t make it to Spring.”
“Gee. Thanks.” Regulus sighed, raking his hands through his knotted hair. “Fine.”
“Good.” James gestured toward the hallway. “Third door on the left. You go first. You should honestly probably take a bath before you go to bed – you look a right mess, Black.” Regulus walked down the hallway with Potter at his heels, shoulders tensed, gaze lowered.
The house felt alien, but not unwelcoming. Regulus could tell it was a warm, happy place, a place where Harry was probably raised happily. At least, it was when Regulus wasn’t making dramatic entrances with his old school headmaster.
“Will you play with me tomorrow?” a tiny voice whispered, an even tinier head peeking out of what Regulus assumed was Lily’s bedroom. Regulus frowned.
“Sure… if you want.” Harry beamed, showing off rows of tiny, pointy baby teeth.
“Go back to bed, Harry James. It is way past little boys’ bedtimes,” James said firmly, ruffling his son’s hair. Regulus stood off to the side uncomfortably, not sure if he was supposed to stay near James or disappear into the guest bedroom.
“I love you, Baba,” Harry smiled, kissing his father’s knee because it was the only part of his body he could reach. James crouched down and kissed his child’s head.
“I love you, Hazza. Go to bed, lad.” Harry nodded, tiptoeing back into his mother’s bedroom.
Regulus felt as if he was taking a glimpse at a life he had always wanted, but had never dreamed he’d be able to have for himself. A life that didn’t involve death or Dark Arts, dusty libraries, and cold hallways. Something inside his chest – a wide and yawning pit that cracked open right down the middle, split him in two like he was an old, dry bone – made him wonder, for just a moment, if a life like that was still possible. A life in a warm, kind home where a little boy felt safe enough to sneak out of his bed in the middle of the night to nose about in his father’s business. A life that felt as if war had never existed.
But it only lasted a moment.
Because the war hadn’t really ended. Not for him. Not yet.