Chapter Text
Regulus
August 25th, 1986
Regulus arrives at the meeting almost late. He lost track of time while he was distilling moonflower nectar to refill his stock, and with his bad leg, it took him way too long to hobble over from the dungeons to the Revelry in the west Faculty tower, where Minerva conducts official Hogwarts business.
The fact that it’s close to her office in the Gryffindor tower is purely a coincidence, Regulus is sure, and has nothing to do with her not fancying the treks along the drafty corridors any more than he does.
Unlike Regulus, Minerva’s not disabled, but being in charge has its privileges, he supposes. If, by some miracle, Regulus becomes Headmaster, he will hold every meeting in the dungeons, and the snotty Ravenclaws and Gryffindors with their airy towers will learn how a proper wizarding dwelling should look.
Regulus’ mouth twitches. His mother would approve. Grimmauld Place, with its oppressive, crypt-like air, was proof enough of what she considered ‘proper’ before it was razed to the ground during the final battle. Good riddance, that.
Most seats at the table are already filled, but Regulus’ favorite chair, the large, cushy one near the fireplace, remains vacant as if waiting for him. Daisy, who’s frantically waving at him from the neighboring seat, must’ve saved it for him. Bless her wand.
With his head bent low, Regulus shuffles to the back as quickly as his damaged limb allows. Acute pain shoots up his thigh into his hip, making his limp more pronounced than usual, and he manages to poke several colleagues with his cane as he navigates the cramped space. Some of them react with comforting words. Some of them glare, never having accepted the Death Eater in their midst. Most of them take it in stride, the novelty and outrage at his presence having long since worn off.
Once he’s through, Regulus plonks down with a relieved groan, setting the cane aside for easy access and stretching his sore leg to soak up the warmth from the roaring fire next to him.
I should’ve taken a bloody potion to get through this.
Now, it’s too late to fix his oversight as the meeting is about to start. Besides, he has no desire to crawl back to his flat in the south wing. Plus, he already had one in the morning, and Poppy warned about avoiding over-reliance on the pain relievers if he didn’t want to become an addict.
“How’s the leg?” Daisy almost falls out of her seat as she leans over. She recovers and flutters her pretty eyelashes at him, more out of habit than anything. After three years of being friends, she’s more than aware he’s immune to her charms.
What she doesn’t know is that his heart has belonged to someone else for years, and no matter how hopeless his infatuation is, it shows no signs of abating.
“Hasn’t fallen off yet. Can’t decide whether that’s a good thing,” he says with a tight smile, reaching down to massage the most painful knots.
“Good, I’m sure. Hopping across the castle one-legged sounds exhausting.”
“Oh, but think of the possibilities. I could have a prosthetic made of dragon bone and use it to scare the children who’re not sufficiently terrified of a Death Eater in their midst.”
“Nobody in their right mind would be afraid of you, Petal, dragon bone leg or not. We all know you’re prickly on the outside, but squishy on the inside,” Daisy dismisses his self-loathing with an angelic smile. What a horrible, accepting wench.
“Tell that to Higgins. He looks ready to hex me.”
Daisy sends the portly wizard glaring in their general direction cheerfully, and he responds with a sour grimace before turning away. “He looks like that at everyone. I don’t think he’d actually hurt you.”
“Better not test it.”
She edges closer, bending her head conspiratorially. “Have you heard the news?”
“That would require talking to people.”
Daisy snickers, motioning as though she wants to slap his shoulder, and Regulus braces himself for the impact. His arm wasn’t injured as severely as his leg in the cave, but proclaiming it healthy would be a stretch. Thankfully, Daisy must’ve realized he’s facing her with his wrong side and changes her gesture mid-air, tucking a lock of blond hair behind her ear instead. Regulus lets out a discreet breath, his posture relaxing.
“Minerva finally found someone to take over Transfig classes for her,” Daisy reveals, her voice hushed as though she’s delivering a state secret.
“Really? She didn’t say anything to me last week when we were having tea.”
“Cheating on me with Minnie again?”
“Yes, we’re planning to elope any day now,” Regulus deadpans. “So who’s going to be her replacement?”
“No idea. But I’ve heard he’s supposed to be dreamy.” She lets out a wistful sigh. “Personally, I’m just hoping for someone young. And fun. We need more young and fun people like us around, don’t you think?”
“First, you call me sweet, then fun. I’m beginning to wonder whether you’re perhaps confusing me with someone else or whether you’ve sustained a grave head injury.”
Daisy lets out a stream of tinkly laughter, tossing her blond mane. “I’m perfectly fine, and see? This was hilarious. Which means I’m right about you.”
Regulus decides to voice a protest about the unfair assessment of his character, but before he gets a word out, Minerva bustles into the room with a business-like air.
“Good afternoon. Is everyone present?”
A murmur of assent rises from the crowd.
Minerva nods, pushes her glasses up her nose, then swishes her wand.
“I’ve updated your schedules for the upcoming semester.”
Her statement is followed by a flurry of movements as everyone scrambles to retrieve or Accio the enchanted notebook assigned to every teacher, charmed to correspond whenever there’s a schedule update, a meeting announcement, or any other news required to keep the school operational.
“I’ll address your concerns in a minute, yes, Higgins, I see you, please put your hand down,” Minerva says to the Professor of Household Charms, notorious for delaying these proceedings with inane questions. “First, before we dive into the curriculum and the changes we’re instituting for the upcoming year, I’d like to announce new colleagues joining our team. Most of you have already had a chance to meet Mr. Elijah Sallow, the head of our newly established Muggle Integration Division, which focuses on providing a smoother introduction for our Muggleborn students into the wizarding community. I trust he can count on your cooperation so we can make this enterprise a success.”
Elijah stands up, giving a shy little wave before sinking back down quietly. Regulus got to know him over the summer when they bonded over their mutual love of chess. He’s a decent enough bloke, but probably not the one to have Daisy in such a tizzy.
“Our second newcomer, Miss Sarah Ashbourne, will take over the Advanced Combat and Defense class,” Minerva continues.
After her words, Sarah strides in without a word, only jerking a cursory nod to the room. She dives into her seat, and her gaze goes to Regulus straight away, boring into him with the intensity of a targeted chilling spell.
Regulus swallows a groan.
Why did it have to be Sarah? Doesn’t Regulus deserve some peace in his refuge from his past sins? He’d rather not remember his worst acts every time he passes a colleague in the hallway.
Daisy touches his arm. “Reg? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, fine,” he sniffs.
Several colleagues cast wary glances at him. No wonder. His history with Sarah, if her killing his deranged cousin in a duel can be called that, is no secret. What’s more of a secret is that Sarah also took down several of his former friends, and yes, they made their fair share of mistakes, but they still spent their formative years crammed in the same dorm like pixies in a jar with Regulus, talking long into the night and giggling together under a shared blanket. Part of Regulus will always mourn their passing.
He doesn’t begrudge Sarah her vengeance, though, and as far as Bellatrix is concerned, a swift Avada was a better fate than she deserved. What worries him is that she might have a score to settle with him because of what went down when the Death Eaters raided the Ashbourne residence.
A corner of her lips curls as she continues to glower.
Perfect. One more co-worker who despises him added to the already long list. All the more reason to leave his flat as little as possible this year.
“And finally, the third teacher joining us this year needs no lengthy introduction. Please give a warm welcome to Mr. James Potter, the hero of the Battle of Grimmauld and former Chaser for Puddlemere United, who will take over Transfiguration lessons to allow me to devote my focus solely to my duties as Headmistress.”
An excited murmur ripples through the crowd, but cuts off when James steps inside the room.
Regulus’ injured eye stings and tears up, forcing him to press a hand into the socket for some relief while his heart starts banging against his ribs so hard he might have to beg Poppy for a dose of Skele-Gro after the meeting.
James.
James Potter is here.
The man who loomed so large in his life ever since Sirius’s first letter from Hogwarts. Who transformed from a name on a page into an object of hate mingled with unwanted desires when they finally met face to face. Who later, during the war years, became Regulus’ enemy. Someone to defeat, just one of many soldiers on the opposing side. At least that’s what Regulus tried to tell himself. Before James did the most horrible, unforgivable thing that Regulus could imagine.
Saved his life.
And for that, he can never forgive him.
Regulus’ leg locks up harder than before, and when he rubs at it, he notices his palms have grown sweaty.
Beside him, Daisy squirms with excitement. “Well, it appears my sources were right. Potter really is dreamy, don’t you think?”
Regulus tunes her out. What is he supposed to reply? Yes, the man looks like all his fantasies personified because that’s what he, in fact, is? No chance in Muggle hell he’ll be sharing that. Instead, he focuses on studying James, who’s inclining his head toward Minerva, a pleasant smile plastered over his face.
For most people, nothing about this scene registers as strange.
But most people don’t know James as well as Regulus does.
Over the years, he became familiar with every shade of James Potter, no matter how much he tried to avoid paying the man any special notice. Every curve of a smile, every hitch of an eyebrow, every nervous push of the glasses up his nose is burned into Regulus’ neural pathways.
And the person standing next to the headmistress, blathering about looking forward to becoming part of their family, with his shoulders drawn tight as though he’s crumpling in on himself, his expression nothing but a rictus of performative joy stretched over fragile bones, that’s not James Potter.
That’s a pale facsimile of him.
“Do you think he left Puddlemere for good? Or just taking a sabbatical?”
“No clue,” Regulus mutters, but Daisy’s questions are clearly rhetorical as she ignores his answer and forges on.
“But even if he did, why would he come here? I bet he’s got a ton of other job offers. He could be a model for Witch Weekly. Or maybe a reporter for The Prophet. I mean, if he doesn’t want to play Quidditch anymore. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. It’s just odd, isn’t it?”
Regulus hums.
Odd indeed.
Odder still that Sirius didn’t inform Regulus about his best mate coming to Hogwarts when he usually reports James’ every move with dog-like diligence.
Is it possible he didn’t know?
Daisy tears her eyes away from James and remembers Regulus’ existence. “Oh, wait. You’re friends, right? Since you were both in the Order?”
‘Being in the Order’ is a generous description of Regulus involvement in the war, with his Death Eater turned double agent role, but the complete lack of prejudice is one of the reasons he likes Daisy.
“Yes, but we didn’t actually spend much time together. He’s always been more Sirius’ friend,” Regulus says, picking at his nails. His hands are trembling as though he’s suffering from the Jittery Jinx, so he folds them in his lap to hide the depth of his reaction. Nobody needs to know how much James Potter’s intrusion on his slice of reality affects him.
“Do you think he’s dating someone? I read he broke up with Lily Evans, but that was almost two years ago, and I haven’t heard about him being involved with anyone else since.”
“I have more important things to do than follow Potter’s love life,” Regulus scoffs.
Because reading tabloid speculation about the romantic interests of the person who’s held his heart in a death grip for years is torture Regulus wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.
“No, of course,” Daisy concedes in a subdued voice. “Me too. But perhaps he’s looking for a relationship. A lonely girl can hope.”
“Um. Yeah. Nothing wrong with hope,” Regulus mutters like an automaton. If Daisy notices how insincere he sounds, she doesn’t comment on it, but really, what does she expect him to say?
‘I hope James falls in love with you and you end up getting married and have a gaggle of bespectacled blond children?’
The selfish bastard he is, he can’t bring himself to root for this outcome, no matter how much he actually likes Daisy.
In the meantime, James finishes his introduction and crosses the floor to find his seat. There’s a slight commotion as people shuffle around, making space for him to indicate he’s welcome.
Because, of course, he is.
A poor imitation of himself or not, James Potter is welcome everywhere.
Not like Regulus, who had to scrape and fight to be merely accepted.
James casts his gaze over the crowd, nods at them in his usual cordial manner, but he doesn’t settle at the table. Instead, he makes his way straight to Regulus, conjuring an exact copy of his chair for himself.
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” he asks with a disarming smile.
Regulus shrugs, tugging his hair over the scars running down his face, thankful that James is positioned on his good side.
“Obviously. You’ve just conjured it.” His voice comes out gruff, not at all matching the heat rising in his cheek.
Daisy leans over Regulus as though he’s ceased to exist (he supposes that to her, he might as well have), and shakes James’ hand. Some friend she is. “Hi. I’m Daisy. Such a pleasure to meet you, Mister Potter.”
“Please, call me James.” As usual, James responds in a charming manner, but he guides Daisy back to her seat so she no longer usurps Regulus’ personal space. Despite being quite literally put in her place, she beams at him.
“We’re so excited to welcome you here, James.”
“I hope I don’t disappoint. My casting skills might be a little rusty after three years on the pitch.”
“I’m sure it’ll come back once you get your bearings,” she says, all encouragement and charm.
Regulus rolls his eyes, immediately wincing when the action sends fiery shards from his injured cornea into his brain.
“Now, if you could all settle down and pay attention,” Minerva’s voice rings out, accompanied by a stern glare in Daisy’s direction to make it clear who she means by ‘all,’ “we have a lot of ground to cover. Regulus, since I believe you and James are already acquainted, could you please give him a tour and answer any questions he might have once we’re done here?” Her tone suggests it’s an order rather than a request.
Everything in Regulus screams in protest. No. He’d sooner hop on his bad leg around the entire Quidditch pitch than spend any longer in the company of the man who has the potential to destroy his hard-won peace. But he knows from experience that Minerva doesn’t take no for an answer, so he responds with a curt nod and resigns himself to an afternoon of putting his mental resilience, not to mention his poor limbs, to the test.
The remainder of the meeting proceeds as usual without any significant hurdles, except for Higgins stretching everyone’s patience to the limits with his inane questions. By the time they wrap up, Regulus’ hip aches from sitting still for so long, but he’s in no hurry to stand and assume his role as a guide. Minerva casts him a meaningful look before parting, raising one eyebrow at him as if trying to impress on him the importance of playing nice. Regulus just barely resists the childish impulse to stick out his tongue at her.
“Sorry for getting saddled with babysitting duty,” James speaks up once everyone leaves and they’re alone in the empty room.
They are alone.
Regulus is alone with James Potter.
If he was keeping track (he wasn’t) (okay, he might’ve been), that has occurred only five times since their first meeting, and one of those times was after James rescued him from the cave and checked on him in the hospital to see if he was going to survive.
Back then, Regulus hoped he wouldn’t. Fate, the bitch, had other plans.
“It’s fine.” He runs his hand across his chest to smooth out the wrinkles on his robes. The scars on his face are beyond fixing, as is his brittle hair, growing white in patches where the inferi ripped his skin off his scalp—oh, he’s a lost cause, no two ways about it—but at least his clothes can be neat.
“Just making sure. I don’t want to be a bother.”
The remark is so humble, so out of character that Regulus does a double-take, scanning James for signs of Imperius. Nobody came out of the war unscathed, but last Regulus saw him—shortly after the final battle—he was commanding his fellow wizards with easy authority, radiating confidence.
It wasn’t war that changed him.
Something else must’ve happened afterward, between then and now.
A mystery with no answers.
And Regulus could never leave a mystery unsolved. He always had to follow the thread until he unraveled every last bit. That’s how he ended up in the cave in the first place.
“Nobody thinks you’re a bother. Most of my colleagues would probably kill for the privilege of showing you around. Besides, it was Minerva’s idea, not yours, so there are no hard feelings,” Regulus says in a careful tone which he hopes reveals nothing of his inner turmoil.
“That’s a relief,” James smiles. “It’s so strange to hear you call McGonagall ‘Minerva.’”
Regulus shrugs. “Well, she’s my colleague. And a friend.” One of the very few. “What else should I call her?”
“I suppose it makes sense; it just—reminds me of how much has changed while everything somehow stays the same. We’re the authority figures now, and yet I keep expecting her to dock points from me.”
Regulus allows himself a minor quip. “I’m familiar with the feeling. It doesn’t go away.”
James appreciates it with a chuckle that’s too generous for such a sorry joke, but perhaps he’s grateful for the (extremely shaky, mind you) bridge over their shared awkwardness.
“Noted. At least I’ll draw comfort from the fact I’m not alone.”
“Happy to help.” Regulus’ voice is drier than Floo powder. “Now, ready for a bit of exploring? You probably know the place better than I do, but teachers are granted some privileges by the Headmistress and the castle itself that are inaccessible to students.” He rises to his feet, but forgets to pick up the cane first, so of course, his leg, numb after the period of inactivity, gives out under him. Agony laced with fire sears through him, knocking him off balance.
The floor lurches under his feet when two hands grab him under the armpits, stabilizing him.
Seven years after the cave, he can’t remember the extent of his disability. Which would be awful enough on a normal day, but when he’s seeing James Potter for the first time in ages? Beyond humiliating.
“Um. Thanks,” he mutters, blinking fast to clear the burning feeling from his eyes. James Potter won’t see him cry on his first day, dammit. Of course, the vision in his bad eye blurs after so much abuse, painting spidery webs around every light in the room. Exactly what his day needed.
“Don’t mention it. We all stumble from time to time.” James maintains a one-handed grip on him as though he’s afraid he’ll crumble to the ground the second he releases him, and reaches for Regulus’s cane with his other hand, passing it over to him.
“We cripples more often than others,” Regulus comments, not bothering to disguise his bitterness. Leaning on his cane, he takes several measured steps aside, distancing himself from James. When he musters the courage to face him again, he finds him scowling.
“Don’t call yourself that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth. Dressing it in a prettier label won’t change a lick. It won’t make the reality any more bearable, and it won’t make my leg hurt any less.”
It won’t fix my sight or my face, either.
He yanks his hair over his cheek again, angling his head away from James.
“Maybe lying down instead would be a better idea,” James says, choosing to overlook Regulus’ earlier remark. He adjusts his pace to Regulus’ hobble without a single complaint. So kind. So bloody noble, the Gryffindor prick.
“I’m fine.”
An enormous needle pierces his hip joint with every step, but that’s beside the point.
“If you say so.” James’ voice overflows with incredulity, and Regulus can feel his eyes drilling a hole through his skull as if he can extract a confession about the severity of his affliction through sight alone.
“It’s not like I’ll be more fine after a good night’s rest. Cursed injuries never entirely heal, so I’m as good as I’m ever going to be.” His cane clicks against the hardwood floors, illustrating his point better than he could.
“Sorry. That was thoughtless of me,” James says quietly. “I should’ve known better, especially since I was—there.”
He doesn’t need to specify where. The cave, with its eerie glow, still waters, and pervasive darkness, haunts Regulus’ dreams. Haunts his every step, if he’s being honest. He suppresses a wince and waves his hand, eager to change the subject.
“Don’t worry about it, James. I’ve heard much worse, and besides, you have a lifelong permission to say anything you want to me.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but it doesn’t give me the right to be an inconsiderate prat.”
Regulus only hums in response, uncertain about how to reconcile himself to this humble version of James Potter. On the one hand, it sends his devotion to the man to new heights. On the other, it’s cause for concern because what could’ve caused such a radical shift in his behavior?
In Regulus’ experience, people only change under dire circumstances, which is not something he wishes for James.
He shoves the enigma to the dark recesses of his mind to ponder it later, focusing on the matter at hand instead.
“Okay, let’s move on. The room where we had the meeting is called the Revelry.”
“A bit ironic, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t choose the name. Pretty sure nobody knows where it came from, except for the ghosts, perhaps. But it’s where Minerva likes to conduct all the important meetings, probably because it’s big enough to seat the entire teaching body.”
James shoots him a grin. “Or because it’s close to her office.”
“Also possible,” Regulus allows, pressing his lips together to stop himself from smiling like a lunatic. It’s nice to see James sharing his suspicion.
“There’s also a teacher’s lounge—it’s on the first floor here in the Faculty Tower, right next to the kitchens.”
“That’s convenient.”
“We could go take a look now if you want.”
“If you’re sure—”
Regulus cuts off James’ remark with a scowl.
“Sorry. Lead the way.”
The lounge is a cozy room with heated oak floors polished to a high sheen, two fireplaces, a large round table in the center with refreshments and several self-heating kettles containing tea and coffee on top, and more reading nooks with comfortable chairs than a rectangular floor plan should allow.
“I always forget how nice this place is,” Regulus mutters wistfully to himself when they step inside.
“How come?” James asks, interrupting his explorations to peer at him curiously.
“I, um, prefer the peace and quiet of my flat.” Regulus chooses not to disclose that he avoids common spaces as much as possible to avoid reminding people of his existence.
“Makes sense. You’ve always liked your privacy, Mr. ‘Don’t enter without the express permission of Regulus Arcturus Black,’” James laughs before resuming his survey.
The gentle teasing, paired with the reminder of happier days and hearing his name in James’ smooth baritone, does something funny to Regulus’ insides. He should wrap up the tour soon if he wants to come out with his pride intact.
“I was thirteen! And Sirius was being a prat, sneaking into my room and charming the collars on my robes to strangle me or to fill my bed with fire sting spiders,” he protests, sure his cheeks must be redder than the decorations in the Gryffindor Common room.
“It was a little dramatic. But cute.” James walks up to him, a hint of a smile clinging to his lips, making him look much more like his old self. “What’s our next stop?”
“Well, um.” Regulus can’t quite gather his thoughts after James calling him ‘cute,’ even if the cute version of him belongs to the past. “There’s the Great Hall if you prefer to eat here—not everyone does. Some people prefer to eat out, or have their meals at home.”
“I’m staying in Hogsmeade, but I’m usually too lazy to cook, so elf-prepared meals sound brilliant. You’re right, though, I can find my way there, so we can skip it.” They exit the room, and once again, James falls into step with Regulus, matching his slower pace as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“I’m surprised Sirius agreed to move to Hogsmeade. He always wanted to live in Camden. It used to drive our parents mental. ‘No son of House Black will breathe the same air as Muggles,’ was their favorite refrain.”
“Isn’t Islington technically a Muggle neighborhood?”
Regulus gives an amused huff. “Would you believe they never realized the irony? Too blinded by tradition and self-importance to register the fact that we were all already breathing the same air as Muggles.”
I used to be just like them.
Thankfully, James is too kind to point it out, redirecting the conversation to other matters. “I’d like to check out the West Hall, I think. It’s where my new office is supposed to be.”
“Next to the Transfiguration Court. Makes sense.” Regulus winces as he pictures the trek from their current location to the opposite side of the castle. James, too observant for Regulus’ good, instantly clocks his reaction.
“You don’t have to walk down there with me. Just point me in the right direction.”
Too kind, too.
Regulus doesn’t deserve kind.
He deserves to atone, now, in the future, forever. An entire life of making amends will never be enough.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll come with you.”
They wander the corridors in silence for a while, the hush interrupted only by the chattering of portraits above their heads. Sometimes, they provide interesting gossip or information about the students, but today they’re mostly invested in the return of the war hero, extolling his many virtues (and smoldering looks). Their words, not Regulus’. What kind of medieval Witch even uses the word ‘smoldering?’
“This is all so wild to me,” James says eventually.
“What is?”
“This teacher gig. It’s as though my whole world has been turned upside down. A different perspective on things I considered a given.”
Regulus hums. “Wait until the students arrive. That will throw you for a loop. I can’t believe we were ever that tiny.”
Or innocent.
Although their innocence was stripped away quickly. By the war. By secret allegiances and forced oaths. By violence that burned a mark on their skin and their souls.
“Now that I can see,” James laughs. The sound strokes down Regulus’ spine like velvet, and he hates every second of it.
He never wants it to end.
“Mind, I never saw myself being a professor, but I’m curious now what it’s like behind the enemy lines.”
Finally. An opportunity to learn more about the explanation for James’ presence at Hogwarts. Regulus instantly pounces.
“So why the career change? Were you bored with being universally adored? Struck by the sudden need to relive your student years?”
“Something like that,” James answers non-committally.
It fails to satisfy Regulus’ curiosity, forcing him to prod further. “I doubt any offer from Minerva could’ve matched or surpassed what Puddlemere was paying you. Not to mention spending your day covered in snot and dodging rogue spells can’t compare to playing Quidditch for a living. Flying for a living.”
Regulus bites his lip before he gives away more than he wanted. Out of everything his disability stole from him, he misses flying the most.
And James, damn him, can read between the lines. He grimaces in apology, his gaze filled with pity.
Regulus can deal with the insults and derision hurled his way.
It’s pity he can’t stomach.
“It wasn’t an easy decision, but under the circumstances—I mean, I didn’t have a choice, really, and this will be best in case—just better. For everyone involved.”
“What did Sirius say? He was so happy when you got drafted by the same team.”
A shadow crosses James’ face at the mention of Sirius’ name. He stutters to a halt, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I, um. Have no idea, honestly. Wasn’t there when he read the letter.”
“You didn’t tell him in person?” Regulus can do nothing but gape.
James shuffles on his feet, his gaze downcast as though he’s trying to count the cracks in the floor.
“Did you have a falling out with my brother?”
“No. Nothing like that. Just needed a bit of space.”
“Hold on a second. Why wouldn’t you inform Sirius about your new teaching job when you moved into Hogsmeade with him?”
“I never said we moved there together,” James protests.
“So you came here alone? You left my brother behind? Or did the bloody prat kick you out? Did he ask for more privacy since he got engaged to Remus?”
Regulus can’t help but pelt James with questions. Normally, he doesn’t pump people for information, barely able to make himself care, but this doesn’t make a lick of sense.
James and Sirius have always come as a package deal. They’ve always been close. Sickeningly so. Once they grew up, most people expected them to become an item, Regulus included. It had his heart cracking along the lines loving James left on it, but he couldn’t deny the bond James and Sirius always shared, the one that made them into a singular unit, apart from others, encapsulated in their bubble of reality. Unreachable. Untouchable.
Even when James started dating Lily, everyone assumed their romance was fueled by youth and urgency of war and would eventually fizzle out—which it did, although later than everyone expected.
What came as a true shock was Sirius falling in love with the quiet, unassuming Remus Lupin. Their relationship has outlasted every doubter and shows no sign of abating while James is here, alone, his face haunted whenever Sirius’ name comes up.
James coughs again, covering his mouth until the fit subsides.
“Yeah. No. It’s—look, Regulus, it’s complicated.” His voice sounds scratchy, rusted along the edges.
“Should I accio you a glass of water?”
“No. No, thanks. Look, let’s say I had my reasons for changing careers and coming here, and leave it at that. Come to think of it, I’m pretty beat, and I doubt my office is going anywhere. I can finish the rest of the tour on my own tomorrow.”
“Well, actually, the castle likes to shuffle the towers around occasionally—and I didn’t tell you about the secret passages connecting the offices to the Headmistress’ office in case of emergencies—”
“I’m sure I can figure it out from here,” James cuts him off. “Would you mind terribly if I split? Will you be able to get to your place okay?”
“I know I’m an invalid, but I’ve lived in the castle for three years, so yes, I’m more than capable of getting to my flat on my own,” Regulus grunts, more than a little confused by the sudden change in James’ attitude. He seemed eager to reconnect, to joke and chat and waste his time touring the castle with Regulus. One question about Sirius, and he turns more skittish than a newborn hippogriff.
“Good,” James nods with the panicked appearance of a man who hasn’t heard a word Regulus said. “See you around, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer and speeds off, leaving Regulus to stare at his back until he rounds a corner and disappears from sight.
“The poor lad got spooked by something,” a portrait of a young girl wearing a flower wreath and a see-through nightgown pipes up from above Regulus.
“Yes. I got the same impression. The question here is, by what?”
James had faced the worst the Wizard kind had to offer without fear.
Why would the prospect of talking to his best friend reduce him to a cowering, coughing mess?
“My best guess is, his clothes. They looked like they were strangling him.”
“I don’t think that was the reason.” Regulus shakes his head, exhaustion crashing over him.
His plate had already been full before today’s meeting. He doesn’t have any resources, mental or physical, to waste on James Potter and his strange behavior.
What he needs to focus on is surviving another year without giving people any more reasons to hate him. Which means keeping his head down, minding his own business, and not letting James Potter’s presence rattle him.
Hogwarts is a big school, and Potions and Transfiguration have no overlap.
There’s no reason for them to interact, aside from the occasional nod of acknowledgment in the hallways.
He ignores the disappointed pang in his chest as he heads back to his place.
There’s no point in feeling upset about losing something that never belonged to him.
Besides. He has the agenda for the next semester to study, and a bath with his name on it waiting for him at home.
Surely, that will help him take his mind off today.
And if not, there’s always the stash of pain relievers under his bed, hidden there for emergencies.
And if being forced to interact with the only person he’s ever loved on a daily basis doesn’t qualify as one, Regulus doesn’t know what does.