Out of the Dark
Regulus’s hands still shake, but it’s not from fear anymore. It’s determination—raw and buzzing through his veins. He shoves a few essentials into a bag—his wand, a change of clothes, a few galleons from his stash, and James’s letter, carefully folded and tucked into his pocket. He doesn’t take much. He doesn’t need much.
He pauses for a moment, eyeing his desk. With a sudden rush of certainty, he pulls out a piece of parchment and scribbles a quick note. He doesn’t know why he’s bothering—maybe it’s spite, maybe it’s closure, or maybe it’s just to make sure they know that he chose this. That they didn’t drive him out. He leaves the note in the center of the desk, weighted down with a silver paperweight shaped like a serpent.
The window is tricky—jammed from years of neglect—but he wrenches it open with a grunt, gritting his teeth against the pain in his leg. The night air is shockingly cold, and he sucks in a breath, clambering out onto the roof’s sloping edge. It’s not far to the ground, but his leg protests as he drops down, stumbling when he lands. He glances back up at the looming, dark house—a gothic monster against the sky.
For a moment, panic curls in his gut. What if they find out before he’s gone? What if they drag him back inside? What if he can’t do this?
But then he remembers James’s letter, the way his words seemed to reach out and grab him from the dark, and he knows he has to do this.
He doesn’t dare use magic right outside the house—not with how tightly his parents monitor it—so he limps down the street until he’s out of sight, his breath fogging the air. Then, with a deep, steadying breath, he sticks out his wand arm.
With a BANG that echoes through the empty night, the Knight Bus screeches to a halt in front of him, headlights glaring like the eyes of some bizarre, three-decker beast. The conductor—a gangly, tired-looking wizard—peers down at him.
“All right, young sir?” he asks.
Regulus forces himself to nod. “Yeah. Just… just need to go.”
The conductor doesn’t question it, just gestures him aboard. Regulus digs out a few coins, hands them over, and sinks onto one of the beds, gripping the edge as the bus lurches forward. He doesn’t relax, not fully—he keeps his bag close, his eyes darting to the windows as they speed down darkened streets.
It doesn’t feel real. The pressure of the house, the weight of expectation, it’s all starting to lift, and he doesn’t know what to do with that space. He touches his bruised cheek, the pain grounding him. He made it out.
He tells the conductor to take him to the Potters’ address, and they screech to a halt not long after. The house is lit up, warm and glowing from the windows, a stark contrast to the icy night. Regulus stands there, looking at the door, his breath coming out in quick, misty puffs.
He doesn’t move. His heart races, his palms sweat. What if they’re mad he showed up? What if Sirius tells him to sod off? What if James…
No. James told him to come. He promised.
Before he can overthink it, he raises his hand and rings the doorbell. He hears movement inside—voices, laughter—and then the door swings open.
---
It’s Sirius who opens the door.
He looks tired, hair messy, sleeves rolled up from doing something in the kitchen. There’s a little flour on his cheek. But none of that matters because the second he sees who’s standing there, everything in him stills.
“Reg—” he breathes, like the wind’s been knocked out of him.
Regulus doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t manage a word. He just looks at his brother—the only person who ever felt like safety before James—and everything breaks. His throat closes, eyes burn, and he just starts crying. No warning, no slow build, just quiet, ragged sobs like the sound’s been ripped out of him.
Sirius stares for a moment, frozen in the doorway—and then he’s moving, fast, pulling Regulus into his arms before his brother can even think to flinch. It’s not careful. It’s tight, desperate, like he’s scared Reg might disappear again.
Regulus clings to him, burying his face in Sirius’s shoulder as his bag drops to the floor with a soft thud. He grips the back of Sirius’s jumper like it’s a lifeline, body shaking with every sob. It hurts, everything hurts, but this—this—feels like coming home.
“I’m here,” Sirius says, over and over again, holding him so tight it feels like he’s trying to put his brother back together. “You’re alright, I’ve got you. You’re safe now, Reg. You’re safe.”
Regulus doesn’t remember the last time someone said that to him and meant it.
The warmth of the house reaches him slowly. Light spills out through the open door, wrapping around them like a blanket. The scent of pine and cinnamon and something sugary baking in the kitchen drifts out, and for a moment, Regulus just breathes it in, clinging to the normalcy of it all.
Inside, there are hurried footsteps—presumably Mrs. Potter’s voice calling, “Who was it, love?” and then, “Oh, oh—Monty, come quickly—”
Sirius finally pulls back, just a little, hands on Regulus’s shoulders as he stares at him. There’s panic in his eyes, and something so tender it makes Regulus’s chest ache worse than anything else.
“Did they—?” Sirius doesn’t finish the question, but Regulus just nods, eyes swollen, cheeks tear-streaked. His face bruised. Sirius swears under his breath and pulls him back in. He won’t let go.
Mrs. Potter appears behind them, a dish towel in hand. She doesn’t ask questions. She just walks over, ushers them in and closes the door.
“Come inside, sweetheart. Come on. You’re home now.”
Mr. Potter hovers in the background, a little stunned, but already heading for the kitchen to make cocoa.
Regulus lets them guide him in, Sirius’s arm still around his shoulders. The door closes behind him with a soft click, shutting out the cold.
He’s still crying, but quieter now, and this time it feels different. It’s not grief. Not hopelessness.
It’s relief.
He’s safe. He’s home.
---
“Thank you, Mrs. Potter,” Regulus says softly, voice still rough.
She smiles gently as she dabs at the bruise on his cheek with a cool cloth. “It’s Effie, sweetheart. None of that ‘Mrs. Potter’ nonsense. You’re family now, alright?”
Regulus blinks, uncertain how to respond. The word family has never felt safe—until maybe now.
Sirius is pressed close beside him on the couch, one arm draped protectively across the back, knee brushing his like a silent anchor. He hasn’t left Regulus’s side since the door opened. Doesn’t seem like he plans to.
Effie’s touch is gentle, like she’s afraid of hurting him more than he already is. “You let me know if anything stings, alright?”
“I’m fine,” Regulus says quickly, though his face is still tender under her careful hands.
“Same goes for me,” Monty adds as he steps in with a tray, handing off mugs of cocoa. “None of this ‘Mr. Potter’ business either. I’m Monty—or Flea, if you’re feeling bold.” He winks. He looks just like James doing that, Regulus can’t help but notice.
Regulus lets out the faintest snort—almost a laugh. “Alright… Monty.”
Sirius chuckles at that, but it’s a little shaky, like he still doesn’t believe this is real. His eyes haven’t left Regulus since he walked in. His hand brushes his shoulder again, as if to say I’ve got you.
“You’re really here,” Sirius says suddenly, voice thick with emotion. “I keep thinking I’ll blink and you’ll be gone.”
Regulus swallows, glancing at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Effie pulls back a little, inspecting him. “Are you hurt anywhere else, darling?”
Regulus hesitates. “My leg. She—used Lacero.”
All movement stills. Effie goes pale.
“Where?” she asks, already setting down the cloth.
Regulus slowly rolls up his trouser leg, revealing the harsh, angry cut. The bandages he’d thrown on at home are half soaked through. Effie gasps. Monty makes a strangled noise. Sirius stares.
“She did that to you?” Sirius asks, voice low.
Regulus nods.
Effie doesn't waste a second. She grabs salve and a fresh cloth from the nearby drawer and begins cleaning the wound with warm water. Her hands are gentle, but her jaw is tight. “No one should ever—Merlin, Regulus…”
Sirius puts a steadying hand on his brother’s knee. “What happened?” he asks quietly.
Regulus’s eyes stay on the fire, the flickering orange glow reflected in them. Might as well get it over with now. His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Dinner was horrible. As always. Bellatrix was laughing like a lunatic. Narcissa asked what it was about, and she said things were at least interesting when you were around.”
Sirius stiffens.
“And no one said anything. No one even mentioned you until then. Like you were never there. And Mother…” Regulus swallows hard. “She agreed. She said I was her only son.”
Sirius’s expression shatters, but Regulus goes on.
“I tried to ignore it. But I couldn’t. I—I told her I wouldn’t pretend you never existed. I told her that you were my brother, and I wasn’t going to act like you never mattered.”
Sirius makes a quiet sound—half breath, half heartbreak—and tightens his grip on Reg’s shoulder.
“She dragged me upstairs. Screamed at me. Told me I was worthless, pathetic. I told her I’d rather be like you than like her. And then she hit me. And cursed me.”
Effie curses under her breath, wiping a tear quickly off her cheek. Monty runs a hand over his face like he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Sirius is silent, eyes wet.
Regulus is quiet a moment. Then, softly, he says, “I don’t think I would’ve left if it weren’t for James’s letter.”
They all blink at him.
Sirius pulls back slightly. “What letter?”
“I heard the doorbell and voices”, James’s voice interrupts the moment. His voice is muffled, coming from the stairs in the corridor. “Who was it?”, his footsteps are coming closer.
Then he appears in the living room, wearing grey sweatpants and a big, red hoodie; clearly coming right out of the shower; his hair damp and his glasses slightly fogged.
He stops dead in his tracks and they all turn to look at him. James breathes in sharply, taking in the scene and Regulus’s condition.
James stares.
The smile he'd worn just moments ago fades slowly as his eyes land on Regulus—his black eye, the thin cut still red across his cheekbone, the way he’s sitting with one leg slightly outstretched, Effie’s hand still resting gently just above his knee. Sirius is close beside him, not touching now, but only just.
The air seems to still.
Regulus shifts a little, suddenly unsure, and then James moves.
He crosses the room fast, quicker than any of them expect, and stops just in front of Regulus. His voice is soft when he speaks. “Did they do that to you?”
Regulus looks up at him, swallows, and nods once. “Yeah.”
James exhales, and it comes out ragged. His hands curl into fists at his sides, but his eyes don’t leave Regulus’s. “I swear to Merlin…”
“James,” Effie says gently, a warning and comfort both.
He shakes his head, not at her, just trying to process. Then he crouches down, slowly, so he’s level with Regulus on the couch. His voice is quieter when he speaks again.
“You’re here. You’re safe.”
Regulus nods again, and for a second, James doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. Before Regulus can think about it too hard, he surprises even himself by leaning forward and wrapping his arms around James’s shoulders, clinging to him—not like he did with Sirius, not out of desperation, but something quieter. Grateful. Sure.
James immediately starts hugging him back, one hand cradling the back of Regulus’s head, his damp curls curling against James’s warm hoodie. He hopes that hug conveys just how grateful Regulus is for James Potter and his stupid Gryffindor persistency. For good measure, he silently adds: “Thank you, James.”, his voice muffled by James’s sweater.
Sirius watches with wide eyes and something very complicated passing across his face. He looks deeply confused. Effie is already dabbing her eyes with the corner of her sleeve. Monty murmurs something like, Good lad, under his breath.
When they finally pull apart, James keeps a hand on Regulus’s shoulder. Hazel eyes meet grey ones.
“I meant every word of that letter,” James says firmly.
Regulus lets out a soft breath that could almost be a laugh. “I know.”
Sirius finally finds his voice, still a bit hoarse. “What letter?”
Regulus looks over at him. His eyes flick to James, who looks slightly guilty, and then back to his brother again.
“The one James gave me before the train,” he says. “I didn’t read it till last night. I—I think I read it a hundred times.” , he admits sheepishly. “He gave it to me before we left for break. Said I didn’t have to read it unless things got bad. I read it last night. After everything. After she…” He trails off. “It made me realize I didn’t want to stay. I didn’t want to live the life they want for me. I want to live mine. Like he said.”, he gestures towards James, who is smling at Regulus softly. He looks proud. Regulus looks away.
Sirius raises his eyebrows, completely thrown. “Prongs, you wrote him a letter?”, he asks; sounding incredulous.
James straightens up a bit and shrugs, trying for casual. “I just thought he might need it. Didn’t know if he’d ever read it.”
Regulus gives him a look that’s almost fond. “It’s what finally gave me the courage to leave.”
That makes something shift in James’s expression again. His face softens in a way Regulus doesn’t quite know how to handle—like James is relieved and proud and angry on his behalf all at once.
“You did the hard part, Reg. All I did was write a few dumb words.”
“They weren’t dumb,” Regulus says quietly.
Sirius is still blinking like he’s catching up. “I can’t believe—James, you never told me any of this.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you”, James says in a quiet voice, looking slightly guilty again. “I didn’t want to give you any false hope.”
There’s a silence, but it’s full of understanding now. Of old wounds, and new beginnings.
Effie stands slowly. “Alright. That’s enough for now. Regulus, love, you need rest. Monty—grab one of the good blankets, will you?”
“Already on it,” Monty says, disappearing down the hall.
Sirius nudges James with a half-smile. “Guess you’re not so terrible with words after all.”
James grins, looking relieved that Sirius isn’t mad at him. He pushes his glasses up. “Don’t let that get out. Ruin my whole image.”
Regulus watches them, something warm unfurling in his chest despite everything.
He’s not fine. Not yet. But for the first time in his life, he thinks maybe he could be.