fading star

The night was thick with an uneasy stillness that made everything feel too quiet, like the world was holding its breath. James Potter had slipped away from Gryffindor Tower, the weight of the war pressing down on him, his thoughts spinning in circles. The sense that everything was unraveling, that things would never go back to the way they were, felt suffocating.

As his feet carried him through the shadows near the Forbidden Forest, he saw him. Regulus Black.

Regulus stood at the edge of the trees, bathed in moonlight, his face a distant mask. There was a strange tension to his posture, as if he was bracing for something, or someone. His usually cold, aloof expression was gone—there was something almost vulnerable in the way he held himself tonight, something that made James’s heart ache.

James hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should approach. The last time they'd spoken, Regulus had been a completely different person—arrogant, dismissive, cold. But now, standing there in front of James, he looked smaller, like the weight of everything around him was crushing him.

"Regulus?" James called out, his voice softer than usual, more tentative. He wasn't sure if he should even be this close, but something pulled him forward. "What are you doing out here?"

Regulus didn’t immediately respond. He flinched, barely visible in the dim light, but he didn’t turn to face James right away. James took another step toward him, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I didn’t think anyone would be here," Regulus finally muttered, his voice low, almost like he was trying to convince himself. He turned slightly, but his eyes didn’t meet James’s. He looked down, as if the ground could offer him some comfort, or a place to disappear. "I needed some air."

James didn’t believe him for a second. There was something in Regulus's voice, something raw that made James’s gut twist with concern. "Regulus, what’s going on?" he asked, taking another step closer. His voice softened, though there was still an edge of confusion. "You don’t have to pretend. I know something’s wrong."

Regulus stiffened at the words, and for a brief second, James saw his shoulders tense, his jaw set. The old Regulus might have sneered or snapped back, but now he just stood there, almost paralyzed by something James couldn’t name.

Regulus looked at him then, a flicker of something unguarded in his eyes. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by that familiar mask of indifference. "You wouldn’t understand," he said, his voice thick with something James couldn’t quite pinpoint.

But James could hear it—the pain behind the words, the subtle crack in his voice. And that was enough.

"Try me," James said quietly, stepping closer still, until there was barely any space between them. His gaze softened as he looked at Regulus. "You don’t have to carry this alone, Regulus. Whatever it is, we can work through it."

The silence between them felt heavy. Regulus didn’t answer immediately. He only stood there, wrestling with something—something deep within him. Finally, he exhaled sharply, and in one slow movement, he rolled up his sleeve.

The Dark Mark.

It was burned into Regulus’s pale skin, twisted and dark, like a wound that wouldn’t heal. James felt his stomach lurch at the sight, but it wasn’t anger that filled him. It was something else—something darker. Regulus Black, the boy who had been his world, was now tied to this symbol of death.

James couldn’t speak for a moment. His eyes were locked on the mark, the symbol of everything he was fighting against. Regulus, his first love—his everything—was one of them now.

"Regulus…" James whispered, voice hoarse. "You… you’re one of them."

Regulus didn’t meet his gaze. He looked away, as if the shame of it was too much to bear. His voice was almost inaudible as he spoke. "I didn’t want this, James. I never wanted to be part of this. But it’s too late. It’s too far gone."

James’s heart broke. He reached out instinctively, wanting to take his hand, to do something. "Regulus, there’s got to be a way out. You don’t have to stay with them. You don’t have to let this define you."

Regulus shook his head quickly, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. "You don’t understand. You think it’s that simple? You think it’s just a matter of walking away? Once you’re marked—once they’ve claimed you—there’s no leaving. They’ll never let me go." His voice wavered with the truth of it. "You can’t escape this, James. It’s a death sentence either way. There’s no way out."

James didn’t flinch. He could feel the tightness in his chest as his mind raced, trying to grasp the weight of Regulus’s words. But he couldn’t—wouldn’t—accept that it was hopeless. He had to believe there was a way. Regulus deserved more than this.

"Maybe there is a way out," James said firmly, his voice growing stronger. "But it won’t be easy. And it won’t happen overnight. But I will help you. I can’t just sit here and let you think you have no options."

Regulus looked at him, his eyes filled with something that wasn’t anger, but something else—uncertainty, maybe even a flicker of hope. He shook his head slowly, unsure whether to believe James or not.

"You really think that’s possible?" Regulus asked quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. "You think you can just… undo all of this?"

James’s gaze didn’t falter. "I don’t know how yet. But I’ll figure it out. It won’t be simple, and it won’t be quick. But you can get out of this. But I need time. We need to plan this carefully. If we’re going to do this, we have to be smart about it."

Regulus’s face tightened as if the idea was almost too much to bear. But for a moment—just a moment—James saw something shift in him. Regulus’s eyes softened, the hardness in his features melting just slightly as he met James’s gaze.

"You’re serious?" Regulus asked quietly, his voice thick with disbelief.

James nodded. "I am. But you have to trust me. If you want out, we have to do this right. It’s going to take time, but together, we can figure this out."

Regulus stared at him for a long moment. James didn’t know what Regulus was thinking—whether he was planning to push him away or whether he was considering the impossible hope James was offering.

Finally, Regulus exhaled deeply, a hollow sound, as if the weight of it all was just too much for him to carry anymore. "Maybe there’s a way out… Maybe," he whispered. "But we’ll need more than hope. We’ll need a plan."

James smiled, his heart swelling with a mixture of relief and determination. "Then we’ll make one."

And for the first time in a long while, Regulus seemed to let the tiniest sliver of hope flicker across his face. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was a way after all.

James’s voice softened, but his words felt heavy with meaning. "Meet me here in three days. Same time."

Regulus’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, like he wasn’t sure whether to accept the invitation or pull away. There was something there in his eyes—a flicker of recognition, of something that James could almost reach out and touch.

"Three days," Regulus repeated, the words lingering in the air between them.

James nodded. "I’ll be here. Don’t make me come alone."

For a moment, they stood there, facing each other in the darkness. Regulus’s eyes held a mixture of reluctance and something else—something that made James’s pulse quicken in a way he wasn’t prepared for. For a split second, there was a silent understanding, something that passed between them without words.

And before Regulus could say anything more, he turned sharply, disappearing into the shadows of the night. James stood frozen for a moment, watching him go, feeling the sting of something unspoken hang in the air. Maybe it was the weight of what they were about to do, or maybe it was something else entirely.

But as he turned and walked back to Gryffindor Tower, James couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t the last time they’d meet like this. And that thought, both terrifying and exhilarating, made his heart race in a way he couldn’t explain.

...

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale light across the Forbidden Forest. James stood in the same spot where he and Regulus had met three nights ago, his pulse quickening as he waited for the boy who had become the focal point of his thoughts in the past few days. The plan was set, he had everything ready—but now it was time to convince Regulus that it would work. Time to ease his fears.

The air was cold, carrying the familiar chill of late winter, and James shifted his weight nervously, glancing at the path leading toward the trees. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. This was it. The last chance to get it right.

Then, through the silence, he heard the soft rustle of footsteps. Regulus appeared from the shadows, looking as tense and distant as ever, but there was something different in the way he walked tonight—his shoulders were tight, his steps hesitant, like he was unsure of what he was about to face. The usual air of arrogance was gone, replaced by a nervous energy that James couldn’t ignore.

Regulus stopped a few feet away, his eyes flickering nervously, scanning the area around them as if half-expecting to be caught. He didn’t speak right away. Instead, he just stood there, looking at James with that familiar wariness, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"You’re late," Regulus said quietly, but there was no bite to the words—just a nervousness that matched his body language.

James, too, felt the tightness in his chest. He could see the flicker of uncertainty in Regulus’s eyes, the tension in his jaw, and he realized that, despite their previous conversations, the plan hadn't fully settled in Regulus's mind yet. He still had doubts—he still wasn’t sure this was real, that he was actually going to be able to leave everything behind.

"Sorry," James said, his voice softer than usual. "I had to check a few things. Are you alright?"

Regulus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "No, I’m not alright, James." He looked down, staring at his shoes for a moment before lifting his gaze back up to James. "I don’t know if I can do this. What if something goes wrong? What if—what if they come after me?" His voice was tight, filled with a raw fear that he couldn’t hide anymore.

James took a step closer, ignoring the distance between them. Regulus’s vulnerability hit him harder than expected—this was the boy who had been so cold, so distant, but now, standing here in front of him, James could see how scared he really was.

"You’re not alone in this, Regulus," James said quietly, meeting his eyes with a sincerity that he hoped would reach him. "You don’t have to worry. You just have to trust me. I’ve got a plan."

Regulus narrowed his eyes, uncertainty clouding his features. "A plan? James, nothing’s going to work." He shook his head again, frustration bubbling up in his voice. "This isn’t just some quick fix. It’s not that simple."

James’s heart ached for him, but he didn’t back down. "It’s going to work, I swear it. I’ve thought of everything."

Regulus’s eyes darted away from James’s face, and James could almost hear the thoughts running through his head—the fear, the self-doubt, the panic over leaving everything behind. Regulus had always been calculating, but now, the weight of his reality was starting to crush him. The very thought of running scared him more than anything.

"I don’t know, James," Regulus said quietly, his voice trembling slightly. "What if—"

James placed a hand gently on his shoulder, trying to offer whatever comfort he could. "Regulus, listen to me," he said firmly. "It’s going to work. You just have to trust me, alright? I won’t let anything happen to you. You’ve been carrying this burden for far too long. It’s time to get out."

Regulus met his gaze again, his eyes flickering with something—maybe hope, maybe doubt. It was hard to tell. For a moment, he stood there, silent, unsure, before he spoke again, his voice quieter this time, almost hesitant. "And what exactly is the plan, then?"

James’s chest tightened, but he gave Regulus a small, reassuring smile. He knew the fear had to be suffocating—this was everything Regulus had ever known, and now James was asking him to leave it all behind. But James was confident in the plan, confident that this was their only shot.

"Tomorrow night," James started, his voice steady and low. "You leave the castle. The night before we have to return home. You slip out quietly, after everyone’s asleep. My parents will be waiting for you. Outside, near the trees. They’ll be there to Apparate you somewhere far, where no one can find you."

Regulus’s brow furrowed, confusion and fear written clearly across his face. "Apparate? To where? France?" His voice cracked, almost as though he couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And why France? Why not somewhere closer? Somewhere safe? You can’t be serious."

James nodded, his expression unyielding. "Yes, France. It’s far enough, Regulus, and no one’s going to be looking for you there. You know French, you will blend in. You’ll be safe. Your parents will have money for you. Enough to survive. You won’t have to worry about hiding or figuring out how to live. Everything will be taken care of."

Regulus shook his head, still not grasping the full extent of what James was suggesting. "You’re asking me to just—leave? To run away in the middle of the night like I’m a coward?"

James stepped closer, his voice lowering to a comforting tone. "It’s not running away, Regulus. It’s surviving. You’re not a coward. This is the only way you’ll make it out alive. You have a future beyond this war. You just have to take it." He paused, his eyes searching Regulus’s face. "You’ll be free. I promise you that."

Regulus stood frozen, processing the words slowly, like they were too heavy to accept at once. He glanced away, staring into the night for a long moment before looking back at James, his expression raw with uncertainty.

"But… what happens after that?" he asked quietly, almost too softly. "After I leave, after I’m gone, what do I do? What’s next?"

James didn’t have all the answers. He couldn’t promise Regulus a perfect future, but he could promise him this: freedom.

"After tomorrow night, you’ll be safe. Then, you will figure it out. You’ll find a way to live your life. When the war ends… if you want to come back, you can. But for now, you just need to leave. You deserve that chance."

Regulus swallowed, his expression still conflicted, torn between fear and something deeper—something like hope, though it was faint. "And what about you, James?" he asked quietly. "What happens to you?"

James hesitated, the truth weighing on him. He didn’t have a plan for himself—not really. The war was far from over. But that wasn’t important right now. This was about Regulus.

"I’ll be okay," James said simply, offering a half-smile. "I’m not going anywhere. But I’m not letting you stay here and destroy yourself, either. You deserve a chance at something more."

Regulus’s eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, James saw something that wasn’t fear or defiance in his gaze. It was trust. Or at least the beginnings of it.

"I don’t know if I can do this, but... I’ll try. I’ll do it," Regulus finally whispered, the words barely audible.

James’s heart clenched with relief, and he nodded. "Tomorrow night, Regulus. You’ll leave. I’ll be here, just like I promised. Same time."

Regulus nodded stiffly, but there was something different in his eyes. He wasn’t just afraid anymore—he was starting to believe. Maybe this plan could work. Maybe, just maybe, it would give him the freedom he’d been searching for.

There was a long pause, then James added quietly, his voice low but urgent, "Regulus… there's something I need to tell you. Once you leave, once you're gone, you won’t be able to contact anyone. Not me, not anyone. For your safety. You won’t be able to get in touch with anyone—ever. You have to stay completely off the radar, for your own protection. You understand?"

Regulus stared at him, and for a split second, his eyes flashed with a mixture of confusion and fear—perhaps a deeper understanding of the full weight of what this meant. Then, he gave a small nod, his throat tight.

"I understand," Regulus whispered. "I’ll do it. But James… will I ever see you again?"

James smiled softly, the ache in his chest growing stronger as he met Regulus's gaze. "I don’t know. But if I could, I would. You’ll be safe, Regulus. That’s all that matters now."

Regulus stood there for a long moment, his face unreadable, before he gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. Without another word, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving James standing there, his heart heavy with the knowledge that this was the last time he’d see Regulus for who knew how long.

James stayed where he was, the cold night air seeping through him as he thought about the uncertain future, about the plan and about the boy who had, against all odds, found a way out. The path ahead wasn’t clear, but it was a path that would give Regulus the chance he needed. And that had to be enough.

...

The night was impossibly still, the kind of silence that weighed heavily on the mind, making every rustle of leaves or distant hoot of an owl feel like a shout. Regulus stood at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his breath coming out in shallow, nervous gasps. The moon hung low in the sky, casting faint shadows that made the world feel both eerie and fragile. He could almost feel his heartbeat in his throat, pounding with anxiety, but also with an unfamiliar hope.

He was going to leave. He was really going to do it.

James’s voice echoed in his mind, steady, calm, insistent. Trust me. It’s going to work. You just have to take the chance.

Regulus took a deep breath and stepped forward into the night.

The castle was quiet, as it should be at this hour. He had made sure to wait until the last possible moment, when the castle’s corridors would be empty and the night watch would be on their rounds far away from the boundaries. James’s plan was clear—slip out unnoticed, meet James’s parents outside the castle, and leave everything behind.

He walked briskly, as if the more distance he put between himself and the castle, the more real this would become.

A shadow moved ahead, and his heart skipped a beat. He had arrived.

There, at the edge of the castle grounds, just outside the wards, stood James’s parents—looking as calm and composed as ever. Mrs. Potter, with her soft smile, and Mr. Potter, whose expression was unreadable but reassuring all the same.

Regulus halted a few feet away from them, his breath shallow. The cold air stung his skin, but it didn’t matter now. He was past the point of no return.

“Regulus,” Mrs. Potter greeted softly, stepping toward him with an almost maternal warmth. "Are you ready?"

Regulus hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering over the familiar path that led back to the castle, to the life he had known for so long. The life he would never have again. He swallowed hard, feeling a lump rise in his throat.

"I—I think so," he murmured, voice shaking, but he held his head high, forcing himself to meet their eyes. He couldn’t show fear now. Not when it was almost over. "Thank you. For doing this."

Mrs. Potter gave him a gentle smile, and Regulus saw something almost... affectionate in her eyes. It made his chest tighten. He wasn’t used to kindness like this, not from the Potters.

"Of course," Mr. Potter replied, his tone firm but kind. "We’ll get you far away from here. You won’t have to look back."

Regulus nodded, unable to find the words. His throat was too tight with everything he hadn’t said yet.

"Ready?" Mrs. Potter asked, her eyes scanning the surrounding darkness.

"Yeah," Regulus whispered, and he stepped closer. "Let’s do it."

Mr. Potter extended his arm, gesturing for Regulus to take hold. Regulus hesitated for just a second, but he didn’t want to waste any more time. He reached out and grasped his arm firmly. He could feel the familiar tug of Apparition, the world spinning around him in a blur of pressure and light. And then, it was over.

They landed with a soft thud, and Regulus staggered slightly as the cold air of an unfamiliar place surrounded him. He blinked rapidly, adjusting his eyes to the dim lighting of the train station. The station was empty, except for a few scattered crates and benches, the kind of forgotten place where no one would think to look for him. The distant sound of an old clock ticking echoed through the silence.

Regulus looked around, disoriented, and then met Mr. Potter’s eyes. He felt a jolt in his chest, a sudden wave of uncertainty.

“Are you sure about this?” Regulus asked, his voice small and unsure, a tremor running through it. He had been so certain about the plan, so determined to leave it all behind. But now that he was here, standing on the edge of the unknown, the reality of it hit him. Would he be able to make it alone? To survive without the Potters? Without... James?

Mr. Potter didn’t hesitate. He reached into his coat and handed Regulus a small leather pouch, its weight solid and comforting. “It’s enough to get you by for a year. Maybe more, if you’re careful. This will help you start fresh, Regulus. Find a place to lay low, a place where no one knows you.”

Regulus took the pouch in his hands, staring at it for a moment before looking up. He could feel the faint twinge of doubt still clawing at him, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. He had made his choice. There was no turning back now.

He looked over at Mrs. Potter, whose gentle smile hadn’t wavered. “You’ll be alright, Regulus,” she said softly, her tone warm and encouraging. “You don’t need to look back. It’s a new life now.”

He swallowed, the lump in his throat threatening to choke him. “I... I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve never—" He broke off, unable to finish. The words felt like a confession he wasn’t ready to make. How could he explain that he’d never known a life beyond the castle walls, beyond the reach of his family’s control?

Mr. Potter placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a firm squeeze. “You don’t need to know everything right now. All you need to do is take one step forward. You’re not alone. We’re here for you, Regulus. Always.”

There was an unsettling churn in Regulus's gut, the kind that only intensified as he glanced at the Potters. They had done so much for him already. They’d gotten him this far, helped him escape a life he never wanted, but now he could feel the weight of what he was about to do, the weight of the decision hanging on the edge of everything.

Regulus's hands were trembling, but he forced himself to act. Slowly, he reached into his robe and pulled out his wand. It felt heavier than it ever had before, like the entire history of his family, his blood, his life, was wrapped up in the length of it.

“This—this needs to stop,” Regulus murmured, his voice hoarse and uncertain. “I can’t be found. Not by them. Not by anyone.”

Mrs. Potter looked at him, brow furrowed. “Regulus, I... I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said softly, stepping toward him. “Your wand is your most powerful protection. It’s not just an object—it’s you, it’s your identity. Giving it up... It could leave you vulnerable.”

But Regulus didn’t falter. His gaze remained on his wand, fingers gripping it tighter as though the pressure could steady him, could force him to make this final decision. “If I want to truly leave them behind, then I can’t carry this with me,” he said, voice firm. “If I keep it, they can find me. The Dark Lord, his followers, they’ll trace it. They’ll use it against me.”

Mr. Potter exchanged a brief, uncertain glance with his wife. They had helped Regulus so much already, given him a chance to escape a life that might’ve destroyed him, but now... This was different. They didn’t want to take something so essential from him.

“Regulus…” Mr. Potter started slowly, but Regulus shook his head.

“No, you don’t understand,” Regulus said, cutting him off. “I need to be invisible. If I want to survive, I have to sever all ties. I have to give it up, and then maybe—maybe I’ll have a chance.”

Mrs. Potter bit her lip, clearly conflicted. She could see the desperation in Regulus’s eyes, the fear, the uncertainty that had followed him for years. But she could also see the weight of what he was about to give up—the last shred of his connection to magic, to who he was. It was a lot to ask, and she wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do.

“Regulus,” she said softly, “you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he said, his voice breaking for the first time. “I don’t have a choice anymore. I can’t keep pretending... I can't go back to the life I had. I can't be the person I was.”

The Potters stood in silence for a moment, their expressions a mix of compassion and hesitation. They could see how much this meant to him—how much he needed to sever himself from everything he had been, everything that had shaped him.

Slowly, Mrs. Potter reached out, her fingers brushing over Regulus’s trembling hand, guiding the wand from his grip. The contact sent a wave of coldness through Regulus, and for a second, his mind screamed at him to pull back. But he couldn’t. Not now.

With a final, resigned breath, he handed his wand over to Mrs. Potter. His hand felt empty without it.

“You’re sure about this?” Mr. Potter asked, his voice low, but Regulus only nodded.

“I’m sure. I can’t let anything tie me to them, to what I was. If I do... then I won’t be free. Not really.”

Mrs. Potter hesitated but then nodded, her expression softening. She tucked the wand into her robe, her fingers lingering for just a second. “You are brave, Regulus. But this... This is a lot. We’ll keep it safe. We’ll help you, in any way we can.”

Regulus took a deep breath, trying to steady his emotions, but it was impossible. His entire life had been built around a single thing—his blood, his family, his magic. And now, in one moment, he had left it behind.

“I won’t be able to contact you once I go,” Regulus murmured, his eyes finding Mrs. Potter’s. “Not you, not anyone. I’ll be completely alone.”

Mrs. Potter’s expression faltered for a moment, but she gave him a tight smile. “You won’t be alone, Regulus. Not in here.” She placed a hand over his chest, directly over his heart. “You’ll always have a place with us.”

Regulus couldn’t bring himself to speak for a moment. His throat had closed up, and he simply stood there, letting the quiet settle around them. James… he thought, but he didn’t allow himself to finish the thought. He couldn't afford to hope for anything, not now.

After a few long seconds, Regulus pulled away, taking a shaky step back. "I should go. Before anyone notices I'm gone."

The Potters exchanged one last glance, and Mr. Potter gave a firm nod. “We’ll be watching over you, Regulus. Just remember, this—what you're doing—it's a new beginning. You can make a life for yourself.”

Regulus’s breath hitched, but he nodded, turning away quickly before they could see the tears threatening to fall. It was too much—too much to leave behind, too much to carry forward. But it was his only chance. He turned back to them.

"Thank you,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

Mrs. Potter gave him another smile, her eyes soft and full of understanding. "Go. You’ve got this."The Potters stood in silence for a moment, watching him go, the weight of his decision pressing down on both of them. It was the right thing to do, they told themselves, but there was still a part of them that worried. Would Regulus really be alright? Would he survive, cut off from everything he had known, every connection to the past?

The moonlight cast long shadows behind them as they quietly returned to the safety of their own world, wishing that Regulus could have one too.

Regulus took a deep breath and looked around one last time. His gaze flickered to the direction he had come from, as if seeking one final connection to the life he was leaving behind. But he didn’t look for long. He had made his choice. The past was gone, buried beneath the weight of what he was becoming.

As he disappeared into the night, Regulus didn’t look back.

...

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains in James’s room, casting a warm glow across the disheveled sheets. The night had passed quietly, but there was a tension in the air now—something heavy, something that didn’t feel quite right.

James woke up slowly, the weight of the plan pressing against his chest like a stone. He hadn’t let himself think too much about it last night, not while Regulus was leaving. It wasn’t until now, in the quiet morning, that he let himself breathe a little deeper. It was over. Regulus had made it.

But when he sat up and reached for his glasses, a sharp unease gripped his stomach. The nagging feeling that something was off.

James went to the window and peered out at the castle grounds. The usual morning bustle hadn’t begun yet—too early—but something in the air felt different. The sky was still dark with lingering clouds, and the wind carried a chill that had a foreboding quality.

Regulus was gone.

James knew it. He felt it in his bones, the way a part of him had been irrevocably altered in the night. Regulus had left, and now he was free. Free of the war, of his family, of the Dark Mark, and everything that bound him to this place.

James exhaled slowly, his heart both lighter and heavier at the same time. Regulus was safe. He hoped.

...

Later that day, after Regulus’s disappearance, the atmosphere in the castle was tense. Whispers lingered in the hallways as students went about their morning routines, and an unease settled over the school that no one could quite shake. James could feel it. The absence of Regulus’s presence hung in the air like an unanswered question.

He had made sure to stay out of the way, keeping to his routine, careful not to raise any suspicion about what had actually happened the night before. The Potters had done their part—Regulus was safe, and that was all that mattered. For now, anyway.

But things weren’t as simple as that.

James had just entered the Great Hall for breakfast when he saw Pandora Lovegood standing near the entrance, her usual ethereal calm replaced with a tightness around her eyes. She was scanning the room, and the moment her gaze landed on James, she started walking toward him, her brow furrowed in concern.

“James,” she said, her voice low but steady, as if trying to keep the weight of her words from falling too heavily. “Have you seen Regulus?”

James froze. He had been expecting this question, but that didn’t make it any easier to answer.

“No,” he said, trying to keep his tone even. “I haven’t seen him.”

Pandora’s lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes narrowed slightly as if she didn’t quite believe him. “He didn’t come back last night,” she continued, her voice laced with an almost nervous tension. “He’s not in his room, and no one’s seen him since dinner yesterday. I thought maybe… maybe you’d know something?”

James’s stomach twisted. He could feel the weight of the lie in his chest, but he couldn’t reveal the truth—not yet. Not when Regulus’s safety was still so uncertain.

“I—” James started, but his words faltered. He glanced over at the doorway and saw Sirius walking in, looking unusually agitated, his eyes scanning the room in that way he did when he was looking for someone or something. It was obvious that Sirius had already caught wind of Regulus’s absence.

Pandora followed James’s gaze and noticed Sirius too. Her expression shifted from concern to a quiet understanding, as if she knew there was more to this than anyone was willing to say.

“You’re not telling me everything, are you?” Pandora said softly, her voice tight with worry.

James hesitated. The guilt weighed on him, but he shook his head. “I swear, I don’t know where Regulus is. I haven’t heard anything.”

Pandora looked at him for a long moment, her blue eyes searching his face, as if she were trying to read him. Finally, she let out a soft sigh and stepped back. “Alright. But if you do know anything, James… I’d appreciate it if you told me. Regulus is my friend, and I’m worried.”

Before James could respond, he saw Sirius approach them. His brother's eyes were narrowed, a sharpness in his gaze that hadn’t been there earlier.

“What’s going on?” Sirius asked, his voice low but urgent. “What’s this about Regulus?”

Pandora looked at him now, her face tense. “Have you seen him, Sirius? No one has, and I’m starting to get worried.”

Sirius’s jaw clenched, and he stood still for a long moment. “No, I haven’t seen him either,” he said finally, though his voice carried an edge of something deeper. Something frustrated. He had always found it hard to express his true feelings about Regulus, especially when his brother had distanced himself so much. Their relationship had been strained for as long as James could remember. Sirius’s anger was always simmering just below the surface, always ready to burst.

James’s heart sank, and he couldn’t stop the small pang of guilt that shot through him. If only you knew the truth, Sirius,he thought.

The tension between the two brothers hung in the air like a storm waiting to break. Sirius's eyes scanned Pandora, then flicked back to James with a look that bordered on suspicion.

“Where the hell is he?” Sirius asked, his voice tightening. “He can’t just vanish. Something’s happened. He doesn’t just disappear.”

Pandora’s eyes were wide, and she bit her lip, glancing nervously between the two boys. She had always known about the strained relationship between the Black brothers, but seeing it play out like this—so raw, so fraught—was something else entirely.

“I don’t know,” James said quickly, his voice careful. “I really don’t. But, Sirius...”

Sirius turned sharply, locking eyes with him. “But what?”

James swallowed, fighting the urge to look away. He could see his brother’s frustration, his worry, but more than that—he could see the fear in his eyes. The fear that something was wrong, and that he didn’t have the answers. That fear mirrored the one James had felt himself when Regulus had walked away.

"Sirius," James said softly, stepping closer. His voice dropped to something quieter, more personal. "Regulus has his own way of handling things. He’s not just... gone. He’s taking time for himself. You know him. He’s stubborn. And he’ll come back when he’s ready."

Sirius's frown deepened, and he opened his mouth to protest, but James continued, his tone firm, but carrying a subtle sense of comfort. “I know it doesn’t feel like that right now, but Regulus isn’t the type to disappear without reason. He’s not doing this to hurt you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. James’s heart twisted, but he kept his voice steady, refusing to let the weight of what he knew slip out. "He’s just... going through something. But he’ll be alright. Just give him a little time, okay?"

Sirius’s expression faltered for a moment, uncertainty flashing across his face. He wanted to believe James. He wanted to trust that his brother would come back, but he was clearly struggling to reconcile the Regulus he knew—distant and cold, a shadow of the person he had once been—with the person James seemed to think he could be.

"I don’t know, James," Sirius muttered, shaking his head. "I just don’t know. It doesn’t feel right. He’s never done anything like this before."

James placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “I know. I know it feels wrong. But I think... I think we just need to wait a little longer. He’ll come back when he’s ready.”

Sirius stared at him for a long moment, the frustration still there, but James could see it in his eyes—just a flicker of doubt, of something softer.

"I hope you’re right," Sirius finally said, his voice quiet and heavy.

"I am," James replied, keeping his tone calm, offering him a rare, comforting smile. "I know I am."

Sirius’s gaze lingered on James for a second longer before he let out a small, almost defeated sigh. “Alright... but if he doesn’t show up soon, James, I’m going looking for him. You can’t stop me.”

James nodded, trying to keep his face neutral, his heart beating hard in his chest. He knew he couldn’t stop Sirius, not really. But for now, all he could do was hope that Regulus’s path would stay hidden long enough for him to be safe.

...

By the time lunch rolled around, the whispers of Regulus’s disappearance had only grown louder, though no one outside the immediate circle seemed to know what was going on. But James could see the telltale signs in his brother’s face—Sirius was determined to find out what happened, and that determination was only going to make things harder.

James sat in the corner of the common room, his mind racing as he tried to keep his calm facade in place. But the weight of the truth was unbearable. Regulus was gone. And Sirius would never believe the real reason why.

Pandora sat across from him, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “James,” she said quietly, almost like she was asking for permission. “I know you know something. Please… if you do, tell me. I can’t stand not knowing.”

James opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t find the words. Pandora’s eyes were full of concern, but there was something else there, something softer. She cared about Regulus—he knew that. But this wasn’t her fight. It was his.

“I can’t tell you, Pandora,” he said finally, his voice low, but resolute. “I promised. But he's safe, safer then he would be if he stayed.”

She didn’t press further, but the look she gave him—soft, knowing—was enough to say everything she didn’t have to.

...

Months had passed since Regulus had left everything behind. The life he had once known—his family, the expectations, the burden of the Dark Mark, and the suffocating weight of the war—was now a distant memory, a past that felt like it belonged to someone else entirely. He had made a new life for himself in Lyon, carving out a quiet existence in the heart of the city. The small, cozy apartment he lived in was simple but enough. He spent his days working in the bookshop, arranging books, dusting shelves, and maintaining the quiet atmosphere he had grown to cherish.

The small, cozy apartment Regulus lived in was simple but enough. It had everything he needed: a bed, a small kitchen, and a table where he could sit with a book or write letters that he would never send. It wasn’t much, but it was a space that felt like his own—a sanctuary from the world he had left behind.

He spent his days working in the bookshop below him. The shop, tucked away on a quiet corner of Lyon, had an old-world charm. The walls were lined with shelves that reached up to the ceiling, filled with books of every kind—classics, modern literature, poetry, and foreign texts. The smell of ink and paper seemed to settle in the air, an intoxicating blend that Regulus had come to associate with comfort. His job wasn’t glamorous, but he loved it. Arranging the books, dusting the shelves, and maintaining the quiet atmosphere became a form of meditation for him. It gave him something to do, something that kept him busy while he tried to bury the ache in his chest, the yearning for a life that no longer belonged to him.

But it wasn’t just the routine that kept him there. It was also the old man who owned the shop—Henri. Regulus hadn’t expected much when he first came to Lyon, unsure of where to start or how to navigate a city that felt foreign in every way. Henri, however, had taken him in without a second thought.

Henri was a kind man, with weathered skin and a thick white beard that made him look older than he probably was. He had owned the bookshop for decades, long before Regulus had arrived, and the shop had become his life. When Regulus first came in, just trying to get the lay of the land, Henri had seen something in him. Perhaps it was the tiredness in his eyes, or the quiet weight of someone who had lost more than they cared to admit, but Henri had offered him a job without hesitation, and with it, a place in the city.

Regulus hadn’t asked for help, and he hadn’t expected it, but Henri gave it freely. He helped him find an apartment, gave him advice on navigating the bureaucracy of living in France, and showed him around the neighborhood. Every morning, Henri would brew the strongest coffee Regulus had ever tasted, and they would sit together, exchanging quiet conversation about books, the weather, or whatever happened to be on their minds. Henri never asked Regulus about his past, never pried into where he had come from or why he had arrived in Lyon. It wasn’t his business, Henri seemed to believe, and for that, Regulus was grateful.

In the months since Regulus had settled in Lyon, Henri had become something of a surrogate father figure to him—someone who offered wisdom without judgment and kindness without question. Henri had even given him a key to the shop, trusting Regulus to open up in the mornings and close up at night if he wanted to. It was a quiet responsibility, one that Regulus was beginning to appreciate more than he had expected. It gave him a sense of purpose that he hadn’t realized he needed.

There were times when Regulus would walk through the aisles of the shop, running his fingers along the spines of books, feeling a pang of nostalgia for the life he had left behind. Magic. His wand. His family. He had given it all up, but there were days when the weight of those decisions pressed down on him. Henri, ever observant, seemed to notice when Regulus grew distant or lost in thought, and would always pull him back with a quiet remark about a book or a memory of his youth. Sometimes, Regulus could hear the faintest flicker of sorrow in Henri’s voice when he spoke of his own lost family, but it was always tempered with the wisdom of someone who had lived through hardship and found peace with it.

It was that peace that Regulus longed for, that understanding that maybe, just maybe, he could find his own version of it, even without magic, even without the people he had loved.

The connection with Henri, quiet and unspoken, helped fill the space left by the absence of his own family. It wasn’t the same, not even close, but it was something, and for now, something was all he could ask for.The first few months had been the hardest. The initial freedom had been exhilarating but lonely. He couldn’t contact anyone, couldn’t let anyone know where he was, not even James. That was the plan, after all. For his safety, and for theirs. The Potters had helped him escape, had given him a second chance, but it came with a price. He’d left his old life behind—his name, his family, his past—and most painfully, his magic.

He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it until it was gone.

Regulus had handed over his wand to the Potters willingly, a decision he made without hesitation, but now, months later, the absence of it weighed heavily on him. Magic was a part of who he was. The connection he felt when he held his wand, when he spoke incantations, when he felt the rush of power in his veins—it had always been a comfort. A reminder that he had control over something. But without it, he was left with nothing but the echo of a life he could never return to.

It wasn’t just the magic he missed. It was the familiarity of it all—the world he had known, even if it had been cruel and suffocating. The family dinners, the quiet but always tense conversations with his mother, the feeling of being in a place where, no matter how harsh, he always knew what was expected of him. Even though the war had taken everything from him, it was still familiar. And that familiarity had been replaced by a strange emptiness in Lyon.

He hadn’t expected to miss it. And he certainly hadn’t expected to miss the people either. He missed his brother, Sirius, in a way he couldn’t quite understand. Regulus often caught himself thinking about him, wondering if Sirius had ever found out what had happened to him, wondering if he even cared.

It wasn’t like he could tell him, though. Regulus wasn’t even sure how to explain what had happened, how to justify the decision to leave, to disappear. There was no way to reconcile the person he had been, the person Sirius had known, with the person he was now—living alone in a foreign country, powerless, invisible.

But it wasn’t just Sirius he thought about. There was James, too.

James had been the one who helped him escape in the first place. The one who had given him a way out when he didn’t think there was one. James had insisted that he leave everything behind for his own safety, that it was the only way to protect himself. And Regulus had agreed, even if it meant severing the last ties he had to everything familiar.

There had been a time when James and Regulus had been on opposite sides, when they were enemies by the very nature of their families. But after everything that had happened, after all that James had done for him, Regulus couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward him. He had never been able to fully understand James, but he respected him more than anyone else.

Regulus had told himself he wouldn’t think about James, or Sirius, or anyone from his old life. He had told himself that he would focus on the life he was building here in Lyon, a life without magic, without the looming shadow of Voldemort. But it was hard. It was so hard.

He stood at the window of his apartment, gazing out at the quiet streets of Lyon. The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft, golden light over the buildings. He could hear the distant chatter of people in the cafés below, the occasional laughter, the hum of the city coming to life as the day faded into evening. It was peaceful. It was beautiful, and it was so... different.

Regulus’s fingers twitched, longing for his wand, but he knew there was no use in thinking about it. It wasn’t like he could just get it back. His magic was gone. He was ordinary now. Just another person in a city full of strangers.

He sighed and turned away from the window, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over to the small kitchen. The emptiness in the apartment mirrored the emptiness inside him. It wasn’t just loneliness. It was more than that. It was a sense of loss, of being adrift, caught between two worlds and belonging fully to neither.

He grabbed a book from the shelf, the one he had been reading for the past few days, and sank into the worn armchair by the fireplace. But even as he opened the pages, his mind kept wandering. His thoughts kept returning to James and to Sirius.

Was it better this way? Was it better to be free of everything, even if it meant giving up everything he had ever known?

The question haunted him. He had made the choice to leave, to vanish, and he knew it had been the only way to protect himself. But the ache of separation was real. The longing for the people he had lost, for the world he had left behind, was something that wouldn’t go away.

For the first time in a long time, Regulus allowed himself to remember—truly remember—the warmth of James’s smile, the way he had felt when James had promised him that things would be better. That they would find a way out of this mess.

He thought about how James had been there for him, even when they had been enemies, even when the world had tried to tear them apart. He thought about the way their conversations had flowed so easily, the way James had never once judged him for the things he had done. James had simply helped.

Regulus closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair, letting the memories wash over him. The sound of James’s voice, the way his laugh had always seemed to lift Regulus’s spirits, even in the darkest of times.

He missed it. He missed them.

The weight of it all pressed down on him, and for the first time in months, Regulus felt something inside him stir. A small flicker of hope, mingled with a deep sadness, the kind that only came from missing something—or someone—he could never fully have again.

He didn’t know what would come next. All he knew was that Lyon had become home, but it would never be the same without the life he had left behind. And the hardest part was knowing he might never be able to return to it.

But, for now, this was all he had. The city. The quiet. The books. The silence. And the memories of a life he’d tried to leave behind, even if, sometimes, it felt like it was still pulling him back.

...

A year had passed since Regulus had first stepped into Henri's bookshop, and in that time, it had become more than just a job. The small shop, with its dusty shelves and the scent of old paper, had come to feel like home. Henri had become more than just a mentor—he had become family. Regulus had grown accustomed to their quiet mornings together, the warm cups of coffee shared between the two of them as they spoke of books, of the past, and of the things they would never say directly.

But time, as it often did, moved forward relentlessly.

It was early one morning when Regulus entered the bookshop to find the shop unusually silent. The creak of the door had never felt so loud, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Regulus glanced around, expecting to see Henri at the counter, sorting through a new batch of books. But the shop was empty, save for the books and the dust.

Henri had always been there at the crack of dawn, preparing the shop for the day ahead. But today, he wasn’t.

Regulus's chest tightened, and a vague, uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. He made his way to the back, his footsteps echoing in the quiet shop. Henri’s small office, tucked away behind the shelves, was dimly lit by the soft morning light. He found Henri sitting at his desk, a stack of books beside him, but it wasn’t the usual peaceful scene he had come to expect.

Henri was slumped forward, his head resting on the desk, the faintest trace of a sigh escaping his lips. Regulus stopped in the doorway, the blood draining from his face as the reality of the scene set in.

"Henri?" Regulus’s voice cracked, and he rushed forward, his heart pounding in his chest. He reached out, touching Henri’s shoulder gently, half-expecting him to wake up with that reassuring smile, the one that always seemed to ease his worries.

But Henri didn’t move.

A cold knot formed in Regulus’s stomach, and for a long moment, he simply stood there, staring at the man who had given him a second chance at life. The man who had shown him kindness when no one else would. The man who had, in many ways, been his savior.

Regulus’s hands shook as he tried to lift Henri into a sitting position, but it became immediately clear that something was wrong—something irreversible. Henri’s face, once so full of life, was pale, and his breathing was shallow. Regulus’s heart thudded painfully in his chest as panic gripped him.

The old man had been ill for a while, but Regulus hadn’t realized just how much his health had deteriorated. Henri had always been stoic, never one to burden Regulus with his struggles, and Regulus had, foolishly, allowed himself to believe that the older man would always be there.

Tears welled in Regulus’s eyes, but he wiped them away quickly. He couldn’t afford to break down—not now. Not when Henri needed him.

Regulus rushed to the front of the shop to grab the phone, desperately searching for help, but as his fingers brushed the familiar plastic, something caught his eye—a letter, slightly crumpled, resting on the counter. It was addressed to him in Henri’s delicate handwriting.

Regulus hesitated before he picked it up, the weight of the moment heavy in his hands. With shaking fingers, he tore open the envelope. Inside was a short note:

“Regulus,
I’m sorry that I never told you. I’ve always been proud of you—prouder than I’ve ever let on. You’ve built something here, something good. It’s yours now, if you want it. Please take care of it, and take care of yourself.
—Henri”

The words swam before his eyes, and his breath hitched. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing on the spot.

Regulus didn’t know how long he stood there, the note clenched tightly in his hand, the truth sinking in like a heavy stone. Henri had known that his time was coming to an end. He had known that Regulus would need something to hold onto once he was gone, and he had left the bookshop to him, without question, without hesitation.

He had left it to Regulus because he trusted him. Regulus had never asked for it, never even hinted that he wanted it, but Henri had believed in him nonetheless.

Regulus’s heart ached as he stared at the note, the words burning into his soul. He had lost so much—his family, his life, his magic—but now, he was faced with the loss of the only person who had made him feel like he belonged somewhere.

And yet, even in his grief, he knew that Henri had given him the one thing that might allow him to survive. The bookshop was his now, and it would be a reminder of the man who had shown him that even in the most unexpected places, there could be kindness, there could be family.

But the emptiness in Regulus’s chest felt unbearable. Henri had left him the bookshop, but he had left him without the one thing Regulus had come to rely on more than anything: Henri’s presence.

Regulus couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They came, hot and relentless, as he sank to the floor, the note still clutched in his hand. He didn’t know how he would go on without Henri, without that quiet stability. But he knew one thing for certain.

He would never forget the man who had given him everything—who had trusted him with more than just the bookshop, but with the possibility of a life he never thought he could have.

And as he sat there, in the silence of the shop that had been Henri’s world and now his own, he knew that he would honor Henri’s gift. He would carry on, even if it was the hardest thing he had ever done.

He owed it to Henri.

...

The aftermath of the war was quieter than James had imagined.

The flat was still—eerily still, in fact. The world was finally at peace, and yet the silence felt heavier than it ever had before. The sound of the occasional passing car outside, the hum of the streetlights, seemed louder than usual, as if everything had slowed down to catch its breath after years of chaos. The war was over. They had won. And yet, James couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the pit of his stomach.

James sat at the kitchen table in the flat he shared with Sirius, nursing a mug of cold coffee, his eyes unfocused as he stared out of the window. The world outside had changed, but inside, everything still felt the same. The same scattered Quidditch magazines, the same old furniture, the same space that had once been filled with laughter and chatter—now eerily quiet.

Sirius, sitting across from him, flicked through one of the magazines absently, his eyes not really focusing on the pages. The two of them were tired. Tired from the war. Tired from the weight of everything that had happened. Tired of carrying burdens they hadn’t asked for.

James glanced at him, noticing how tense Sirius seemed, his brows furrowed in thought. They hadn’t spoken much about the war’s aftermath, about the people they’d lost, or the ones who were still out there. James knew his best friend was carrying the weight of the entire past few years on his shoulders, even if he didn’t always show it.

The worst part? Regulus. Regulus’s absence. The gaping hole where he used to be.

James hadn’t told Sirius the truth about Regulus. He couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after Regulus had made the choice to leave, to disappear, to live a life far away from everything he knew. James had promised him. He had promised that he wouldn’t tell anyone, that no one would go searching for him.

James hadn’t wanted to lie to Sirius, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell him the truth. He couldn’t tell him that Regulus had run, had escaped with James’s parents’ help, that he had left the night of the battle and never looked back. He couldn’t explain why he had let him go. Why he hadn’t said goodbye. Why he hadn’t given Sirius the chance to say anything at all.

"I can’t stop thinking about him," James said quietly, his voice barely breaking the silence in the room. He wasn’t sure if he was talking about Regulus or about the war in general. Maybe it was both.

Sirius looked up from his magazine, his expression unreadable. He had always been good at hiding his emotions, especially when it came to Regulus. They hadn’t had the best relationship, and James knew that Sirius still carried the scars of their fractured bond. But there was something in his eyes now—a flicker of something that made James’ heart ache. It was a strange mix of longing and bitterness.

"I know," Sirius said softly, his voice barely audible. "I keep thinking about him, too. Regulus, I mean. I don’t know why he did what he did, James. He just... disappeared. Like he didn’t care."

James’s throat tightened. He had never been able to fully explain Regulus’s actions to Sirius, not in a way that made sense. Not in a way that would have made him understand. And now, years later, after everything that had happened, James didn’t know if he ever could.

"He didn’t mean to hurt you," James said quietly, his eyes meeting Sirius’s. "I don’t think he ever did. Regulus was... complicated."

Sirius snorted, his lip curling slightly in bitterness. "Complicated doesn’t begin to describe it," he muttered, his eyes hardening. "He was a bloody mess, James. He did things that can’t be undone. And he just left. Without a word. No explanation. Nothing."

James nodded slowly, feeling the weight of the truth settle into his bones. He wanted to tell Sirius the truth. To explain that Regulus hadn’t just left because he didn’t care. He had left because he didn’t have a choice. But the promise he made to Regulus, the one that had kept him silent all these years, still held him captive.

"I know," James whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I know."

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, a deep sigh escaping him. "I just don’t understand," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I spent so many years... trying to fix things with him. Trying to make him see sense. And then... this." He shook his head, frustration written all over his face. "How do I even begin to move on from that?"

James didn’t have an answer. He didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t know how to make it better. But he did know one thing: Regulus had made a choice. A hard one. A painful one. And he had to respect that.

"You can’t change what happened, Sirius," James said softly. "You did everything you could. We all did."

Sirius shot him a sharp look, his expression full of hurt. "It doesn’t feel like enough, James. Not when I don’t even know where he is. Not when I don’t even know if he’s okay."

James felt the familiar pang of guilt at the back of his mind. He wanted to tell Sirius everything—to share the secret he had been keeping for years. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t his place. He couldn’t risk exposing Regulus, not when the danger was still so real.

"I know," James murmured, his heart heavy. "But sometimes... sometimes you have to let people go. Even if you don’t understand why."

Sirius’s eyes softened, though there was still a tightness in his expression. He seemed to understand that James wasn’t talking just about Regulus anymore. He was talking about himself. About letting go of everything they had lost.

The silence stretched between them, both of them thinking of things they couldn’t say. James kept his gaze fixed on his mug, but his mind was far away, back in that night, back in the moment when he’d watched Regulus disappear into the night. He had kept his promise, but the truth was that part of him was still waiting for Regulus to come back. For answers he wasn’t sure would ever come.

"I just hope he’s okay," Sirius said, his voice small now, vulnerable in a way James hadn’t heard in a long time.

James didn’t have an answer for that. He couldn’t. All he could do was nod, and in his heart, he prayed that Regulus was out there somewhere, free, safe, and starting over.

"Me too," James whispered, his voice barely audible.

...

The small bookshop sat nestled in a quiet corner of a cobbled street in a sleepy part of France, far from everything Regulus had ever known. It had become his sanctuary, a place of quiet solace where he could disappear into the pages of books and forget—if only for a little while—everything he had left behind. He made the name -Librairie du Soleil- a reminder of everything he lost.

The chime of the shop door echoed as the bell rang, signaling the arrival of a customer. Regulus didn’t look up immediately. His fingers lingered over the edges of the page, feeling the worn texture beneath his fingertips. The book was old and its faded cover told stories that felt both distant and familiar.

The door clicked shut, and Regulus lifted his gaze. A local customer wandered in, looking curiously at the shelves before approaching the counter. Regulus gave the man a polite nod and a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He had grown accustomed to the routine, to the quiet life he had made for himself in France.

There were no owls, no letters. No communication with the outside world. No one knew where he was. He’d made sure of that, hiding himself away in a small village where his name meant nothing, where no one would think to look for the fugitive son of a once-political family. The Potters had ensured his escape. They’d given him the money to survive, the safety to run—but they’d kept one thing from him.

He still didn’t know if the war was over. Not really.

Regulus had spent the last three years in a kind of limbo. No magical contact. No word from anyone. The Muggle world didn’t know the war had been fought in the first place, and to them, life had simply continued on. The shops were open, the streets were alive, and the world was moving on without any regard for the shadows of a past he could never shake.

His wand—his only connection to his former life—was in safe hands. He insisted on James' parents keeping it when they’d helped him flee. It was to keep him safer, no matter how hard his mind protested against it.

But he had to trust them. He had no other choice.

“Can I help you?” Regulus asked, his voice low, trying to push the rest of his thoughts away. The man at the counter was inspecting a collection of old tomes, unaware of the heavy weight of Regulus’s silence.

“Yes,” the man said, lifting a book from the shelf. “I’ve been looking for this one.”

Regulus nodded, taking the book from the customer’s hands and carefully wrapping it in parchment, his movements automatic. The world outside felt distant, muted. He had lived this life for so long that the thought of ever going back to the one he had left behind seemed more and more impossible.

He remembered the day he had left, the last time he’d seen the Potters, the last time he had allowed himself to think there was something more out there waiting for him. But it had been a lie—a dream he couldn’t afford to have anymore.

And now, three years later, he was still here. Still waiting.

The bell chimed again as the customer left, and Regulus was alone in the shop once more. The weight of the quiet pressed down on him like a thick fog, suffocating and familiar. His eyes wandered to the corner of the room, where a small fireplace crackled softly, its warmth offering no real comfort.

He was no longer sure what he was even waiting for.

It was ridiculous, really, how much he thought about what had happened after he left. He wondered if anyone from the wizarding world was still alive, if the people he had known had survived the war, if his family had made it through—or if he was the last Black left, the last one to be swallowed by a world that had destroyed everything he knew.

Did anyone care that he was gone?

There was still a raw ache in his chest when he thought of them—his brother, his parents, and even the ones he had once called friends. He had been a part of their lives, and they had been a part of his. But now? They were memories—far away, unreachable. The only one he’d truly thought about in the stillness of the night was James.

James.

He hadn’t even known if James had made it through the war. He didn’t know if anyone had. He hadn’t heard from him, not once. And as much as he hated himself for thinking it, Regulus wondered if James was better off without him. If they all were.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, the minutes slipping by faster than Regulus cared to admit. He had no plans for the evening, no appointments, nothing to look forward to. He went through the motions of locking up the shop, placing the books in their proper order before heading upstairs to the small flat he kept above the bookstore.

It was cramped, quiet, with just the bare essentials. A small bed, a desk piled with papers, and a window that looked out over the village square. The sight of it—so normal, so mundane—made him feel disconnected, like a ghost haunting someone else’s life.

Sitting down on the bed, Regulus reached for the small box under his mattress, the one containing the few personal items he’d kept over the years. Inside, there was a small, folded piece of parchment—a letter he had never sent, the words on it a confession of everything he had never been able to say. It was the letter he had written the day he left the Potters, the day he had made the decision that had irrevocably changed the course of his life. He had never sent it, and maybe he never would.

But he couldn't bring himself to throw it away, either.

As his fingers brushed the edges of the parchment, his mind wandered to James again. To the promise he had made. Regulus had trusted him. He had trusted James more than anyone else. And James had promised he would be safe, that he wouldn’t be forgotten.

But as the days turned into months, and the months into years, Regulus had started to wonder. Had he been forgotten?

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts.

Regulus tensed, his heart racing in his chest. He wasn’t expecting anyone. He wasn’t expecting anything.

But when he opened the door, no one was there. Just the crisp night air and the faint sound of footsteps echoing down the street.

For a moment, he just stood there, unsure whether to close the door or leave it open. The night felt heavy, oppressive, as though something was about to break through. But nothing happened. Nothing ever happened.

Regulus sighed, shutting the door gently behind him.

It was just another night. Just another night in the quiet life he had chosen.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, a small part of him still hoped.

...

The sun was setting over the streets of Lyon, casting the city in a warm, amber glow. The gentle hum of conversations and the clinking of glasses from nearby cafés filled the air as James and Sirius walked side by side down the cobbled streets. It had been two years since the war had ended, and though the world had slowly started to piece itself back together, there were still pieces missing—pieces neither of them knew how to find.

Sirius, however, was the one carrying the heaviest weight. The empty space where Regulus had once been lingered, a gnawing ache that Sirius hadn’t been able to shake, not even now. It had always been there, ever since the day his brother had disappeared, leaving behind nothing but questions.

James could see it in him. The way his smile faltered when they spoke about the past. The way his voice dropped when Regulus’s name came up. James knew how it felt—he knew how much it hurt to not have closure, to not know what had happened to someone who once meant everything to you.

Sirius had wanted to bring James to France for a while now. It wasn’t just the beauty of the city—though Lyon certainly had its charm. It was more personal than that. Sirius had spent a great deal of his childhood here, escaping the suffocating atmosphere of his family’s estate, finding solace in the quiet streets and small villages that felt a world away from the Black family’s expectations. It was here, in the simplicity of these streets, that Sirius had felt free, even if only for brief moments.

But as they walked through the winding streets, something in the air felt different. Something unfamiliar. It was as if the city was holding its breath, waiting. James felt it too, a soft but undeniable pull, the tension between them and what they had lost—what they still couldn’t understand.

“Regulus would’ve loved it here,” Sirius murmured, his voice quiet and thoughtful as they passed a small alley. He sounded distant, lost in thought. "He would’ve liked the books, the peace, the people... but he would’ve hated the tourists. He’d say it ruined the charm of it all.”

James looked at Sirius, his gaze soft, knowing. He could see the way his friend’s shoulders tensed, the subtle way his expression darkened. “I know,” James replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think about him, too. Wonder if he ever made it out. If he’s still... out there.”

Sirius nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t want to think about it, but he couldn’t stop himself. The questions lingered. The silence stretched between them, filled with unspoken thoughts.

They walked on in quiet companionship, neither of them saying anything for a long while. It was only when they turned another corner that James noticed the bookshop—Librairie du Soleil—Bookshop of the Sun.

James stopped. There was something about it, something familiar, though he couldn’t quite place it. It felt different. His breath hitched in his chest, an odd flutter of recognition catching in the pit of his stomach.

Sirius stopped beside him and looked at the shop. There was a flicker in his eyes, a strange knot in his stomach. The shop. It had been here all these years, just as it always had. How many times had he passed it on his way through the city? He'd never thought much of it before. But now, the sight of it seemed to bring the past crashing back in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

"I used to come here," Sirius said, his voice low. "Before... before everything. It was quiet, you know? The kind of place where you could sit and read without anyone bothering you. I would lose myself in books here. Escape from everything."

James turned to him, his gaze softening. He knew. He knew what Sirius was thinking. "You used to come here with him, didn’t you?" James asked quietly, the words hanging heavy between them.

Sirius didn’t answer right away. He didn’t have to. James already knew. "Yeah," Sirius whispered, "Regulus and I would come here. It was one of the few places we didn’t fight. One of the few places he wasn’t... being his perfect little pureblood. We used to argue over which books were better. He was insufferable about it."

James smiled faintly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. The thought of Regulus—of the way they had all lost him—still hung in the air.

Sirius’s gaze lingered on the shop, then he shook his head and looked away. "I can't go in," he said abruptly, his voice rough. "I don’t know why, but I can’t."

James understood. He didn’t press him.

"I’ll go in," James said after a moment, his voice quiet. He wasn’t sure why he felt the pull to enter. Maybe it was just the weight of the past, or maybe something more. But he had to. For a moment, he had to know what was inside. It was too much, too much of a connection to let slip away.

Sirius glanced at him but didn’t stop him. His lips were pressed into a thin line. "Alright. But I’m not going with you."

James took a step forward before he could second-guess himself. "I’ll be quick."

Sirius nodded but stayed back, a sense of unease creeping over him. He hadn’t been in this part of Lyon for years, and something about the way James was acting made him want to pull back, to hold on to whatever piece of himself was still tethered to the past.

James pushed open the door, the soft chime of the bell echoing through the quiet shop. Inside, the air smelled of old paper and dust, the scent familiar, like memories long forgotten. Rows upon rows of books lined the shelves, stacked neatly, but there was something strangely intimate about the space. Something that reminded him of all the little places they had found peace, even if they had been fleeting.

He stepped deeper inside, running his fingers along the spines of books, though he wasn’t sure what he was looking for. The shop was small, cozy, and empty, except for the sound of his footsteps and the distant creaking of the wooden floor. The silence was peaceful in its own way, and yet, it felt heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

It was then that James noticed a book lying on the counter, as if someone had been interrupted in the middle of reading. It was open to a page halfway through, the words scrawled with notes in the margins. James couldn’t help but reach out, his fingers grazing the pages. There was something oddly familiar about it, something about the way the handwriting sprawled across the page.

It was a moment of quiet recognition, a fluttering in his chest. But before he could inspect it further, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching. He quickly pulled his hand back, stepping away from the counter as the door behind the counter opened, and a figure emerged from the backroom.

For a moment, James froze. He could barely make out the figure—short, with dark hair, dressed simply, but there was something in the way they moved that made James’s breath catch. It felt... too familiar. His heart stuttered, an ache deep in his chest, as if he was staring at a ghost. The figure didn’t seem to notice him, instead walking toward the back shelves, their movements careful, deliberate.

James opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t. His voice caught in his throat as he felt the familiar sensation of someone he had lost—a feeling he could never quite shake.

Before he could say anything, the figure glanced over their shoulder, catching sight of James. Their eyes briefly met, and for a split second, there was a flicker of recognition, of something unsaid. But then, the figure quickly turned, disappearing behind the shelves once more, as if they had been caught off guard.

James stood still, his mind racing, but the moment was already slipping away, like sand through his fingers. He wanted to move, to follow, to ask, but the door suddenly creaked open behind him.

Sirius stepped inside, his presence filling the space with warmth. James turned, his chest tight, and the figure was already gone, vanished into the back of the shop.

“Everything alright?” Sirius asked, his voice low but full of concern.

James swallowed, his heart still racing. He glanced back at the shelves, at the space where the figure had disappeared. “Yeah,” he said, his voice tight, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. “Yeah, I think so.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment, his gaze searching, but then nodded. “Alright, let’s go. You don’t seem like you’re finding anything, anyway.”

James paused for a second longer, but then, reluctantly, turned toward the door, stepping out onto the streets of Lyon with Sirius by his side.

Neither of them said anything as they walked away, but James couldn’t shake the feeling of having come so close to something—someone—he wasn’t sure he was ready to understand.

He didn’t know who it had been, but a strange, aching thought filled his chest. Maybe, just maybe, Regulus was still out there. Still living, still existing in some form, even if neither of them could see him.

The past wasn’t as far away as they thought. And neither was Regulus.

...

Regulus stood frozen behind the shelves, his breath shallow and erratic. The sounds of footsteps grew louder, closer, until they paused. The door had chimed softly, signaling someone had entered the shop, but Regulus couldn’t bring himself to look. He couldn’t risk it. Not when his heart was racing like this.

It couldn’t be James. Could it?

He could feel the warmth of panic spreading through his chest, the tightness in his throat. The flicker of recognition that had stirred in his gut when he first glimpsed those familiar hazel eyes was still there, gnawing at him. His skin was prickling with an electric tension, a mixture of dread and something else he couldn’t quite name.

James. James Potter.

The name felt like it had been buried in his chest for years, and yet, just the thought of it made him freeze. The last time he’d seen James was... what? Before he’d left England? Before he’d left everything behind?

Regulus’s heart skipped in his chest, and he swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. No, it couldn’t be James. Not after all this time. There was no way.

But it looked like him. It sounded like him.

The soft, steady cadence of his voice—the laughter that tugged at the air like it always did. It was him, wasn’t it?

But what if it wasn’t? What if his mind was playing tricks on him, like it had done so many times before? What if it wasn’t James? What if it was someone else, someone who would expose him? Someone from the past, a Death Eater, coming to find him? The thought made his blood run cold, and the Mark on his arm seemed to burn more fiercely as if it were reminding him of his past sins, pulling him back into that world.

His hand instinctively pressed to the sleeve of his shirt, feeling the Dark Mark searing beneath the fabric like it always did when he felt cornered, when the world closed in around him. Regulus’s throat tightened, the weight of the decision to leave everything behind crashing over him in a wave. He had left it all—his family, his life, his magic. All for what?

For this?

He was a coward.

If it was James, if it was truly him standing outside in his shop, Regulus didn’t know if he was ready for this. He wasn’t ready to face that life again, wasn’t ready for James to see him like this—broken, hiding in the shadows of the life he had chosen to leave behind.

Regulus bit his lip, fighting the urge to move, to look out from behind the shelves and catch another glimpse of him. It was just a trick. It had to be. There was no way James would be here now, after all this time.

But his pulse was still hammering in his ears, a dull ringing that blocked out the rest of the world, and his eyes were drawn back to the front of the shop again. His mind was racing, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. Maybe he should’ve left the city. Maybe he should’ve taken his chances and moved on, gone somewhere else before it was too late. But this—this bookshop, this place—had been the only thing that kept him grounded.

Then James’s figure appeared in his line of sight once more. Regulus’s breath caught, and he froze in place, staring as James’s eyes flickered across the shelves. That look. That look that made his heart race in a way it hadn’t in years. He wanted to believe it was him. He wanted to believe that he could look into those eyes and find something familiar, something comforting. But fear had already begun to settle deep in his gut, pulling him further away from the hope he so desperately wanted to reach for.

Regulus’s hand tightened around the edge of the bookshelf as the air around him thickened. He couldn’t bring himself to move, not just yet. If it was James—if it was really him—there was so much he needed to say. But if it wasn’t—if it was someone else—he couldn’t risk it. Not now. Not when everything was so fragile.

James was too close now. Regulus’s mind screamed at him to move, to duck behind the shelves and remain hidden, but it felt like the space between them had closed in too fast, too quickly. His heart pounded in his chest, the beat frantic, erratic.

And then, like a cruel twist of fate, their eyes met for just a split second.

Regulus's breath caught, and he felt it—like a wave crashing over him. That flicker. That moment. His body tensed, his heart skipping painfully in his chest as if some part of him knew that this was it. This was the moment that everything he had built since leaving England was about to come crumbling down.

For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. His chest felt hollow, his mind struggling to make sense of what was happening. He knew he couldn’t face James. Not like this. Not after everything he had done. Not with the weight of the Mark still pressing down on him, still carving its presence into his skin, a constant reminder of the things he couldn’t escape.

Regulus’s heart raced, and then, as if his legs had a mind of their own, he ducked back behind the shelves, his hands shaking as he tried to steady himself. His mind was still reeling, the taste of panic still lingering in his mouth. His breath was ragged, but his feet stayed rooted to the floor, unwilling to let him move.

For a few long seconds, Regulus dared to peek back through the gap, watching James’s back as he seemed to move further into the shop. The lingering sensation of recognition made Regulus’s chest ache.

And yet, despite all the conflicting feelings twisting inside him, a single thought clung to the edges of his mind. What if it really was James?

What if it was? What if he had come all this way, only to find Regulus, to see him again? Would James hate him? Would he want to—?

No, Regulus didn’t let himself finish the thought. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Regulus stood there, listening to the soft chime of the door behind James as he stepped out, his heart still pounding. And for the first time in years, he felt something stir in him—a flicker of what had once been. It wasn’t just guilt. It wasn’t just regret.

It was longing.

Longing for something he could never have, for a life that had slipped away, for the chance to go back and make things right, to fix all the mistakes he had made. But it was too late now.

He could never go back. Not after everything.

Not with the Dark Mark still on his skin, reminding him of everything he had been.Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was a way to fix this.

But Regulus didn’t move. He didn’t follow.

Because, as much as he wished he could, he was too afraid.

Too afraid of the person he had become.

Too afraid of the person James might see.

...

The evening air was cool in Lyon, carrying the scent of freshly baked bread from a nearby bakery and the faint hum of the city winding down for the night. The cobbled streets seemed quieter now, the sounds of laughter from bustling cafés beginning to fade as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The amber glow of the streetlamps cast long shadows, painting the city in a soft, melancholic hue.

James Potter walked down the familiar streets, his hands shoved into his coat pockets as his footsteps echoed in the otherwise empty road. He had promised Sirius that he would only be out for a little while, just enough time to clear his mind before they left for home in the morning. He hadn’t meant to stay for long, but there was something about the quiet streets, something about Lyon, that made him want to linger just a little bit longer.

Maybe it was the memories of what Sirius told James he had here, years ago, before everything had fallen apart. Maybe it was the lingering ache of Regulus’s absence, the one he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried.

As he walked past the corner of a narrow street, something in the air shifted. James paused, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t realized it, but his feet had carried him back toward the little alleyway where the bookshop stood, the one he and Sirius noticed earlier that day.

The Bookshop of the Sun.

James hesitated, his breath catching in his chest. He remember what he had experience before, the sense he was missing something nagging at him.

He stood still for a moment, staring at the warm light spilling from the windows, the faint creak of the door behind him catching his attention. He was about to turn away, to walk back to the street where he and Sirius Hotel was, but then he saw him.

Regulus.

He was standing just outside the bookshop, not quite in the doorway but close enough to make it obvious. His posture was tense, shoulders drawn in, like he was ready to bolt at any moment. His eyes met James’s, and time seemed to freeze. The world around them became a blur, and all that mattered was the way Regulus looked at him.

For a split second, neither of them moved. James’s heart thudded against his chest, and he could feel the breath catch in his throat. He hadn't expected this—any of this. To see Regulus again, here, after all this time. After everything they had been through. He had helped him run away all those years ago, after the Dark Mark had burned itself onto Regulus's arm. He never thought he’d see him again, not like this.

Regulus’s expression was a mix of shock and disbelief. He looked every bit the same, but there was a weariness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. His gaze flickered from James’s face to the street, as though weighing his options, wondering if he should stay or turn and run.

James’s voice caught in his throat, but he managed to speak, his words coming out soft, tentative. “Regulus…”

Regulus flinched, his jaw tightening as he glanced over his shoulder, as if considering the possibility of retreat. But instead, he stood frozen in place, still staring at James as though trying to reconcile what he was seeing. Was this really him? Was James really standing there, in front of him after all this time?

Regulus’s hand twitched at his side, almost as though he was about to reach for something, but then stopped, his fingers curling into a tight fist. The Dark Mark—James could see the way Regulus’s sleeve barely moved, but James knew. He knew that mark was still there. That pain, that constant reminder of the life Regulus had left behind.

"Regulus..." James whispered again, his voice barely a breath, but Regulus stiffened further.

"No," Regulus said sharply, his tone harsh but strained. He took a step back, his hand resting on the doorframe of the shop as if ready to retreat. "I can’t— I shouldn’t—" He stopped himself, the words faltering.

James took a cautious step closer, his heart hammering in his chest. He didn’t care about the risks. Not anymore. He couldn’t let Regulus slip away again. "Regulus, it’s okay," he said gently, his eyes full of quiet urgency. "The war’s over. You’re free. Voldemort is gone."

Regulus’s gaze flickered, but there was something in his eyes—something sharp, something dark—that made James’s breath catch. His hands, trembling slightly, clenched against the doorframe as though the act of touching it was anchoring him to this reality, to the world outside.

"No," Regulus muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "I can’t... I can’t believe that. You don’t understand, James. I can’t just—" He cut himself off, swallowing hard, his words tight with something he was struggling to contain. "I’ve been marked. I’m marked. It doesn’t go away."

James's heart ached, the weight of their shared past pressing down on him. He stepped closer, carefully, his voice soft but insistent. "Regulus, I know. I remember what it was like, the things you had to do, the choices you made. But you’re not bound by that anymore. The Dark Lord’s gone. You’re free."

Regulus’s eyes darted away for a second, and then back at James, confusion mixed with a deep-seated fear. "And what about them?" he whispered harshly, his voice barely audible. "What about the Death Eaters? The others who still serve him? What if I’m still on their radar? What if they come for me... for you?"

James’s chest tightened, but he forced himself to meet Regulus’s eyes, to keep his voice steady. "The war is over," he repeated, the words feeling weightier than ever now. "The Death Eaters are scattered, destroyed. No one’s coming for you, Regulus. Not anymore."

Regulus’s face twisted with a mixture of disbelief and fear. "You don’t get it," he said, a rawness creeping into his voice. "I can’t just walk away. You think it’s that easy? You think I can just forget everything, forget what I’ve done, what I’ve been a part of? The mark doesn’t disappear. I can’t just—"

"I know it’s not easy," James said, his voice gentle but firm. "I know you can’t just forget, but you can move forward. You don’t have to be controlled by it anymore. You don’t have to be afraid of what you were. You’re not that person anymore."

Regulus trembled slightly, his hand tightening around the doorframe. He was fighting, James could see it—the pull between the urge to run, to hide, and the spark of something else. Hope? Relief? Maybe both, but it terrified Regulus.

"I don’t know how to trust that," Regulus admitted quietly, almost to himself. "I don’t know how to believe that things can be... different. That I can be different."

James took another step closer, carefully, reaching out a hand as if to offer reassurance. "You don’t have to do it alone, Regulus. I’m here. You’re not alone in this. We can do this together. Please."

For a long moment, Regulus didn’t move, the silence stretching between them thick with uncertainty. His gaze was distant, eyes flickering with some unspoken pain, before he finally spoke again, voice barely a whisper.

"You don’t know what I’ve done... you don’t know what it was like. You don’t know what that mark... that... curse means."

"I do know," James said softly, his voice a quiet promise. "I helped you escape it, Regulus. I know what that mark means. I know the weight of it. But I also know what it means to be free. And you are free. You’ve been free since that night we helped you leave. You can leave all of it behind, I swear. The mark doesn’t define you. The past doesn’t define you."

Regulus’s eyes met his then, for the first time, fully. They were filled with something like desperation, a need to believe but afraid of doing so. The silence between them felt heavy, charged, full of years of history neither of them could escape.

"How can you be so sure?" Regulus whispered, his voice breaking as he lowered his gaze, fighting the emotion that he could no longer hide. "After everything I’ve done, how can you believe I’m worth saving?"

James took a step forward, closing the distance between them completely now. His voice was soft but unwavering. "Because I do, Regulus," he said quietly. "I believe in you. And I believe you deserve a second chance. You’re not who you were. You’re not the Dark Mark. You’re not the things you’ve done."

There was a moment of quiet, and for a brief second, James thought maybe, just maybe, Regulus might let go of the fear that had kept him locked away for so long.

But then, Regulus shook his head again, quickly, as if rejecting it all. "I can’t stay, James," he said, his voice rough and strained. "I can’t— for your sake, I can’t. If anyone finds out I’ve been here, talking to you—"

James stepped closer, his hand hovering just an inch away from Regulus’s. He could see the fear in Regulus’s eyes, the terror that something terrible might happen if he stayed. "Regulus," James whispered, his voice softer, a little more raw, "no one’s coming for you. It’s over. Let it be over."

For a moment, the weight of their past hung heavy in the air between them. Regulus’s gaze softened, the fight in him flickering like a candle in the wind. And just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by the same guarded expression he’d worn for years.

"I... I need to go," Regulus whispered, his voice shaking with the effort to say the words.

James watched as Regulus turned away, his heart twisting in his chest. But before he could speak again, Regulus was already gone, slipping back into the shadows of the shop, vanishing from view. The door closed softly behind him.

James stood still for a long moment, the air between them still heavy with unspoken things. But deep down, he knew Regulus wasn’t truly gone—not yet, not completely.

He just needed time. Time to believe that he was truly free.

And James... James would wait, as long as it took.

The warmth of their closeness, the softness in Regulus’s voice that had cracked just for a moment, lingered. But James knew it wasn’t enough—yet. It wasn’t enough to erase the past, but it was a start.

He just needed Regulus to believe it, too.

...

James walked into the dimly lit hotel room, the soft creak of the door almost too loud in the silence. He closed it behind him quietly, his fingers lingering on the handle for a moment longer than necessary, as though hoping the action would help him gather his thoughts. The weight of the evening pressed down on him—Regulus, the conversation, the uncertainty. He couldn't shake the way Regulus had looked at him, that fragile moment of hope before he'd pulled away again.

Sirius was already sitting on the bed, one knee bent, his elbows resting on his thighs, and his gaze fixed on the floor. He looked up when James entered, his face immediately brightening into a smile. "How’d it go?" he asked, voice light, but there was an undertone of concern beneath the casualness. "You’ve been gone for a while."

James forced a smile, though it felt stiff on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to shake off the heavy feeling in his chest. He knew he couldn’t tell Sirius about Regulus—not yet, not when he wasn’t sure how it would all play out. Regulus hadn’t said much, but he had made it clear that he wasn’t ready for anyone else to know, and James couldn’t betray that.

"I think I need to stay a little longer," James said, his voice almost too calm. He crossed the room slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside Sirius. "I... I’m not ready to leave just yet."

Sirius frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion. "What do you mean? We were supposed to head back to London tomorrow. You’ve been here long enough."

"I know," James replied quickly, but his mind was working a mile a minute, trying to come up with something that would make sense. "It’s just... I don’t know. I need a bit more time. Away from everything. Away from Britain."

Sirius’s eyes searched his face, his gaze sharp, but he didn’t press the issue. "What’s going on, James? You’ve been acting weird ever since we got here."

James’s heart pounded in his chest. He wasn’t a good liar, and Sirius knew him too well, but he couldn’t let him know the truth. Not yet. He couldn’t tell him about Regulus, not with the uncertainty of everything swirling around him. What if Regulus didn’t want Sirius to know he was alive? What if telling him put them both in danger?

"I just... I need to clear my head, you know?" James said finally, a sigh escaping him. "I thought this trip would help me put things into perspective, but I’m still... I’m still a bit shaken by everything. I just need some more time before we head back."

Sirius seemed to consider this, the frown still on his face, but he finally nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced. "Alright, I get it." he said, though his voice was tinged with concern. "Just... let me know if you need anything, mate. You don’t have to do this alone."

"Thanks, Pads," James said softly, offering him a tight smile. "I appreciate it."

The room fell into a comfortable silence as Sirius finally stretched out on the bed, clearly accepting the explanation. "You’ve got my back, right?" Sirius asked, his voice quieter now.

"Of course," James said, though the word felt hollow as it left his lips. He wasn’t sure if he was lying to Sirius or to himself at this point. His thoughts were still with Regulus, with the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they could have a chance at rebuilding something. Something James had never thought possible.

Sirius turned onto his side, pulling the blanket over him, the night settling in around them. "Good," he mumbled, his eyes fluttering shut. "Get some rest, mate. We’ve got a bit more time here, yeah? We’ll figure this all out."

James nodded quietly, though his thoughts were elsewhere. His heart was still beating fast, and the weight of what he hadn’t told Sirius was pressing down on him. But for now, he stayed silent, letting the quiet of the room settle over him.

He needed more time. Time to figure out what to do, time to understand what had happened, and time to figure out what Regulus’s reappearance meant for them both.

And, for now, he needed to let Sirius believe the lie.

...

Weeks passed, and each one seemed to blur together for James. Sirus left the night after James told him he was staying longer. He had made the decision, after the encounter with Regulus, to return to the bookshop regularly, even though he hadn’t spoken a word to Regulus. He didn’t push, didn’t try to force any kind of conversation. He simply went in, browsed the books, and made sure to always linger for a few minutes—just enough to let Regulus know he was there, and that if the other man ever needed to talk, James would listen.

The soft chime of the doorbell when James entered the shop had become a familiar sound, one that seemed to pull Regulus’s gaze to him from wherever he was. At first, Regulus had avoided him—keeping his distance, busying himself behind shelves or pretending to be engrossed in his own work. But James hadn’t minded. The silence between them, while heavy, wasn’t unwelcome. It was comfortable in its own way. It was the kind of silence that said: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, and when you’re ready, I’ll be waiting.

James didn’t push for anything more. He just... waited. For the first time in weeks, it felt like things were moving, albeit slowly. Like the brittle thread that had once connected them was beginning to fray back together, one slow step at a time.

It was on an overcast Thursday afternoon when Regulus finally broke the silence.

James had just stepped inside the bookshop, his eyes scanning the familiar rows of books, and for a moment, it seemed as if Regulus was going to retreat again. He had been behind the counter, flipping through a stack of new arrivals when he looked up, and James caught that fleeting look—one of hesitation, of uncertainty. Then, to James’s surprise, Regulus spoke.

“James,” his voice was quiet but clear, and it sent a jolt through James’s chest. He hadn’t expected Regulus to speak first, not when things had been so fragile between them. “How… how are you?”

It wasn’t much, just a simple question. But to James, it felt like a lifeline. The weight of the silence that had hung between them for so long suddenly felt lighter, like a door that had been cracked open just a little bit.

James’s heart gave a leap at the sound of Regulus’s voice. He hadn’t realized just how much he had been waiting for it—waiting for this one small step.

“I’m... better,” James said, taking a slow step toward the counter, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m good. Been thinking a lot about… about everything, you know? The war, and what comes after. It’s been strange. But... I’m getting there. And you?” James’s gaze softened as he studied Regulus carefully, noting the way his shoulders were tense, the way he seemed to avoid making direct eye contact.

Regulus shifted slightly, but didn’t look away. His voice was quieter now, more hesitant. “I’m… surviving, I suppose.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and James’s heart ached at the quiet sorrow in them. Regulus wasn’t thriving. He wasn’t the confident, snide younger Black he used to be. He was someone who had been broken by the weight of everything—someone who had carried too much for too long.

“I know it’s not easy,” James said, leaning against the counter, his tone steady. “But I’m glad you’re here, Regulus. Really.” He watched Regulus’s eyes flicker toward him, the smallest hint of something vulnerable behind the cool, guarded exterior. “You don’t have to face this alone, you know.”

Regulus didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let out a breath, one that was almost a sigh but not quite. It was a sound that made James’s chest tighten with empathy.

“I never asked for any of this,” Regulus said suddenly, his voice carrying the weight of years spent in silence. “None of it. Not the family. Not the Dark Mark. Not the war.” His gaze flickered briefly toward the shelves, as if searching for something to distract him, but then it returned to James, his eyes searching for something in him. "But I... I did what I thought was right at the time."

James opened his mouth to speak, but Regulus held up a hand, silencing him before he could.

“I know it doesn’t make sense,” Regulus continued, his voice quieter now. “And I know it won’t change anything, but I thought... I thought maybe you’d hate me. Or at the very least, you’d never want to see me again.”

James felt his heart crack a little at the rawness in Regulus’s voice. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from their conversation, but this—this was more than he had hoped for. “I don’t hate you, Regulus,” James said gently, his voice warm, the words heavy with all the unspoken things between them. “I never did. I never will. I... I just want you to be okay.”

Regulus looked at him for a long moment, the silence stretching between them, thick with everything unsaid. James could see the conflict in Regulus’s eyes—the fear, the uncertainty, the guilt.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay,” Regulus whispered, looking away again, his fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. “But… maybe it’s enough to just be here. To... just be alive, for now.”

James stepped forward, his breath steady but his heart racing, and placed a hand on the counter, just a little closer to Regulus. He didn’t want to push, didn’t want to make Regulus retreat again, but he couldn’t help it—he needed to be closer. To close the distance that had been there for far too long.

“We’ll figure it out,” James said softly, his voice low and full of warmth. “Together. One step at a time.”

Regulus’s gaze flickered back to him, and for a brief, fleeting moment, there was something in his eyes that James recognized: the smallest spark of hope. It was fragile, like glass on the verge of shattering, but it was there. Just the smallest glimmer.

James smiled at him, and Regulus, after a long moment of hesitation, finally gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Maybe,” Regulus said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe we will.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, James allowed himself to hope again. To believe that maybe—just maybe—things could be different. That there was still a chance for them, for him and Regulus, to rebuild something. Something broken and lost, but not completely beyond repair.

He stayed a little longer, the silence between them now different. There was an unspoken understanding, a new kind of connection that neither of them had expected but both seemed to need.

And as James left the bookshop that day, he felt something he hadn’t in so long: peace. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But it was something. It was a start.