First Mission
The air was thick with tension as James and Regulus stood side by side in the dimly lit room of Grimmauld Place. The mission was briefed, the plan laid out, but the weight of Dumbledore’s decision still lingered between them like a heavy fog. James’s mind raced—he could feel his pulse quicken at the thought of stepping back into the field. He thrived in the chaos of battle. But this? This felt different. This was Regulus Black at his side.
"Ready?" Sirius’s voice broke through James’s thoughts. He shot his best friend a tight smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He wasn’t ready.
“I was born ready,” James said with forced confidence, even though his gaze kept flicking toward Regulus, who was silently gathering his gear.
Regulus didn’t look up as he strapped on his wand holster, his movements deliberate and precise, as always. "You might want to start keeping that recklessness in check. We’re not invincible."
James raised an eyebrow. "You really think I’m the reckless one here?"
“I know you are,” Regulus replied, his voice flat, cool as always. “That’s why you’ll be the one getting us both killed.”
James bristled but kept his mouth shut. There wasn’t time for arguing now. They had a mission to complete, and whether they liked it or not, they were stuck with each other.
As the rest of the Order filed out, preparing to take their own positions, Dumbledore caught James’s eye. The old man gave a small nod, as if reassuring him that he’d made the right choice. But James wasn’t sure of that. Not yet.
"Stay close," Regulus muttered, glancing at James before turning to lead the way.
The location was a dilapidated manor on the outskirts of London, a suspected Death Eater hideout. The shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally long as they made their way through the overgrown garden, the smell of damp earth and decay filling the air. Regulus moved with an eerie calmness, while James’s senses were heightened, every crack of a branch underfoot making him tense.
"You look like you’re expecting a herd of Dementors," Regulus commented, not even bothering to whisper.
James didn’t reply. He was too focused on the manor, trying to assess the threat. They’d both been briefed on the layout. Inside, there were supposed to be a handful of Death Eaters, not nearly enough to cause trouble for a pair of skilled fighters, but dangerous nonetheless.
James wanted to rush in—take control of the situation. But Regulus’s steady presence reminded him that patience was key. He hated how that irked him, but he couldn’t deny the sense of purpose it brought to their mission. Regulus was always three steps ahead, while James felt like he was just trying to keep up.
They crept to the manor’s back door, Regulus already fumbling with a set of Muggle tools he’d acquired, working quickly to disable the locks.
"I thought you were a wizard," James muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "Why use a Muggle lock-pick?"
"Because it's quieter," Regulus snapped, eyes never leaving his task. "If you hadn’t noticed, this is a stealth mission. We don’t need to attract attention."
James bit his tongue. This wasn’t the time for a fight, and he knew it. Regulus had a point.
The door creaked open, and they slipped inside, moving through the dark hallways, their footsteps barely audible. The manor was silent, the only sound being the faint rustle of wind through broken windows. But James couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched.
"Where’s the fun in all this stealth, Black?" James whispered, trying to break the tension. "I thought we’d be running through hallways, wands drawn, yelling 'Expelliarmus!' at every turn."
Regulus’s lips barely twitched in amusement. "If you keep talking, Potter, we’re going to get ourselves caught."
"Right, right," James muttered, but his eyes were scanning the surroundings. They were getting closer to the target room—the one with the Death Eaters.
And then, without warning, the silence shattered.
A sharp crack sounded, and a blinding light shot out from an unseen source, barely missing James. He dove to the ground, instinct kicking in. Regulus was already casting defensive spells, his wand movements precise and quick, driving back the attackers.
"Move!" Regulus barked, already on the move as he led the way down the narrow hall.
James scrambled to his feet, wincing at the adrenaline coursing through him. This was it. His heart pounded as they rushed through the manor’s corridors, Regulus keeping a cool head and guiding him forward. The Death Eaters were here. It was no longer a stealth mission—it was a fight for survival.
They entered the main room, and there they were: four masked Death Eaters, wands raised. Without thinking, James dove to the side, rolling behind an overturned chair for cover. Regulus was beside him in an instant, his cool composure still unwavering as he shot off a series of spells, expertly disarming one of the attackers.
"Do not rush in," Regulus hissed, blocking another curse aimed at them. "Wait for the opening!"
James didn’t respond. Instead, he waited for a split second before darting out from cover, firing a stunning charm at one of the Death Eaters, knocking them back against the wall. The others immediately retaliated, but Regulus was there, casting his own protective shield around them.
The fight felt endless, each curse exchanged a reminder of how fragile life was in these moments. But despite everything—the chaos, the noise, the near-death escapes—James felt something shift. They were in sync. Regulus moved in perfect rhythm with him, anticipating his every move. And for the first time, James didn’t feel like he was alone in the fight.
The battle ended with the last Death Eater on the ground, unconscious, and the room slowly fell silent.
Regulus exhaled, his breathing steady despite the intensity of the encounter. James, on the other hand, was panting, his hands shaking slightly with adrenaline. He glanced over at Regulus, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and reluctant admiration.
"Well," James said, the first hint of a grin tugging at his lips, "I have to admit, we didn’t die."
Regulus didn’t smile. Instead, he merely nodded, as if it was a given. “We’ve still got work to do. Let’s move.”
James followed him, his pulse still racing, but a strange feeling settled deep in his chest. Maybe they could survive this. Maybe they could work together.
But as they made their way out, something nagged at him. This wasn’t the end of the mission. Not yet.
James barely had time to register the shift in Regulus’s stance before he was yanked back against the wall. A second later, a jet of sickly green light shot past where he’d been standing, close enough that he could feel the heat of it. His stomach dropped.
Regulus’s grip on his sleeve tightened. "I told you to stay close," he hissed.
James didn’t argue. Not when another masked figure stepped into the dimly lit corridor, wand raised. Reinforcements.
"More incoming," James murmured, gripping his wand tighter. His body ached to move—to act—but Regulus was already scanning their surroundings, calculating.
James had to admit, for someone who supposedly hated him, Regulus had an impressive way of keeping him alive.
The Death Eater lunged forward with a slashing curse, and James twisted to the side, throwing up a shield that barely held against the force of the spell. The impact rattled through his bones. Regulus used the opening to fire a hex, catching the attacker square in the chest and sending them crashing into the wall.
Regulus didn’t hesitate. He grabbed James’s wrist and pulled him down another hallway.
"Not much for the dramatic final stand, are you?" James panted as they sprinted through the darkened manor.
"Survival first," Regulus shot back. "You can be dramatic when we’re not outnumbered."
James was about to retort when they skidded into an open chamber, and suddenly, he understood why Regulus had been running.
The manor wasn’t just a hideout. It was a meeting point. And they had walked straight into a room full of Death Eaters.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Then all hell broke loose.
James barely got his shield up in time to block the first volley of spells. Sparks and light filled the air as curses ricocheted off stone walls. Regulus moved fast, ducking and weaving between hexes, his spells precise and ruthless. James had seen him fight before, but never like this.
This wasn’t just about winning. This was survival, pure and simple.
James threw a stunning spell at one opponent, spinning just in time to catch another with a disarming charm. But it wasn’t enough. They were outnumbered, and even as they took down one Death Eater, another replaced them.
Regulus must have realized it too. "We need to leave. Now."
James scanned the room for an exit—then spotted it. A tall, arched window, half-shattered and just wide enough to squeeze through.
"Can you cover me?" James asked.
Regulus’s eyes flicked toward the window. A moment’s hesitation, then a nod. "Go."
James turned and bolted, leaping onto the window ledge. He smashed the rest of the glass out with the hilt of his wand.
"Regulus, now!"
Regulus sent one last hex flying before pivoting and sprinting toward James. At the last second, James grabbed him by the arm and hauled them both through the window.
They hit the ground hard, rolling across the dirt. Behind them, shouts rang out as the Death Eaters scrambled to follow.
"Disapparate!" Regulus barked.
James didn’t think—he just grabbed Regulus’s arm and turned, the world vanishing in a rush of wind and magic.
When they landed, breathless and bruised, in the safehouse, James let out a long, sharp laugh. "Well, that could’ve gone worse."
Regulus glared at him. "Shut up, Potter."
James just grinned.
James was still grinning when Regulus shoved him—hard.
“What the hell was that?” Regulus snapped, chest rising and falling with sharp, measured breaths. His face was pale under the dim candlelight of the safehouse, his hands still curled into fists. “You were supposed to follow my lead, not go charging into a room full of Death Eaters like some brainless—”
“Hey, we got out, didn’t we?” James shot back, rubbing his shoulder where Regulus had pushed him. “No harm done.”
Regulus let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No harm done? Potter, we were one second away from getting killed because you can’t sit still for more than a damn minute.”
James felt the heat rise in his chest, the familiar spark of irritation flaring up. “I wasn’t going to stand around and wait to die, Black. We had to move.”
“We had to be smart,” Regulus corrected, voice low, edged with something James couldn’t quite place. “You think you can fight your way out of every problem, but there were too many of them. We were lucky. Next time, we might not be.”
James clenched his jaw, trying to bite back a retort. The worst part—the absolute most infuriating part—was that Regulus wasn’t wrong.
The mission had gone sideways fast, but not because of Regulus. James had let the adrenaline take over, let his instincts make the calls instead of his head. It had worked, but just barely.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair before glancing at Regulus. “Fine. I’ll try to think more next time. Happy?”
Regulus blinked, clearly caught off guard by the concession. Then, with an exasperated huff, he turned away and started pulling off his ruined cloak. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
James watched as Regulus winced slightly, his fingers brushing against a scorch mark on his sleeve. Without thinking, he reached out. “You’re hurt.”
Regulus tensed but didn’t pull away fast enough to stop James from rolling up his sleeve, revealing an angry red burn trailing along his forearm.
James frowned. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
Regulus gave him a look. “Because it wasn’t relevant.”
James scoffed. “You’re bleeding, Black. That’s pretty damn relevant.”
Regulus didn’t answer, just kept his gaze fixed somewhere over James’s shoulder.
For some reason, that made James’ chest feel uncomfortably tight. With a sigh, he grabbed the first-aid kit from the nearby table and crouched down in front of Regulus.
“This might sting,” he warned, dabbing a bit of healing balm onto the burn.
Regulus barely flinched, but James could see the way his fingers twitched slightly, like he was resisting the urge to pull away. James worked quickly, trying not to let his mind linger on how strange this was—patching up Regulus Black like they weren’t constantly snapping at each other.
When he finished, he sat back on his heels. “There. Try not to get hexed next time.”
Regulus glanced at his arm, flexing his fingers experimentally. Then, to James’s surprise, he muttered, “Thanks.”
James blinked. “Sorry, what was that?”
Regulus shot him a glare. “Don’t make me hex you, Potter.”
James smirked but didn’t push it. He just leaned back against the wall, exhaustion finally settling into his bones. The mission had been a mess, and they still had a long way to go before they could call themselves a real team.
But as they sat there in silence, bruised and breathing but alive, James thought maybe—just maybe—they were starting to figure this out.