Through Enemy Eyes

The flickering light of a single candle cast long shadows across the dusty, dimly lit room of Grimmauld Place. The scent of old books and ancient parchment filled the air as James and Regulus worked in silence, their faces illuminated by the glow of their wands.

Dumbledore had tasked them with a mission that neither of them had been thrilled about: combing through the forgotten, hidden records of the Black family. The papers, scattered across a long-forgotten trunk, contained secrets—some of which had the potential to change the course of the war.

The silence was oppressive. James ran his fingers over a stack of ancient scrolls, feeling the weight of the history on them, the countless generations that had passed before him, and the lingering shadow of the Dark Lord. His gaze flickered to Regulus, who sat across the room, carefully deciphering a page with an almost reverent air.

“You’re really going to spend the whole afternoon looking at these things, aren’t you?” James broke the silence, his voice tinged with frustration. He couldn’t understand Regulus’s quiet determination, his absorbed focus on the old Black family records. "Not even going to pretend it’s a waste of time?"

Regulus’s gaze didn’t leave the page. “Some things aren’t a waste of time, Potter. Not if you want to understand what you’re up against.”

James snorted, standing up and walking around the room. “I already know what I’m up against. Death Eaters, Voldemort, all the usual fun stuff.”

Regulus’s voice remained steady. “That’s where you’re wrong. The more you know, the more you can fight it.” He paused, glancing up at James, his eyes hard, but his tone quiet. “You won’t defeat Voldemort by charging in blindly.”

James stiffened. “I’m not blind.”

“Then stop acting like it,” Regulus shot back, voice sharper than usual. “You think you know everything about the war. About me. About the Black family. You don’t. None of us do.”

James opened his mouth to argue, but something in Regulus’s tone made him pause. There was no sneer in his voice, no mockery—just a strange, bitter edge, like someone who had been carrying a weight for far too long.

Regulus’s eyes returned to the page in front of him, his expression unreadable. The moment passed, but it hung in the air between them, thick with unspoken words.

James rubbed a hand across his forehead, trying to shake the frustration gnawing at him. Regulus was infuriating—he always had been. And yet, there was something about him now that didn’t sit right. Something that had changed.

The silence stretched again, but this time it felt more like a shared understanding than the usual tension.

“Here,” Regulus finally said, breaking the stillness. “Take a look at this.”

James walked over to Regulus’s side and peered at the page he was pointing to. The writing was ancient, the ink faded, but the symbols were unmistakable.

“What is this?” James asked, his eyes narrowing. It was a list of names, some of which he recognized from the war: Death Eaters, known associates of Voldemort. But others were unfamiliar.

“Members of the Inner Circle,” Regulus replied, his voice quieter now. “But there’s more here. Hidden messages—code, likely, and prophecies.”

James frowned, leaning closer to the page. “A prophecy?”

Regulus nodded, running a finger over the parchment. “Not a typical one. It’s… complex. But look here.” He pointed to a line of text that seemed to shimmer oddly under the dim light. “This was written by my mother. But it’s not the prophecy she would’ve wanted anyone to find.”

James felt a chill run down his spine. “What does it say?”

Regulus hesitated before speaking. “It’s about Voldemort’s downfall. It says someone from within the Black family will help bring about his defeat.”

James blinked, stunned. “That’s… that’s impossible.”

“No,” Regulus said, his voice tinged with something almost like regret. “It’s possible. And it’s been buried for years.”

James felt his mind racing. This wasn’t just information—it was a bombshell. Regulus’s family had been deeply connected to Voldemort and the Death Eaters for so long, and the idea that one of them—someone from the same bloodline—could play a key role in the Dark Lord’s defeat… it was a shocking thought.

“But you turned your back on all of that,” James said, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze locked on Regulus. “You… you were part of it. You helped him rise to power.”

Regulus’s face tightened, his jaw set. “I was sixteen. I had no idea what I was getting into. I thought it was about bloodlines and power. But I was wrong. I saw what he did to my brother. To my family. And I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t what? You couldn’t stand it anymore?” James interrupted, his voice rising. “You couldn’t live with it when it got too real?”

Regulus’s eyes flashed, but he didn’t raise his voice. “You think I’m proud of what I did? Of what my family did?” He shook his head, the weight of his words heavy in the air. “You have no idea what it’s like, Potter. To grow up in a family like mine. To be raised to believe in blood purity, in Voldemort’s vision. And then to see the truth. It shatters everything. You can’t just walk away from that easily. It’s not as simple as you think.”

James’s chest tightened as he tried to process what Regulus was saying. It was impossible to reconcile the Regulus Black he’d known with the one standing in front of him now. The one who had defected. The one who had lived with the consequences.

“But why didn’t you tell anyone?” James asked, softer now. “Why didn’t you come forward sooner?”

Regulus’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly. “Because I knew no one would believe me. I knew you’d all see me as a traitor, as a coward, as nothing but the son of a Death Eater. But I’m not that. I never was.”

James stood there, speechless, his mind spinning. Regulus had just given him more than he’d ever expected—more than he’d ever wanted to hear.

“I didn’t want to be part of the fight,” Regulus continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “But when I saw what Voldemort was doing… when I saw the darkness swallowing everything, I couldn’t stay out of it anymore. I had to do something. Anything.”

James’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to say something—wanted to argue, to ask why Regulus hadn’t trusted them—but instead, all that came out was a breathless, “So, what now?”

Regulus didn’t look at him. “Now, we do what we’ve always done. Fight.”

James swallowed hard. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was enough. For now.

As they sat in the silence, both lost in their thoughts, the weight of what they’d uncovered pressed heavily on them. The path forward wasn’t clear. It never would be. But for the first time in a long while, James wasn’t sure where Regulus Black stood. And for some reason, that unsettled him more than anything.

The weight of the conversation hung in the air between them, but as the silence stretched, something shifted. The tension wasn’t as sharp now, and even though they both still had much on their minds, the room felt less like a battlefield and more like a space where two people—however unlikely—could start to breathe.

James, pushing the heavy records aside, broke the silence first, his voice lighter now. “Alright, so…” He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to go from here. “In order to be, you know, a decent pair or whatever for this whole 'fighting evil' thing, we probably need to… talk. About things. You know, not just ancient Black family secrets and prophecies.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the parchment he was studying. “A conversation, then?”

“Yeah, sure,” James said with a shrug, trying to ease the awkwardness that had come in the wake of their earlier exchange. “I mean, we’ve been thrust into this mess, and if we’re going to keep doing this partnership thing, we should, I don’t know, maybe make it a little less…” He waved his hand vaguely, trying to find the right words. “Uncomfortable.”

Regulus didn’t smile, but his lips quirked slightly, a glimmer of something close to amusement in his eyes. “You want to make our… alliance less uncomfortable?”

James shrugged again, more relaxed now. “Look, I don’t exactly love the idea of being stuck in this situation with you. Not that I want to hate you or anything, but we’re not exactly best friends, are we?”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he regarded James with an almost contemplative look. “Best friends, no. Partners? Maybe. We’ve got a war to win, Potter. No time for grudges.”

James blinked at the directness of Regulus’s words. That was about as close to a peace offering as he’d ever get. “True,” he said, nodding. “I guess you’re right. It’s not like we’re going to get through this by ignoring each other.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Regulus asked, his voice still measured, though there was a slight openness to it that hadn’t been there before.

James thought for a moment. “Well, we could start by, I don’t know, talking about something other than this blasted war, Black family drama, and… well, the usual stuff.”

“Fine.” Regulus leaned forward, his gaze flicking over James. “Ask me something. I’m sure you’re dying to know something about me.”

James snorted, crossing his arms. “Oh, I have plenty of questions, don’t worry. You’ve been keeping me guessing for ages. Like… why the hell do you always look so damn unbothered? You never seem stressed, even when we’re literally about to walk into a Death Eater meeting.”

Regulus’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “I’ve had a lot of practice pretending not to care.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Comes with the family territory. And you? Always jumping in headfirst. Reckless.”

James grinned at that, leaning back against the desk. “Well, someone’s gotta be the brave one around here.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow. “Brave? Or just… stupid?”

James laughed. “You really do like to push buttons, don’t you?”

“I’ve had plenty of practice with that too,” Regulus replied, his voice dripping with dry humor.

For a moment, they both just stood there, exchanging looks that weren’t exactly friendly, but they weren’t hostile either. The tension had ebbed away just enough for them to find a middle ground, if only for a brief moment.

James finally sighed, a bit more seriously. “Alright, enough about that. But seriously, Regulus… what’s your deal with the whole 'no attachments' thing? You don’t talk about anyone, ever. Not even the Order. You never let anyone in. What’s the story there?”

Regulus's gaze flickered momentarily, a shadow crossing his face. But it was brief, and when he spoke, his voice was flat. “People have a way of disappointing you. I learned that early. It’s better to keep to yourself.”

James frowned, studying Regulus closely. “Sounds like a cop-out to me.”

“Maybe,” Regulus admitted. “But it’s the truth. I’ve had my fair share of disappointments. I don’t trust easily.”

“I get that,” James said after a moment. “I mean, look at me. I’ve spent years hating you, thinking you were just some spoiled Slytherin brat. But I’m starting to see it’s a little more complicated than that.”

Regulus’s gaze softened slightly, but only for a second. “You think?”

“Yeah,” James said, a little more cautiously. “I used to think you were just a Death Eater in hiding, but you’re not. I don’t know what you are yet, but you’re not that.”

Regulus’s expression was unreadable, but he nodded once, slowly. “That’s… something.”

James smirked. “It’s progress. I’m not saying we’re best mates, but maybe we don’t have to be enemies either.”

Regulus tilted his head slightly. “I suppose that’s true.”

“So,” James said, clapping his hands together, “as long as we’re on the same page, maybe we can focus on not screwing up the next mission?”

Regulus smirked, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “We’re going to screw it up. We’re us.”

James laughed at that, shaking his head. “Fair point. Guess we’re just going to have to make sure we screw it up together, then.”

Regulus shrugged. “I can live with that.”

“Good. Progress,” James said with a grin. “Alright, so, any more Black family secrets you want to drop on me? Or can we get back to fighting actual evil now?”

Regulus let out a quiet chuckle, surprising James. It wasn’t the full-blown laugh he’d get from Sirius, but it was something. “No more secrets for now. But we’ll see what comes up.”

James grinned, feeling the last bit of tension slip away. “Alright then. Let’s make sure we don’t die trying.”

Regulus’s lips curled slightly in what could almost be called a smile. “Deal.”

The moment of awkward silence between them passed, but this time, it didn’t feel like it had to be filled with secrets or high-stakes conversations. Instead, James decided to lean into the bizarre but oddly comforting ease that had settled between them.

“So, uh,” James said, his voice light as he rested his arms on the desk and looked at Regulus. “Tell me something—what’s your favorite color?”

Regulus blinked at him as if he’d just asked about the meaning of life, and for a second, James thought maybe he’d lost him. But then Regulus raised an eyebrow, clearly considering the question.

“Favorite color?” Regulus echoed, a touch of disbelief in his voice. “That’s your question?”

James shrugged, grinning. “Yep. We’ve covered the important stuff. Family, war, grudges… now we get to the real questions.”

Regulus let out a soft huff of amusement, the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Green.”

“Green?” James said, eyes wide. “Of course. The Slytherin in you is showing.”

Regulus’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with green?”

“Nothing, nothing,” James said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “It’s just... it’s so very you. All dark and brooding.”

“Green is a versatile color,” Regulus shot back. “Not all of us wear orange to make a statement.”

James laughed, shaking his head. “You’re just mad because I can pull off bold colors.”

Regulus snorted, then shrugged. “I’m not mad. Just… indifferent.”

James leaned forward, smirking. “Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

Regulus’s eyes twinkled for a moment—was he actually enjoying this? James wasn’t sure, but it was a nice change of pace.

“Alright, alright,” Regulus said, waving a hand dismissively. “What about you, then? What’s your favorite color?”

James grinned. “I’d say red, but honestly? Probably just whatever’s most likely to get a reaction from someone. I’m into that kind of color.” He paused, lowering his voice dramatically. “Like neon yellow.”

Regulus blinked, clearly thrown off by James’s answer. “Neon yellow?”

“Yeah, it gets attention,” James said with a grin. “I’m nothing if not an attention-seeker.”

Regulus raised an eyebrow, looking skeptically at James. “I didn’t take you for someone who wore neon.”

“Well, I don't, obviously," James said, rolling his eyes. "But, you know, if I were to... hypothetically, of course… I’d totally rock it."

Regulus smirked. “Hypothetically, of course. You’d probably wear it well. I’m sure it’d make you look even more insufferable.”

“I prefer the word charismatic,” James said smoothly, trying—and failing—to hide the grin that spread across his face.

They both paused for a moment, the silence settling in again. But this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was the kind of silence you could share with someone who wasn’t just a partner in war, but someone who, for whatever reason, was now part of your strange new reality.

“So, what’s next?” Regulus asked, his tone almost casual now. “Do we talk about favorite foods? Do you want to tell me all about how much you love butterbeer?”

James laughed, the tension finally broken completely. “Well, I do love butterbeer, but that’s not the important part. The important part is that I also know you probably secretly love pumpkin juice, and I’m here for it when you admit it.”

Regulus’s face stayed neutral, but the tiniest of smirks formed. “I don’t like pumpkin juice.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. Sure. I bet you also don’t eat pumpkin pasties when no one’s looking.”

Regulus paused, then finally sighed in defeat. “I do. But don’t ever tell anyone.”

James leaned back in his chair with a victorious grin. “I knew it! You’ve got a soft side after all.”

“Hardly,” Regulus replied, the smirk turning more into a full-blown grin now. “Just... selective tastes.”

James snorted. “Selective, my foot. You can’t fool me. You probably have a stash of pumpkin pasties hidden somewhere in that ridiculous coat of yours.”

Regulus straightened his posture, eyes narrowing. “It’s a very practical coat.”

“I’m sure it is,” James said with a grin. “So practical that you could probably hide a whole bakery under there.”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat behind it. The edges of the conversation felt more... relaxed. Maybe even a little friendly.

“Fine,” Regulus said, giving in. “Maybe I keep a few in my coat. But you’ll never find them.”

“Challenge accepted,” James said immediately, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You’re on.”

“Don’t even try it, Potter,” Regulus warned, though there was an unmistakable gleam in his eyes now. “You won’t win.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” James teased. “One way or another, I’ll get those pumpkin pasties.”

Regulus snorted softly, his eyes bright as he finally allowed himself to chuckle, the tension completely gone between them.

“Alright, alright,” Regulus said, shaking his head. “Just don’t ruin the surprise.”

James leaned back in his chair, satisfied with how far they’d come. The teasing had lightened the mood, made everything feel a little less like a battlefield and more like… well, two people figuring each other out.

“You know,” James said thoughtfully, “this could be worse. At least you’re not as awful as I thought.”

Regulus gave him a dry look, though the amusement still lingered. “Don’t get too comfortable, Potter.”

James grinned. “I’ll try not to.”

The room was quieter now, but it was different. Less heavy, less strained. For the first time in a long while, James thought there was more to this partnership than he’d been willing to admit.