Through Enemy Eyes

James knew something was wrong the moment Dumbledore looked at him and Regulus with that particular twinkle in his eyes. It was the same look he got whenever he was about to ask something utterly insane with a perfectly calm expression, as though he wasn’t about to upend their lives for the foreseeable future.

“I don’t like that face,” James muttered under his breath. “That’s a dangerous face.”

Regulus, arms crossed beside him, didn’t look much happier. “For once, I agree with you.”

Across the table, Dumbledore’s expression remained mild. “It has come to my attention that we need a pair of skilled operatives to infiltrate an upcoming gathering of key sympathizers to Voldemort’s cause.”

James straightened. That made sense. They’d gone undercover before—well, sort of—and considering Regulus’s background and James’s ability to talk his way out of nearly anything, they weren’t the worst candidates for the job.

Then Dumbledore continued, “The safest cover for two individuals traveling together to such an event would be a married couple.”

Silence.

James blinked. “A what?”

Sirius, who had clearly not been briefed beforehand, choked on his drink and promptly lost his mind, half-wheezing, half-cackling. “Oh, this is golden. This is perfect. You two? Married? Oh, Merlin help us all.”

Regulus’s jaw tightened. “You cannot be serious.”

“Oi, that’s my line,” James grumbled. Then, realization fully set in, and he threw his hands up. “Married? Are you mental?!”

Dumbledore, undeterred, merely nodded. “It is the most logical cover. This particular gathering will be one of pureblood elites, and two unattached young men traveling together would be suspicious. A married couple, however—”

“—would be expected,” Regulus finished with a long-suffering sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly already developing a headache. “This is ridiculous.”

Moody, who had been silent up to this point, grunted. “Unless you two have a better idea?”

James opened his mouth—paused—closed it. Damn it.

Regulus, noticing James’s lack of argument, exhaled sharply. Then, in a tone dripping with reluctant acceptance, he muttered, “Fine. But if Potter refers to me as ‘darling’ even once, I’m hexing him.”

Sirius was dying of laughter at this point. “Oh, you’re definitely getting hexed, Prongs.”

James glared at him before turning to Dumbledore. “This is insane. How is this the best option?”

Dumbledore simply smiled. “Because it will work.”

James groaned. This was going to be an absolute disaster.

James sat with his arms crossed, glowering at the plain gold band now sitting on his finger. Across from him, Regulus turned his own ring between his fingers, expression unreadable.

“This is your cover,” Moody grunted, tossing them a file. “You’re attending under the names Elias and Cassius Vale—newly bonded, pureblood, respectable. You’ll be expected to act accordingly.”

James sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. Swoon over each other, stare longingly into his icy grey eyes, call him ‘dearest’—”

Regulus cut him a sharp look. “Do not call me ‘dearest.’”

James smirked. “That’s going to make this so much more fun.”

Moody ignored them both. “You’ll have limited contact with us once you’re inside. Your main objective is to gather intel on who’s aligned with Voldemort, any planned moves, and any key figures involved. You stay in character at all times. Slip up once, and you’re both dead.”

James sobered slightly at that. Right. It wasn’t just pretend. They were walking into a den of snakes, and the only way to survive was to be convincing.

Regulus, ever composed, nodded once. “Understood.”

Moody looked between them. “You two better start acting like a couple now. You need to be comfortable with each other—no hesitation.”

James groaned, flopping back into his chair. “Brilliant. Guess we better get started, dearest.”

Regulus closed his eyes briefly, looking as though he were reconsidering every choice in his life that led him here. Then, with an air of utmost resignation, he muttered, “This is going to be unbearable.”

James grinned. “Oh, absolutely.”

James was already regretting everything.

The manor was grander than he'd expected—surprisingly so for a group of Voldemort's followers. It was an estate so opulent it felt like they'd stepped into a bloody painting, with golden chandeliers, walls of velvet, and everything drenched in an air of self-importance.

And then there was Regulus, who looked like he might actually be considering hexing James the moment they crossed the threshold.

James shot him a sideways glance. Regulus’s jaw was clenched, his eyes scanning the room, cold and calculating. His posture was so stiff, James almost wondered if he was going to snap in half at any second.

"Relax," James muttered, nudging him with his elbow. "We’re supposed to be in love, not about to murder each other."

Regulus shot him a look, but the faintest flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, before he immediately masked it. "If you keep this up, we’ll be the first to die."

James snorted. "As if you don’t want to die here—get out of this bloody mission."

Regulus gave him a deadpan look. “You really have no idea how to keep a low profile, do you?”

James had no idea. He was mostly flying by the seat of his pants, hoping his ability to charm his way through any situation would save them both.

They passed through a hall lined with statues of pureblooded ancestors, each one more intimidating than the last. There was a murmur of voices ahead. The gathering was already in full swing.

James reached for Regulus’s hand—purely out of necessity, not because he was starting to get any strange ideas—and Regulus didn’t even flinch, which, honestly, was impressive.

"Ready?" James asked, as though this wasn’t the most bizarre situation of his life.

Regulus gave him a look that suggested not even remotely. But before he could protest, James pulled him along into the main room.

A dozen or so people were gathered in small clusters, talking amongst themselves. James could feel the stares almost immediately. It wasn’t hard to pick out the pureblood elitists—their robes were immaculate, their expressions snooty.

Regulus seemed to notice them too, though his face remained unbothered, a perfect mask of neutrality. If James didn’t know him better, he’d swear the man was born for this sort of thing. But of course, James did know him better. And that made it even worse.

The first few minutes passed in an uncomfortable blur as James tried to play the part of the besotted husband, which mostly involved staring at Regulus’s face as though he could do no wrong, and muttering all sorts of disgusting things like “darling” and “sweetheart” under his breath. Regulus was predictably unimpressed.

"Must you?" Regulus hissed through his teeth, though they were already drawing attention. "Is this really necessary?"

"Absolutely," James said, voice low and intentionally teasing. "You have no idea how much more convincing this is than you standing around like a bloody statue."

“I’m about to hex you,” Regulus muttered, voice so low only James could hear it.

James laughed. "See, that's the spirit. Just think of it as acting. Like one of those plays at Hogwarts. You’re good at acting, aren't you?"

Regulus didn’t respond, and James was fairly sure he could feel the judgment radiating off of him.

Then, to make matters worse, a few of the guests began to approach, each with an air of polite curiosity and a hint of distaste, as though they were trying to figure out if the newlyweds were truly worth their time.

One of the men, tall with greasy dark hair, flashed a smile that James didn’t trust in the slightest. “Ah, the Vale couple! How delightful to see you both.”

James put on a grin that bordered on obnoxious. “Mr. Gormley, lovely to meet you. This is my husband, Cassius.” He glanced sideways at Regulus, who was giving the man a look that suggested if looks could kill, Gormley would already be six feet under.

Gormley didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did notice and didn’t care. He looked over at Regulus. “It’s always so refreshing to see new blood among us. Pureblood marriages are so... rare these days, don’t you think?”

James blinked. "Er, sure. So rare. Very... rare."

Regulus didn’t respond. He just gave the man a look that made James half-expect him to launch himself across the room and strangle him with his own tie.

James squeezed Regulus’s hand, forcing him to stay grounded. "We do try to keep our bloodlines intact, yes," James said, fighting the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this was. "It's an old tradition."

Gormley nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. “I look forward to seeing how your contribution to the cause shapes up in the coming months.” He tipped his head slightly. “I’m sure Lord Voldemort will be most pleased.”

James barely resisted the urge to cringe at the name. Instead, he managed a polite nod, even though everything inside him was screaming at him to run the other direction.

Regulus, however, had perfected the art of indifference, or maybe he had been around these people so much that their presence no longer bothered him. James wasn’t sure. Either way, he made the conversation as painful as possible, nodding at the right times, giving minimal responses.

The whole thing felt like a slow-motion train wreck. James was sure that if they stayed here too much longer, something would go terribly wrong. But for now, they were playing the part.

At least, James was trying.

“James,” Regulus muttered, voice tight with restraint, “if you so much as breathe the word ‘darling’ again, I swear—”

“I’ll be good,” James interrupted, smiling sweetly. “For now.”

The night dragged on, each passing hour thick with tension. The guests milled about, drinking heavily, exchanging words in hushed tones, while James and Regulus remained stuck at the center of it all, maintaining their increasingly strained façade of a happily married couple.

James had never felt more out of place in his life. The entire room seemed to pulse with dark magic and secrets, and despite all of his training, all he wanted to do was grab Regulus by the arm and sprint for the nearest exit. The thought of spending another hour pretending to be a well-behaved, lovesick husband was already grating on his nerves.

"Regulus," James murmured through gritted teeth as they stood near the punch bowl, trying to avoid looking too conspicuous. "This is absolutely ridiculous. You have to give me something. A little—"

"Don't," Regulus interrupted sharply, his voice low and icy. "I swear, Potter, if you say anything more about my ‘dearest’ or ‘darling,’ I will—"

"You’ll hex me, yes, I know." James couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at his lips. "But look at it this way, it’s kind of romantic, isn’t it? Us, together, in the middle of this ridiculous party... pretending we’re the perfect couple."

Regulus’ eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you call me your ‘beloved’ one more time, I might just let the hexes fly."

"That’s the spirit!" James grinned, ignoring the dangerous glint in Regulus’s eyes. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it was definitely entertaining.

Across the room, a woman in an extravagant gown approached them, her expression too pleasant to be genuine. “Ah, the newlyweds,” she said in a syrupy voice, peering at them as though she were inspecting rare collectibles. “Such a lovely couple. How long have you been... together?”

Regulus gave her a tight smile, all teeth and no warmth. “Long enough to know what’s expected of us, I imagine.”

James bit back a laugh at how easily Regulus could turn vicious when necessary. “A few months,” he added smoothly, a pleasant smile plastered on his face. “We’ve been busy, but it’s been wonderful.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Of course.” Her gaze flicked over them with barely disguised interest. “You two are... quite the catch. I’m sure there’s already a fair amount of talk about your... ‘loyalty’ to the cause.”

James forced himself to stay calm, the word cause hanging in the air like a threat. “We’re all about... loyalty,” he said carefully. “Right, darling?” He flashed Regulus a smile that, if anything, looked far too wide and far too sincere.

Regulus didn’t even flinch. He simply nodded. “Loyalty is everything.”

The woman lingered for a moment longer, then gave them both a sharp nod before turning and gliding away to her next target.

As soon as she was out of earshot, James exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “This is madness,” he muttered. “Every word out of my mouth feels like I’m suffocating.”

Regulus shot him a side-eye. “You’re the one who insisted on the ‘charming’ route,” he said dryly.

James gave him a look. “Well, it’s not like you were much help with your icy indifference.”

“I’m being subtle,” Regulus replied with a near-sneer, taking a small sip from the glass of wine he’d been handed earlier, not even flinching as he tasted the bitterness. “Perhaps you should try it sometime.”

“Subtlety doesn’t work when we need to blend in and get intel. You’re overthinking it.” James eyed the crowd again, feeling like the room was closing in. “We need to talk to more people, get a feel for who’s who. Who’s in charge, who’s the biggest idiot here, and—”

“And don’t get yourself killed in the process,” Regulus interrupted sharply.

James smirked. “Wouldn’t dream of it. That would be your job, right?”

Regulus didn’t respond, but the faint twitch at the corner of his lips betrayed the smallest hint of a smile.

It was enough to give James hope that this might not be the worst mission ever—though the jury was still out on whether it could actually work.

They continued to mingle, dancing on the fine line between too obvious and too subtle, trying to strike up conversations with various guests. Some were too dull to be useful, others made James’s skin crawl.

It wasn’t until a tall, imposing man with a long silver beard and a steely gaze approached them that James felt his stomach drop. The man looked them both over with a cold, calculating stare.

"I am Lucius Malfoy," he said, voice silky but dangerous. “You two must be the new Vale couple. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

James offered his best charming grin, though he could already tell Malfoy wasn’t buying the act. “Elias Vale,” he introduced himself smoothly. “And this is my darling Cassius.”

Regulus shot him a look—the kind that said he was one word away from strangling him. James pretended not to notice.

Malfoy’s eyes flicked to Regulus and lingered there for a second longer than necessary. James couldn’t help but wonder if Regulus's cold indifference was what gave them away—after all, the Malfoys were known for being keen observers.

“Interesting,” Malfoy said finally, his voice more amused than anything else. “Not quite what I expected, but we’ll see how it goes. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

The statement wasn’t a threat, exactly—but it didn’t need to be. The weight of the words settled in James’s stomach like lead.

Lucius Malfoy’s gaze lingered for a moment longer, then he turned and walked away, leaving behind a chill in the air.

James was quick to breathe out in relief, only to be met with Regulus’s glaring eyes.

“You,” Regulus hissed, “are making this so much harder than it needs to be.”

“Relax, we’re fine,” James said quickly, though he wasn’t as convinced as he wanted to sound. "That went well enough, right?"

“Fine?” Regulus repeated, voice thick with sarcasm. “Malfoy just warned us, and you’re calling it fine? The next time you try to be charming, I’m throwing you into the nearest fire.”

James grinned at him, fully aware that Regulus was just as frustrated as he was. “Then it’s a good thing we’re a team, huh?”

Regulus didn’t respond—just gave him another tight-lipped smile that was anything but reassuring.

James wasn’t sure how long they could keep this up before one of them snapped. But for now, they had no choice but to play along.