Chapter 1
Regulus Arcturus Black was pronounced dead earlier this morning, he was a seventeen year old boy and was the only son to Walburga Black & Orion Black. He was a star slytherin student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, receiving top marks across all of his subjects and played quidditch as a seeker since he was 13.
The black family wishes for a private service with family only to honour what was to be Lord Black.
James holds the daily prophet, the paper creasing in his hands. His palms sweat and the hair on his nape stands, his mind blanking and reeling with millions of thoughts consecutively.
James remembers the day Regulus broke up with him almost a year and a half ago as if it were yesterday, his heart cracking and breaking apart, the broken pieces crashing against each other as he went on with his life, he never truly got over the boy with short black curls and silver rings. He spent his days fighting for the order and nights when he was free sleeping alone to not feel his aching limbs and aching heart or falling into strangers beds in an attempt to force the pieces of his heart to mend itself, putting a Band-Aid over a large wound.
He’d thought he would never feel an ache like seeing the dark mark on his lover’s arm ever again.
Clearly, he was mistaken.
Distantly he can hear his mother humming in the kitchen and his father sitting next to him, his nails drumming against the wooden table in a repetitive clack clack clack clack, his father had let him read the paper first after a playful back and forth. What James wouldn't do to be able to go back five minutes, to be oblivious to…
His throat tightens as he shoots up, his thighs knocking against the table, causing the cutlery and empty plates to clatter. His fathers calls for him to turn around - when did he start walking? - trickle out of his ears like water, his heavy legs carry him to his old room which he promptly locks with a wave of his wand and casts a silencing charm.
His arm stays in the air, his body frozen as if he was put under a body binding curse. ‘Regulus Arcturus Black was pronounced dead earlier this morning’ replaying over and over in his brain like a broken record. James knew realistically he would never get the chance to speak to Regulus again, but since when did he think realistically? Never. That's when. James held out hope as almost two years of quick glimpses on battlefields went on, he had hoped that after the war maybe they could have reconnected. James knew Regulus never really wanted to be a death eater, when the mark was uncovered he insisted it was his choice, and what he wanted. But James knew he never believed in that pureblood shit, Regulus insisting himself that way of thinking was close minded and “idiotic” in his words. The truth is, Regulus is trapped.
Regulus was trapped.
James found himself tipping to the side, because he had found himself sitting on the floor, he landed on his side with a soft thump, he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. After a small time with no reaction whatsoever the pressure built up in his chest, his emotions being water and his body the dam. All it took with a single crack, his lip quivering slightly for the whole dam to collapse.
Water pooled in his eyes and dripped down the side of his face almost in streams. Instead of single tears, James brought his hands underneath his glasses as sobs wrecked out of him, grief clawing at his throat so deeply James wouldn't be surprised if he could taste blood. Strangely, James remembers himself as a child for a moment, a child who would fall into tears because of restlessness or too loud rooms. But he isn't a child anymore, no overhead lights are buzzing in his ears, there aren't too many people talking at once or small desks that feel like prison chains.
No, Regulus is dead.
James sits up, crossing his legs and allowing one arm to fall in his lap. The other he brings to his mouth and bites down on his forearm hard just for something to do with his mouth besides sob, subconsciously he rocks back and forth as his teeth press into the skin of his arm, pain blooming as a dull ache compared to his grief. Couldn't have he found out in his flat? Where he could have been alone while he choked on his own sorrow, instead his parents are downstairs most likely reading the paper and wondering if they should check on him or not.
His parents had known about Regulus, his parents were supportive when he came home from fifth year and told them the news, his parents comforted him after their breakup. James lied to them about the true nature of the separation, “it wouldn't have worked, him having a year left in school.” James never usually lied to his parents but telling them his ex boyfriend had sided on the opposite of the war? James couldn't handle it.
“Dear, we need to give the boy some time!” James heard the sound of his father, seemingly at the bottom of the stairs calling out to his mother, which he now notices is coming up the stairs. James’s eyes widened at the fact.
“Our boy is up there, he shouldn't be alone while he deals with this!” Effie responds, her feet coming to a stop. They continue back and forth, voices now shushed so James cannot make out what they are saying. Usually, James accepts the comfort of his parents. But today is not a usual day, and he would rather not be seen with snot running and biting down on his arm so hard it's a miracle he hasn't drawn blood.
He releases his arm from his teeth and looks around frantically, thinking of how to avoid being seen. He uses the back of his wrist to wipe his mouth and nose quickly, his heart having migrated into his temples. His eyes land on his wand, suddenly remembering in his brain fog that he is, in fact, a wizard. He snatches his wand from the floor beside him and apparates back to his apartment, the incantation pulls on his naval and his vision swirls with colour until he lands in his bathroom.
Having miscalculated he pushes himself to his feet, wobbling slightly as he pushes his bathroom door open. His apartment is small and the lounge room and kitchen being an open floor plan, he throws his bedroom door open, the handle banging against the wall loudly. James stumbles across the small room and falls into his bed, his face pressed into the pillows. He goes to kick his shoes off, only to realize he left them at his parents.
Tears run down his face and soak into his pillows against his will, shouting a string of profanities about his “stupid fucking shoes”
James spends a while in his bed. jeans, belt and white button up never coming off. At some point he ends up on his back, the now afternoon sun glowing in the room. His face sticky with dried tears, he lifts his hand to feel the warm rays against his skin. His eyes land on his gold rings, which glimmer in the glow and compliments his brown skin.
The sight pulls a memory from the back of his brain, a memory from his childhood.
-
Five year old James wobbles into his fathers study, the door ajar. His large eyes land on his larger than life father, sitting in his red velvet chair as the warm sun causes the gold chain which he is holding up to shine. A small round pendant at the bottom of the chain is completely still.
“Jamie, my boy!” Fleamonts low yet gentle voice calls, despite being much taller and broader then his mother, Fleamont has always the softer of the two. His father beckons him forward by patting his leg, despite his legs being covered by the desk in front of him James makes his way to Fleamont. Strong arms lift him into his fathers lap, the golden chain now resting on the dark table.
James’s small hands reached for the golden chain, his father scooped it up and out of his reach quickly. A fussy noise escaping the young James while Fleamont chuckles, the action shaking James.
“This isn't a toy James, do you know what this is?” Fleamonts tone conveying importance, James shakes his head, forcing his hands to stay in his own lap so he doesn't reach out for the glittering chain. His father lifts the chain slightly so James’s eyes meet the pendent, the pendent has two thin circles, James isn't focused on how they connect. Instead his eyes catch the small hour glass in the middle of the smallest circle.
“This is called a time turner.” his father announces, James’s gaze lifts upwards to Fleamonts face as he speaks. “What a time turner does, is it sends you to the future.. Or the past.” James’s eyes widen and glow with curiosity.
“Can we go back to yesterday?” he asks, slightly breathless. “When the snow was here?” he questioned further, earlier that morning James had woken up to find yesterday's snow melted, much to his despair.
“Time travel is dangerous. Besides, you can only go back a few hours! And you cannot be seen, load of rubbish to me. This particular one belonged to my grandfather. It came into my possession once he died, I haven't used it.” James leans away from the time turner, his face scrunched warily, much to his fathers amusement.
“That is why I keep it-” he continues on, reaching across the table for a small wooden box with a golden latch. “In here!” His father opens the box and reveals small family relics, rings, old money and trinkets of that nature. “When you are of age, everything in this box will go to you!”
James lets out a gasp, he leans forward to stare into the box full of glittering trinkets. His father rests the time turner into the box and closes it with a flick of his wrist without touching the box.
-
Nineteen year old James sits up slowly, his fingers drumming against his thighs. His eyes widen as he almost throws himself out of his bed, almost tripping in his haste towards his built in wardrobe. The door opens with a whoosh, as he approaches. He falls to his knees painfully before he begins to rummage around the bottom of his wardrobe, his hands finding a small wooden box.
He exhales a breath he didn't realize he was holding, some of the dust on top of the box now dancing around him. James lifts a shaking hand to open the box, a smile forming on his face as he pulls out the golden time turner which looks as if a day hasn't passed since that afternoon in his fathers study all those years ago.
A laugh escapes from deep in his chest, the hand that isn't holding the artifact running through his hair as he shakes with hysterical laughter.
James falls on his back, holding the time turner to his chest as he slowly calms down. James knows how a time turner works, he knows the idea he's forming is very idiotic, and may result in.. merlin knows what. A rip in time? His own psych to break? His death? James has no clue, but in James's love sick mind isn't it worth it, for love? James became an animagus at 14! Could he not slightly modify a time turner, go back in time and save Regulus from his fate? Instead of James going back and there being two versions of himself could he not change it? Surely with some work it could be done!
James quickly puts the box away, placing the time turner around his neck and shoving it under his shirt. James looks down at his wrinkled shirt, his face scrunches up as he opens his wardrobe to change.
Time passes in piles of books and parchment, visits to Sirius and Remus’s flat become an almost daily thing when he isn't working on his.. Project. If anyone is suspicious James doesn't know about it, in the past few months James has studied possibly the same amount he did in his seven years at Hogwarts. To James every single second and failed attempt is worth it, every time James uses the time turner and goes back a few hours instead of a few years his hope diminishes slightly. James sets times when he attempts to go back, he only ever does this in his apartment and not too often as to not raise suspicion. Well in the start he did, anyway. At the moment it seems like he's trying to go back everyday only to fail.
“Come on come on-” he repeats to himself, twisting the time turner the appropriate amount of times. He closes his eyes and feels the now familiar pull in his chest as he goes back, briefly he thinks of going on muggle merry-go-rounds as a child and closing his eyes to feel the world spin. He keeps his eyes shut for a moment after the spinning stops, listening for a possible change in environment. He is only met with silence.
With an exhale he slowly opens his eyes to find himself in his bedroom. In his flat.
Again.
He feels a dull anger simmer in his chest before he promptly falls back on his bed in defeat. He rubs his hands up and down his face before running his hands through his currently greasy hair, which he hasn't washed for at least a week and a half. - which is a rarity for him, but James cannot find it in him to care. - James turns his head towards his clock to see if he even made more progress than a few hours, to find he did not.
James crawls into his bed and sets his muggle alarm clock -which James finds slightly odd, but handy nonetheless- for three hours from now, the time which he came from.
James has thought about what leaving his friends behind means, and the guilt that weighs on him due to the choice he's made. At this point, james cant- doesn't want to change his mind. The.. current state Regulus is in is too much to bear. The image of Regulus’s pale face being paler than normal, with closed eyes and colder hands- James shifts under his covers and attempts to push the thought out of mind, which he fails. Are there fresh flowers at his grave? James knows Sirius refuses to visit his grave, if he's gone on his own in secret James doesn't know, but wouldn't be surprised if he has, or gone with Remus. Does anyone visit his grave? His older cousin.. Narcissa perhaps? He was fond of her compared to his other cousins.
James falls into sleep quickly, his dreams of pale pianist hands and private smiles twist into nightmares of bones and clouded eyes.
James wakes up drenched in sweat with wild eyes, his breath coming rapid. His breathing calms down after a moment, his alarm ringing in his ears. James moves his hand around his bedside table in search of his alarm clock, his vision failing him. His hand land on his glasses, his fingers rubbing against the lenses accidently, resulting in a scoff from James as he rubs it against his shirt before putting them on. He finally shuts off his alarm with an exhale, his dream turned nightmare replaying in his mind.
Fifteen minutes later James finds himself slipping his high top red converses on and walking out of his candle lit flat - he forgets he has light switches - on his way to the cemetery, he could apparate but.. Well he would like to stall slightly.
James walks with heavy bones and a heavy heart. a little ways into his journey through winding streets a raindrop lands on his nose, his eyes flutter in surprise and he continues on, the rain getting stronger as he goes with his head hung low. As he gets closer to his destination he passes a group of muggle teens his age outside of a pub smoking cigarettes, for a moment James longs for that freedom. To not be a wizard and live blissfully unaware of the war raging right under their noses. He inhales deeply, the smell of smoke taking him back to Regulus’s hands lifting his own cigarette to his lips. The chain around his neck suffocates him as he picks up his stride.
He arrives at the cemetery gate, pushing the dark metal gate open with a painful creakkkk, which causes his face to scrunch up. He shakes his hands quickly, attempting to forget the feeling of a harmless sound.
What lies ahead will cause more pain than the sound of a rusty gate anyway.
James walks through the graveyard, passing by headstones for people much older than himself and headstones for people who should never have passed so young, weeds covering names and dates and the occasional flower petal dances in the heavy wind.
James finds the grave surprisingly fast, his head stone having a thin layer of dust and a small amount of weeds pressed against the concrete. James busies himself with wiping the dust and picking the weeds momentarily, swallowing his grief and settling in his denial.
Once he finishes he dusts his hands and slowly sits in front of the headstone, pulling the time turner out from inside his shirt, his hand shakes.
“So.. you would scream at me for this, but..” a half hearted laugh escapes him, quickly stopping as he feels pressure build in his chest. “I'm trying to.. Modify this time turner to go back and uhm.. Save you.” James finds himself pausing for a moment, waiting for “are you stupid James?!” or “now why would you think that's a good idea?!” to come, despite what's beneath the soil.
“I'm doing it as safely as possible! Well, I'm more prioritizing speed but I'm still being safe!” His words are met with deafening silence, The wet grass soaks his jeans.
“You’d- you’d think that me, an illegal animagus since I was fourteen could slightly modify a time turner but- uhm.. I can't? I mean- I'm going to get it! Then I'll bring you back-” James rambles on, lifting the chain off his neck as he talks and grasping it in his hand for emphasis. He goes on until he fully grasps he's just speaking to concrete, that he may not succeed, he may never see Regulus again.
He could really, truly, be gone.
For good.
Forever.
James has seen people lose their loved ones in the war, he's seen the results of their grief. Them insisting their person, their person cannot be dead. It's unfathomable, unimaginable. James thought he was immune to such grief, he has a chance to go back, to change fate, and see his star.
He isn't so sure anymore.
“I don't even know how you died Reg.” he says after a stretch of silence, his eyes begin to sting. “Were- were you in pain? If I- could I have done more? Could I do more ?” his voice cracks on his last word, tears pour out of eyes for the first time since he first heard of the news. Ever since that day, he refused to cry. He witnessed Sirius weep for his brother and held him through it, holding his own sadness deep in his chest, not allowing it to come out from behind the curtain of denial he crafted himself.
Now he can feel the curtain catch fire in his chest, his own grief fully showing itself and screaming at him and it hurts.
James sits at Regulus’s grave and sobs until he's leaning forward and clutching his stomach from the pain of it, momentarily he feels a chill brush gently against his body. Subconsciously he leans into it before it's gone.
Until he feels a different chill, a kind of chill that aches your bones. James feels as if he's been dipped in a bathtub full of ice so suddenly he snaps his head up.
…
Huh.
James is almost positive he must be hallucinating, because right behind Regulus’s grave James’s eyes land on the spirit of death itself.
James remembers his mother reading ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’ to him when he was a small child, the figure looming before him now being only ink on a page, and being terrifying nonetheless.
The real thing is more shocking than petrifying.
“Cry myself to death, did I?” he says matter of factly, yet his words coming out shaky due to his crying fit not a moment before. Death passes through the tombstone and approaches James, to which he scrambles back. “As far as I know that's not possible!” he says quickly, his voice raising in fear. Why is Death here? Did James actually cry himself to death?
“Did.. Regulus send you?” he asks with caution, not bothering to clarify who, surely Death knows.
“He did not send me.. More accurately, his demise inspired my presence.” Death.. Speaks? His words feel as if they have been pushed into his brain, being more thought-like rather than being actual sound.
“I'm sorry what?!” James asks, rage bubbling. James scrambles to his feet before continuing. “Oh it inspired you! YOU took him! Took him from ME.” he shouts at the hooded figure who is double his height. “Here to rub it in are you?! ‘Oh I'm the spirit of death and I took the love of your life!!’-” James waves his hands around as he talks before he is quickly silenced by Death.
“If you want that time turner to work I suggest closing your mouth.” James snaps his mouth shut like a puppet on strings despite the millions of questions twisting on his tongue. “I do not usually speak to mortals.. But this mortal-” Death gestures behind him to Regulus's tombstone. “Is not a mortal I wished to take. He had plans to end this war and spare innocent life. I do not approve of Voldemort’s madness. Death is.. An art. He has ruined my art form. Regulus Arcturus Black died attempting to end Voldemort's life and well.. I grew quite fond of the boy.” somehow Death's tone grows soft for a moment before returning to cold.
“And I was hoping to make a deal, if you will. You scratch my back, I scratch yours, as the muggles say. Do not speak, just nod. Or shake your head, which you will not.” James nods his head so fast he almost sees stars. “Good! I will use my magic to transform your time turner into one of a kind, instead of going back and there being two versions of yourself.. Instead your consciousness will shift back in time, and you will be in your past body! Your current one will stay here, and continue on like nothing happened, acting as you would. Isn't that neat?” James feels his head spin, possibly on the verge of passing out. He forces himself to stay conscious.
“Regulus cannot complete this mission on his own, he will need someone to rely on, a protector of sorts. If you fail to stay by his side and assist him in his mission, you will die. He will also most likely die as a result. So either way I end up with a mortal to collect. When I send you back, your wisdom you have now may be harder to comprehend as well, due to having a younger brain.” Death scoffs and mutters something that sounds something a lot like ‘weak mortals.’
“You can only turn time once with the time turner I will give you, but as long as you have it around your neck your magic will be amplified, especially if the circumstances in which you use it involve the mission I am sending you on. Do you understand?” Death speaks in the serious tone he first spoke in when he appeared before James. Death out stretches his hand, palm facing upwards. Wordlessly, James drops the time turner into his hand with hesitation.
Death raises his other bony hand above his already raised hand, palm faced down towards the time turner. The time turner begins to rise between his hands, a dark cloud forming out of nothing around the time turner until it is no longer visible. The sound of wind roaring begins, despite no wind against James’s skin.
After the longest minute of James's life he watches the dark cloud slowly fade and the noise come to a halt, the time turner, now turned silver drops into Death's hand. “Once you go turn time there is no going back. This is your final chance to refuse.”
“Give me my time turner.” James replied calmly, instead of putting the time turning in James's now outstretched hand, Death places the chain around James’s neck. “Good luck, James Fleamont Potter. You will need it.” is the last thing James hears before closing his eyes and finally, after months, successfully turning time.