DECEMBER 24th 1979
19:32
Somewhere, in the crowded streets of London, Regulus Black is alone. The cold normally doesn’t bother Regulus—or really, it just hasn’t bothered him in a while— but tonight was different. He could feel it in his bones—an aching cool resting in him, something that not even the burn of a cigarette can alleviate. He feels it even in the fingers holding one. They, for some irritatingly foolish reason, still remember the pattern that leads to James Potter’s voice.
It’s dark in his room. He ponders on it for a while, the snow patting against his barred window. He glances at the telephone, then at his wrist. Disgust gnaws at his heart with every curve and line that he can make out in the dim lighting. It’s too risky. He chose this life. He’s alone, and he’s so close to winning. Inserting himself back into James’ life would just put both of their lives in danger. Regulus knows better.
But— god damn it, Regulus is so lonely, and it’s Christmas Eve, and he remembers everything. Regulus remembers the faint glow of the Christmas lights that the Potters hung everywhere in their home. Regulus remembers the smell of the freshly baked gingerbread and how they would stop everything and race to get a piece. Regulus remembers the nights when he missed out on all of those and had to settle with a telephone call. Regulus remembers the smiles, the laughs, the grins. Regulus remembers his smile, his laugh, his grin, fuck, his voice. And oh, would Regulus do anything to hear it one last time.
It takes a few minutes, and a tear or two rolling down his cheeks, before he could decide.
—
Somewhere, in the West Country of England, James Potter is smiling. The warmth of the Potters’ fireplace was enough for the group to ignore the cold, dark reality, even just for a while. In the cottage was James’ parents and group of friends.
The smell of gingerbread filled the air, as they sat around in a comfortable quiet. A word or two out of anyone’s mouth would force them to acknowledge what’s outside, but the news of Lily’s pregnancy was enough to spark the hope back in everyone’s heads, and for now, that was enough.
However, the silence was soon interrupted. Unexpectedly, not by a voice, but by a ringing.
Sirius was the first to look up. It was 7:38.
“James…”
All of a sudden, James’ smile was wiped from his face, replaced by a clenched jaw and a stern gaze.
“I got it.”
The tension in the room was evident in the faces of those who knew , while those who didn’t wore confused expressions. Everyone gathered together, whispering about what this could have meant, while James made his way to the telephone stand placed near the doorway.
For a second, the plastic handset of the telephone felt like it weighed a thousand kilograms in James’ hand. He knew who was on the other side, even if it had been nearing a year since the last time this telephone rang at this hour. He knew how the conversation would start, and exactly how he wants it to end—he’s rehearsed for this moment. James knew exactly what to say—cuss him out, tell him to never ever call here again, cuss him out.
“Hello,” his voice was cold—as cold as James Potter’s voice could be (though, it still felt like the coldest day of a tropical country).
There was nothing but silence in the other end for a while, and James felt the frustration brew in his chest like a storm.
“If you’ve the courage to call but not to speak, why bother calling?”
A beat. Still quiet.
“I know it’s you, Regulus.”
James’ was far enough away from the group for them not to hear what he’s saying, but they knew something was up from the mere expression on his face. Sirius and Remus shared a look—being two of the very few people who knew about the telephone calls that happened in the Potters’ cottage, it was difficult to feel anything but anxiety.
Somehow, in this same position years ago, James and Regulus were in love.
—
DECEMBER, 1974
19:26
“James, honey, would you get that?” Mrs. Potter exclaimed from the kitchen.
The telephone was placed on top of a stand near the doorway. James clumsily made his way to the ringing.
“Hello! Potters’ residence,” he said, as cheerful as James Potter could be.
A puzzled look rests on James’ face as he hears nothing but silence from the other end.
“Hello? Potters’ residence,” he repeated, urging a response.
“James…” A cold, defeated voice croaked—one that James could recognize even from a city away.
“Reggie?” Panic evident in his voice, James turns to Sirius who was eagerly watching the telephone call happen.
“I… I couldn’t make it, James. Mum found out—took away my wand, prohibited magic–”
James almost couldn’t make out anything Regulus was saying—his voice was trembling, a stark contrast to the calm and collected mask Regulus wore in the halls of Hogwarts.
“So I- I went to Kreacher, he got your house’s telephone number for me. I’m so thankful for him, James. I can’t- I don’t know what to do. I know I told you I’d be there, but Mum- you know, you understand, right?”
“Of course, Reg. You don’t have to explain anything. I’m glad,” he paused, correcting himself, “ we’re glad you called.”
There was silence for a minute. The two collected their thoughts—both feeling nothing but relief to hear the other’s voice.
James felt warmth crawling up his chest. It was so much. He felt so much.
He cleared his throat, the quiet lasting too long for him. “Sirius is here. Do you want to talk to him?”
“Sure.”
The four—including Remus— spent the rest of the evening taking turns in talking to the younger Black brother. They’d collectively decided that this was going to be how it is for now— while Regulus was stuck in Grimmauld’s, unable to use magic, they would call at this hour, everyday, for as long as the breaks lasted. James felt grateful every time.
—
PRESENT DAY
“Merry Christmas,” was all Regulus could muster at that moment.
Rage filled James’ eyes, almost blinding him, “Are you bloody serious?”
Like all those years ago—like it was the first time he’d called—Regulus’ voice was trembling once again, “I just- I know it’s selfish, but hear me out, okay? Let me talk.”
Regulus knew he was asking for so much. He knew that calling was too much by itself, but asking to be heard out? Regulus’ pride was at an all time low, a move that he knew he should have done before.
“Hear you out? Like I did then ? Fuck you if- if you think I’d make the same mistake, Regulus. Didn’t you want this? didn’t you choose him… that… monster ?”
There was venom in James’ words. For a second, he almost broke. He spent so long imagining this moment—for Regulus to apologize and beg for James to take him back—but he knew what was right. He knew what he was going to tell him. He knew that Regulus was in Grimmauld’s, cold and alone. He knew that Regulus was just aching for love— he knew this even now, and even when he was being pushed away by the younger boy. He knew this even when it was Regulus’ voice that was laced with venom, even when he was choosing something over James. He knew Regulus was aching, period. But that’s exactly it . A long time ago it was Regulus that left James hurting. James’ heart was torn out then—now, it’s time for Regulus to feel that same pain, James thought. Even when he knew Regulus, and that he was experiencing so much of it already.
“I- I’m sorry. I knew then that I made a mistake, and I know that even more now, I know that no amount of explaining, apologies, flowers, songs, poetry— fuck , anything, can take back all the pain I’ve caused you. I called—not expecting you to be welcoming—but I just had to…” Regulus wanted to die, to give up everything he’s worked for and fall back into those stupidly big arms—he wanted to reveal everything. “I had to hear you– to know you’re alright.”
“No thanks to you.”
“I know, I know,” Regulus was trembling. He knew that when he left James those years ago, things were never going to be the same. Yet, he never expected that there was going to be a day where the warmth of James’ voice is completely stripped away. “Forget this— forget I ever called. I got reckless. I just-”
“...I’m happy to know you’re doing fine.”
James had enough. This call was already lasting too long than he could handle. Tears were forming in his eyes, and he was glad that Regulus couldn’t see that—see him hurting, again . “I’m married; happily. I’m having a son. I’ve moved on. You should, too.”
With that, a slam on the telephone’s base ended the call, turning the heads of everybody in the room. James, despite the dark skies and harsh snow, ignored their calls and rushed outside, with Sirius following him.
—
“He said he was happy,” James scoffed, “happy to know I’m doing fine.”
These were all the words Sirius needed to hear to know—James wasn’t fine. James hasn’t been. Not since he was 17 and lost the love of his life. Not even after marriage, not even after he found out he was going to be a father. James Potter is never going to be fine . Hell, he’s never going to be remotely okay .
James Potter is never going to be fine, especially after finding out that he was the last person Regulus Black talked to before dying—that he was the one who knew what Regulus was feeling, and that he was the one who made him feel that way; Regulus Black died knowing he loved James Potter more than anything, and he died thinking James hated him.
Less than a year from now, James and Lily will be the ones to die. They both died protecting their son, Harry; an act of pure love. Still, James Potter died knowing that Regulus Black is the only person he loved more than anything, and that one last irritatingly pathetic “Merry Christmas” from Regulus was something that kept him going, despite it all.
James Potter and Regulus Black died loving each other. Death is usually the one thing that parts two people who love each other as intensely as the two did, but in this timeline, it brings them together.